A Sudden Desire to Study
After finishing his lunch, Rayan leaned back in his chair with a satisfied expression.
Ah, food. Truly one of the greatest blessings in this world.
He had discovered several important things since his reincarnation.
First, his new family loved him dearly.
Second, this world contained magic-like abilities, strange creatures, and enough mysteries to keep him occupied for a lifetime.
Third, his little friend Ran was a walking disaster who occasionally turned his bed into a swimming pool.
And fourth, no matter how talented he might be, his stomach remained remarkably ordinary.
Unfortunately, his meal was over, which meant he had to return to the business of living.
More specifically, he needed to learn how to read.
He glanced toward the scroll he had received from Grandpa.
It was sitting safely in his room, waiting for the day he could finally understand its contents.
An ancient technique, passed down through generations of the Zu family.
And I can't even read the instructions.
What a tragic waste of talent.
Rayan sighed.
Then he stood up, thanked his parents for the meal, and headed outside.
His first destination was obvious.
Ran's house.
Or, more accurately, the place where Ran could usually be found causing trouble.
When Rayan arrived, he spotted her playing in the front yard. She was arranging little wooden blocks into a tower, although the tower appeared to be losing a battle against gravity.
One block fell.
Then another.
Then the entire structure collapsed.
Ran stared at the wreckage.
Rayan stared at Ran.
Ran slowly turned toward him.
"Rayan!"
"Yes?"
"My tower broke!"
Rayan examined the scattered blocks.
"Perhaps it was tired of standing."
Ran blinked.
Then she nodded as if he had offered a profound explanation.
"Let's build another one!"
And there goes my peaceful afternoon.
Nevertheless, Rayan sat down beside her.
The two had barely started building a new tower when their grandmothers came outside.
Rayan's grandmother had apparently been waiting for an opportunity to speak with Ran's mother.
She looked at the two children and smiled.
"Rayan, come here for a moment."
Rayan stood up and walked over.
"Yes, Grandma?"
"I spoke to Ran's mother about your wish to learn reading and writing."
Rayan immediately straightened.
Finally! My academic career begins!
His grandmother continued, "She's agreed to teach you whenever she has free time in the morning and evening."
Rayan's eyes brightened.
"Really?"
"Yes. Now, what should you say?"
Rayan turned toward Ran's mother and bowed his little head as politely as he could.
"Thank you, Aunty!"
Ran's mother waved her hand.
"There's no need to thank me so seriously. It's not a big deal."
She looked at Ran, who was now trying to stack three blocks on top of one another.
"Besides, perhaps Ran will learn something if she studies alongside you."
Rayan followed her gaze.
Ran placed the third block.
The tower wobbled.
She held her breath.
The tower fell.
Ran stared at it in disbelief.
Then she looked at Rayan.
"Rayan, the blocks are naughty!"
Rayan pressed his lips together.
Yes. Of course. The blocks are responsible.
He looked back at Ran's mother.
"Then we'll study together!"
Ran immediately perked up.
"Study?"
"Yes," Rayan explained. "We'll learn reading and writing."
Ran tilted her head.
"Will there be food?"
Rayan paused.
Now that's the sort of question a serious student should ask.
"Probably."
Ran raised both arms.
"Yay! I want to study!"
Rayan's grandmother chuckled.
His own mother, who had come outside to see what was happening, shook her head with an amused smile.
And just like that, two three-year-old children began their academic journey.
Neither their families nor their teacher had any idea what they were getting themselves into.
The Beginning of Two Little Scholars
Ran's mother began teaching them the next morning.
She started with the simplest things: the basic characters of their written language, how to recognize them, and how to reproduce them with a writing brush.
For ordinary children, learning to read and write was a gradual process.
Most began around the age of five and developed their reading, writing, and speaking skills over several years. By around ten, they would generally have a comfortable command of everyday language and basic written material.
Rayan, however, had a slight advantage.
He had the memories of a young adult from another world.
Although the written language was unfamiliar, he already understood many basic ideas about grammar, sentences, numbers, and how learning worked.
He knew how to memorize information.
