"So... you are not a reincarnator?" Yuna asked again, narrowing her eyes at as if she could peel back my thoughts just by staring long enough. "Just soone reaaaally talented?"
’Yes.’
I nodded without hesitation.
I was bullshitting.
Well, not entirely.
I was talented.
Even without the mories of my previous life, I would still have learned martial arts as easily as breathing.
So people were born with sharp minds. So with strong bodies. I was born with both, at least when it ca to combat.
My talent in martial arts was only matched by people like Charlotta and the Sword King.
’Tsk. Recalling that Sword King is souring my mood.’
Yuna kept staring at , clearly dissatisfied with my short answer.
"Okay, then I will trust you. But..."
She leaned closer.
"If you are a reincarnator, tell . You don’t have to worry about reporting you to the System."
’Okay.’
I nodded again.
As if I would trust her that easily.
Just because Yuna was sent by the System to be my guide didn’t an she was loyal to it.
Helping could very well be her Quest.
She might betray System and side with .
Still, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that just because she spoke softly and looked sincere, she was safe.
Today she was suspicious of my identity. That ant she might try to do sothing to gain my trust, if she would take my side instead of System.
I would wait for that.
There was no need to rush.
With that thought, I let my eyes close.
I fell asleep.
The next day at ho wasn’t much different.
I tried crawling away from the maids before bath ti, but I was caught within seconds.
"Young master, please don’t make this difficult," one of them said while lifting with practiced ease.
"I can walk," I protested weakly.
"You can, but you will run," another replied calmly.
I had no counterargunt.
Soon, I was being bathed by their hands again, scrubbed like so fragile porcelain doll.
’Dammit, I want to grow up quickly.’
’How long will I be bathed by others?’
They treated like I would shatter if they used slightly more pressure. It was suffocating. I had killed people in my previous life. Now I couldn’t even wash myself.
After that torture ended, I dove straight into Mom’s arms.
I used to despise acting like a child. It felt degrading.
But if I didn’t do this, I would be taken away by the maids again and forced into lessons about posture, etiquette, or table manners.
Mom laughed as I buried my face in her shoulder. "You’re unusually clingy today."
"I missed you," I said, keeping my tone soft and childish.
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
She hugged tighter.
The maids already had plans for .
They wanted to groom into a proper Daelthorn heir. That ant immaculate appearance, eating everything they decided for , and sitting straight during lessons.
When Mom got busy later in the day, I executed my second escape plan.
Lucas.
He was now living in our house since he was under Dad’s apprenticeship.
He was prideful in so ways, but when it ca to Dad, he was surprisingly humble.
And with , he was soft because I was dad’s son.
In short, he was a total pushover.
I toddled over to the courtyard where he was practicing basic forms.
"Big brother Lucas!" I called out.
He turned, imdiately lowering his sword. "Hey, you’re here again."
"I want to watch," I said seriously.
"You watched yesterday too."
"I like watching."
He hesitated, glancing toward the corridor where the maids might appear at any mont. Then he sighed. "Fine. Just don’t wander off."
"Okay."
The excuse was simple. I wanted to watch big brother Lucas’ training.
The maids couldn’t argue much with that, especially when it involved martial practice.
House Daelthorn valued strength.
So I sat there, pretending to be fascinated by his movents.
In truth, I was analyzing.
Lucas had decent foundations. His stance was stable, and his swings weren’t sloppy.
But he lacked refinent. His transitions between movents were slightly stiff.
His breathing wasn’t synchronized properly with his strikes.
He noticed staring.
"Why are you looking at like that?" he asked.
"Your foot," I said.
"My foot?"
"It moves before your hand sotis."
He blinked. "What?"
I pointed clumsily. "When you turn."
He tried the movent again, slower this ti. His brow furrowed. "...It does feel awkward."
He looked at suspiciously. "How did you notice that?"
"I watch dad’s training, and learned from it."
He stared for a few more seconds. I could almost see him thinking, as expected of Sir Adrian, even his son is talented.
In the evening, Dad returned from his instructor job.
We had dinner together. It was peaceful. Mom asked about his day. Lucas listened carefully whenever Dad spoke.
I mostly focused on eating quickly so the maids wouldn’t scold again.
After dinner, Dad stood up and stretched slightly. "Lucas, training."
