"Un… what's happening…?" Noct murmured, still half-asleep after losing consciousness from that unknown substance he made—or perhaps it was better to call it a complete disaster.
His body felt strange.
"Ahhh—!"
A sharp scream escaped his mouth as pain surged through him without warning.
Why…?
He couldn't understand it. He had been beaten to death before, had endured countless injuries across his body—bones broken, flesh torn apart—and yet he had never felt something like this. But now, the pain was overwhelming, far beyond anything he had experienced.
"Damn it…!"
He rolled across the sofa, clutching himself as his body trembled violently. His breathing turned uneven as he struggled to endure it.
"This pathetic body…!"
So this was the issue. This new body of his. It had potential, yes—but right now, it was weak, fragile, and far too sensitive. Even normal pain felt exaggerated, turning into something unbearable.
He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress his voice.
"I… shouldn't have pushed it this far…"
It was because of earlier. Running like that, forcing his body beyond its limits—it had put too much strain on him. More than this body could handle.
His muscles had torn apart under the pressure.
And yet—a faint smile appeared on his face. "…Good."
Even as he continued to writhe in pain.
"More… I want more…"
The more he suffered, the stronger he would become.
He understood this clearly. Muscle fibers break, then rebuild stronger. Over and over again, repeating endlessly. A simple principle—but one of the most effective ways to strengthen the body.
And he welcomed it.
After what felt like hours, the pain finally began to fade. The burning sensation dulled, and his body slowly calmed down. As soon as it subsided, Noct pushed himself up and grabbed a glass of water, drinking it in one go.
"I can make this body somewhat useful with daily training…" he muttered.
Then suddenly, his expression froze, a trace of fear creeping onto his face. "…Drinking that stuff again." That was a problem.
A big one.
"But what about my techniques…?" he murmured, his expression turning serious. "I can't use the Asura Art anymore…"
The Asura Art—a forbidden technique from decades ago, now lost to time. It granted immense power, far beyond normal limits, but the price for that power was just as great.
It consumed one's life force.
He clicked his tongue in irritation. "I'll have to rely on something else…"
His gaze shifted slightly. "Swordsmanship…"
Without even saying it aloud, he already knew the truth. His sword skills were crude—too simple, too predictable. In the past, he had relied purely on raw strength and overwhelming force. That was enough to crush monsters, spirits… even demigods.
But against someone skilled — a human, he would lose—easily.
"This won't work…" he muttered.
He stretched his body and walked toward the backyard—what could barely be called a garden. It looked more like an overgrown jungle.
Looking around, he picked up a bamboo stick lying on the ground.
"Well… better than nothing."
He took a stance, feet set shoulder-width apart with one slightly forward, knees lightly bent, his grip firm yet controlled as he aligned the bamboo stick with his center, and swung it a few times—it was basic, far too basic.
So simple that even someone who had never held a sword could replicate it.
He frowned slightly. "As I thought… too predictable."
He tried again, changing the angle, adjusting his grip—but it made no difference. Each movement felt empty, meaningless.
"Again…" he muttered, swinging once more, then again, and again, yet still nothing changed.
"…This isn't working."
He kept going anyway, repeating the motions with what little stamina he had, but there was no progress. No improvement.
"I've had enough…" he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.
Even after all that effort—it was useless.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
"…Then let's try something else."
He adjusted his posture, grounding his feet firmly. Another deep breath.
This time, his calmness began to fade, something else taking its place—anger, then rage.
Memories surfaced—those bastards, the things he had gone through, the pain, the humiliation—
His grip tightened, and then he thrust forward—not a swing, but a stab.
A sharp, direct strike, filled with everything he felt—anger, hatred, frustration. His expression twisted, eyes dark, his killing intent leaking out as the bamboo stick shot forward.
The attack itself wasn't anything extraordinary.
But it was better—far better than before, more real, more dangerous.
Still—"…Not enough."
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down again.
As soon as he lost himself in his movements, a voice cut through the air.
"Training by yourself?"
It was Elisa, standing near the doorway, quietly watching him.
Noct lowered the stick slightly and glanced at her. "Oh… Master, you're back. I didn't notice," he said calmly, catching his breath.
She walked toward him, closing the distance without hesitation. Her gaze focused on him—sharp, observant.
"Your posture…" she said.
Noct tilted his head slightly. "What about it?" he replied, still not fully understanding.
"It's not correct," she said, stepping closer.
Her hands moved without pause—adjusting his wrist, shifting his stance, correcting the angle of his shoulders and chest. Every movement was precise, practiced. There was no hesitation in her touch, no awkwardness—only the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
She positioned him properly from behind, guiding his arm while he held the bamboo stick.
Noct remained still, letting her adjust him. I completely forgot… he had a master.
In his past life, there had been no one. No guidance, no teaching—just raw survival and instinct. But this time… things were different.
This time, he had someone.
"All set," Elisa said, a satisfied smile forming on her face as she finished correcting him. She stepped back slightly. "Now try again."
Noct tightened his grip on the stick. Let's see…
Without overthinking, he moved with a stab, and this time it cut cleanly through the air.
A sharp, precise thrust shot forward, the motion clean and direct as his grip aligned perfectly with his stance, the force traveling smoothly from his feet through his body into the tip—faster than before, more controlled, more real, as if the air itself split apart under the pressure of the strike.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"…I see."
He lowered the stick slightly. "So this is the difference," he said, his tone calm, but clearly satisfied.
Elisa's expression brightened. She stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
"Yes—you did it! That was perfect!" she said, her voice filled with excitement, clearly pleased with his progress.
Noct paused for a brief moment, then spoke in a composed tone, "Master… you're too close."
It took her a second to realize, and then she froze.
"…Ah—!"
She quickly stepped back, her face turning red.
"This is not what—! I mean—sorry!" she said, clearly flustered, trying to compose herself.
Noct simply gave a faint smile. "It's fine, Master. No need to worry."
Sweat ran down his neck from the earlier training. His body still felt heavy from exhaustion.
I should clean up…
"I'll go take a bath," he said calmly.
As he passed by her, he gently patted her head.
"Thanks, Master."
And just like that, he walked off without another word.
Elisa stood there silently.
A faint smile formed on her face—one filled with satisfaction… and something softer.
"He really has changed…"
But then her expression slowly faded, a strange feeling creeping into her mind. "That last stab…"
"The energy I felt from him… it was…" a chill ran down their spine, a sense of awe and fear mingling in equal measure as their eyes widened, unable to look away from the figure standing before them.
Her fingers tightened slightly."…scary."
She exhaled slowly and shook her head.
"I'm just overthinking it…"