He knew how to recognize patterns.
Most importantly, he knew that pretending to understand something was not the same as actually understanding it.
Thank goodness I don't have to start from zero.
Now, if only my tiny hands would cooperate.
His first attempt at writing a character looked as though a particularly confused insect had crawled through spilled ink.
He stared at the paper.
Then at his brush.
Then at his hand.
Perhaps I should blame the brush.
His teacher looked at the paper.
"That's a good first attempt, Rayan. Try holding the brush a little more gently."
Rayan nodded.
Fine. The brush has been granted a second chance.
He tried again.
This time, the character was recognizable.
Barely.
But recognizable.
Meanwhile, Ran was sitting beside him, staring at her own paper.
She had drawn something that resembled a circle with several extra lines attached to it.
Her mother leaned over.
"Ran, what did you write?"
Ran proudly pointed at the drawing.
"My name!"
Her mother blinked.
"That's not your name, dear."
Ran looked down at the paper.
Then she looked back up.
"Then why did my hand write it?"
Rayan nearly dropped his brush.
An excellent question. Perhaps your hand has a secret identity.
Ran's mother gently guided her hand and showed her how to form the first character.
Ran watched carefully.
Then she tried again.
Her second attempt was much better.
Her mother smiled.
"Very good!"
Ran beamed.
Rayan looked at the paper.
Then at Ran.
Then at his own writing.
Wait a minute.
Why did she improve so quickly?
He shook his head.
No, no. She's only learning the basics. There's no reason to panic.
The lesson continued.
Within a few days, Rayan had memorized the first set of characters.
Within a few weeks, he was recognizing simple words.
Before long, he could read short sentences and write basic phrases.
He wasn't perfect, of course. His handwriting was still awkward, and occasionally he would forget a stroke or confuse two similar characters.
But his progress was remarkable.
His teacher began bringing him slightly more difficult exercises.
Rayan completed them.
She gave him a short passage to read.
He read it.
She asked him to write a few sentences on his own.
He did that too.
Every time she increased the difficulty, he adapted.
His family was delighted.
Grandpa, in particular, became unbearably proud.
"My grandson is a genius!"
He announced this so frequently that Rayan began to suspect his grandfather had only learned one sentence in his entire life.
"Father," Rayan's own father remarked one afternoon, "you've said that at least ten times today."
"And I'll say it ten more times if I feel like it!"
Grandpa folded his arms.
"What's wrong with praising my grandson?"
"Nothing. But he can hear you."
Grandpa looked at Rayan.
Rayan looked back.
Then Rayan nodded gravely.
"Grandpa, I agree with Father."
Grandpa's eyes widened.
"You agree with him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if you keep praising me this much, I might become arrogant."
Grandpa stared at him.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Hahahaha! Listen to that! Even his modesty is extraordinary!"
Rayan closed his eyes.
There is no winning against this man.
But there was something else happening during those lessons.
Something far more interesting than Rayan's rapid progress.
Ran was learning just as quickly.
At first, Rayan assumed she would eventually lose interest. She was energetic, easily distracted, and had a habit of turning almost every ordinary activity into a game.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
If a butterfly passed the window, she wanted to follow it.
If someone brought snacks, she wanted to eat them.
If Rayan finished an exercise before her, she wanted to see what he had written.
Yet whenever she sat down to study, she paid surprising attention.
She remembered the characters after seeing them only a few times.
She could recognize words she had been taught days earlier.
And when given a new exercise, she often worked out the answer with very little help.
One morning, their teacher wrote several new characters on the board.
"All right, children. Let's see if you remember these."
Rayan read them carefully.
Ran read them too.
Then the teacher erased the board and asked them to write the characters from memory.
Rayan completed his work and put down his brush.
He turned to see how Ran was doing.
She was already finished.
Rayan stared at her paper.
The characters were correct.
Not merely recognizable.
Correct.
He slowly turned toward her.
"Ran."
"Hmm?"
"How did you do that?"
She looked at her paper.
"With my hand."
Rayan closed his eyes.
Of course. Why did I expect a useful answer?
