"Abbott, you're unbelievable! Only two hours and you've already succeeded in spirit recognition?"
Judy's voice brimmed with awe, his eyes shining with pure admiration. With his honest and straightforward nature, he thought nothing deeper—only sincere respect.
Abbott waved it off with a dismissive grin, trying to look modest.
"Nah, that's not that fast. A real genius—someone with an S-rank talent—that's what you'd call fast. Though I've never actually met one."
Judy nodded earnestly. His own A-rank Strength Enhancement had taken him a grueling six hours just to complete spirit recognition. The speed of an S-rank was indeed something far beyond his reach.
Abbott's eyes gleamed suddenly, his voice lowering with excitement.
"Above S, there are SS… and even SSS. The true chosen of heaven. If I could ever befriend one—no, even just an S-rank—"
Born chuckled, curiosity piqued.
"And what would you do then?"
Abbott straightened, put on a solemn face, and let out a dramatic sigh.
"I'd worship them as my father!"
That sent both Born and Judy into fits of laughter.
…
The three of them chatted as they walked, soon arriving at the legion's mess hall.
The hall was vast, lined with long wooden tables, the air thick with the savory scent of roasting meat. Enormous iron cauldrons simmered with beast stew, while rough trays overflowed with bread and charred cuts of flesh.
"Born, did you manage spirit recognition today?"
Judy asked casually between bites of roasted meat.
The words had barely left his mouth when Abbott quickly clapped him on the shoulder, cutting in with forced cheer.
"Judy, I think the real question is—what should we eat first?"
Judy blinked, then quickly caught on. He shot Born an apologetic smile.
Born only shrugged, unconcerned.
Inside, however, he understood all too well. He might carry the SSS-tier Blessing of the Moon Goddess, but his current strength was still shallow.
In the legion, only true power commanded respect.
Reveal himself now, and he would invite suspicion, not reverence.
True geniuses are remembered not at the start—but after they've grown.
…
"So, have you two decided what martial skills to pick tomorrow?"
Abbott tore into a slab of beast meat, eyes burning with excitement as he looked between Born and Judy.
Judy nodded.
"My talent is Strength Enhancement. I'll choose a hammer technique."
Abbott nodded solemnly, then grinned with approval.
"Good choice. It fits you perfectly."
Then he raised his cup high, brimming with bravado.
"As for me—of course it'll be spear techniques! With a spear in my hand, I'll carve through armies, seven charges in and seven charges out, leaving rivers of blood behind!"
Born and Judy exchanged a glance—and both burst out laughing.
By now they knew Abbott's nature well. He bragged endlessly, but somehow, his boasting never became annoying.
In unison, they teased:
"Then we'll be counting on you, Lord Abbott!"
Abbott puffed up proudly.
"Ha! A trivial matter!"
Laughter rolled between them, but soon Judy turned to Born, a hint of hesitation in his eyes.
"What about you? What will you choose?"
Born had long since decided. His voice was calm, yet firm:
"Archery excels at range, but my weakness is close combat. Blades don't suit me… so I'll choose spear techniques."
Abbott roared with laughter.
"Excellent choice! You with a spear, me with a spear, and Judy with his hammer—"
Born smirked slyly and interrupted:
"You'd better mean a long spear."
The three locked eyes, then broke into laughter again. Within that laughter, an unspoken bond was slowly taking shape.
…
Meanwhile, the atmosphere inside the recruit company's office was anything but warm.
Several squad leaders had gathered, reporting on the performance of their new soldiers one by one.
At the head of the room sat the iron-blooded commander of the Beast-Tamer Legion—Bobby.
A mountain of muscle, scarred from countless battles, with eyes like sharpened steel.
"Among this batch of recruits," he rumbled, "there are several worth keeping an eye on."
Dwight stepped forward, voice low, yet his gaze—perhaps unintentionally—lingered on a single name.
Born.
"Cultivation speed… comparable to S-rank."
