RoleplayNovel Chapter 34 Upgrades and Training
Chapter 34 Upgrades and Training
A month passed like flowing water amidst the hum of the enchanting table and the purple glow of the soulstone.
Chen Mo's daily routine is more regular than a clock.
Chen Mo did not spend all his time on orders.
He kept a portion of the soul stone for himself—
Of the 300 copies given to him by the Blue Palace, he used less than 250 copies on orders. He comfortably categorized the remaining 50-odd copies as "personal learning attrition."
Take two daily to absorb the soul power within the Soul Stone.
He was already very familiar with that feeling.
Holding the Soul Stone in my hand, a tingling sensation spread from my fingertips to my arm, then climbed up my veins, past my shoulder, across my chest, and finally flowed into the quiet star deep within my consciousness.
Each time a star absorbs energy, it flashes slightly, like a small animal being fed, lazily and contentedly blinking its eyes.
Then the feedback force returned along the same path, permeating his muscles, bones, blood, and nerves. He made choices time and again in the star chart—
One point of magic, two points of life, one point of stamina.
This is the pace he set for himself.
After each upgrade, he would go to the training ground.
The training ground was located to the west of the Blue Palace. It was a patch of hardened mud ground surrounded by torches, with a fighting circle drawn in the center.
The soldiers of the empire train here every afternoon, swinging their swords, raising their shields, wrestling, and cursing.
When Chen Mo first went there, the officer in charge was named Saul, a Nord veteran with a burly face and a scar on his left cheek that ran from his brow bone to his jaw.
"You're the enchanting consultant?" Thor sized him up, his gaze carrying the disdain typical of Nords for non-combatants.
"With such delicate skin, have you ever been to the battlefield?"
"I have," Chen Mo said.
Thor raised an eyebrow. "Who should I spar with?"
Chen Mo glanced at the soldiers who were training.
They were half a head taller than him, their arms were thicker than his thighs, and their wooden swords were heavier than his iron sword. He chose the one who looked the youngest.
The first time, it was one against one.
Chen Mo lost. Not because of his strength—his strength after the first upgrade was already comparable to that of an ordinary Nord.
He lost because of a lack of experience.
Those soldiers grew up rolling in the mud, started playing with wooden swords at seven or eight years old, and went hunting in the mountains with their fathers when they were teenagers.
Every movement they make is ingrained in their instincts—blocking, slashing, dodging, feinting attacks; they don't need to think, their bodies know what to do on their own.
Chen Mo's movements were too stiff, like a newly manufactured machine, every part new but not yet broken in.
You watched from the side, a blade of grass dangling from your mouth, your expression saying, "I told you so."
Chen Mo got up from the ground and patted the dirt off his knees.
He didn't lose heart. He knew he was getting stronger, and that each level up made him stronger.
He just needs time for his body to catch up with the strength.
The second time I went to the training ground was a week later.
He upgraded twice more. This time, in a one-on-one fight, he won.
He threw the young soldier to the ground and held a wooden sword to the man's neck.
The soldier's eyes widened, and the blade of grass in Saul's mouth fell out. No one spoke.
Chen Mo stood up and brushed the dirt off his knees. "Let's try again," he said.
This time, he challenged two people.
One against two.
Chen Mo lost.
The main problem is that we can't manage it all.
The two men attacked from two directions simultaneously. He blocked the sword from the left, but the fist from the right slammed into his ribs.
He stepped out of the circle, bent over, and held his knees, panting heavily.
His ribs hurt as if they were broken. But he didn't stop.
The third time I went to the training ground, it was a one-on-two fight, and it ended in a draw.
The fourth time, he won against two opponents.
Thor stopped chewing on grass stems.
He stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed, his expression shifting from disdain to seriousness.
Watching Chen Mo get up from the ground, brush off the dirt, and say "Let's do it again," he suddenly thought of his own youth.
He was like that back then too. If he couldn't beat someone, he would practice; after practicing, he would fight again; if he still couldn't beat someone, he would practice again. He didn't have any special talent; he just practiced.
"The Forging King," Thor muttered.
The soldier next to him didn't hear him clearly: "Captain, what did you say?"
"I call him the Forging King." Thor raised his voice, pointing to Chen Mo in the center of the circle, "Look at him, a week ago he couldn't even beat a recruit, now he's winning against two opponents."
No one speaks.
From then on, the nickname "King of Forging" spread throughout the training grounds.
Every time Chen Mo came, soldiers would voluntarily seek him out to practice their skills.
It's not that I want to beat him—I can't beat him anymore—I just want to see how much this "King of Training" has improved today.
Two weeks later, he was fighting three opponents at once.
A month later, he was facing five opponents. Five imperial soldiers stood in a semicircle, holding wooden swords, their faces filled with expressions that said, "This is unfair."
Chen Mo stood in the center of the circle and took a deep breath.
"Come."
Five people pounced on him at the same time.
Two on the left, two on the right, and one in front.
Chen Mo did not back down.
He stepped to the right, dodging the slash from the soldier in front of him, while simultaneously using his sword to block the attacks of the two men on his right.
The sound of clashing blades echoed across the training ground, sparks flying everywhere.
Chen Mo's steps quickened, his sword grew heavier, and his breathing became more steady.
The soldier on the left was kicked out of the circle by him.
The man on the right was struck on the shoulder with the back of his sword, screamed in pain, and dropped his wooden sword.
The guy who tried to sneak up on him was elbowed in the chest and bent over like a shrimp.
The remaining two exchanged a glance and simultaneously threw away their wooden swords.
"I'm not fighting anymore," one of them said, his voice carrying a sense of helplessness, as if to say, "This guy is inhuman."
Thor stood at the edge of the circle, his scars looking particularly menacing in the firelight.
He stared at Chen Mo for a long time, then spat out a mouthful of saliva.
"The Forge King"
He repeated it again, this time without any mockery in his voice, only the recognition of a veteran.
Chen Mo stepped out of the circle and returned the wooden sword to the soldier beside him.
His breathing was steady, his heartbeat was calm, and he wasn't even sweating much.
He glanced down at his right hand—the red patterns beneath the glove were slightly warm, as if responding to the excitement of his recent battle. He clenched his fist, then relaxed it.
Ten upgrades.
His body is completely different from what it was a month ago.
Muscles become firmer, bones become denser, reactions become more agile, and even the senses become more acute.
He could hear the footsteps of pedestrians on the street outside the training ground, smell the aroma of bread wafting from the distant bakery, and see every speck of dust dancing in the torchlight.
More importantly, his body and these powers have become well-integrated.
Those stiff movements became fluid, and those awkward judgments became instinctive.
His body was no longer a brand-new machine, but a sports car that had run hundreds of kilometers, with every part fitting together perfectly.