Their teacher checked the papers and looked genuinely surprised.
"Ran, you remembered all of them?"
Ran nodded happily.
"Yes!"
"Even the last two?"
"Yes!"
The woman checked again.
Everything was correct.
She looked at Rayan, then at Ran, and finally let out a soft laugh.
"Well, it seems I have two talented little students."
Rayan wasn't convinced.
One talented student, perhaps.
But two?
He had the advantage of a previous life. His knowledge and experience made learning easier, even if the written language itself was new to him.
Ran had no such advantage.
She was simply a child who seemed to absorb information at an astonishing rate.
And that was what bothered him.
She's not supposed to be this good.
She's supposed to be the girl who tries to eat paper because she thinks it looks like a snack.
He glanced at her.
Ran was busy drawing a tiny face in the corner of her notebook.
She noticed him looking and smiled.
"Rayan, look! I made you!"
The drawing had two eyes, a crooked mouth, and hair that appeared to be attempting an escape.
Rayan stared at it.
"Why do I look like that?"
Ran tilted her head.
"Because you're Rayan!"
I see. The artist's vision is beyond my understanding.
Despite her strange artistic decisions, there was no denying her talent.
And Rayan soon discovered that she wasn't just good at memorizing characters.
She was good at understanding them.
If she learned a new word, she could often work out how it might be used in another sentence. If their teacher explained a simple rule, Ran would remember it and apply it to a different example.
She wasn't merely repeating what she had been taught. This story is hosted at g.com.
She was learning how to learn.
For a three-year-old, that was extraordinary.
Rayan leaned back in his chair and sighed.
Wonderful.
I reincarnated into a fantasy world, gained a mysterious bloodline ability, and found a childhood friend who might be an even bigger genius than me.
At this rate, I'll be the second most talented person in my own childhood.
Then Ran tugged his sleeve.
"Rayan, can we eat now?"
He looked at her.
Then at their teacher.
Then at the stack of exercises waiting on the table.
"Not yet."
Ran's shoulders drooped.
Rayan patted her head.
"Finish these first. Then we can eat."
She immediately picked up her brush.
"Okay!"
Rayan nodded with satisfaction.
At least I have discovered one way to motivate her.
Food.
The most powerful educational tool in existence.
A Five-Year Academic Miracle
The years passed.
Rayan and Ran continued studying together, with lessons in the morning and evening whenever their teacher had time.
At first, their progress had seemed impressive.
Then it became unusual.
Then it became difficult for the adults around them to explain.
By the time they were four, both children could read simple stories and write short passages.
At five, they were comfortable with everyday written language, could read children's books without much help, and were beginning to study more complicated material.
At six, they were reading texts that their teacher had originally intended for older children.
And by the time they were seven, they had completed the basic education that would normally take children several more years.
Their teacher eventually put down her writing brush and stared at the two of them.
"I believe… I've taught you everything I can at this level."
Ran blinked.
"Does that mean class is over?"
Her teacher smiled.
"Yes, Ran. You've completed your basic lessons."
Ran immediately raised both arms.
"Yay! No more studying!"
Rayan grabbed her sleeve before she could leap out of her chair.
"Wait."
Ran turned toward him.
"What?"
"We still need to review what we've learned."
Ran stared at him with the expression of someone who had just been betrayed by the person she trusted most.
"Rayan!"
"What?"
"You said class was over!"
"It is."
"Then why are you talking about studying?"
"Because class is over. Learning isn't."
Ran's face fell.
Rayan nodded solemnly.
The truth is often painful.
Their teacher laughed so hard that she had to cover her mouth.
However, even she couldn't deny the truth.
These two children had completed in roughly four years what many ordinary children took far longer to accomplish.
Rayan was impressive, but Ran's talent was particularly astonishing.
Without any memories from another life, she had progressed almost as quickly as he had.
She had a natural gift for language, memory, and understanding.
She was, in the truest sense, a little genius.
Of course, that didn't mean she had become a perfectly behaved child.
She still ran around the yard.
She still got distracted by butterflies.
She still demanded snacks at the most inconvenient moments.