Lucas imdiately straightened. "Yes, Master."
Today, however, Dad picked up too.
"Where are we going?" I asked, though I already knew.
"We are going for big brother Lucas’ training. The maids said you were watching him. So I thought you would want to watch our training too," he said with a smile.
I blinked at him.
He chuckled. "You will join Daelthorn training when you turn five. So it’s good if you learn as much as you can before that."
Five.
That felt painfully far away.
We entered the courtyard. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of grass and wood.
Dad placed on the porch near the courtyard, making sure I was seated safely. Then he grabbed a wooden sword and walked to the center.
Lucas stood opposite him, holding his own wooden sword, eyes bright with anticipation.
Dad wasn’t worried about interrupting or getting injured. He knew I wasn’t reckless like children of my age.
They began.
Dad corrected Lucas’s stance first.
"Lower your center of gravity. If your hips are too high, you’ll lose balance the mont soone pushes you," he said calmly.
Lucas adjusted.
"Not that much. You’re forcing it. Relax your knees."
Lucas tried again.
"Better."
They exchanged a few slow strikes, wood clacking softly in the courtyard.
Dad focused mostly on stance and fundantal moves.
He repeated the sa motion multiple tis, correcting small details each round.
Occasionally, he would pause and explain the reasoning behind sothing.
Theoretical knowledge wasn’t always important for those with overwhelming talent. So geniuses could skip explanations and still grasp everything instinctively.
But for most people, theory built structure.
As I listened to Dad speak, several thoughts surfaced.
’I had this feeling before... but Dad is quite talented.’
’This level of talent is only one or two levels inferior to mine.’
It might sound condescending, but it was high praise.
I had never seen anyone more talented than in martial arts.
In my first life, I hadn’t even focused on martial arts.
As an assassin, if I was forced to fight openly, it ant I had failed.
Still, even without dedicating myself fully, I stood toe-to-toe with so of the strongest martial artists of Wageah.
That was precisely why I wanted to focus on martial arts in this life.
I wanted to see how far I could go if I truly put everything into it.
Dad demonstrated a defensive motion.
The angle.
The timing.
The footwork.
My eyes narrowed slightly.
’Was Dad a disciple of the Sword King?’
The thought had co to before.
’No. That doesn’t make sense.’
If he were truly the Sword King’s disciple, House Daelthorn wouldn’t dare disrespect him by exiling him, no matter what cri he committed.
The Sword King was a massive figure in Wageah.
His na alone carried weight across regions.
’But if he wasn’t the Sword King’s disciple, how does he know the Sword King’s martial arts?’
He had taught Varren’s Dominion Wall before.
It was a defensive sword art belonging to the Sword King’s lineage.
Even if it was only one technique, it was not sothing ordinary people could casually learn.
While I was thinking about that, Dad and Lucas took a short break.
Lucas was panting lightly, sweat clinging to his forehead.
Dad leaned on his wooden sword and looked at him thoughtfully.
"I have been thinking about this. Why did you co to to be trained?" Dad asked.
"Because you were Rank 5." Lucas answered instantly, though still catching his breath.
Dad raised an eyebrow. "There are so elders who are Rank 5. I didn’t hear you going to them and asking to be their disciple."
That wasn’t wrong.
In the history of House Daelthorn, the number of people who reached Rank 5 could be counted on one hand.
Even including Dad, there were only five.
That was one of the main reasons why House Daelthorn was considered one of the strongest Houses on Earth. Strength spoke louder than heritage, and Rank 5 Exorcists were living proof of power.
Disregarding Dad, we had four Rank 5 Exorcists.
’Well, so of them are really old, so their combat power would be quite low for a Rank 5.’
Age dulled more than just reflexes. It dulled killing intent too.
’Then again, the current house head is considered the strongest Rank 5 on Earth, so his strength evens out the weaker ones.’
Even Rank 4 Exorcists were precious combat assets for any House or family. They were pillars. Strategic resources.
Rank 5 Exorcists, however, were sothing else entirely.
They were miniature nukes.
Wherever they went, they were treated as treasures... or threats.
Lucas wiped the sweat from his chin and looked at Dad seriously. "The elders are strong, yes. But you were stronger."
"Oh?" Dad’s lips curved upward. "Keep the praise coming."
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