Five Days Later
The past five days at the academy had settled into a productive rhythm that allowed to focus on multiple developnt priorities simultaneously. Nothing major had disrupted the routine - no assassination attempts, no dramatic confrontations, just consistent progress across various fronts.
Classes had continued as expected. Instructor Sylvia maintained her rigorous standards, using the examination results as a springboard for deeper discussions. She’d been analysing our performance in detail, pointing out both our successes and the subtle mistakes we’d made that could have proven costly against more prepared opponents. The lessons were valuable, though my mind often wandered to concerns beyond the classroom.
I had also broken the record twice with Kyle, the record was now under my na at 11,025. From the constant record breaking, I was able to amass an extra 100,000 which was always welco. However, happiness never stayed for too long as Instructor Sylvia inford that there was no longer any point reward for breaking the standing record.
Unfortunately, the glitch had been patched but at least I had made 200,000 points from it which was not a small number, at all.
My blacksmithing projects had consud significant ti and resources. The crossbow design had undergone another iteration, this ti focused on improving mana efficiency and handling capabilities for even stronger projectiles. The breakthrough ca when I realized I could be more efficient in my resources by creating arrows directly from blood manipulation rather than crafting physical ammunition.
Blood arrows were easier and faster to produce, didn’t require expensive materials. The advantages were substantial, unlimited ammunition as long as I had access to blood sources which I had plenty of.
The crossbow’s internal chanisms now featured enhanced Orichalcum channelling that reduced mana consumption by approximately fifteen percent while increasing the weapon’s durability against the stress of firing blood-enhanced projectiles. The adaptive bolt groove I’d designed earlier worked perfectly with these new ammunition types, adjusting automatically to the blood arrows’ unique properties.
The skateboard had also received improvents. After observing how various surfaces and speeds affected its performance, I’d reinforced the board’s structure with additional Mithril threading and refined the control enchantnts. The result was significantly improved durability and more responsive handling at higher speeds. Students were already asking where they could purchase similar devices, though I’d deliberately delayed any comrcial production until after securing proper patents through my family’s legal channels.
But beneath all these productive activities, one concern dominated my thoughts, my father’s survival probability.
Every morning, I’d been checking the Book of Hints, watching the survival percentage fluctuate as circumstances changed. The number had climbed steadily as my father practiced with the Royal-rank secret art and familiarized himself with the Typhoon Pendant’s capabilities.
This morning’s check had shown remarkable improvent:
Probability of Duke Marcus Blackwood’s survival: 59%
The increase from five percent to fifty-nine percent was extraordinary. It represented the difference between near-certain death and reasonable odds of survival. My intervention had genuinely mattered, and the gifts I’d provided were making asurable impact on the outco.
’Fifty-nine percent is decent,’ I thought while reviewing the updated information. ’Not guaranteed, but far better than before. I can only hope it continues improving during his travel to the monster infested town and throughout the actual confrontation.’
The book provided additional context about my father’s preparations:
[Duke Marcus Blackwood has achieved proficiency with the first stance of the Royal-rank footwork technique, increasing his combat mobility significantly. The Typhoon Pendant has been integrated into his planning. He has assembled a strike force of twelve Transcendent-rank soldiers from the Blackwood military, supplenting the guards provided by the Crown. Departure scheduled for today at noon.]
Twelve Transcendent soldiers plus the crown guards ant more than fifteen Transcendent-rank fighters supporting my father not to ntion the large number of elite-rank fighters. My father was clearly taking this threat seriously and leveraging every resource at his disposal.
I was no longer consud with worry about his survival. The odds weren’t perfect, but they were acceptable given the circumstances. My father was a seasoned military commander who had survived countless battles - with proper tools and preparation, he had a genuine chance of success.
Since today marked his departure, I had decided to travel to the estate to give him a proper farewell. The journey would take approximately two hours each way, but seeing him off felt important beyond re sentint. It was an opportunity to assess his condition personally and potentially provide any last-minute advice or resources.
I’d already inford Instructor Sylvia that I would be absent from afternoon classes due to family matters. She’d granted permission without requiring detailed explanation, though her knowing look suggested she understood more than I’d explicitly stated.
