"Combat training?"
Lord Marcus frowned slightly.
"Why have you started training combat techniques again?" He was about to deliver a scolding, but then thought of the other young lords who were out indulging in pleasure-seeking. In comparison, Napoleon's behavior was far more progressive than theirs.
The words of reproach reached his lips, but he sighed instead.
"If you're going to train combat techniques, you should learn properly from Uncle Garrett. Don't practice blindly on your own—it's dangerous."
He shook his head and turned to leave. Halfway to the door, he paused again.
"As for the pharmacy, whatever medicinal supplies you need, just ask for them. I'll give you a monthly allowance of two thousand silver crowns."
With that, he strode away.
Stepmother Margaret reached out gently with a towel to wipe Napoleon's sweat.
"Your father is just soft-hearted," she said with a long sigh.
"Old Master Thornton and he were sworn brothers. Now that this terrible thing has happened, he's deeply troubled. Your training combat techniques is a good thing, it's just... most people who practice combat start building their foundation from childhood. At your age, it's inevitably rather late..."
She chattered on about various things, but Napoleon wasn't fully listening.
His attention was completely focused on the newly acquired Kaer Morhen Blade Techniques.
"Truly marvelous..."
Napoleon narrowed his eyes slightly. On the surface, he was listening to his stepmother's words, but in reality, he was sensing the condition of his own body.
He flexed his arm muscles.
"The muscles in my arms are still the same as before, but that sense of familiarity, that feeling as if I've already practiced combat skills for many years... it's incredible..."
He tried flexing his leg muscles next.
The leg muscles were noticeably more responsive than before.
He could clearly feel his strength surging rapidly from his feet, up through his waist, and into his arms.
This smooth transmission of force was described in great detail in the Kaer Morhen Blade Techniques.
This was called "unified force."
"According to what the blade manual says, most combat practitioners have methods to mobilize the majority of their body's strength. Those who can mobilize fifty percent of their full strength are considered skilled. Those who can mobilize eighty percent enter what's called the unified force realm."
Napoleon weighed this mentally. Based on some memories from this body's original owner, he had once heard Uncle Garrett and several other combat instructors discuss this topic.
The unified force realm was roughly at the top tier within Oxenfurt.
Being able to integrate one's strength and unleash it together—even an ordinary person in this realm could deliver terrifying power and speed far beyond normal human limits with a single blade strike.
"Uncle Garrett... he's at the unified force realm..."
Napoleon marveled inwardly. The modifier's effects were without any discount, causing a great weight to lift from his heart.
"Unfortunately, what the modifier seems to consume is something like a synthesis of vital essence and spirit. Making this one modification—and it wasn't even one of those legendary techniques with battle aura, just an ordinary combat skill—nearly left me depleted of qi and blood, bedridden with serious illness..."
Napoleon was beginning to understand the modifier's true nature.
This thing seemed to be an adjustment device that could imprint experience, memory, instinct, and martial knowledge onto the body.
But this adjustment required energy expenditure, and what it consumed appeared to be his vital essence and spirit.
Moreover, adjusting bodily memory and such wasn't something that could be accomplished instantly.
"The body is like a pile of raw materials. The modifier should be using these materials to build a new foundation on the original base, rather than creating muscle strength and bone density out of thin air."
This was Napoleon's hypothesis.
Over the following days, the changes in his body confirmed this theory.
From the first day onward, his body began to slowly recover, while his arms, legs, chest, and back gradually developed solid muscle.
Napoleon also noticed that his sense of pain had become somewhat numbed. Thick calluses gradually formed on his palm skin.
His appetite was also growing larger and larger.
To avoid appearing conspicuous, he began secretly going out each day to supplement his meals outside.
At home he ate four times—breakfast, lunch, dinner, plus a late-night snack. Outside, he would eat again in quantities matching what he consumed at home.
After seven days of this, Napoleon's entire frame had subtly become more solid, his build no longer as thin and weak as before.
He had long since returned the combat manual in its entirety to Uncle Garrett.
When Uncle Garrett heard about his bedridden illness and received the manual back, he did nothing but shake his head and sigh. He made no other comment and no longer asked about blade training.
Napoleon suspected that Garrett assumed he had recklessly attempted to practice blade work and ended up injuring himself.
Uncle Garrett's thoughts were indeed similar.
Originally, he had been waiting for Napoleon to encounter difficulties in his practice and come seeking guidance and clarification. Instead, he suddenly heard that the young master had fallen ill and taken to his bed.
Later, when Napoleon returned the manual and stopped asking about the Kaer Morhen techniques, Garrett assumed the young man had lost interest and given up.
Uncle Garrett could only sigh at this, but said nothing more.
Everything returned to the way it had been before.
Life in the Bonaparte household seemed barely affected by the Thornton family incident.
The younger generation continued as before—those who went on outings kept going on outings, those who visited pleasure houses continued visiting pleasure houses. Some listened to musical performances, others went horseback riding, and still others attended poetry gatherings and flower festivals. Though Oxenfurt wasn't large, it wasn't small either, and these diversions were readily available.
The older generation frequently attended various gatherings and meetings, participating in city council deliberations.
Lord Marcus also threw himself entirely into guild affairs and business matters.
Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the Thornton family tragedy and returned to life as it was before.
Only two people were different from before.
One was Lady Isabelle. Having lost her fiancé, having lost her beloved, she wept daily and grew increasingly haggard.
The other was Napoleon.
Napoleon had become much more fond of venturing outside.
But he wasn't going to seek entertainment or listen to musical performances. Instead, he found a clearing in a small grove outside the city where he began practicing the Kaer Morhen Blade Techniques on his own.
............
Devil's Pit lay to the southwest of Oxenfurt.
Wind howled through the night.
