Like so, the two brothers trained diligently—sometimes with the guards and their father, but more often on their own—while maintaining a daily routine that included consuming a safe amount of Zorphling meat and attending homeschooling sessions for at least two hours, five days a week on mundane subjects.
Of course, after what happened during their first spar, the brothers were no longer allowed to fight without supervision.
This time, Louen was wary—perhaps even a bit scared of his little brother.
Not really as an enemy, but more so as a rival for their father's affection.
The same, however, couldn't be said for Lohran—the red-haired runt from another world couldn't have cared less.
Despite their small bodies, they relentlessly carved out a future for themselves.
One driven by passion, the other by duty.
Lohran was well-versed in physical training, so he inevitably caught up to his older brother—though strangely not as quickly as he should have, considering how hard and efficient his self-made regimen was.
Despite his efforts, he struggled to understand why his strength and stamina didn't improve nearly as fast as his speed.
Such progress would have been considered extremely slow back on Earth.
This convinced him that a human's—or in this case, an Endran' s—genetics could vary significantly.
Perhaps individual compatibility with Zorphling meat played a significant role in the rate of one's physical improvement.
Either way, it was a fact that some were simply far more physically gifted than others in this world—unlike on Earth, where things were mostly fair game, aside from height, weight, and limb length.
In Edelmundr, the rate of improvement in certain desired aspects seemed to be all that mattered, determining whether one would rise to the spotlight and make it big or remain in the shadows, unnoticed no matter how hard they worked.
…Hours turned into days, days turned into months, and before he knew it, five years had passed.
Lohran's physical capabilities were now far from his once vomiting self.
While he was still somewhat less enduring than his older brother, he had significantly surpassed Louen in speed and had even edged him out slightly in strength, just like what Garwin and the others had prayed for.
He also developed a beneficial habit of reading before bed, enhancing his comprehension and likely sharpening his thinking speed.
The most pronounced difference between him and his brother lay in the portions of Zorphling meat they consumed.
Lohran had long realized that, compared to other aristocratic houses, his family struggled financially.
As a result, the Zorphling meat they were given was of slightly lower quality.
While the Zorphling they consumed was also Threat Level Two, the species it came from was widely known to be considerably less nutrient-dense.
What could they do?
Wealthy commoners with far more money and the higher-ranked aristocrats from the great and grand houses always secured the best Zorphling meat through their wealth and influence, leaving little chance for those below them in terms of both.
The Minor Aristocratic House of Neyvaris simply couldn't compete, and the two young masters had to make do with what was given to them.
Naturally, the poor commoners had it far worse.
Most didn't even have Zorphling meat to eat and were forced to start at an unfair disadvantage at the academy.
Determined to overcome this disadvantage, Lohran forced himself to eat more, disregarding its awful taste, unpleasant texture, and the pain it inflicted.
He was not about to be outdone by those the same age as him—his fighting spirit ablaze.
Louen, however, lacked the same willpower when it came to consuming the meat.
By now, Lohran was eating over half a pound daily, while his older brother remained at roughly a third.
Given the immense benefits granted by even a small portion, this gap was rather significant.
***
Inside the spacious training hall of Neyvaris Manor, a middle-aged man stood before another, slightly younger man and two male teenagers.
"Sir Leon, I apologize for my son's tardiness. It seems he overtrained yesterday." Garwin bowed apologetically to the Assimilation Tester—though not too deeply, maintaining the dignity of an aristocrat addressing a mere commoner.
The man named Leon, with short, curly brown hair, average features, and a light stubble, understood this unspoken dynamic and returned the bow to Garwin Neyvaris.
"No worries, Lord Garwin. I understand that the child is simply eager to perform. In fact, I am quite pleased that young master Lohran is this determined. He would surely be a valuable addition to the forces of the republic."
The lord merely smiled in response, maintaining a calm exterior.
However, deep inside, waves of excitement raged in his heart.
Given Lohran's lack of endurance yet his clear superiority over his older brother in speed, combat wits, and—if only by a small margin—strength, it was evident that he wasn't suited to be a Shielder.
No.
But he might be something even better…
His little troublemaker might be a Blader!—the most coveted of all four roles, the ace of the squadron, the primary damage dealer.
While all roles played a vital part, the Blader's was arguably the most demanding.
They were the ones who faced the enemy head-on, armed with little protective gear, forced to rely solely on their senses, wits, speed, and strength to dance through the battlefield and reap enemy lives.
If a squadron's Blader was incompetent, the entire unit was at risk of perishing.
After all, none of the other three roles could match the Blader's combination of raw speed, power, wits, senses, and endurance.
This was why Bladers were the most celebrated, the most admired by the young, and the very image the High Republic of Kairindor's government used to lure recruits into becoming Dawnchasers—because no matter their numbers or specializations, there would never be enough.
Two years ago, Louen's role had been decided—he was a Strider.
It was a "not-bad" role, somewhat attention-grabbing, but ultimately destined to play second or even third fiddle—especially when skilled Bladers and Shielders from renowned aristocratic houses and wealthy commoner families were in a squadron's roster.
Nevertheless, it was a role that could save the family's status.
Should his eldest be competent to reach the required rank before the deadline given to them by the republic, that is.
Today, it was Lohran's turn to find out what his role was going to be.
Both Louen and Garwin had high expectations.
"Young master Lohran, please sit." Leon urged with a slight smile.
Lohran merely nodded, sitting in the strange-looking wheelchair with a few devices either attached or hanging around.
It seemed to be the testing tool.
Leon then turned to Garwin and said, "As you all know, taking out the highest-accuracy testing equipment from academy grounds is strictly forbidden. Therefore, the one we'll be using today has an accuracy of only ninety-six percent. While not absolute, it remains highly reliable."
The lord only nodded.
He had long known this, as the same level of testing devices had been used when Louen was tested.
Almost always, the results from the unofficial test determined the role one would officially receive at the academy—and the combat course they would have to train in.
Extremely few ever deviated from the results of the unofficial tests.
…After setting the expectations, Leon turned to Lohran.
"Young master, this will hurt a bit, but you must endure," the tester gently warned.
"Worry not," Lohran dismissively responded.
Seeing how calm and indifferent the young master was, Leon felt satisfied.
He took what appeared to be a needle sensor attached to a cord and a small digital screen, then pierced Lohran's forearm with it, drawing a small trickle of dark-red blood.
Lohran didn't even flinch, surprising the academy agent.
The tester's worries vanished entirely, and he proceeded to retrieve a small syringe filled with an ebony, bubbly liquid, injecting it near the needle sensor's insertion point.
Lohran felt the slimy black substance seep into his body, making him shudder slightly in disgust at the sensation.
'The hell is this thing?' he wondered.
Soon, a mild pain washed over Lohran, but having grown accustomed to the effects of Zorphling meat, he found it quite easy to endure.
Leon, Louen, and Garwin watched in astonishment.
It was clear—Lohran was far more mentally resilient and resistant to pain than his older brother.
'Was it due to his near-death experience?' pondered the lord.
In any case, the digital screen soon vibrated, displaying the assimilation percentages.