From his experiment, he concluded that mana points can be increased through the breathing technique, although he thought it was a bit slow, after all, an hours’ worth of meditation only yielded him an increase of 0.5 mana points. But if he thought about it, 24 hours’ worth of meditation is equal to an increase of 12 mana points theoretically. This was a substantial amount of progress if he kept on practicing the skill every single day.

‘What about the recovery stat?’ I thought, going by the name of it then it has to do with the retrieval of something, logically speaking, it’s probably the stat that governs the recovery of mana points after it has been expended, if only I knew of a spell, then I can properly infer on its use.

“Wait a minute”, like a bolt of lightning, a masochistic thought crossed my mind, I look at my hand and begin to wonder about the feasibility of a plan. ‘What if I intentionally injure myself,’ would the healing process be affected by the recovery stat?

I look at the clean quill resting on the desk and back at my left hand,

“I guess it’s worth a try” sighed the curious boy.

He walked towards the desk and picked up the 15cm long sharp-ish pen and looked around him in search of questionable eyes, he didn’t want anyone to see what he was about to do.

“Curiosity killed the cat but in turn killed ignorance”, Apollo forced a smile before gripping the quill and quickly jabbing it into his left hand, drawing blood. Pained, the boy retrieved the ‘weapon’ and cleaned it off with the inside of his shorts as he observed the circular wound on his hand. It was a shallow wound barely half a centimeter deep. He thought that a wound too small to see was impractical thus he made sure to make a sizeable injury for him to analyze with bare eyes.

Nothing happened for the first ten minutes, in fact, he thought that he was a fool for stabbing himself, but it all paid off in the end. What he saw baffled the young boy, he saw the wound visibly closing up, his blood quickly concentrating on the circular hole rapidly binding to one another undergoing vasoconstriction, clotting up as new epidermal cells divide and swiftly develop thus securing the once gaping wound. It took roughly 5 minutes to completely seal up the wound.

“Fucking hell, I’m invincible,” I wonder what would happen if my arm were to be chopped off, would a new arm pop out? ‘No that’s just dumb, you took 2 years of Forensics, get it together Mateo!’. In reality, he knew that he would likely bleed out before he can recover an entire arm going by the amount of time taken for the small wound to recover.

‘Although, if my recovery stat was higher maybe I could’, who knows he thought, he didn’t think too much of the recovery stat right now as it was too low of a value to care about. However, he began to wonder how the stat came upon him in the first place. At first, he believed it was due to his breathing technique but that did not make sense given he didn’t expend any of his mana points, rather he gained some, the only expendable activity that he carried out was the exercise….

“Right exercise! This indicates that my recovery stat is dependent on it,” that must mean I can actively increase my recovery stat through exercises! This is too good to be true, if I increase it to a higher degree then maybe I can become invincible, he grinned from one ear to another as he said that. After all, it was the dream of any man to feel Immortal, to become Superman.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I don’t want to become the frog in a well,” he said as he slapped his face a couple of times, grounding himself. He vowed, never to become an egotistical bastard as he knew that path would be bleak.

‘Right, I might as well continue the Wim Hof breathing technique’ he felt a need to further improve himself as he began to visualize a step towards the skies. Apollo resigned himself to the breathing technique for another 2 hours thus gaining an additional point of mana before retiring to his bed, ready for another day.

12th of Aprílios (April), Deftéra (Monday), 834 (Year)

Clang! A loud noise sounded from outside. “Fuck I didn’t mean to look at your breasts,” Apollo shouted out loud as he got up from bed, having an unfortunate dream. Apollo jumped out of his bed and landed face-down on the floor, his entire body mildly aching from the previous night. ‘Shit I’m not used to this he thought as he stumbled towards the window looking for the source of the sound.

“Who the fuck is making that sound,” he muttered as he peered around the window only seeing servants doing chores, he didn’t find out who or what was making the sound, Clang, clang! It must’ve been nearby. The young boy changed into his usual attire and walked out of his room only to see Alfred standing nearby like a programmed machine, holding a warm bowl of porridge and a glass of milk.

“Good morning, young master,” bowed the ever so punctual butler.

“Mornin, Alfred,” the young boy sheepishly replied, still tired. “Where’s that sound coming from?” he asked as he received the bowl and drink from him.

“That would be Lady Ares and Master Grieswald, sword fighting it seems like”,

“Where are they?”

“At the courtyard, master” he replied.

Intrigued, Apollo followed the sounds of metallic hums and strikes towards the lively garden, with food and drink in his hands, Alfred following behind him carrying a foldable table and chair that he picked up from God knows where.

Once he arrived, he saw both of his relatives sparring with one another, his grandad wielding a sword and shield whilst Ares held a longsword. Alfred set down the table & chair and asked his young master to take a seat.

“Thank you, Alfred,” said the boy as he sat down on the chair, quickly eating the porridge, witnessing the fight play out in front of him.

The friendly spar between the two individuals was unequal, to say the least, Grieswald stood his ground without moving an inch whilst Ares kept slashing and thrusting at him from different angles. The aged man would simply parry each hit with his shield barely making any movements at all, he didn’t even need to move his sword; it just stayed there by his side. It was like seeing a toddler hit a brick wall, quite comical thought Apollo.

“This is unfair Granddad,” shouted Ares, frustrated. “Fight me without your shield!” she roared.

