It was early morning, the sun still trying to peek through the horizon as Callum walked down the road. The streets were eerily vacant, the townsfolk still fast asleep. But that didn’t mean he was alone.

  Guards patrolled the alleyways, and a few adventurers jogged the cobbled paths. Several merchants were already setting up their stalls, even though no customers were roaming the market.

  Bird calls littered the air, the rustle of leaves blending in with each step he took as he walked by a small park where a few children were already out playing with wooden swords. He passed the mayor’s office, legs taking him somewhere other than the construction site where he usually worked at this hour.

  He remembered Orgham’s advice—and he intended to act upon it. He’d already informed Hans of his absence right after registering, so he wouldn’t lose his job. However, his days at the construction site might soon end if everything goes well.

  From today onwards, Callum will be focusing on his training. He still hadn’t decided on his weapon yet. Guns and rifles would be nice, but he couldn’t hope to find something like that anywhere. Most of what he’d seen were swords and axes, ranged weapons from bows and crossbows.

  He could decide on a weapon later, once he knew how people trained in the first place.

  With those thoughts, his steps brought him to a fortified building, its stone walls nearly thirty feet high. The gate stood open, guarded by two soldiers with spears in hand. Even when it was early in the morning, they stood on alert, eyes landing on him as he approached one of them.

  “Is this the town barracks?” Callum asked.

  The man eyed him for a moment, looking for any sudden movements.

  “Yeah,” answered the guard with a curt nod.

  “I heard the barracks offer some kind of training for a fee.”

  “That’s true, but the training grounds are currently occupied.”

  “Really?”

  The guard gave another firm nod, clearly uninterested in saying more.

  The plan he’d made throughout the night seemed to crumble with the guard’s words. He’d hoped to learn how to fight and see where it led. His class was , and knowing how to use it might’ve given him some insight into what really was. But luck didn’t seem to be on his side.

  Callum turned away with a sigh. He still had the Adventurers’ Guild to visit. But without knowing how to read, he’d have to ask Nick for help just to find a quest he could take. However, before he could leave the barracks’ vicinity, a loud shout caught his attention.

  “Did you say you’re looking to train?” a woman’s voice called out.

  When Callum looked back, he saw a lithe figure clad in knightly armor. She was a head taller than Callum, her pale skin and jet-black braid marking her as a Goliath. She was walking at a brisk pace, down the steps of the barracks building and onto the walled gate. However, what truly caught him off guard were her eyes. Most Goliaths he’d seen had bluish-grey irises, but hers had none at all—just a blank, snowy white, like her skin.

  The same could be said of him since the woman looked oddly at his pallid skin and blindfolded eyes.

  It was one of those oddities in this world. No one so much as questioned him about his blindfold. He only got one raised eyebrow, and that was it. He guessed that with the diverse races roaming the streets of Lynn, having some weird accessory was nothing.

  The guards saluted her, a clear sign of her authority.

  Their eyes showed no disrespect, only a deep loyalty towards the woman striding her way to him. It showed her status, someone above the hierarchy, if he had to guess. However, her sudden appearance made him tense his shoulders.

  “Yeah,” Callum said slowly, eyes narrowing slightly behind his blindfold. “A friend told me the barracks offer training if you pay.”

  The woman looked him over, eyes discerning his build as she nodded.

  “That’s true,” the Goliath woman said, crossing her arms in front of her breastplate. “We can train you if you don’t mind joining the town’s soldiers. Mornings are when we run drills, so the training grounds might be a little packed.”

  “No problem,” Callum replied, some of the tension leaving his system A surge of excitement replaced it, his heart beating faster at the opportunity to improve himself.

  He’d known how dangerous this world could be, what with all its mythical creatures and powerful characters. He even heard how a town not far from here had been decimated by a wyvern a few years back.

  If he wanted to live in this fantasy setting, he’d have to get stronger, and what better way than to learn how to fight.

  The thought of being discovered still lingered in the back of his mind, but curiosity burned brighter. He wanted to see what training looked like in a world shaped by swords and magic. Who knew? Maybe he’d even see some real magic.

  “What’s your name?” the knightly goliath asked with a slight tilt of her head.

  “Callum.”

  “Nice meeting you, Callum. I’m Captain Fiskal.”

  Fiskal offered him a hand, which he took. However, when their palms met, Fiskal’s brow rose slightly.

  “Are you nervous to train?”

  Callum’s breath caught a hitch at the sudden question, knowing exactly why the captain asked it in the first place.