Dwight's heart trembled at the thought, though he did not reveal all the details.
Bobby's brow arched, a sharp glint flashing in his scarred eyes.
"Excellent. The kingdom is advancing its Talent Initiative. Any seedling with potential must be given priority."
The air thickened—murderous intent and expectation intertwining like twin blades.
Born's name had already been etched, quietly, into memory.
…
Once all the squad leaders had gathered, the weight of the meeting hall grew oppressive.
At the head of the table sat the Beast-Tamer Legion's iron-blooded commander—Bobby. His scar-carved face was hard as iron, his voice low and resonant:
"Begin with First Squad. Report your recruits."
…
The first to rise was a young officer in his late twenties, sharp-eyed and battle-hardened, a jagged scar running from brow to throat, lending him a fearsome air.
"First Squad: one A-rank enhancement talent. The other nine—War Spirit Method initiation. Nothing exceptional."
"Second Squad: two B-rank combat talents, one B-rank healer, and seven initiates. Nothing exceptional."
One after another, the leaders stood, delivering calm, clipped reports.
Bobby listened in silence, expression unreadable.
Not long ago, the Third Legion had been bled heavily suppressing a beast tide. Losses were severe.
This meeting was not routine—it was to sift through the recruits, seeking those rare few worthy of being molded into true weapons of war.
In the kingdom's army, C and D ranks were common as dirt. B-rank was considered useful. A-rank drew eyes.
As for S-rank or higher… such talents almost never appeared among ordinary conscripts.
But just in case, Bobby himself had to be certain.
As the reports dragged on, his brows slowly furrowed.
This batch… their quality was average at best. Not disappointing, but far from dazzling.
…
At last, Dwight rose.
"Thirty-Second Squad: one A-rank combat talent, one B-rank healer, the rest have entered the War Spirit Method."
He paused, eyes flickering, his voice suddenly more deliberate:
"Additionally—one recruit suspected to be… extraordinary."
At those words, Bobby, who had been sitting with a hint of weariness, straightened ever so slightly. His gaze cut like a blade.
"Explain in detail."
Dwight drew in a deep breath.
"E-rank combat talent. Archer. But while cultivating the War Spirit Method, his absorption speed was… abnormal. Comparable to S-rank."
"What?!"
A stir rippled through the room, faces flashing with shock.
"An E-rank, with that speed?" one officer immediately questioned.
"Could he have already practiced a similar method?" another suggested in a low voice.
Dwight shook his head firmly, his tone resolute.
"Impossible. When I taught the method, his movements were raw, inexperienced. His cultivation base is far too shallow—if he had practiced before, he wouldn't be starting at this level."
He paused, then added gravely:
"And more importantly—the War Spirit Method is a Legion secret. It cannot have leaked."
That silenced the doubts. Heads slowly nodded. Yes, it was true.
But in each of their hearts, another thought surfaced—
If Dwight spoke true… then this E-rank archer named Born was far from ordinary.
Could it be that Dwight had stumbled upon an uncut gem, still buried in stone?
…
Bobby remained silent for a long while, his scarred face unreadable. At last, he spoke, voice deep and commanding:
"Bring me his file."
A dossier was quickly delivered—detailing family background, school records, every step of his youth.
Bobby flipped through it, eyes narrowing.
"Background clean. Aptitude mediocre. No sign of talent since childhood…"
With a snap, he closed the file. His gaze sharpened, and his words rang with authority:
"This one—must be watched."
"An E-rank archer, yet cultivation speed beyond reason."
"Add him to the monitoring list of the Talent Initiative."
"Yes, Commander!" the squad leaders chorused in unison.
…
All the while, Born remained oblivious.
Back in the dim barracks, he sat cross-legged, quietly cycling the War Spirit Method.
With each breath, spirit energy surged into his body like the rising tide.
In the darkness, a faint silver radiance seemed to halo his form.
And far away, in the Legion's council chamber, his name had already been etched—by the iron hand of the Beast-Tamer Commander himself.