Joric’s eyes narrowed at Corbin’s words. “Are you insulting me?” Corbin nodded. “Yes. I am.” A tremor of fury ran through Joric, and his hands clenched into tight fists. “So what are you going to do about it?” Corbin said, his tone dismissive. “Fight me, or I’m leaving.” Struggling to suppress his rage, Joric turned to the instructor, Gideon. “Is this acceptable, Instructor?” Gideon hesitated for a moment before giving a slow nod. “If Corbin is fine with it, then I have no objection.” With permission granted, Joric and Liam stepped onto the arena floor. Corbin stood opposite them, his expression utterly relaxed. His gaze drifted past Joric to the boy standing just behind him. Strange, seeing him here again. Liam Stone. In the future, he would become one of the most famous men on the Aeridor. The Mercenary King, Liam. Unlike the Thorne or Ashworth clans, who were direct blood relatives of the Wyrmsworn, Liam came from a distant, collateral branch of the family. He was only in the Crucible because he’d been chosen to serve as Joric Ashworth’s attendant. In Corbin’s memory, Liam would receive the blessing of aura here and go on to the academy, but he would never make it to Citadel, the institution for higher learning. He was cast aside midway, his low birth deemed a fatal flaw. Abandoned, Liam wandered as a free knight until he found a place with the Knights of Baranon, a small kingdom in the western region. He could have lived out a peaceful, unremarkable life there, but Baranon was destroyed by the Empire, and his knightly order vanished with it. With nowhere left to go, he became a mercenary, drifting across the continent. Then, by a stroke of fate, he achieved enlightenment and became a Crimson Knight. Power draws followers, and in a time of chaos, mercenaries were never in short supply. The Stone Mercenary Corps formed around him, and within a few years, Liam had united the three major mercenary corps, earning him the title of Mercenary King of the Aeridor. A strange feeling washed over Corbin as he looked at the quiet, taciturn boy who would one day become that man. We were enemies in my past life, but this one could be different. Just then, Gideon’s whistle cut through the air. “Match start!” Joric dropped into a fighting stance and advanced on Corbin. Liam, however, remained rooted in place behind him. Corbin frowned. “I’m pretty sure I said both of you should attack me.” Joric scoffed. “I was just playing along with your childish little fantasy.” He lunged, his leg snapping up in a powerful high kick aimed at Corbin’s head. Thud! The impact was heavy, far stronger than one would expect from a twelve-year-old. Everyone watching expected Corbin to collapse. “Ugh…” But it was Joric who groaned, stumbling back. The ankle that had delivered the kick was already swelling. Corbin lowered his left elbow. “Why would you throw yourself at my elbow like that?” Joric fought to regain his balance, but his ankle felt shattered, making it impossible to stand properly. Damn it. If I can’t stand, I’ll have to take him down and mount him… The moment Joric prepared to charge again, Corbin struck. Whoosh! A low kick swept out, connecting brutally with Joric’s injured leg. Crack! “Gah!” Joric’s face twisted in agony as his balance completely gave out. And in that instant of vulnerability, Corbin moved. Whoosh! He spun, channeling the full rotation of his body into a punch that slammed into Joric’s side. Wham! [Skill Deathblow activated.] The force of the blow, amplified by the spin, shattered Joric’s ribs. “Ugh…” Joric gasped, the air driven from his lungs, and collapsed to his knees. Catching his breath, Corbin shouted at the boy still standing motionless behind him. “Are you just going to stand there?” Liam’s gaze flickered to the gasping Joric. “Cough… Liam!” Joric wheezed, his face pale. “Kill that bastard!” At Joric’s command, Liam finally moved forward. As he did, Corbin adopted a proper fighting stance for the first time. But… is he really twelve? With his unusually long limbs and stony, taciturn expression, Liam looked at least five years older than any of his peers. Corbin was immediately wary of his long arms. Even when we fought in my past life, that incredible reach always gave me trouble. If he let Liam take the initiative, the entire fight could turn against him. Shing! Corbin darted forward, snapping out a jab. Whack! He circled Liam, peppering his guard with more jabs, forcing him to stay defensive. Whack! Whack! Whack! The sharp, stinging blows were like awls, seeking any opening in Liam’s guard. Corbin’s movements—the quick footwork, the constant feints and jabs—were not from the Gauntlet Trials style they were taught. “What is that?” one of the trainees murmured. Even Gideon, the instructor, looked on with surprise. That’s the boxing technique of the Northern Rangers. It was rare to see a fighting style from the Northern Continent here, where the Aeridor’s focus was so heavily on swordsmanship. Wham! Wham! Wham! As the onlookers whispered among themselves, Liam remained crouched, silently weathering the storm of Corbin’s punches. Then, Corbin’s footwork faltered for a fraction of a second, and one of his jabs went wide. A glint appeared in Liam’s eyes. Whoosh! In an instant, Liam’s long arm shot out, wrapping around Corbin’s extended limb as if to snatch it from the air. “Heave!” Liam coiled his arm around Corbin’s, intending to use his superior size to lift and throw him. It was a move made possible only by the significant physical difference between them. Caught in Liam’s grip and about to be thrown, Corbin twisted his body in mid-air. He used his smaller frame to his advantage, hooking both legs around Liam’s captured arm and wrenching the joint. Crack! Before Liam could even process what was happening, his shoulder dislocated and his elbow twisted at an unnatural angle. “Aaaaagh!” His joint broken, Liam cried out and collapsed to the arena floor. But Corbin wasn't finished. He unhooked his legs from Liam’s mangled arm and immediately wrapped them around his neck. “Gasp!” Corbin’s legs tightened, cutting off the blood flow through Liam’s carotid artery. Liam struggled, but he never tapped out. In the Vance