And, on some unfortunate nights, she still occasionally wet herself while sleeping.
Rayan had long since accepted that genius and bladder control were apparently unrelated fields of study.
She can read a complicated passage, understand it, and explain it to me.
But if she falls asleep in my bed, I still need to prepare for a possible natural disaster.
Truly, the world is full of mysteries.
Despite his complaints, Rayan was happy to have her around.
She made his childhood lively.
And, more importantly, she was one of the few people who treated him like an ordinary child rather than a prodigy to be praised or trained.
With Ran, he could laugh, play, complain about lessons, and occasionally be forced to act as a horse.
It was a simple kind of happiness.
One he had never really experienced in his previous life.
Sometimes, when Ran smiled at him without any ulterior motive, Rayan would remember his mother's final words.
Don't hurt girls.
He had promised to honor that request.
And he intended to keep his promise.
Protecting Ran, being kind to her, and making sure she was happy seemed like a good place to start.
Naturally, he would never admit that aloud.
Ran would probably make him carry her around the yard as a reward.
And his dignity had already suffered enough.
The Road to Eight
While the children were busy with their studies, Grandpa had not forgotten Rayan's training.
In fact, he seemed to have decided that a genius required twice as much exercise as an ordinary child.
Every morning, he took Rayan to the nearby forest.
At first, the training was simple.
Rayan had to run along a safe path, perform a few basic exercises, and practise controlling his shadow.
Then Grandpa introduced push-ups.
Rayan considered this a personal attack.
"Grandpa, why do I have to do these?"
"To strengthen your body."
"But my shadow ability uses mental energy."
"And a strong body helps you endure training."
Rayan looked at the ground.
That sounds suspiciously reasonable.
Grandpa pointed at the earth.
"Down."
Rayan reluctantly lowered himself.
"One."
He pushed himself up.
"Two."
He lowered himself again.
"Three."
By the fifth repetition, his arms were trembling.
By the seventh, he was beginning to question every decision that had brought him into this world.
By the tenth, he had discovered a new truth.
There are many forms of suffering.
Some are caused by enemies.
Some are caused by fate.
And some are caused by an old man who wakes up too early.
Grandpa, naturally, was delighted.
"Good! Keep going!"
Rayan looked up at him.
"Grandpa, how many more?"
"Until I say stop."
Rayan nearly collapsed.
I should have become a merchant.
After the exercises came running.
After running came cutting wood.
Grandpa would choose suitable trees or branches for the day's task and teach Rayan how to use a small axe safely under supervision. Rayan had to cut the assigned wood, gather it, and bring it back home.
Naturally, he wasn't expected to fell enormous trees with his tiny arms. The work became more demanding only as his strength and coordination improved.
Even so, the first few days were exhausting.
His hands hurt.
His legs ached.
And his desire to become a powerful necromancer began competing with his desire to remain in bed.
Unfortunately, Grandpa was a very persuasive man.
His methods of persuasion included waking Rayan early, standing over him with a cheerful smile, and announcing that a future master of the Zu family's techniques should not be defeated by a little exercise.
Rayan quickly learned that arguing only extended the conversation.
And an extended conversation with Grandpa usually resulted in additional training.
So he endured it.
He ran.
He exercised.
He practised his shadow ability.
He learned how to use tools safely and how to carry the wood he had gathered.
Slowly, his body grew stronger.
His balance improved.
His stamina increased.
And his shadow became easier to control.
He also discovered that his grandfather's definition of a "short training session" was wildly different from everyone else's.
One morning, after a particularly exhausting run, Rayan collapsed onto a patch of grass.
Grandpa stood over him.
"Well done! You're improving!"
Rayan stared at the sky.
"Grandpa…"
"Yes?"
"If I become a great necromancer, can I stop running?"
Grandpa considered the question.
"No."
Rayan closed his eyes.
There goes my motivation.
"Then why am I becoming a great necromancer?"
"So you can become stronger."
"Why do I need to become stronger?"
"So you can protect yourself."
"From what?"
Grandpa smiled.
"Many things."
Rayan slowly sat up.