  He was an undead creature, his body naturally cold to the touch. Even Tess from yesterday asked the same thing when they shook on their deal, and Callum found it frustrating to come up with excuses every time it happened. It was much luck that the group of adventurers didn’t feel his cold hand yesterday. Though there was that painful handshake from their healer.

  “Just a bit. It’s my first time doing this kind of thing,” he managed to say.

  “I see,” replied the woman. “Then, follow me.”

  Fiskal turned and walked back into the entrance of the Barracks. Callum followed after her, having to walk faster because of the woman’s long gait.

  The place smelled of metal and oil as they strode down the hall, their footfalls echoing with each step. Callum, for all his cluelessness, couldn't help but look around. It was his first time seeing such a place. It felt so ancient with its stone walls lit by blazing torches. It’s like he’d been transported to Earth’s past, walking down the halls of some great fort.

  Noticing his curiosity, the Goliath gave a brief tour of each room they passed.

  “This first hall leads to the common quarters,” she said without slowing down. “Soldiers bunk two to a room. It’s tight but efficient.”

  A couple of steps away, they passed an open doorway where a handful of half-dressed recruits were polishing their boots, their voices low, thick with morning grogginess. He likened it to a locker room, only with no lockers and not smelling of strong deodorant.

  Moving on, they came upon a large open door. Inside were a few long tables and metal chandeliers with unlit candles hanging high above the room.

  “Mess hall’s through there,” she continued. “You can get something to eat when lunch comes around, but since you’re not a recruit, you’ll have to pay for your meal.”

  They took a few more twists and turns, passing through several unfamiliar chambers. He saw one filled with racks of spears and swords, the sheer number of weapons reminding him that this place was built for battle.

  While Callum gawked around, eyes so wide with wonder they could probably pop out of their sockets, he failed to notice that Fiskal had stopped walking until he almost bumped into her. He caught himself just in time, taking a few quick steps back in case they turned around. Looking up, he saw huge double doors in front of them, their wooden frames reinforced by iron.

  “And here," she said, pushing the heavy doors open with ease, "is where you’ll learn to bleed properly."

  The courtyard beyond was alive with movement—soldiers drilling in formation, others sparring in pairs. Training dummies stood in neat rows, already battered from morning use.

  “Welcome to the training grounds.”

  The sounds of wood hitting wood, accompanied by grunts and shouts, filled Callum’s ears. It was chaos enclosed inside a house of order, and the one keeping it all in place was the woman beside him.

  Fiskal took a deep breath, filling his lungs full of air before bellowing at the busy fighters.

  “ATTENTION ALL SOLDIERS! We have a guest trainee with us today!”

  Her loud volume threatened to burst Callum’s eardrums. Some people winced at the sudden shout, going so far as to cup their ears.

  “No trouble in the training grounds! Anyone who steps out of line will answer to me—personally.”

  The woman scanned around the place, looking for anyone who would oppose her authority. When no one tried, she gave a quick nod and a reply.

  “Resume your training!”

  When those words left her mouth, the yard sprang back to life, louder and more vigorous.

  The sudden announcement was unusual, to say the least. Callum didn’t know any potential instructor announcing someone’s presence to a crowd of trainees. It would be akin to a guard shouting inside a mall just to announce a new customer.

  However, from that alone, Callum could tell that Fiskal was not the type of woman you would like to mess with.

  She may seem aloof, gaze calculating. However, she had been accommodating, to a certain extent. She was direct and no-nonsense. Even during the tour, her stride never faltered. Back on Earth, Callum could’ve pictured her running a department or managing a company.

  “So…” he drawled. “What do I do first?”

  Looking around, he could distinguish that most of the people here were human. Only a few characters were the typical dwarves and elves. With their stout physique and pointed ears, they were easily singled out from the bunch. Especially the goliaths, and he could only count three of the giants.

  To call this barracks strange was an understatement. He’d never been in a place like this. Back home, a gun range had lanes and officers. Archery ranges had designated targets. Even the local boxing gym had guides to give you instructions. But here? This was a whirlwind of motion filled with differing races.

  “Have you gone through your first ” the woman asked.

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  “Yeah. I picked the class,” he replied.

  At his answer, she called over one of the instructors.

  The man approached at a brisk pace, offering a short salute before speaking.

  “Aron, at your service!”

  He looked average—dark tunic, fingerless gloves, a face blank of all expression, human. Only discipline painted his features.

  Fiskal regarded him and then explained in detail how the training worked.

