I can evolve everything

After finishing his training, Ryan did not linger in the courtyard. After saying goodbye to Lina, he went straight to Fitz, the old servant who was wiping silverware.

"Fitz, what good armor and shields are in Father's arsenal that I can use?"

Fitz stopped what he was doing and looked up in surprise: "Young Master Renn, you're here... for the assessment?"

"That's right."

The old servant's expression turned somewhat troubled. He sighed and put down the cloth in his hand:

"Young master, you've probably forgotten. The apprentice knight examination is supervised by the local knightly order; it's a sacred and solemn affair. To ensure absolute fairness and prevent noble children from cheating by taking advantage of their equipment, the rules were established long ago."

Fitz paused, then began to explain in detail:

"The assessment consists of three parts. The first part is the 'Strength Trial,' which requires participants to complete a designated task while under load. The second part is the 'Skill Demonstration,' which varies each year and will be revealed during the assessment, but it usually involves swordsmanship. The most important third part is the 'Duel of Courage,' in which all participants must remove their equipment."

"Everyone must wear the standard armor provided by the Knights and use identical blunt longswords. This is to test the true strength of the participants under the same standard. That's how the Master was trained back then."

This world is almost rigidly fair in some respects.

The last shred of hope in Renn's heart vanished.

In terms of equipment, it seems there are no shortcuts. He can only rely on himself and the [Iron Wall Stance] that will be available in twenty-eight days.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.

The weather in Greystone Town gradually cleared up, and the stone slabs in the courtyard exuded a warm glow in the sunlight.

During these fifteen days, Rein's life became quite regular. Every morning, he would appear in the courtyard to begin the most basic physical fitness and swordsmanship training.

Two days ago, he once again entered that misty corridor, and his attributes on the wall remained unchanged.

But Ryan could clearly feel that some positive changes were happening in his body.

At first, I could only do a dozen or so push-ups, but now I can barely manage thirty; at first, I would be out of breath after swinging the wooden sword a dozen times, but now I can keep going for half a morning.

Although physical fitness cannot be significantly improved in a short period of time, a regular lifestyle and sweating have taken away the alcohol and some hidden ailments that had accumulated in the body over the years.

The only thing he didn't improve on was his swordsmanship.

His swordsmanship talent is quite worrying.

Even with Lina's patient guidance and his daily repetition of the same movements, his slashes remained crooked and his thrusts weak and ineffective.

Many techniques that Lina grasped instantly required him to practice dozens or even hundreds of times before he could barely get a semblance of their form.

He even began to understand why the original owner of this body had given up on herself.

Perhaps it was because he realized from a young age that he had no talent in swordsmanship that he chose to numb himself with alcohol and gambling to escape his father's stern gaze.

In the courtyard, Renn was trying to maintain a standard defensive stance, the wooden sword in his hand trembling slightly due to his arm shaking.

Lina stood opposite him, looking quite serious.

"Second brother, you've lost your balance again." She gently tapped Renn's knee with her practice sword.

"Remember what your father said: your feet must be firmly planted in the ground like tree roots. No matter how your upper body sways, your lower body must not move."

"Okay, okay." Renn gritted his teeth and readjusted his posture.

Lina sheathed her sword, looked at her second brother's sweaty appearance, and sighed inwardly.

Two weeks ago, she might have still had a sliver of hope that she could pass the test with Ryan, but now that hope has been completely dashed.

She was now 100% certain that her second brother had absolutely no talent for swordsmanship.

With his current skill level, let alone a month, even if he were given another year, it's unlikely he could last a minute under Sir Karen.

The probability of success approaches zero.

But she didn't show it on her face.

At least for now, she seems to be making an effort to break free from the past. She cherishes this change immensely.

"However, your stamina is much better than yesterday," Lina encouraged Renn. "As long as you keep going, you'll definitely improve."

"Really?" Ryan grinned. "I think so too."

Looking at Renn's smile, Lina became increasingly worried.

What she's worried about now is no longer her father's anger.

She was even more afraid that when failure came a month later, it would completely shatter the confidence her brother had painstakingly built up over the past two weeks, turning him back into that good-for-nothing who spent his days drinking.

She secretly made up her mind that she had to prepare the money for the boat ticket to the next town.

No, perhaps we should prepare more so that he can stay outside for a longer period of time.

After a short rest, Raine once again raised the wooden sword in his hand and aimed it forward.

He probably knew how bad his talent was, but he had no other choice.

All he can do is try his best to improve himself before the [Iron Wall Stance] is fully evolved.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Meanwhile, Ryan's father, Linus Wilder, stood behind the window of his second-floor study, his gaze passing through the windowpane and landing on the courtyard below.

He has been standing here motionless since dawn.

As the sheriff of Greystone, a knight-errant, his life for the first few decades consisted of duty, honor, and the blade.

His body was like a granite block in a reed field; every scar etched by time on his body concealed a story of arduous battle. His palms were large and rough, covered with calluses and tiny scars from years of wielding a sword.

His gaze was fixed on the two figures training in the courtyard.

His youngest daughter, Lina, received rigorous sword training from a young age.

He could see the power in every swing of her sword, which was not only the result of diligent practice, but also a manifestation of the Wilder family's talent.

He was quite pleased with this, and even a little proud.

But at this moment, his gaze inevitably lingered on another stumbling figure.

Rennes.

This second son had been giving him headaches for over a decade.

Over the past two weeks, he has witnessed all the changes in his son.

Although on the surface it seems like there's not much progress—after half a month of training, he can only barely complete one set of basic exercises—this is something unimaginable in the past.

Fitz whispered in his ear more than once, "Sir, young master Ryan has really changed."

Even Lina, who rarely talks about Raine, whispered during dinner last night, "My second brother is working very hard."

Linus simply nodded without saying a word.

He had witnessed his son's short attention span far too many times.

In the past few years, every solemn vow made has ultimately vanished in taverns and gambling tables.

By now, he may have become accustomed to disappointing his son, and may have even learned to stop having expectations.

But this time, it seems to be really different.

He saw Lina finish instructing Raine and turn to leave.

Meanwhile, Renn remained alone in the courtyard, repeating the thrusting and parrying movements he had practiced thousands of times.

From dawn until nearly noon, the sunlight compressed his shadow shorter and shorter, and sweat slid down his forehead, dripping onto the grass in the courtyard.

That focus was something Linus had never seen in his son.

He turned and left the window.

"Fitz," he called out in a deep voice.

"Master." The old servant appeared silently at the study door.

"Go and call Renn here."

"Yes, sir."