"Status," Atticus muttered, and a holographic interface materialized in front of him.

Character Profile:

Name: Atticus Ravenstein

Age: 10

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Attributes:

Strength: 55

Agility: 59

Endurance: 67

Vitality: 60

Intelligence: 22

Perception: 9

Charm: 19

Will: 3 New!

Level: Intermediate+

Talent: Mythical

Bloodline: Primordial Elemental Bloodline

- Level 2

- Fire: 9.1%

- Air: 9%

- Water: 7.3%

- Earth: 8.5%

Abilities:

Innate Skills:

* Conceal [Potential: Mythical]

- The ability to conceal your level from anyone regardless of rank. You may choose what level you want to be shown.

- Current mastery: Mythical

Life Weapon Skills:

* Transcendent Slash: Godspeed Grace

Normal Skills:

* Arcane Barrier [Potential: Transcendent]

- Current Mastery: Intermediate+

* Elemental Mimicry [Potential: Transcendent]

-Current mastery: Novice

*Ethereal Clock [Potential: Empowered]

-Current mastery: Novice-

"It seems I was right," Atticus muttered, gazing at his status. He understood that the system's sole function was to quantify the strength he possessed and was consciously using.

Just like his perception, since he hadn't actively used his will before, it wasn't reflected in his stats. "I truly have to increase my will," he couldn't help but notice how low his will was compared to his other stats.

By simply engraving just one rune, Atticus still felt the effects of low will, even after drinking the potion. He found himself second-guessing every action he wanted to take.

If not for his stubborn nature, Atticus might have given in to the temptation to lie down on the floor and sleep.

Shaking off the feeling, he closed his eyes and entered a meditative state, seeking to calm his mind.

He replayed everything that had happened to him in his thoughts—the reasons why he needed to grow stronger, the infuriating face of the man who had shot him, the burning desire to turn that man's face into mush.

As he imagined these scenarios, Atticus gradually began to regain his motivation. He knew why he wanted to become stronger: to ensure that the painful events from his past life did not repeat themselves, to protect his loved ones, and to make the person who had killed him and sent him here pay!

Atticus took a deep breath, one that cleared his mind of any unnecessary thoughts. Then, he began absorbing mana, determined to increase his strength.

***

Inside a training room, a young girl could be seen sleeping on the floor in one corner, surrounded by scattered broken parts of robots.

Her body was battered, with bruises covering her and already healing violet-colored marks marring her skin. Dried tears streaked down her cheeks.

The room was enveloped in silence, with only the sound of a ticking clock breaking it. As the clock struck precisely 5, as if programmed into her very being, her eyelids flickered open, revealing her blood-red eyes.

Aurora opened her eyes and immediately attempted to rise, but the pain coursing through her body was unbearable, causing her to emit a groan. Her legs and hands ached, every part of her body in pain.

Despite the agony, she forced herself to stand. Only she knew what would happen if she was late.

Using the wall behind her as support, she struggled to her feet, her legs trembling uncontrollably throughout the process. She retrieved the pair of gauntlets from beside where she had slept, and began to make her way out of the training room.

Every step she took sent a hellish wave of pain through her body. With how advanced the world had gotten, healing all of this was just one potion away.

However, to ensure one received the full benefits of training, it wasn't recommended—unless, of course, if the training wasn't as grueling as what Aurora went through everyday.

Healing oneself would mean mending the muscles, effectively healing everything and leaving no opportunity to adapt and grow stronger.

Her body arching, she made it to the door and went out. The next few minutes was a testament to her dedication and willpower. She navigated through the camp and entered another building, entering a training room within.

Leaning against the wall to catch a brief respite, she prepared herself for another grueling day.

After a few minutes, a man entered the room, his presence imposing and commanding. His piercing blood red eyes immediately spotted Aurora resting against the wall.

Aurora, who had noticed Rowan's entrance, flinched and quickly stood upright. She forced her trembling legs to carry her toward him, her entire body quivering.

Rowan's cold gaze followed her every movement, not uttering a word.

As she reached his front, Rowan spoke, his voice frigid, "Attack."

Aurora shivered upon hearing the command, fully aware of the consequences of disobedience. Summoning her strength, she equipped her gauntlet, enhancing her body with mana and pushing her bloodline to its maximum limit.

Flames enveloped her body in a fiery burst as she dashed toward Rowan at a blistering speed. As she closed in, she concentrated all her power in her hands and delivered a powerful punch.

Rowan remained unmoved, his expression unchanged. He simply raised his right hand in the direction of her strike. As the attack landed, there was no explosive impact, no shockwave—instead, the attack fizzled out as if it had met an impenetrable wall.

Immediately, a powerful punch followed, striking Aurora with explosive force, sending her hurtling through the air. She collided with the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Not missing a beat, Rowan's words followed, "Again," his voice demanding compliance.

This grueling training regimen was what Aurora endured every day.

After a few hellish hours, late at night, Aurora could be seen struggling to move, relying on the walls of the camp building for support as she made her way back to her dorm after the intense training session.

Unbeknownst to her, piercing blue eyes were observing her every move. Atticus maintained a safe distance, ensuring that she remained unaware of his presence.

He stared at Aurora's struggling figure, his expression neutral.

This was his way—indifferent to those he didn't consider family or friends. There was no relationship whatsoever between him and Aurora that would warrant him to help her. This was how he had always lived his life and how he intended to continue living it.

Atticus clenched his fist so hard that blood started dripping. 'So why am I angry?' he thought.