  She outlined his schedule and the training fees, though thanks to his Warrior class, he qualified for a discount. Callum guessed it was the barracks’ way of appealing to people with battle potential, hoping to poach them into the town’s army. The job paid decently, and the offer of steady work had its charm. But Callum didn’t see himself stuck in one settlement for long. He had plans to travel the world.

  As for the training, Aron explained they’d begin by testing Callum’s endurance, strength, reflexes, and dexterity. They needed to know his “stats” to tailor the regimen suitably.

  The word made Callum’s ear perk up.

  “What do you mean by ‘stats’?”

  “The Church of Order offers a service where they grade a person’s capabilities on paper,” Aron explained. “It was said the coined the term after negotiating with the God of Order. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” Callum answered, a little distracted.

  The more he heard, the more he suspected the hero to be someone from Earth. But dwelling on that would only spiral into questions he couldn’t answer, so he refocused on the training plan.

  Aron wanted to test his stamina and speed, so they started with running. The two moved towards a patch of land that looked eerily similar to a track and field. There were even some white markings showing each lane where people were already running.

  Crouching, Callum readied himself at one of the lanes, Aron informing him to run as many laps as he could. Getting to a running position, Callum tensed his calves, like a coiled spring ready to be unleashed.

  He waited for a signal, glancing towards Aron as they put a wooden whistle to their mouth. Then, with a sharp tune, Callum bolted.

  He left most of the recruits behind, his legs almost a blur as he lapped the field. Aron raised an eyebrow as Callum flew by repeatedly, clocking over a dozen laps easily. When the wooden whistle finally blew again, Callum slowed to a stop, barely out of breath.

  If his goal was to keep a low profile, he’d failed spectacularly. Eyes were already on him, some wide with awe, others narrowed with envy. He even forced himself to breathe heavily to seem more winded than he was, scanning the crowd with casual glances.

  But from the sharp stare of Fiskal overseeing the yard, there was no hiding. Her white eyes locked onto him. Whatever he'd tried to conceal—too late now.

  “Your stamina and speed’s above average,” Aron said, stepping closer to check Callum more carefully.

  “Guess all that construction work finally paid off,” Callum replied, forcing a chuckle to deflect the attention.

  It seemed to work. Most of the recruits he’d outrun nodded at his remark.

  Carrying stones, moving barrels, and mixing cement were hard work, no doubt about it. Judging by their expressions, some of them had done it themselves. But a few still held suspicious glances.

  Brushing off the attention, they moved to an area filled with what looked like weights—chiseled stone disks, each etched with what he assumed were this world’s version of pound markings. The script was still unrecognizable since Callum didn’t know how to read yet, but it wasn’t hard to guess that they represented the plates’ weight.

  The test was simple: lift as much as possible and record the total. Without hesitation, Callum stepped forward and picked up the smallest of the bunch to test its heft. He guessed it weighed around twenty pounds. Judging by its size, the next one was probably thirty.

  Setting the smaller stone aside, he walked down the row until he stood before the largest disk, which he estimated to be a hundred pounds.

  A quiet murmur rippled through the crowd, some whispering to each other about his choice of weights. Ignoring the attention, he rubbed his hands together, tuning out the mumbles with the slow beat of his heart. Callum took a breath, then crouched to grip the disk.

  What he expected as a hundred-pound plate turned out to be nearly five hundred. However, the surprise was short-lived, since he easily lifted the plate with his legs. It was like lifting a sack of potatoes, offering little strain.

  It was still a wonder how such a stone could weigh so much, but Callum only chalked it up as some kind of fantasy material.

  The quiet murmur from before rose into louder chatter and a few startled whistles, some even nodding at his direction.

  “He didn’t even flinch,” someone muttered.

  “Is that stone hollow or something?” another voice said, brows furrowing.

  Callum turned his head slightly but kept his expression mild. He wasn’t about to start explaining his unnatural strength. Better to play it cool.

  “Should I keep going?” he asked, half-joking.

  Some in the crowd voiced their approval, a few egging him on just to see how much he could really lift.

  “No one’s stopping you,” Instructor Aron said with a shrug.

  Callum nodded tentatively and turned toward a nearby stone plate on the floor. Catching his intent, Aron barked an order, and a few onlookers stepped forward to lift the heavy stone and bring it to him.

  So much for keeping a low profile; his childish urge to show off had taken over, and now he stood holding a thousand pounds of stone. He felt a slight strain creeping into his muscles, but he could still lift more.