“Do you think battles are fought fair and square?” questioned the comfortable man, “You have two hands, use them to your advantage” he said lifting up his shield to block another thrust, whilst pushing it forwards to knock the girl backward.

“I don’t think I even need to use my sword” he provoked the exhausted girl.

Angered, Ares dashed towards the man throwing a feint thrust while dropping low to scoop out a handful of gravel with her free hand thereafter flinging it towards his face as she slides to the left slashing at his legs.

However, Grieswald predicted her movement when he protected his face from the flying pebbles, he simply crouched downwards, his shield blocking the incoming slash as he retaliated with another forceful bash that offset the balance of Ares, knocking her back again,

“Good, use the environment as you see fit,” he said smirking. “Remember there is no honor in real battles”.

Apollo spectated this scene with glee, he liked the way Grieswald maintained his composure as he parried and blocked with finesse,

“Is this the Heimarch Sword arts?” he asked, looking towards Alfred.

“A part of it, yes” replied the solemn man.

The Heimarch sword art is traditionally an art for sword and shield, an ancient catalog of refined movements that has been passed on for several centuries. It’s an art steeped in history as it paved the way for Heimarch’s cumulative success in the battlefield, a strong and mighty art that contained both offensive and defensive maneuvers achieving balance and order.

“Why isn’t Ares wielding a shield?” said the young boy,

“Lady Ares refuses to use one out of contempt, she believes in brute strength,” a quick and concise reply.

Apollo shook his head at Alfred’s comment, ‘Oh sister, must you be a meathead through and through?’ he said to himself. He liked the idea of sword and shield since he thought it was useful at any given melee circumstance, he disliked the way his sister scorned the art just because it lacked power in her opinion. Power and strength didn’t matter in his opinion, what mattered was being able to stay alive and killing an enemy without accumulating injuries, this made him biased towards the shield.

“I give up,” said Ares, “Ill just pick on one of the new recruits,” harrumphed the frustrated lady as she stormed off towards the direction of the barracks, a group of servants following behind her.

“Ares, hold on a minute!” shouted the old man but he was blatantly ignored, clicking his tongue. He looked to his side and saw Alfred accompanying a young boy, “Want to give it a try lad?” beckoning him with his shield.

Apollo looked at him with uncertainty, “May I?”

“Sure, I don’t see why not, you’re joining the military in a week anyway, it doesn’t hurt to get a headstart” chuckled the elder man. “Come here”, “Alfred; bring the lad a wooden sword” he ordered.

“Yes, sire” replied the butler before disappearing somewhere and returning with a wooden sword just as quick as he left thereafter handing it to Apollo.

Apollo received the sword and nervously walked towards his grandfather,

“Come, give me your best shot” he lifted up his shield, sword still pointing towards the ground.

Apollo looked at his grandfather in awkwardness, ‘Okay it’s just like those movies, just stay calm and strike at him from his blind spots, I should be able to catch him off guard,’ is what he thought. But, it was not as simple as he’d like to believe, he calmly approached the ‘wall’ and threw a feint thrust, imitating Ares but this time with a twist. Just as he was about to hit the shield, he changed directions and stabbed downwards aiming for the man’s feet.

Unfortunately, before he could even make contact with the unassuming foot, he felt the winds touch on the back of his neck.

“Creative, but you’re exposing your neck if you lunged downwards like that” smiled Grieswald as he suspended his sharp longsword a mere centimeters away from the boy’s neck.

‘Well at least I got him to move his sword,” thought Apollo, he wasn’t dispirited in any way, he knew his grandfather could kill him without blinking an eye.

“You have strong instincts, going for your opponent’s blindspot but you must rationalize your every decision”, “Think before acting”, he suggested.

“Again, come at me”.

Apollo understood the suggestion, but he did not understand how to topple the defensive wall in front of him, he felt like a child throwing rocks at the sturdy exterior of the shield. He thought about it carefully, ‘what would an experienced swordsman do?’. Suddenly, it came to him, ‘right there was that teenager at the warrior’s guild’.

Mimicking the man from his memories, Apollo placed his right foot in front of his left, holding the sword in front of him, and took a deep breath in.

Grieswald gazed at Apollo’s change of movements, astonished. ‘Interesting’ he thought.

At that point in time, the small child focused on the man’s shield, raising his sword upwards above his head and slashing diagonally downwards at the same time taking a quick step forwards, adding all his body weight along with the slash with an audible shout, Bang!

The clear and crisp sound of wood hitting something metallic resounded outwards, but Apollo did not stop there, he knew that if he stopped hitting towards his sparring partner, he would eventually get caught in a counterattack.

He hit the shield wall several times in a rapid torrent of slashes, the only word he could think of was ‘hard’, the shield was extremely sturdy, he felt his hands go numb as the impact of his hits bounced back towards his body. But he did not give up, ‘Momma ain’t raise no bitch’ thus he gripped the sword tightly, swinging it in a brutal, unhinged manner as he tried targeting the man’s weaknesses constantly changing directions.

“Yes! That’s it, come on boy! Keep going” encouraged the old man, laughing away as he kept blocking the child’s hits.

Apollo grinned like a maniac as he continued this rhythm of hits before exhausting himself, dropping to the ground on one knee, resting his arms against the sword punctured on the soil below,

“I…. can’t get…pass,” he said gasping for air.

“That was a good effort lad!” complimented the man, looking at his slightly battered shield.

“I…try my best sir” exhaled Apollo plopping down on the soft grass, his chest constantly moving up and down.