Clan, tapping out was a dishonor worse than injury or even death. Eventually, his struggles ceased, and he went limp. “Whew…” Corbin released his hold on the unconscious boy and rose to his feet. Every eye in the training Great Fane was fixed on him, the boy who had just effortlessly defeated both Joric and Liam. His gaze swept over the hundred trainees until it landed on one. “Owen Hawthorne.” A mature-looking boy with brown hair met his stare with a calm, unnerving expression. Corbin’s eyes moved again, finding another face. “Reina Calder.” A girl with a sharp gaze and closely cropped hair glared back at him. Corbin then gestured toward the fallen Joric. “Joric Ashworth, Leon Thorne… well, they’re out, so we’ll move on.” He addressed all of them. “Tell your families. Tell them Corbin Vance is a little different now.” With those parting words, Corbin stepped down from the arena. Owen and Reina watched him go in silence. Corbin clicked his tongue as he walked away. Are those really the eyes of twelve-year-olds? Corbin left the training Great Fane, the weight of a hundred stares on his back. Gideon, who had been watching his retreating figure with a blank expression, finally shook himself from his stupor. “Corbin! Winner!” The collapsed forms of Joric and Liam were carried off to the infirmary as the year-end evaluation continued without them. “Whew…” Back in his room, Corbin shed his training clothes and collapsed onto his bed. Every muscle ached from the exertion. “Those bastards,” he muttered. “Their heads must be spinning right now.” In his previous life, he had failed to awaken his aura. He was treated like trash in the Crucible and at the academy before the clan finally abandoned him. The memory of that misery was still vivid, a raw wound in his mind. My cousins must be scrambling to report this. Four of his cousins had entered the Crucible in the same year as him. Some, like Leon, had been direct in their torment. Most had simply watched him from a distance, content to see him fail. After today, however, even the observers wouldn’t be able to stay silent. Their families would surely give them new orders. I can’t just wait for them to make a move. I’ll seize the initiative, give them something else to focus on. It was easier to hide in murky water than in a crystal-clear pond. That was why he’d chosen to reveal a fraction of his strength today. His fighting skills were just a sliver of what he was truly capable of; revealing this much was a calculated risk. Corbin pushed himself off the bed and stood. “While they’re busy scheming, I just need to keep getting stronger.” He had no intention of being bullied as he was in his past life. This time, he would devour the Vance Clan whole. He spoke quietly into the empty room. “Status window open.” [Low-rank Administrator Status Window] Name: Corbin Vance Class: Healer (Rare) Title: Blessed by the Archdragon Arts Held: Regenerative / Iron Will / Vitality Surge / Preternatural Reflexes Active Arts: Viper's Kiss [E-rank (Beginner)] / Flurry of Blades [E-rank (Expert)] / Deathblow [D-rank (Beginner)] Wyrmic Arts: (Unavailable - 10 Destiny Points required to unlock) Destiny Points Held: 0 The Flurry of Blades skill went from Beginner to Expert. He didn’t know the exact mechanics, but it seemed his skills leveled up with use. His eyes settled on the section for Destiny. Hmm… what are Destiny Points? They were required to unlock his Wyrmic Arts, but he had never encountered the term before. He mentally focused on the words. —Destiny Points— Destiny Points can be obtained by killing monsters. “You get them by killing monsters?” After being expelled from his family, the first job Corbin had taken was as a dungeon porter. He had followed low-level adventurers into dangerous labyrinths teeming with monsters. He reread the explanation. Monsters with mana. Dungeon monsters lived in swarms. To hunt them alone, you needed to be at least a Violet Knight, someone who could wield aura with considerable skill. Corbin closed the status window, his mind racing. So to get Destiny Points, I need the abilities of a Violet Knight, at minimum. In his current state, with only his Ether Hall open, he was barely a Yellow Knight, just one step above a common White Knight. To become a Violet Knight, he would have to awaken his aura, open his Aura Core, and learn to imbue his sword with that power. It was at that stage a swordsman truly earned the title of knight. Only after mastering aura to the point of creating an aura blade could one become a Blue Knight and be recognized as a true master, earning a title. And among the Blue Knights, the few who broke through to the next level were the Red Knights. The commanders of great kingdoms and empires were typically Red Knights, and a nation’s military might was often measured by how many Red and Blue Knights they could field. But there were those who defied such common sense. Superhumans who transcended the limits of mortal men, a class of warrior so rare they were almost mythical. The Black Knights. One-man armies. Across the entire continent, the number of Black Knights could be counted on one’s fingers. And impossibly, the Vance Clan had five of them. With five warriors, each capable of wiping a small kingdom off the map, no one dared to challenge the Vance Clan. Not even the Sovereign. There’s a reason they’re called one of the three transcendent families. The dragon-slaying Vance Clan. The Mystic Arts House Arcanum. And the magic-wielding House Lumina. They belonged to no nation, recognized as independent powers unbound by any law. But in the future Corbin had witnessed, a great cataclysm was coming that would shatter that three-way balance of power. It happened about ten years from now, I think. He had to prepare. He had to grow strong before that time came. I don’t know why I was sent back to the past, or what this system is… Corbin’s eyes gleamed with cold resolve. But if it can make me stronger, I’ll use it. Just then, a sharp rap came from the door. Knock, knock. “Come in,” Corbin called out. The door opened, and Miles entered. A servant by title, he carried himself with the stiff bearing of a knight.

Chapter 3: Before the Mercenary King