Finally Leveled Up to Max

21st year of the Jiajing reign, the month of winter.

Heavy snow blanketed the river plains outside the Lin Family Fortress, turning the world into a landscape of silver.

Dozens of thatched cottages and adobe houses belonging to farmers were scattered across the area, wisps of cooking smoke curling into the air.

On higher ground, a fortress stood leaning against the mountain—the half-collapsed watchtowers still bore the scars of blades and axes, rusted arrowheads were visible between the damaged battlements, and even the red paint on the main gate had peeled away, revealing the desolation of a family whose fortunes had fallen.

This was the Lin Family Fortress, the ancestral estate left behind by the late Assistant Regional Commander of the Yingtian Garrison, Lin Yuanshan. Lin Yuanshan had once guarded the Jiangnan mountain passes with his mastery of the Iron Shirt, and now, only his sole heir, Lin Zhao, remained here to hold the fort as the Heir Steward.

On the hillside outside the fortress, a Mystic Frost Fox, its fur blending almost perfectly with the snow, moved cautiously through the withered grass. Its pointed ears twitched from time to time, vigilantly scouting for any movement. This fox was fierce and alert, making it difficult for ordinary hunters to approach, yet its fur was highly prized in the military for its ability to withstand the bitter cold.

Eighty paces away, in the shadow of an ancient soapberry tree, a figure stood silently—it was Lin Zhao, clad in a Mystic Fox Fur and wearing a felt-lined cotton cap.

He slowly unslung the Kaiyuan Great Bow from his back. This was a standard-issue heavy bow of the Nine Frontier garrisons, crafted with a bamboo core wrapped in birch bark and tipped with ox horn. With a draw weight of over three hundred and seventy catties, only those with strong tendons and bones could pull it.

He nocked an arrow and drew the bow, his movements as fluid as flowing water. In his hand was a Birch Shaft Armor-Piercing Arrow, commonly used by the northern frontier troops; its arrowhead was as sharp as a blade, designed specifically to pierce through tough hide and flesh.

"Swish—" The arrow tore through the air, and the Mystic Frost Fox collapsed instantly. The armor-piercing arrow had precisely pierced its neck, the fletching at the end of the shaft still vibrating.

[Archery proficiency +1]

[Archery: Mortal Tier (Perfect)]

"This fox fur should make a decent pair of shoulder guards; it'll keep me warm while I practice my boxing in the winter," Lin Zhao smiled slightly, a proficiency panel appearing in his mind:

Lin Zhao-----

-Archery: Mortal Tier (Perfect)

-Riding Skills: Mortal Tier (Perfect)

-Military Formation Footwork: Mortal Tier (Perfect)

-Fist and Foot Combat: Mortal Tier (Perfect)

-Basic Swordsmanship: Mortal Tier (Perfect)

-...

"Even the most difficult archery has reached perfection." Lin Zhao put away his bow with satisfaction. "Within the effective range of this Kaiyuan Great Bow, there is no prey I set my sights on that can escape. Among the noble scions of Yingtian Prefecture, I doubt many could match this level of skill with such a heavy bow; it's comparable to the marksmen of the frontier."

In two and a half years, he had pushed the five basic martial arts required for an Heir Steward of the garrison to the absolute limit of what a mortal could achieve—archery required hitting a willow leaf from a hundred paces, riding skills demanded total control over a horse, military formation footwork required an understanding of offensive and defensive maneuvering, and fist and sword techniques had to be solid and steady. This progress far exceeded the expectations of the clan elders.

Now that his tendons and bones were tempered and his blood and energy were full, it was time to practice the method of "Internal Cultivation: Breath." Only by learning the Internal School Breathing Technique and mastering the movement of energy throughout the body could one truly step across the threshold of the martial path. This technique originated from Taoist breathing exercises but discarded the superstitious elements, focusing instead on guiding the limbs in coordination with respiration; it was the recognized foundation for entering the path in both the high-martial world and the military.

In this chaotic era, where mountain spirits and water fiends lurked in the shadows, only by mastering true martial power could he pass the martial examinations, inherit his father's position as Assistant Regional Commander, and keep his life.

After all, the original owner of this body likely met his end at the hands of the evil spirit in the pond.

Lin Zhao was not a person of this world.