  With each new weight stacked on top of the last, more people gathered to watch. It was turning into a full-blown spectacle—one that even Captain Fiskal seemed to enjoy. She stood among the crowd, watching intently as the final plate was handed to him.

  In total, he managed to lift sixteen hundred pounds. It was the limit. The strain had fully set in, his arms trembling slightly as he fought to keep them steady.

  Realizing he couldn’t go any further, Instructor Aron stepped in and ordered several onlookers to help remove the weights from Callum’s grip.

  “That was half a ton.”

  “Are you sure the whole thing isn’t rigged?”

  “Those plates are real—I helped carry the big one. Took two of us just to move it.”

  Callum ignored the whispers and turned to the man overseeing his test.

  “How’d I do?”

  “Spectacular,” Instructor Aron said with a slight smirk. “You’ve exceeded everyone’s expectations. Even Captain Fiskal looks impressed.”

  The compliment was appreciated. The thought of passing made him feel like he’d accomplished something only a few could. He could probably lift more if they were barbells, the bar offering more grip than the stone plates.

  But now that the adrenaline had faded, reality began to settle in.

  He had just shown off his strength in front of the entire training ground. People had seen what he could do—at least a glimpse—but that also raised questions.

  How did he get this strong?

  He could offer excuses, downplay his performance, and maybe attribute it to hard labor or genetics. But the more he deflected, the more suspicious it would seem. So far, no one had pressed him for answers, but that wouldn't last forever.

  “Everyone! Back to training!” Fiskal hollered, her sharp tone jolting the crowd into motion.

  She strode toward the two, offering a small smile as she looked at Callum in a different light, completely unaware of the storm churning inside him.

  “You’ve got promise. If you hadn’t told me this was your first instance of , I would’ve assumed you were already at your second.”

  It sounded like a compliment—maybe it was. But when her expression hardened, Callum second-guessed himself.

  “But that doesn’t mean you’re ready for battle,” she warned.

  “I know,” Callum replied.

  He knew he was lacking. The only real fights he’d ever been in were bar brawls in Los Angeles. But this world was different. With magic in the mix, it felt like there was a blade pressed to his throat at every turn. Every night, he replayed the stories his co-workers told: bandits stalking the roads beyond the walls, beasts prowling just outside town. There were even rumors of murders within the settlement—enough to keep him awake, even when he didn’t need much sleep.

  Which was why he wanted to train in the first place. There was no point living in constant paranoia, no point in a life where he spent every day looking over his shoulder. Maybe he was the only one who thought this way—after all, he’d died once—but he’d be damned if he let himself get killed again for no reason.

  Seeing his resolve, Fiskal nodded.

  “It’s good to see you recognize your flaws. Keep training, and you’ll shore up those weaknesses.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After giving a final nod, Fiskal returned to her supervisory duties, moving through the training grounds to check each soldier’s progress. Aron, meanwhile, led Callum to the final trial.

  The setup looked like every child’s dream backyard, filled with hanging platforms, thin walking beams, and swinging targets.

  The test consisted of a multi-part obstacle course designed to challenge dexterity and reflexes. Instructor Aron stood nearby with a silver stopwatch in hand.

  At the sharp blast of a whistle, Callum shot forward, ducking under swinging logs, leaping over stones, and balancing across narrow beams and rickety bridges.

  It was by far the hardest test. Every movement had to be precise.

  The course was designed with mobility in mind, demanding precise, acrobatic movements to navigate certain sections.

  Despite his strength, it sometimes worked against him. More than once, he overjumped a gap and smacked his head on a low-hanging log. Even after a month and a half in this undead body, his mind still lagged behind, unable to adjust to the body’s new instincts.

  Callum fumbled through more than a few of them. His reflexes were good—great, even—but that didn’t mean he could act on them properly.

  His body still felt unfamiliar. Being undead had changed more than his strength. And now, as he pushed his limits, he finally realized how deep those changes ran.

  It wasn’t until the final stretch of the obstacle course that Callum realized the issue. As he raced through ropes and beams, multiple branches held by strings came at him. His mind shouted to dodge, but before the thought was even finished, his body moved on its own.

  It felt like piloting a ship with a stubborn co-pilot—his instincts were in control, overstepping his reason. His body acted before his mind could catch up, and the dissonance was becoming impossible to ignore. The conflict between mind and flesh caused him to lose his footing, smacking his head on a piece of wood.

  Callum’s brows were knitted, his breath coming in puffs when he finished the last course. Instructor Aron saw his sour face, and from the small shake of their head, it was obvious he had bombed the test.