The carriage I’d commissioned was waiting at the academy gates as scheduled. I climbed aboard and settled in for the familiar journey, my mind already rehearsing what I wanted to say during the farewell.
My father was about to embark on one of the most dangerous missions of his career, walking into a situation that could have very well carefully orchestrated by political enemies to eliminate him. But he wasn’t walking in blind or unprepared. He had tools, skill, and support that the architects of this trap hadn’t anticipated.
The survival percentage wasn’t guaranteed victory, but it represented genuine hope where there had been almost none before. Sotis, that was the best anyone could achieve - shifting impossible odds into rely difficult ones and trusting in skill, preparation, and determination to bridge the remaining gap.
As the carriage rolled through the countryside toward the Blackwood estate, I allowed myself a mont of satisfaction. My interventions were making real differences in outcos that mattered. The knowledge from my previous life, the resources from the daily reward system, and the strategic advantages of understanding future events were combining to alter destinies that had seed fixed.
My father’s survival wasn’t the only goal, but it was an important one. Preserving our family’s strength would be crucial for the challenges ahead - challenges that I knew were coming even if others remained oblivious.
The estate appeared on the horizon, its familiar towers a welco sight after days spent navigating academy politics and training schedules. Today I would say goodbye to my father, wish him luck, and trust that the preparations we’d made together would prove sufficient.
Fifty-nine percent survival odds. It would have to be enough.
The estate’s training grounds were already bustling with activity when I arrived. My father’s strike force was conducting final equipnt checks and tactical drills, their disciplined movents reflecting the years of professional military training they had went under my father.
I found my parents in the main courtyard. My mother was overseeing the logistics preparation while my father reviewed maps with his senior commanders. They both looked up when I approached.
Seeing my arrival, the senior commanders decided to take their leave for now to leave us for so alone ti.
"Adrian...I’m glad you ca." my father greeted warmly.
"I wouldn’t miss seeing you off," I replied with a soft smirk on my face.
My mother approached before pulling into her blossom and embraced tightly.
After letting go she smiled before saying, "Your father has been practicing that footwork technique obsessively. I’ve barely seen him sleep these past few days, thank you, son."
"The first stance alone has already improved my mobility significantly," my father confird. "Though I wish I had more ti to master the advanced forms."
"You’ll have ti to practice during travel, the journey to Thorn haven will take several days, right?"
My father nodded. "Indeed, I was thinking of doing that."
We spoke for a while about tactical considerations and contingency plans. My father had clearly thought through nurous scenarios, his mind working overti to prepare for various threat configurations.
Eventually, my mother suggested sothing unexpected. "Marcus, why don’t you spar with Adrian one more ti before you leave?"
My father raised an eyebrow. "You want to watch us fight?"
"I want to see if my son can keep up with you like you had said before," she replied with a knowing smile.
My father quickly beca embarrassed at complinting behind my back before he regained his composure, he wasn’t a duke for no reason, he had a thick skin.
We moved to the designated sparring area, and I noticed my mother positioning herself with an excellent view of the proceedings. She was clearly planning to enjoy this.
"Ready?" my father asked, settling into his stance that incorporated elents of the new footwork.
"Ready."
CLASH!
The difference from our previous spar was imdiately apparent. My father moved with significantly improved speed and fluidity, the Royal-rank technique enhancing his already formidable capabilities.
Still his power was limited to transcendent rank, but even then the footwork made a huge difference that I was slightly jealous I haven’t learnt the first form yet.
Whoosh! Parry! Strike!
I activated my blood enhancent and t his assault with everything I had. Our blades rang out in rapid exchanges that showcased the improvent both of us had made.
"Go Adrian!" my mother called out enthusiastically from the side-lines.
My father shot her an amused look mid-combat. "You’re supposed to be supporting your husband, dear!"
"I can support whoever displays better technique!" she replied with mock severity. "And right now, Adrian’s is superior!"
CLANG! Footwork! Counter!
I capitalized on the distraction to land a solid strike against my father’s guard, forcing him back several steps.
My mother applauded. "Excellent! See, Marcus? This is what happens when you get cocky!"
"You’re enjoying this far too much," my father complained, though his grin suggested he wasn’t actually bothered.
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