That answer was far too vague.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Grandpa, are you training me to fight powerful enemies, or are you simply enjoying watching me suffer?"
Grandpa burst out laughing.
"Hahahaha! Both!"
Rayan fell backward onto the grass.
At least he's honest.
The Arrival of the Carriage
For a while, Rayan's training remained a private affair between himself and Grandpa.
Then Grandma learned how often Grandpa took the boy into the forest.
She watched Rayan return one afternoon, dusty, exhausted, and carrying a bundle of wood that looked much larger than he did.
She immediately frowned.
"Old man, are you making him work too hard?"
Grandpa folded his arms.
"Of course not! I'm building his strength!"
"He's a child!"
"A child with extraordinary potential!"
"He's still a child!"
Grandpa opened his mouth.
Grandma raised her hand.
He closed it again.
Rayan watched the exchange with interest.
Ah. The ancient battle continues.
Grandma turned toward him.
"Rayan, are you tired?"
Rayan looked at Grandpa.
Then at Grandma.
This was a dangerous question.
If he said yes, Grandpa might increase his training to teach him endurance.
If he said no, Grandma might think Grandpa's exercises were too easy and tell him to do more.
He had to choose his words carefully.
"I'm… a little tired."
Grandma's expression softened.
"See? He's exhausted!"
Grandpa snorted.
"He's fine! He can do more!"
Grandma glared at him.
Then she looked toward the nearby carriage.
A thought seemed to occur to her.
"Perhaps I can come with you tomorrow."
Grandpa blinked.
"Why?"
"To see how you train him."
"There's no need for that."
"Then you won't mind if I come."
Grandpa fell silent.
Rayan stared at his grandfather.
Grandpa, you've walked into a trap.
The next morning, Grandma arrived with a small carriage.
And beside her stood Ran.
Rayan looked at the carriage.
Then at Ran.
Then at Grandpa.
"What's happening?"
Grandma smiled brightly.
"I'm coming along today. Ran wanted to join you, so I brought the carriage."
Ran ran toward Rayan.
"Rayan! Let's go to the forest!"
Rayan's face brightened.
Excellent! Company! Perhaps she'll help me carry the wood.
Then he noticed Grandpa climbing into the carriage.
Grandma helped Ran settle beside him.
Rayan stared.
He looked at the carriage.
He looked at Grandpa and Ran sitting comfortably inside it.
Then he looked at the harness.
His smile slowly disappeared.
"Grandpa…"
"Yes, Rayan?"
"Why are you sitting in the carriage?"
Grandpa smiled as though the answer were obvious.
"Because it's comfortable."
Rayan pointed at the harness.
"Then who's pulling it?"
Grandpa looked at him.
Rayan looked back. This story is hosted at g.com.
A terrible silence descended.
Grandpa smiled even more broadly.
"You are!"
Rayan stood motionless.
I see.
The forest trip has evolved.
Yesterday, I was a child undergoing physical training.
Today, I am livestock.
Ran clapped excitedly.
"Go, Rayan! Go!"
Grandma covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Grandpa settled comfortably into his seat.
"Come on, boy. The forest isn't going to walk over here."
Rayan slowly approached the harness.
He attached it as Grandpa instructed, then gripped the front of the carriage.
The carriage was not enormous, but pulling it was still a difficult task for a child his age.
Grandpa had taken that into account.
At least, Rayan hoped he had.
He looked back.
"Grandpa, are you sure this is necessary?"
"Absolutely."
"Wouldn't walking be healthier for you?"
"I'm already healthy."
"Then perhaps you should walk to maintain that health."
Grandpa laughed.
"Less talking, more pulling!"
Rayan sighed and began moving.
At first, the carriage barely rolled.
He adjusted his footing, leaned forward, and pulled again.
The wheels began turning.
Slowly, he started making progress.
His shadow emerged from the ground and took hold of part of the harness, helping him pull.
The additional strength made a difference.
The carriage moved more smoothly, and Rayan gradually found a rhythm.
Grandpa nodded approvingly.
"Good! That's better!"
Ran bounced in her seat.
