The setting sun painted the practice grounds in hues of amber and gold, its dying light casting long shadows across the worn earth. Marcus stood alone in this fading day, his sword moving through the air with thodical precision. There was nothing flashy about his movents – no elaborate footwork, no dramatic flourishes. Just a single, forward swing repeated with unwavering dedication.
His form was beyond re perfection; it spoke of sothing deeper. Each swing carried the weight of countless repetitions, like a monk who had spent decades perfecting a single prayer. The blade cut through the air with such natural grace that it seed an extension of his very being, the movent so pure it appeared almost ditative.
After what felt like hours, Marcus finally lowered his sword, his breathing steady despite the extended practice. "It’s still not enough," he muttered, frustration etching lines across his face. His mind wandered back to his encounters with the Fla Serpent, both defeats burning in his mory with crystal clarity.
The first loss, he could rationalize. He had been young, poor, untrained – a different person in a different life. But the second? Even ard with a mythical-ranked sword technique and years of experience, the outco remained unchanged. The parallel failures gnawed at him, raising uncomfortable questions about his fundantal understanding of swordsmanship.
If advanced techniques made no appreciable difference in his performance, what did that say about his supposed genius with the sword? The thought prompted a bitter laugh. "I spoke about not relying on others," he mused aloud, "yet here I was, still clinging to techniques created by other people."
A new resolve crystallized in his mind – he would strip away all the elaborate movents, all the borrowed wisdom. His path forward would be his own, focused on the fundantal truth of swordsmanship: If the techniques made no difference when he was or wasn’t using them, then they were simply a distraction, he would focus solely on swinging his sword, perfecting his form. Although His form was already perfect, he didn’t want it to be just perfect, he wanted it to be even better than perfect. No flashy movents, no complicated techniques, just a man with a sword, and when he swung his sword, he didn’t want to focus on anything else, just the contact between his blade and his opponent. 1
As this revelation settled over him, a familiar warmth blood in his core. His talent, responding to this shift in perspective, stirred with the promise of growth. The sensation brought a smile to his face – his instincts were right. This was the path forward, and as long as he stayed true to it, it wouldn’t be long before his top level sword intent talent transford into—
The thought cut off abruptly as his eyes widened in horror. Marcus collapsed to his knees, cold sweat beading on his forehead as he grappled with a terrifying realization. "I can’t rember! I don’t rember! What is it? What did my talent transform into?" The na of his transford talent – the pinnacle he had once reached – was gone, vanished like morning mist from his mory.
Questions and implications cascaded through his mind. Could a stolen talent truly echo across ti itself? Had he lost not just his power but even the possibility of reclaiming it? The Spirit King’s second chance suddenly felt hollow – what good was returning to the past if he couldn’t recapture what made him special?
His carefully accumulated techniques didn’t seem all that useful, the world was deviating from his accumulated knowledge faster than he could keep up. And now, he had no chance to upgrade his talent.
Just as despair threatened to overwhelm him, a gentle pressure on his back anchored him to the present.
"Are you okay?" Adelaide’s concerned voice cut through his spiral of dark thoughts. She stood beside him, her hand resting supportively on his back. "You looked as though you’d seen a ghost."
…
Adelaide made her way toward the training grounds, her footsteps purposeful. She knew exactly where to find Marcus – he’d barely left the place in the past two days since their return from the examination dungeon. The arrangent at the estate had been straightforward enough; Ambrose had already established it as one of the benefits of party mbership. Yet Adelaide couldn’t help but find herself intrigued by their newest residents.
Both Marcus and ihua had defied her expectations of how commoners typically behaved when suddenly thrust into luxury. When she’d offered to show them around the sprawling grounds, their responses had been almost dismissive – ihua claiming she needed to study, while Marcus had simply headed straight for the training area. Their singular focus was both impressive and slightly unnerving.
The master certainly has an eye for... unique individuals, Adelaide mused as she walked. Their dedication to self-improvent was infectious; watching them work so diligently had only strengthened her own resolve to push harder. However, her path forward required venturing beyond the academy’s protective walls – a prospect that carried its own risks.
She knew her brothers would be watching, waiting for any opportunity to strike. The mont she left the academy’s grounds, they would surely make their move. This reality had led her to seek out Marcus. Despite his loss in the dungeon, she’d witnessed enough of his fighting prowess to know he’d be more reliable than any rcenary she could hire at present.
Her choice had been largely practical. ihua, despite her talents, was physically weaker than Adelaide herself. Hualing had been acting strange ever since the examination, her behavior becoming increasingly unsettling. That left Marcus as her only viable option for protection.
Her imdiate goal was clear – she needed to visit her father to formally separate her company from the Golden Compass Trading Company and withdraw from the inheritance race. The irony wasn’t lost on her; as one of the first subordinates of the Rothschild heir, maintaining connections to her family’s trading company had beco more liability than asset.
How strange, she reflected, that everything I’ve worked for my entire life could beco obsolete in less than two weeks. Yet Adelaide wasn’t one for emotional attachnt to sunk costs. She approached everything like a ledger – losses were simply expenses to be balanced against future gains. And in this case, the potential returns far outweighed any sacrifices.
When she finally reached the training ground, she found Marcus mid-practice and decided to observe rather than interrupt. However, she’d miscalculated – his training showed no signs of stopping. She stood there, weighing her options as she watched him repeat the sa swing over and over with chanical precision. Just as she was considering whether she might need to wait another full day, he suddenly stopped.
Adelaide noticed a smile spread across his face and took it as her cue to approach. But before she could take two steps, she witnessed sothing unsettling – his expression transford from joy to absolute despair in the span of heartbeats. The dramatic shift gave her pause.
This man’s emotional stability is concerning, she thought, recalling his behavior in the dungeon. The way he’d swung from declaring I want to fight solo to admitting I can’t do anything by myself reminded her of those poorly written protagonists in romantic novels. The kind where the hero’s personality seed to change with every chapter.
Pushing aside her reservations, she approached and gently tapped his back. "Are you okay?" she asked, genuine concern coloring her voice despite her earlier skepticism. "You looked as though you’d seen a ghost."
A/N - Idk if it ca out well but essentially, he just wants to focus on landing real blows rather than having fancy moves. (Since this is the OG mc, he will be like the cliché transmigration/regression mc - I might nerf his intelligence sowhat since all I know are braindead)
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