Three years ago, during the 18th year of the Jiajing reign, when the "White Lotus Society Incident" occurred in the capital, his soul transmigrated into this direct descendant of the Lin family, and he received this miraculous proficiency panel.

The last memory of the original owner was fishing at Wulong Pond. The line suddenly went taut, and thinking he had hooked a large fish, he pulled with all his might, only to drag up a bizarre bronze coffin. The coffin was barely three feet long, its surface covered in ancient witchcraft patterns. Despite having been submerged in water for years, it showed no signs of rust, glowing with a cold, dark-green light under the moonlight.

Just as the original owner was struck with terror, the lid slid open a crack, and a pale, bloated hand reached out—it was exactly the scene of "Pond Fiend Soul Snatching" from local folklore. The original owner's blood surged in shock, and he fainted; when he woke up, the body was already occupied by Lin Zhao, the traveler from another world.

Later, Zhao Tieying, an old subordinate of his father, found him unconscious by the pond, surrounded by foul-smelling water weeds and fish, muttering nonsense. This veteran, who had once served in the Imperial Guard and was known as a "Night Watcher" for his mastery of the Iron Shirt, assumed that the young master had simply been frustrated by his inability to catch fish and had waded into the water, resulting in his sorry state.

Lin Zhao never dared to reveal the truth about the bronze coffin—in this world, talk of spirits and ghosts was mostly dismissed as charlatanry. Who would believe someone who survived an encounter with an evil spirit? That eerie bronze coffin had become a shadow in his heart, and he still dared not approach Wulong Pond.

However, his inquiries over the years had convinced him that legends of such entities had existed since ancient times. Just as the folk rumors claimed that "Songxi Internal Boxing masters could strike pressure points to seal meridians," even the well-traveled Zhao Tieying dismissed it as exaggeration, but Lin Zhao believed it implicitly.

Since the evil thing in the bronze coffin truly exists, then internal martial arts masters may not be mere legends either.

But he knew that he was currently just the descendant of a fallen military family; seeking out a famous martial arts master was nothing more than a pipe dream. Before looking up at the stars, one had to keep their feet on the ground.

Therefore, since transmigrating at the age of ten, Lin Zhao had diligently practiced the five basic martial arts. Relying on the proficiency panel, he had reached the peak of the Mortal Tier in less than three years. He was confident that even the active officers of the garrison were not necessarily stronger than him in these basics—especially in archery. With this Kaiyuan Great Bow and armor-piercing arrows, he could penetrate two layers of cotton armor within thirty paces, which was his greatest pride.

At twelve, Lin Zhao already stood six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a thick back. Despite the lingering youthfulness on his face, his physique was more robust than many grown men. In an era where most people were gaunt and malnourished, a body full of vitality was the greatest asset on the battlefield.

Now that everything was ready, all that remained was the Internal School Breathing Technique. He also knew that internal arts could not be practiced too early; one had to wait until the tendons and bones were strong and the blood and energy were stable, otherwise, it could easily lead to blockages, damage to the internal organs, or even lifelong disability. This was precisely why an Heir Steward of the garrison had to temper his physique first.

In high spirits, Lin Zhao picked up the Mystic Frost Fox and turned to head down the mountain.

At the foot of the slope, a figure was watching him with a smile—a man of about forty with frost at his temples, dressed in a faded indigo archery robe and carrying a ring-pommel sword at his waist. It was Zhao Tieying. This former Imperial Guard veteran, who had once slaughtered Tatar cavalrymen in the northern frontier with his Iron Shirt technique, was the trusted aide entrusted to him by his father on his deathbed, and the person Lin Zhao trusted most. Years of living together had made this bond of master and apprentice, lord and retainer, deeper than blood ties.

Seeing Lin Zhao descend the mountain, Zhao Tieying stepped forward quickly, his voice filled with gratification: "Young Master, what archery! This Mystic Frost Fox is the most alert and difficult to hit, yet you used the Kaiyuan Great Bow to pierce its neck from eighty paces. This accuracy is comparable to the 'Night Watchers' of the frontier! If the former Assistant Regional Commander were still alive to see your martial attainments, he would surely laugh with joy and say that our Lin family's Heir Steward has a successor, and that our martial legacy will never be broken!"