“Sir, the videos have all been analyzed and indexed.”

Rowan had just finished showering and changing clothes, preparing to return to the Marvel world, when Friday’s voice echoed throughout the villa.

“They’re fully processed?”

Rowan stopped drying his hair and walked over to Friday’s console. For the past two days, he had been feeding Friday endless footage from elite instructors at the training camp, along with the materials provided by Howard Zhou.

It was, in essence, a massive data set used to train Friday’s combat analysis model.

“Good. Friday, tell me where does my swordsmanship stand right now?”

Rowan’s interest sparked. He drew the Dragon-Pattern Saber from its rack and casually swung it a dozen times in front of Friday.

“Sir, judging by the fluidity of your strikes and the precision of your movements, your swordsmanship currently rests at the basic level.”

“If the basic level is divided into Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, and Perfected, which stage am I in?” Rowan pressed.

“Intermediate, Sir. Based on initial assessment.”

Rowan nodded. He had only been practicing for a short time, so this evaluation seemed fair. Which meant Friday’s analysis had already grown quite refined.

“Then how do I advance from here?” Rowan asked again, his tone expectant.

To his surprise, Friday didn’t take long to respond.

“Sir, please watch this video.”

A holographic projection appeared in mid-air. The footage showed an older man with a graying beard, wielding a long blade against a much younger opponent.

The younger man’s strikes were fast, sharp, and brimming with ferocity.

The elder, however, moved slowly, his swings measured and deliberate, yet every strike found its mark, parrying the youth’s attacks with ease.

His blade wasn’t fast, nor was it overwhelmingly powerful. But his rhythm was unshakable, and that steadiness disrupted his opponent’s momentum again and again.

When the video ended, Friday’s voice followed:

“Sir, the elder’s swordsmanship is neither quick nor fierce, yet he easily defended himself. The key lies in his stance it never faltered. That stability allowed his strikes to flow naturally, while breaking the rhythm of his opponent. To progress from the Basic level to the Proficient level, you must learn to maintain your stance. Stability leads to fluidity.”

Rowan’s expression shifted as he fell into thought.

“Friday, what exactly do you mean by stance?”

“Stance is balance. When defending or evading, you retain enough stability to counterattack. When striking, you still leave yourself space to defend or retreat. You must predict your opponent’s response before your blade moves, then adjust your weight and balance accordingly.

“For example, when you walk downstairs in the dark and think there is one more step left, but in fact you’ve already reached the floor you step forward expecting the stair, and your body loses balance.

“The same principle applies in combat. Every time your prediction fails, your balance falters, and your stance collapses.”

Friday’s explanation clicked immediately in Rowan’s mind.

So stance was the art of prediction calculating an opponent’s moves in advance to keep one’s own balance intact.

As long as the stance remained unbroken, combat would flow effortlessly.

In short, swordsmanship was like chess. If you think one move ahead, you play at one level. Two moves ahead, another level. Three moves ahead, another still.

Thanks to Friday’s insight, Rowan suddenly felt a surge of clarity.

This principle alone could carry him all the way to mastery.

Before transmigrating, Rowan had always loved chess. That foundation now stirred his excitement for practicing swordsmanship.

After all, clashing with blades was far more thrilling than pushing pawns across a board.

“Remarkable. Friday has improved so much through this data training,” Rowan thought, astonished.

Friday’s explanation had been methodical starting with the video demonstration, then moving to theory, and finally offering a relatable analogy. It was more effective than most human instructors.

No wonder. Trained on a vast trove of martial lectures, Friday’s teaching was bound to be extraordinary.

Rowan couldn’t help but feel thrilled. With Friday at his side, his progress would only accelerate.

Over the following week, Rowan trained diligently in the Swallowed Star world.

With high-nutrition meals, the lingering effects of the jade marrow within him, and his relentless effort, his raw punching power climbed from 7,892 kg to 8,957 kg nearly a thousand kilograms of improvement in just over a week.

His movement technique had also advanced, allowing him to barely pass the fourth level of the bullet-dodging test. At this pace, he would soon perfect the Basic stage of his movement skill and stand at the threshold of the Subtle stage.

His swordsmanship grew even faster. According to Friday, within just eight or nine days, he had already reached the Advanced Basic level. A shocking pace of progress.

What he lacked now was actual combat. With a few real battles, he might break through to Perfection or even step into the Proficient realm.

That morning, Rowan arrived at his company as usual. He planned to listen to Sharon’s work report before heading back to his training ground.

But as soon as he walked in, Helen Zhao came rushing toward him, her face glowing with excitement.

“Boss, the armor you asked me to design it’s finished!”

Rowan blinked, taken aback.

“Already? In just over a week?”

He hadn’t expected such efficiency. Wasn’t she supposed to still be experimenting with new alloys?

“Please, come with me,” Helen said with a smile, leading him into her lab.

Rowan had visited her laboratory several times, so the futuristic equipment and exotic metals no longer surprised him.

But today, something new dominated the center of the room a massive silver-gray capsule.

Its sleek, modern design gave it the look of advanced tech, but its shape unmistakably resembled a coffin.

Rowan’s eyes widened in recognition.

Could it be… the Regeneration Cradle?

The very same device Ultron had once used to create Vision’s body?

The more he looked, the more certain he became.

If Helen had this at her disposal, it was no wonder she could produce armor so quickly.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep