Chapter 8: A Leap Forward

“What? Uncle Marcus is injured!” Charles stared at Eve in shock. He could scarcely believe that Uncle Marcus, famed for his strength, had been wounded while gathering herbs in the Duskwood. A man of his caliber—strong enough to take on a hundred bandits single-handedly—how could he possibly be hurt at the forest’s edge? To Charles, it was simply inconceivable.

He hurried out of the study as soon as he received Eve’s report, making his way to the manor's council hall.

Upon entering, Charles caught sight of the burly man seated to the left of the Baron and immediately breathed a sigh of relief. Marcus now bore a fresh, fierce scar across his face, and his black armor was deeply scored, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. As Charles entered, Marcus nodded to him in greeting.

“It seems there’s trouble brewing again,” the Baron said, his face clouded as he sat in his seat. He glanced at Charles with a frown. “Charles, you are the heir of our house. No matter what happens, you must remain composed. What does it look like, rushing about in a panic?”

“Yes, Father!” Charles quickly bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“Sit and listen quietly.” The Baron’s intent was clear: he wanted his son to be involved in the family’s affairs.

The old steward, Simon, his silver hair immaculate though his voice was rough, spoke up. “The barbarians have crossed the Duskwood. They must be plotting something significant.”

“What of it? Ten years ago, we fought them off. They’re just a pack of worthless curs. If not for their ambush, they’d never have laid a finger on me!” Marcus licked his lips, the warmth gone from his square face, which now resembled an enraged bear.

The Baron’s expression remained grim. He tapped his fingers absently on the table, the sound crisp and sharp, as he issued his orders: “Simon, send word to Westspring Fortress and Stormport. We must prepare in advance!”

“At once, my lord.” Simon remained standing stiffly behind the Baron, leaning in to speak softly. “Shall I summon Chief Blake and Chief Biller for a council? Our three houses are bound in alliance.”

The Blake family, Field’s kin, were entrusted with Westspring Fortress, commanding over a thousand troops. The Biller family held lands behind Goldspark Town. The three families had long shared deep bonds, their heirs growing up together since childhood.

“Not for now. The southern barbarians Marcus encountered were likely just scouts, here to gather information,” the Baron replied with a wave of his hand, his voice growing colder and his face betraying no anxiety. “The Duskwood is no easy passage. Even the Storm Legion couldn’t break through. For those barbarians to cross, they’ll pay with half their lives. Whatever remains won’t be more than a handful of battered survivors, hardly worth fear.”

“What troublesome times. Lady Leah is already off in the rear of Faunshire to root out bandits, and now the southern tribes stir again. The imperial princes…” Marcus began.

“No more of that!” the Baron snapped, cutting him off with a voice that brooked no dissent, his presence growing all the more formidable. “I care nothing for the affairs elsewhere. In Goldspark Town, none can stand against me!”

“Marcus, select a group from among the miners and begin their training. We need to form a fighting force as soon as possible.”

“Simon, send someone to Stormport to purchase a batch of weapons and equipment. Spare no expense—so long as we hold the gold mines, I lack for nothing but coin!”

Both men nodded in agreement. The Baron’s eyes lingered on Charles, who sat quietly, and a flicker of disappointment passed through them.

“Charles, keep your studies up. You must pass the Imperial Royal Academy’s entrance examination!”

“Yes, Father!” Charles replied, straightening up at once.

The Baron’s stern face softened just a little. “Your wish to practice martial arts is commendable. Have Marcus draft a detailed training regimen for you—no slacking, no tantrums.”

“I will.” Charles nodded. With the modulator in his possession, he had no fear of the training. If it became too much, he could always use evolution points to raise his stats directly.

“If you’re to train, eat more meat. The patrols have hunted plenty of forest wolves and bears recently—help yourself to bear paws and gall, whatever you like. Tell your maid to inform Anna if you want anything. Look at you—so thin it’s a wonder you’re still standing,” the Baron instructed.

Charles nodded, rose, and after a polite bow, left the hall with his head slightly lowered.

Marcus followed him out, his great palm landing gently on Charles’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, young master. It’s just a few barbarian grunts.”

“It was my fault you were hurt,” Charles said, embarrassed.