Napoleon had acquired a sword from a blacksmith shop in the city and was heading in that direction.
He had no intention of actually reaching Devil's Pit—he simply planned to find an opportunity to test his blade along the way.
The Kaer Morhen Blade Techniques were something he had gained through the modifier. He didn't intend to reveal this secret; it could serve as his trump card.
To outsiders, he appeared to be an ordinary, powerless young lord without the strength to truss a chicken.
Under such mistaken assumptions, if any crisis were to target him, these skills would become his greatest asset for turning the tables.
Of course, this was all contingent on his Kaer Morhen combat technique experience actually being useful.
Napoleon wasn't clear about Devil's Pit's exact location or how far it was from Oxenfurt.
Oxenfurt had no curfew, and the city gates remained open at night. He dressed himself in loose, heavy clothing, kept his head down to obscure his face, changed into plain attire, and used ladies' cosmetic powder to slightly alter his appearance.
Instantly he became an unrecognizable ordinary traveler.
Taking advantage of the night's cover, he left the city. Napoleon gazed into the distance.
The pitch-black wilderness and hills stretched out like slumbering beasts, lying quietly under the moonlight.
His heart was somewhat nervous.
But to conceal his abilities and test exactly how powerful the Kaer Morhen Blade Techniques were, he steeled himself at the city gate and headed toward Devil's Pit.
Ding ding ding...
Merchant caravans returning for the night were entering the city along the main road.
Bells hanging from the carts and horses jingled as they swayed in the wind, the sound carrying far through the night air.
Napoleon was leaving through a side gate.
Oxenfurt's gates were peculiar—not only did they remain open all night, but there were quite a few gates. The city walls looked tall and solid, but they leaked like sieves and provided no real defensive protection.
"Another late night arrival, eh?"
"That's right... pitch black at night, and then we threw a wheel during the journey. What rotten luck..."
The voices of caravan leaders talking with gate guards drifted over from the main road.
Napoleon stood on the small path leading southwest, much narrower than the main thoroughfare.
The dark side gate had only two torches burning on the city wall above, their dim light reaching down to illuminate only about half a meter ahead.
"This really is medieval times..." Napoleon sighed inwardly.
Looking around, the three directions ahead were all pitch black, with only Oxenfurt behind him showing any firelight.
"No flashlights, no electric lights. The wilderness in medieval times is simply a paradise for wild animal predators."
He hesitated slightly, but the surging Kaer Morhen combat technique experience in his body kept his fear manageable.
This was because the breathing techniques of the Kaer Morhen system included methods for dealing with such dark environments.
Or rather, the techniques were originally designed for warriors who were skilled hunters in darkness. The Kaer Morhen Blade Techniques had high requirements for listening to wind patterns and determining position by sound—they were not intimidated by such conditions.
Tightening his belt, Napoleon gripped his sword firmly and quickened his pace along the small path leading toward Devil's Pit.
After walking several hundred meters along the path, he retrieved flint from his waist pouch and took down a small torch he had prepared beforehand.
Placing one piece of flint against the torch head, he vigorously rubbed the two stones together.
Snap.
Sparks scattered across the torch head.
Red sparks started as tiny points, then quickly spread across the entire torch head.
Finally there was light in the darkness.
Napoleon looked back—Oxenfurt's glow had grown quite faint.
He held the torch high and walked slowly forward.
"According to the hunters, a starving tiger frequently appears along this path at night. We'll see how my luck runs."
He dared not actually go to Devil's Pit. Knowing this world very likely contained ghosts and demons, he naturally didn't dare venture too far from the city.
If he hadn't tried numerous methods within the city to test his abilities—all unsuitable—he wouldn't have come out here alone to try his luck.
Walking forward for another stretch, he quickly discovered traces on the ground.
The starving tiger tracks the old hunter had mentioned.
Several large, cylindrical droppings, dark and containing bone fragments.
Napoleon picked up a stone and poked at the droppings.
The material had dried and hardened. When he broke it apart, it revealed small bone shards and fur inside.
"This is the place... These droppings should be from a few days ago. According to the old hunter, he saw the old tiger here just yesterday. It should be somewhere nearby."
Napoleon held the torch in one hand while slowly drawing his sword from his back with the other.
The sword was a type of blade that emerged from the fusion of military and agricultural tools, with a very long handle.
Napoleon's sword had a handle as long as the blade itself. Remove the blade portion and it could serve as a farm implement handle. It was somewhat similar to a miniature glaive.
Gripping it with one hand was somewhat unwieldy.
He simply stuck the torch into a crack between some stones.
The surrounding area was all rocky hills with strange stone formations and few trees—no danger of fire.
After securing the torch, Napoleon carefully retrieved a paper package from his waist pouch containing a piece of fresh pork he had obtained that afternoon.
He slowly unwrapped the oil paper and placed it on the ground.
The meat's surface still carried blood, and its fishy smell quickly spread on the wind.
Napoleon gripped his blade and withdrew to a slight distance, crouching behind a large boulder to wait.
The wind was somewhat cold.
Napoleon positioned himself sideways, pressed against a white stone taller than a man, watching toward the meat.
Time slowly passed.
Grrrowwwl...
Soon, a low rumbling sound drifted faintly on the wind—it seemed like distant thunder, yet also like some great predator's hungry growl.
Whoosh!
Suddenly a massive shadow lunged from the side. The torch's reflection caught a pair of gleaming amber eyes.
The shadow moved with terrifying speed, pouncing on the meat, snatching it up in powerful jaws, and bounding away.
Napoleon's heart leaped with joy—he was about to move.
Suddenly his back tensed.
A cold wind struck his spine.
Napoleon's eyes widened as he gripped his sword and spun around in a horizontal slash.