Fantasy Family Simulator (FFS)

Rhett pondered over Tuck's explanation. Without witnessing the actual effects, he might not have given this technique much thought. At first glance, it seemed like a movement skill that only allowed for quicker retreats along recently traveled paths. Most movement techniques, however, offered a more versatile boost in speed and agility, allowing for swift movements in any direction. Compared to those, this technique appeared limited.

But recalling Tuck's near-instantaneous backward step, Rhett realized that the upper limits of this technique were extraordinary. With such speed, dodging attacks or avoiding fatal blows would become effortless. On the battlefield or in life-or-death duels, this would drastically enhance mobility and survival chances. Moreover, using the technique to move forward again could introduce unpredictable dynamics into combat. These factors alone justified its classification as a mid-tier technique.

Rhett couldn't help but wonder, "What could the second level of this technique hold?"

Rylee chimed in, "It sounds incredible. I hope you master it soon, big brother. But with your leg injury, maybe you should skip tomorrow's trade trip and rest here to focus on training."

Tuck, however, wasn't having it. He quickly stood up, leaning slightly to one side but still shaking his head in defiance. "It's just a cramp. I'll be fine in no time. Training as a knight isn't like being a mage. I've been through worse—this won't slow me down at all!"

"But…" Rylee began, only to be interrupted by Rhett. "We'll discuss the technique more later. I believe Tuck is a brave and resilient knight. A good night's sleep will take care of this. The trade trip will proceed as planned tomorrow!"

With Rhett having the final say, Rylee shrugged, accepting his decision.

"Tuck, how much of the technique have you memorized?" Rhett asked as he returned to his chair, his gaze fixed on the mirror.

"I've got about seventy to eighty percent of the first level down. Give me a few more minutes, and I'll have it all," Tuck confidently replied. Mastering a technique wasn't about memorizing large chunks of text; it involved physical practice and understanding the flow of Battle Qi. Once grasped, it was easy to recall. The key was to embed the technique into muscle memory, a process that required ongoing, hands-on practice.

Rhett nodded and said, "The mirror will stay with me. When the sunset comes again, you can return to the fifth floor to continue learning the technique. We must keep the mirror's secrets hidden from others." With that, Rhett took the mirror and left for his room, disappearing down a hallway.

"No problem, Father. We'll be waiting at the dinner table," Rylee replied.

"Be there soon," Rhett's voice echoed back.

...

Late at night, the small town of Eagletown lay silent under the moonlit sky. The clouds had dispersed, revealing the moon's bright face, casting a serene glow over the land. The townsfolk were fast asleep, replenishing their energy for the day ahead. Even at the southeastern stables, where the town's horses were housed, most of the animals had settled in for the night.

But in one particular stall, an intense "battle" was taking place.

It's often said that timing and order are crucial in love, and this holds true for horses as well. Normally, the leading gray horse—a standout among the herd of draft horses, though unimpressive to Blackie—didn't catch Blackie's eye. Recently, however, perhaps due to the onset of mating season, Blackie had started to see Gray in a different light. Despite still being unimpressed by the other draft horses, Gray had begun to seem more appealing, awakening a primal instinct within Blackie.

In the past, Blackie had experienced similar urges, but being just over two years old and having spent most of its life in Eagletown, it had never encountered a mate that truly captured its heart. Tonight, things were different. Its handler had locked it in the stall with Gray, and after indulging in tonight's "feast," Blackie's desire for procreation was stronger than ever.

Gray, too, seemed restless after its meal. Soon, their primal instincts took over, setting off a fiery "battle" in the stall.

...

Outside the stall, George, bundled up in a thick coat, crouched in the hay, peering through a small gap into the stall. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight but quickly covered his mouth, not wanting to interrupt.

The night echoed with a sudden, sharp whinny from within the stall—a sound that carried far into the night.

George's expression grew serious as he watched Gray collapse onto the ground. Disappointed, he muttered, "I gave you extra helpings of that special herb. You're a draft horse, for goodness' sake!"

Blackie seemed to share his frustration. With a strong hoof, it nudged Gray, as if to say, "You're pathetic—only thinking of yourself!"

Blackie's kick was powerful, landing squarely on Gray's sturdiest part—its back. Gray, exhausted, seemed to shrink away, meekly shifting to the corner of the stall, burying its head and refusing to move. Blackie, still fuming, plopped down on top of Gray and closed its eyes, settling in for sleep in this odd position.

Seeing no signs of a "second round," George shook his head and decided to head back inside. It was too cold outside, especially at night. Besides, he had been out here for two hours already. With things settled, there was no need to linger.

As he walked back, George's mind was filled with one thought: "Will it work? When will we see the results?"

...

The following morning, Stewart hurried through Eagletown. He hadn't even had time for breakfast; no one had informed him until Rylee mentioned early in the morning that the trade trip was set to depart today. Holding a piece of roasted sweet potato and a slice of bread, he treated his errand as a morning run, heading straight for George's door.

By the time he reached his destination, the bread was gone, and the sweet potato peel had been tossed into the grass along the stone path. Stewart knocked on the door.

"Hey, George! It's important," Stewart called out as he stood in front of the 200-square-foot wooden house.

Having stayed up late the previous night, George had allowed himself the rare luxury of sleeping in. Half-awake, he heard the steward knocking. Jolted awake, he quickly jumped out of bed and ran to the courtyard, where he found Stewart standing in the center.

Dressed in his nightclothes, George made eye contact with Stewart, who raised his hands in a shrug. "The door was unlocked, so I just came in…"