“Haha, what nonsense! If I hadn’t gone out to gather herbs, we wouldn’t have discovered those wretches.” Marcus laughed heartily, but the motion pulled at his wound, cutting his laughter short. He gritted his teeth in annoyance. “That bastard was hiding in the water for an ambush. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been injured.”

Before Charles could respond, Marcus shook it off and said, “I’ve gathered enough herbs. I’ll fetch Old Bull to prepare a medicinal bath for you—it should be ready by tomorrow.”

With that, Marcus strode away, leaving Charles lost in thought. The conversation he had overheard replayed in his mind.

Southwest of Westspring Fortress stretched the endless Vogul Steppe, home to many nomadic tribes—some of them uncivilized, even cannibalistic. These tribes wandered with the waters, frequently harassing the empire’s borders throughout history.

Ten years ago, the Storm Legion, led by General Blake, had driven deep into the steppe, razing the enemy camp and slaughtering tens of thousands of barbarians. Yet less than a decade later, they were probing the border once more—a foolhardy lot indeed.

What troubled Charles most was the prospect of a large-scale invasion. Westspring Fortress alone could not withstand such an assault; if Stormport’s reinforcements did not arrive in time, Goldspark Town would be doomed to plunder and massacre.

If that happened, he, the young master, would be ruined—barely a taste of luxury before being forced to wander the land…

The next evening, Marcus brought him the prepared concoction.

A jar of pale liquid was for drinking, and a larger jar was poured into a steaming bath. With one hand, Marcus lifted him and lowered him into the tub.

“Hot! It’s hot!” Charles screamed as his skin turned crimson, like a boiled shrimp.

But that wasn’t all—he felt a surge of heat rising from his stomach, spreading through his limbs, and could distinctly sense his body changing.

“Young master, stay in as long as you can—the longer, the better the absorption,” Marcus said, clearly amused. The wound on his face had scabbed over and fresh pink flesh was already growing.

Charles endured the heat both inside and out, summoned the interface with a thought.

“Mental: 1.8, Strength: 0.6, Constitution: 0.6, Agility: 0.7.”

Now, except for his mental stat, the other three attributes began to flicker slightly, and a new line appeared below:

“Absorbing external energy, strengthening the body…”

The bath lasted over an hour. Marcus had servants add hot water continually until Charles’s skin turned pale, only then letting him out.

“Mental: 1.8, Strength: 0.7, Constitution: 0.7, Agility: 0.8.”

All three stats had increased by 0.1—Charles was glad he hadn’t hastily used his evolution points.

Eve came to help him dress, her cheeks burning a deep red, unable to meet his eyes.

“Young master, you can start to enjoy the pleasures of manhood,” Marcus teased, waggling his eyebrows before laughing and leaving.

Charles gave an awkward smile. The girl beside him was so flustered, and to his eyes she seemed no older than a middle schooler from his previous life—far too young for him to even consider.

Over the next five days, he took five more medicinal baths, but had already developed a strong resistance and could no longer improve his attributes this way.

“Mental: 1.8, Strength: 0.9, Constitution: 0.9, Agility: 1.1.”

He reviewed his stat panel, focusing on the skills section. With a thought, the Totem Drawing skill appeared. “Since I meet the requirements, let’s upgrade it directly,” he murmured.

The evolution points began to drop, and the skill’s level shifted from Novice to Proficient, and then leaped directly to Master!

“Totem Drawing: Master.”

“It actually cost six evolution points at once!” Charles frowned. It had only taken half a point to reach Novice, yet now the cost had multiplied several times.

Still, it was a fair trade. The modulator had turned him, in just a few days, from a complete outsider into a master of totemic drawing—fully capable of working in totem repair. He couldn’t help but sigh in admiration: the modulator was, without doubt, the ultimate cheat.

As his skill improved, a warm stream circulated through his body, finally concentrating in his hands. He found his fingers growing nimbler, able to perform astonishing feats as though each digit had a life of its own.

After adapting for a moment, Charles opened his notebook and easily copied all the basic inherited patterns it contained.

A peculiar smile crept onto his face. “Next, it’s time to pay a visit to that so-called mentor of mine!”