  It took a while for him to compose himself enough to speak to his trainer. He focused on his breathing, trying to keep his temper in check. The frustration of scoring poorly simmered beneath the surface, but something else stirred within him—a familiar surge of power. He could feel his control slipping, his presence threatening to spill over. But with a firm mental grip, he pulled it back, forcing it to settle inside him before anyone noticed the growing tension in his mind.

  “From the look you’re giving me, I’d guess I failed this test?” Callum asked, getting straight to the point.

  Aron confirmed it with a slight nod.

  “Your reflexes are impressive, but your dexterity and overall mobility are lacking. It’s like your body doesn’t know how to move under pressure,” he said with a slight frown.

  Callum sighed. He’d already sensed it—his body refusing to obey his mind. There was a strange disconnect between thought and action, and the sensation was deeply unsettling. It felt like wrestling with a beast for control, his willpower pushing against undead flesh that wouldn't listen. Without understanding why, he could only look to his instructor for guidance.

  “It’s likely your body just isn’t used to the stress. The only way to fix that is with continued practice,” Aron said, thoughtfully. “Which we can offer here at the barracks.”

  Hearing that there was at least a path forward came as a relief. He hadn’t even realized how tense his shoulders were until they finally relaxed.

  With the tests finished, Instructor Aron had a clear sense of what needed improvement. He outlined a training plan: daily obstacle courses, reflex drills, and basic hand-to-hand forms to build coordination.

  When Callum asked what weapons might suit him, Aron shut the idea down. First, he explained, Callum needed to understand how his body moved. Picking up a weapon too early—especially one that didn’t match his natural movement—would only slow him down. Synergy, Aron added, was key, especially when it came to future .

  The advice made sense, and for the first time since entering the barracks, Callum felt a real sense of direction. It wasn’t much, but it was a start—and that was enough.

  ***

  By the time Callum stepped into the Guilds, the sun hung high overhead. Though his body was more resilient to fatigue, the same couldn't be said to his mind as the morning’s training had left his head foggy. But the steady gains—the creeping sense of control over his movements—made it worth the effort.

  The Adventurers’ Guild greeted him with cool shade and the soft hum of voices. The air carried the scent of parchment and oil, a far cry from the sweat and dust of the training grounds. Callum’s senses adjusted to the dimmer interior, the sunlight behind him making shadows stretch long across the stone floor.

  Polished brass lanterns flickered from the walls, their enchanted glow casting a golden sheen over wooden counters and swaying banners. A young elf scanned through job postings near the quest board, while a pair of dwarves argued over the best route through the eastern marshes. Behind the front desk, a clerk with ink-stained fingers scribbled away without looking up.

  Nick had agreed to join him on his first quest. They were supposed to meet just before noon, but Callum was running late—thanks to the brutal training session that morning.

  Still, without the training, he wouldn’t have made any progress in understanding how worked. Even from a single morning, he’d picked up insights into close-quarters combat—feints, jabs, grapples, even blocks. He absorbed every lesson like a dried sponge, his mind grasping each motion with uncanny ease. It was almost second nature, as if his body already knew the dance and just needed reminding.

  He recalled Nick’s lesson, how made picking up skills tied to one’s class easier. With the class, he could potentially master every proper hand form in close combat within days, so long as he kept at it. And with the tangible sense of progress he felt, he knew he'd be returning to the training grounds almost daily, chasing those gains.

  With a light pep in his step, Callum walked over to an empty table. The guild lobby held fewer people when it was noon, most adventurers were already busy with their quests and jobs they’d picked in the morning. Scanning the length of the guild, he couldn’t see the man who was supposed to guide him on his first-ever quest.

  He remembered Nick mentioning that he and Morrick had taken a quest beyond the town walls, about hunting a blood bear terrorizing a nearby village.

  So, with a quiet sigh, Callum leaned back in his chair, watching the different races drift through the Guild’s wooden interior while tapping a finger on the table.

  The quiet was short-lived, though, as a figure in a white cloak entered his perception, moving with a quiet grace. People seemed to overlook their presence as they sauntered toward him.

  There was something oddly familiar about them—their unblemished robe struck a chord in his memory.

  Shifting his weight, Callum regarded the stranger. He raised an eyebrow, causing the stranger to stop a few feet away. It wasn’t until he saw them holding a particular coin pouch that he remembered where he’d seen them before.

  “Excuse me,” came a soft voice behind the cloth-covered face.

  “Is this yours?”