Dinner at Bennett Castle was always prompt. With several knights in the household, the meal was set for 8 o'clock each evening—and tonight's spread was no different: beef, wheat porridge, and mashed potatoes.
Due to the family's modest means, there were no spices in the beef. Such luxuries were only within reach of wealthy nobles; they traveled all the way from elven lands in the far-off Twin Moons Forest, and after markups from both elven traders and human merchants, their prices were enough to make common folk gasp.
When the quiet, warm dinner ended, Abel was ready to head back to his room. He'd made the trip to Fort Lee Town that day, fought a skirmish, and spent two hours traveling—now, all he wanted was to wash up.
The castle was comfortable enough, but personal hygiene—simple things like bathing—was a hassle. When Abel first arrived, he'd struggled to adapt to the local habits, so he'd designed his own water distribution system.
Like most castles in this world, Bennett Castle was built near an underground spring. Without a private water source, a castle was a death trap; surrounded by enemies, it would fall for sure. So castles were sized to match their spring's output. Rumor had it the Grand Duke's castle had a spring that could supply thousands.
Bennett Castle's spring flowed well enough to meet the needs of several hundred people. But with fewer than a hundred souls living there—servants, guards, and their families—the water was more than ample.
Abel had asked the castle carpenter to build a waterwheel, powered by the spring's natural drop. It pumped water straight into a large wooden tank perched high on the castle walls. From there, bamboo pipes—hardened and bent over fire—carried the water to each room. He'd thought about copper pipes, but they were far too expensive, even before factoring in the cost of crafting them. The castle had no iron mines, so there was no blacksmith on hand; even iron pipes were out of the question. Bamboo, though? Heat it, and it could be shaped—and it held up well, too.
In his room, he'd added a wooden bathtub, a wooden washbasin, and even a wooden flush toilet. For the first time in this world, he felt a flicker of the modern life he'd left behind.
Wood was practically worthless here, save for rare, exotic varieties. If you had the strength to chop, you could cut down trees freely—every forest within Knight Bennett's 100-mile fiefdom belonged to the family. The carpenter's pay was just as trivial: he lived off the castle's provisions, tending to the fields when there was no woodwork to do, and only dropping his farm tools when the family needed him.
In the end, every room in the castle was retrofitted to Abel's design. Knight Bennett even had the carpenter sign a secrecy oath, forbidding him from building such a system for anyone else without the family's consent.
Knight Bennett had carefully documented the wooden water system and locked the records in the family's secret vault—treating it as a piece of the noble house's legacy. He knew using it themselves was safe, but sharing it would bring ruin. Powerful nobles would steal the technology for their own clans, then silence anyone who knew of it. Knight Bennett had seen that horror play out too many times.
After that, Abel never invented anything else. Without the power to protect his ideas, creating new things was dangerous—for him, and for the family. This world had existed for untold years, its history stretching back ten millennia, yet it had barely changed. No one knew what force kept it so stagnant. On Earth, such a society would have spawned new systems in a few centuries. Here, the same rules held for thousands of years.
"Abel, stay—you too, Zack," his father called, stopping him as he headed for the door. "You're a Level 1 Apprentice Knight now. You're ready to hear what I have to teach."
In the castle's training room, a servant had already set up wooden practice dummies. Knight Bennett grabbed a wooden sword from the rack against the wall, then fixed Abel with a steady gaze. "I heard about the Shadow Panther—low-grade knight tier. Even with Norman's help, taking it down as a Level 1 Apprentice… that surprises me."
"In my life, I've known countless geniuses. Better talent, more strength, faster reflexes—they had it all. But most didn't live to see my age. Do you know why?"
Knight Bennett's voice was grave, and he spoke more than he ever had. Since Abel had come to this world, he'd never heard his father say so much at once.
"Because a knight's strongest shield is also their fastest sword. We charge on horseback, draw heavy bows on foot. Those geniuses? They'd fixate on being the fastest, or the strongest. But I'm from a family with a full knight's legacy. I don't need to be the absolute fastest—or the absolute strongest. Instead, I'm the strongest among the fast, and the fastest among the strong. And against anyone? I can take the hardest hits."
Knight Bennett's voice rose, sharp with passion. "Our ancestors left us a complete legacy—passed down, unbroken, from one generation to the next. To me… and one day, to you. Gold, fine weapons, fancy armor—none of it compares to this. This legacy is our greatest treasure."
He tossed the wooden sword to Zack. "Show your brother how a knight truly attacks."
The second Zack's fingers closed around the sword, his eyes changed. He fixed the dummy with a beast's glare, then slid into a well-worn defensive stance, sword held horizontal. He exhaled softy—and in an instant, the defense shifted to a charge. Mid-stride, he thrust the sword forward; the dummy went flying. Before it hit the ground, Zack struck three more times—legs, waist, throat—each move flowing into the next, smooth as water, as perfect as a knight's textbook.
"You can go faster," his father said, as strict as ever. Zack, usually easygoing, nodded seriously.
"See that? That's a knight's attack, pure and simple. Charge to break their defense, then finish with quick strikes. Every move we use has been honed for thousands of years. Our job isn't to change them—it's to execute them perfectly. These moves? They're written in the blood and lives of every knight who came before us."
A bitter laugh touched his lips, like he was recalling something. "Always some 'genius' who thinks they can improve them. Every one I met? Dead."
"You need to make these moves part of your body—instinct. So fast, you don't even have to think. Your hands act before your mind does."
For the first time, Abel's pride over killing the Shadow Panther faded. Next to true knights—even next to Zack, an Apprentice Warrior trained in the family's legacy—his little tricks meant nothing.
In the days that followed, Abel practiced knight's moves from dawn till dusk. At night, he wore iron armor to build muscle. Before bed, he practiced the knight's breathing technique.
And his nightly portion of beef grew—now he got just as much as Zack. In this quiet house, Abel could feel it: his father had made a decision.