The morning sun broke across the Jitters estate like a golden wave, warming the dew-laced grass and casting long shadows from the castle towers. Inside the training yard, the rhythmic clang of wooden swords echoed, punctuated by sharp exhalations and occasional grunts.
Floyd stood in the center of the yard, a training sword gripped firmly in his small hand. His body—still that of a child—moved with sharp, controlled energy, tracing arcs through the air. Each swing, each block, each pivot had been honed under BohLin's relentless watch.
But today was different.
Today, Floyd was sparring with his father.
BohLin Jitters, towering and broad-shouldered, circled his son with a half-smile playing on his lips. He held his practice blade in a relaxed grip, eyes glinting with amusement—and growing admiration.
"Better," he said, stepping into a gentle parry as Floyd lunged. "You've stopped overcompensating on your right flank."
"I adjusted my stance," Floyd said through clenched teeth. "Too much weight on the front foot."
BohLin arched an eyebrow. "You're ten."
"I'm thorough," Floyd replied with a smirk.
"Cocky, too."
With a sudden flick of his wrist, BohLin disarmed Floyd, sending the wooden sword clattering across the stones. Floyd stood panting, sweat dripping from his brow, shirt clinging to his back.
"You still drop your guard after the third strike," BohLin said, stepping forward and ruffling Floyd's hair with a massive hand. "But you're improving fast. Too fast."
Floyd didn't reply. He knew he had to be careful—careful not to reveal how much he already understood. The system had given him swordplay theories and ancient martial manuscripts from across the continent. All he had to do was practice them with intention.
"Tomorrow," BohLin continued, "you'll begin full-contact drills. We'll see how your balance holds under pressure."
Floyd winced. "Lovely."
—
After training, he returned to his chambers where a basin of steaming water awaited him. The estate's twin maids, Iri and Kessa, were already busy setting out clean clothes.
"Master Floyd," Iri said cheerfully, "shall we help you with your bath?"
Floyd hesitated.
They were twins—young adults, probably in their early twenties—with long auburn hair, green eyes, and matching figures that leaned toward the curvaceous side of fantasy realism. Iri was the playful one, often teasing, while Kessa maintained a quiet, attentive demeanor. Their uniforms were modest… but snug.
He swallowed. "I can manage."
Iri smirked. "But Master Floyd, your muscles must be sore after such fierce training."
"I—well, yes, but—"
"Then let us at least scrub your back."
Kessa gently touched his shoulder. "It's tradition, young master."
He flushed, eyes darting from Iri's teasing smirk to Kessa's demure smile.
"Fine. But just the back."
—
The water was warm. Comforting. Floyd sat in the shallow bath, trying not to react too visibly as soft hands massaged scented oils into his shoulders. The floral scent was calming, but every brush of Iri's fingers sent sparks through his nerves. In his past life, he'd barely been touched. Now, in this new body—one that would grow into adulthood faster than most due to his magical saturation—sensation came alive more vividly than ever before.
"Iri," he said, voice tight, "do you always bathe the men of the house?"
"Only the handsome ones," she replied with a wink.
Kessa elbowed her gently. "Don't tease the young master."
Floyd sighed, unsure whether he felt flattered or overwhelmed.
"Your muscles are developing quickly," Kessa murmured. "It's… impressive."
"Training. Magic enhancement." He looked down, trying to hide the redness in his face.
They both giggled. "You're adorable when flustered," Iri said.
—
Later, fully dressed and somewhat emotionally rebalanced, Floyd made his way to the southern library. It was time to test something.
The system had unlocked a new function the night before—Beast Influence: Lesser Class.
He found the magical bestiary deep within the archives, tucked behind protective glyphs that shimmered when he reached out.
"Unlock," he whispered.
The glyphs parted.
Inside, the chamber was dim, lit only by floating blue fire orbs. Caged scrolls and enchanted crystals lined the walls, humming softly. As Floyd stepped inside, a growl sounded from the center.
A juvenile Fangback Dracat, chained by a spell circle, lifted its head and snarled. Its black fur bristled, and silver fangs gleamed in the flickering light. It was a test subject—dangerous, but controlled. The guards believed it was still wild, still untrainable.
Floyd reached out, letting his magic pulse softly through his fingertips.
The beast growled again.
He whispered, "Submit."
His aura expanded—warm and golden, laced with authority born from divine essence. The system flared behind his eyes, translating the beast's instinctive thoughts: Alpha. Power. Trust. Obey.
The dracat's growl tapered off. It lowered its head.
Floyd stepped closer, placing a hand on its fur.
"You belong to me now."
Beast Influence: Successful.
—
That night, Floyd sat atop the roof of the eastern tower, the stars burning bright above him.
His power was growing. His mind remained sharp. And now, he had more than books and theory—he had a magical creature under his command.
The next phase was clear.
He would begin forming his future sect.
Not yet—he was still too young—but the idea pulsed in his chest like a living thing.
It would be a haven. A fortress. A force unlike anything this world had seen.
He would protect those he loved.
He would stand at the peak.
And one day—when his enemies came for him or those he cared for—they'd learn the truth.
Floyd Jitters was no ordinary boy.
He was a god in the making.
—