"Faster, Rayan!"
Rayan looked back at her.
"Do you want to get there quickly, or do you want me to collapse before we arrive?"
"Quickly!"
I expected that answer.
He continued pulling.
The forest path stretched ahead of them, and the wheels rolled over the uneven ground.
After a while, Grandpa leaned forward.
"Rayan, do you think this speed is good, or should we increase it?"
Rayan glanced back suspiciously.
Why does that question sound dangerous?
He forced a smile.
"I think this speed is perfectly reasonable, Grandpa."
Grandpa stroked his chin.
"Hmm. Perhaps you're right."
Rayan relaxed.
Then Grandpa turned toward Ran.
"What do you think, Ran?"
Ran immediately raised her hand.
"Faster!"
Grandpa nodded enthusiastically.
"Excellent suggestion!"
Rayan's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
"Increase the speed, Rayan!"
The carriage lurched forward as Rayan pulled harder.
His shadow struggled beside him, keeping the harness taut.
Ran laughed happily.
Grandpa looked as though he were enjoying the finest ride in the world.
Rayan, meanwhile, was experiencing a profound spiritual awakening.
I understand now.
The true enemy of a child is not a powerful beast.
It is a grandfather with free time.
An Undead Horse's Daily Life
The carriage became a regular part of their forest trips.
Grandma occasionally joined them, though she was usually busy with household matters. Ran, however, soon became a permanent passenger.
She enjoyed the journey far too much to give it up.
And Grandpa enjoyed having someone who cheered whenever he ordered Rayan to go faster.
Rayan suspected the two had formed an alliance.
A very dangerous alliance.
At the forest, Grandpa assigned Rayan his usual tasks.
He had to practise his exercises, cut the designated wood, gather the logs, and load them onto the carriage.
His shadow helped whenever possible.
Unfortunately, the shadow was limited by Rayan's own strength.
If Rayan couldn't lift something, his shadow couldn't magically lift it either.
If Rayan was exhausted, his shadow didn't suddenly become a mighty warrior.
It was a useful ability, but not a miracle.
Rayan soon learned to work intelligently.
He divided heavier loads into smaller bundles, used leverage to move logs, and made sure the wood was arranged safely on the carriage.
Grandpa approved of this.
"Good! Strength is important, but using your head is just as important."
Rayan nodded.
Excellent. Then perhaps I can use my head to convince you to walk.
Unfortunately, he kept that suggestion to himself.
After gathering the wood, Rayan had to perform his exercises.
And that was when Ran discovered a new game.
One afternoon, Rayan was halfway through his push-ups when Ran approached him.
"What are you doing?"
"Push-ups."
"Why?"
"Because Grandpa enjoys watching me suffer."
From nearby, Grandpa called out, "I heard that!"
Rayan immediately corrected himself.
"Because exercise is good for my health!"
Grandpa nodded.
"Much better!"
Ran watched Rayan lower himself and push back up.
Then she had an idea.
"Can I sit on you?"
Rayan froze.
He slowly turned his head.
"What?"
"Can I sit on your back?"
"No."
Ran tilted her head.
"Why?"
"Because I'm doing push-ups!"
She considered that.
Then she asked, "Can you do them with me sitting on you?"
Rayan stared at her.
This child is a menace.
"No!"
Ran's face drooped.
She looked toward Grandpa.
"Grandpa, Rayan won't let me sit on him."
Grandpa glanced over.
Then he examined Rayan's posture.
Then he looked at Ran.
"Why not? You're not very heavy."
Rayan's jaw dropped.
Grandpa! Whose side are you on?!
Grandpa waved his hand dismissively.
"You're just looking for an excuse to be lazy. Keep going!"
Rayan looked at the ground.
Then at Ran's hopeful expression.
Then back at Grandpa.
He had lost.
Again.
Ran carefully climbed onto his back.
"All right, Rayan! Go!"
Rayan gritted his teeth and lowered himself.
His arms trembled.
He pushed himself up.
One.
He lowered himself again.
Two.
Ran giggled.
"This is fun!"
Rayan's face twitched.
I'm delighted that someone is enjoying this.
He completed several more repetitions before Grandpa finally told Ran to get off.
Rayan collapsed onto the ground.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the sky.
"Grandpa…"
"Yes?"
"From now on, I'm calling myself an undead horse."
Grandpa laughed.
"Why?"
"Because apparently, I'm expected to pull carriages, carry passengers, and perform exercises with extra weight. At least an undead horse would get some respect."
Ran leaned over him.
"Can I ride you again tomorrow?"
Rayan slowly turned his head.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm dead."
Ran blinked.
Then she looked at Grandpa.
"Grandpa, Rayan says he's dead."
Grandpa folded his arms.
"Then he can be an undead horse tomorrow!"
Rayan closed his eyes.
I have been betrayed by my own family.
After that day, Grandpa occasionally spared Rayan from pulling the carriage on the return journey, especially when the load was heavy.
He claimed this was a reward for completing his tasks.
Rayan suspected it was simply because the old man had grown accustomed to having his own personal transport.
Either way, he accepted the occasional mercy without complaint.
He had learned that gratitude was important.
Especially when the person offering mercy could make your next training session twice as difficult.
Five Years of Training
The routine continued for years.
Morning after morning, Grandpa took Rayan to the forest.
Rayan ran.
He exercised.
He practised his shadow ability.
He cut and gathered wood.
He pulled the carriage when necessary.
And whenever Ran accompanied them, he tried to avoid becoming her personal climbing frame.
He was not always successful.
As Rayan grew older, his body became stronger and more coordinated.
The exercises that had once seemed impossible gradually became manageable.
He could run for longer distances without becoming exhausted.
He could handle the axe more confidently under Grandpa's supervision.
He learned to judge the weight of wood, distribute loads evenly, and use his shadow to assist him with simple tasks.
His mental energy also improved, although he continued to conceal the full extent of his endurance.
He had no intention of giving Grandpa another reason to increase his training.
If he discovers I can run twice as far, he'll make me run three times as far.
If he discovers I can do twice as many push-ups, he'll make me do three times as many.
The safest strategy is to improve quietly.
Naturally, Grandpa noticed that Rayan was improving.
He simply assumed the boy was becoming stronger through steady training.
That was exactly what Rayan wanted him to believe.
Ran also grew stronger and more capable, though her favorite activities remained playing, eating, and ordering Rayan around.
Her studies continued, too. Even after completing her basic lessons, she and Rayan read books together and practised what they had learned.
Sometimes she asked questions that made Rayan think carefully.
Sometimes Rayan explained something to her.
And sometimes neither of them understood a passage, so they asked an adult for help.
They were still children, after all.
Talented children, certainly.
But children nonetheless.
Their friendship deepened through countless ordinary days.
There were sunny mornings in the forest, afternoons spent playing in the yard, lessons at the table, and family meals filled with conversation.
For Rayan, these small moments became precious.
He had once lived a life in which home was not a place of safety.
Now he had a family that worried about him, a grandfather who trained him because he wanted him to become strong, and a friend who could make him laugh even on the most exhausting days.
He didn't need to understand every mystery of this world immediately.
For now, he could simply live.
Of course, he still wanted to master the Zu family's ancient techniques.
That desire had not diminished.
If anything, it had grown stronger.
Every time he looked at the scroll waiting in his room, he remembered his goal.
Learn the technique.
Understand the bloodline.
Become stronger.
And, if possible, eliminate unnecessary chores from his future.
Especially carriage-pulling.
He had suffered enough.
Finally, the day he had been waiting for arrived.
His eighth birthday.
And with it came the moment Grandpa had promised.
The scroll was about to become more than a mysterious object sitting in his room.
Rayan was finally old enough to begin studying it.
He woke up that morning with a smile.
Today.
Today, my path toward becoming a powerful necromancer truly begins.
He paused.
And if this technique can make my shadow carry things, I might never have to pull that carriage again.
With that noble ambition, Rayan got out of bed and prepared for his birthday.
The future of the Zu family was waiting.
And so, unfortunately, was Grandpa.