After seeing Sylvia to the corridor outside her room, I paused just before she entered.
"One thing," I said, lowering my voice a notch. "Act normal around Linette."
Sylvia stopped, tilting her head ever so slightly in a silent question.
"If she senses we know what she is, we will have to change our course, drastically."
Sylvia smiled lightly — a polished, noble smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Understood," she said. "I will also ensure she does not come into contact with anything important."
Yeah. Poor Linette.
Up against Sylvia and she thought she was the hunter.
Good luck with that.
I watched Sylvia slip into her room, then turned on my heel. Clara, as always, followed half a step behind me — silent, steady, dependable.
"Let's go," I said, lifting my arm and stretching my costal muscles.
Together we made our way back to my room.
Inside, I tossed my coat on the chair, dropped onto the armchair like I had fought a war today, and sighed up at the ceiling.
It stared back, offering no apologies.
Clara stood by the door, hands folded neatly before her, waiting.
"Clara," I said, swinging my feet off the armrest. "Train me."
Her brows knit together instantly, a clear and immediate 'no' flashing across her normally reserved face.
"Young Master," she said carefully, "you have me, the knights, and the Falcon Guard to protect you. There is no need for you to force yourself."
Yeah, that would've been a great plan... if we lived in a fairy tale.
Or if enemies politely waited while my bodyguards beat them up.
I shook my head.
"I'm not asking because I'm bored. I need to stop being a liability."
Clara's mouth opened as if to protest — then hesitated.
Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't some paper tiger.
With my stats, I was sitting comfortably at E+ rank. Which, compared to the average grown man at F+ or E-, was downright impressive.
But with the ashen behind my ass?
Being "better than average" was like bringing a butter knife to a gunfight.
I couldn't keep relying on Clara to carry me like a sack of flour every time someone sneezed too hard.
There was also the uncomfortable reality I'd learned recently: Humans were, frankly, screwed when it came to mana.
Where as Elves...
Elves could naturally manifest elemental mana, the 'elemental manifestation', which could. unlike physical manifestation, manifest mana in it's truest form, elements — fire, water, wind, all that fancy stuff.
To them, magic was breathing.
Humans, on the other hand...
We were lucky if mana even noticed we existed.
No elemental manipulation, no natural affinity — nothing.
The only workaround for us mortals was innate skills.
And if you were blessed with a combat-focused innate skill, it changed everything.
Take Sword Saint, for example.
Its 'active' ability was impressive — physical manifestation of mana, 'aura blades', fighting at a distance, all that jazz.
But it required over 85% mana mastery to even activate properly.
Which was ridiculous. Most people never even dreamed of hitting 70%.
The real game-changer wasn't the 'active' ability. It was the passive effect.
A combat-related innate skill didn't just sit pretty in your status window.
It accelerated everything — stamina, agility, strength, reflexes — even your learning curve.
You picked up sword techniques faster.
Your body adapted quicker.
Your stamina never ran out.
It was like life itself bent over backward to help you grow.
And then there were people like Clara. People who got nothing.
No innate skill. Not even a name sake D class innate skill.
No fancy blood line.
Just sweat, blood, and an unhealthy amount of stubbornness.
Clara was ridiculously strong for her age.... hell, even for fully grown soldier.
Her strength and agility were monstrous, even compared to knights twice her size.
But her endurance... yeah, that was a crack in the armor. Endurance packs in stamina and tanking ability.
Without an innate skill passively boosting her physical growth, her stamina hadn't kept pace with her power.
If a battle dragged out too long, her lack of stamina would show up, her focus would start slipping.
Her reaction speed would dip. She'd get slower, less sharp.
And tired Clara was vulnerable Clara.
A prolonged battle was her worst nightmare. The fight during the banquet was an example.
A 'D' rank like marla could never tank a powerhouse's blow. Yet, what could have been an instant defeat for marla was prolonged to few exchanges because Clara was tired.
Which meant, if I stayed a fragile deadweight, she'd have no choice but to stick close to me at all times — shrinking her range of movement, limiting her options.
And eventually, that kind of bottleneck would get her killed and I would follow.
"I'm not doing this because I want to play knight," I said, locking eyes with Clara.
"I'm doing it so you have the freedom to fight without worrying about me bleeding out somewhere."
Clara's expression shifted, just a tiny bit.
A flicker of something — pride, maybe? Regret?
Then, with a soft exhale, she bowed her head.
"As you command, Young Master," she said, voice steady but quieter than usual.
I smirked.
The plan was simple.
First, I'd focus on mana mastery and agility.
Because if I couldn't be a battering ram, I could at least be an annoying, hard-to-hit mosquito.
Then, once I had a decent grip on that, I'd pick up a weapon.
Preferably something I didn't suck at.
Sword, spear, daggar or maybe even a pan — I wasn't picky.
Right now, my E+ combat ability was good. But it wasn't enough.
If I wanted to survive outside the castle — especially when I headed to the Elvian Kingdom to mediate talks between Leon and the elves — I needed to be at least D- or D rank.
Otherwise, I might as well wear a sign that said "Kidnap Me."
I leaned back, grinning to myself.
One step at a time.
One humiliating, sweaty, backbreaking step at a time.
The evening breeze was nice—just cool enough to keep the sweat from feeling gross, and warm enough that I didn't regret not bringing a coat.
I stretched lazily, arms above my head, spine popping in a few places like a much older man than I should've been.
Across from me, the training grounds spread out like a giant empty playground, and honestly, the idea of running laps already made my legs feel tired.
But well, no pain, no gain, right?
I started warming up, doing some half-hearted lunges and twists, when I heard the softest shuffle of fabric behind me.
Turning my head, I caught Clara standing there.
She was clutching the edges of her skirt so tightly I thought she might tear the fabric.
"Young master..." she said, almost too quietly, "if you believe I am... inadequate to protect you, then I will speak with His Grace and arrange for better personnel immediately."
Her voice was composed, polite even, but her body said otherwise.
Her lashes lowered, almost like she was bracing herself for a blow.
Like she thought I'd just nod and say, "Yeah, you're fired."
For a moment, I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or kick myself.
"Clara," I said, straightening up properly.
"If a god popped out of the sky right now, beaming and booming and whatever else gods do, and told me to hand the responsibility of my life over to someone..."
I scratched the back of my neck, smiling a little. "The first person I'd pick, no hesitation, would be you."
The way her head shot up almost made me chuckle.
A soft, stunned "Ah..." escaped her, and color immediately flooded her cheeks.
Not just a little pink, full-on blooming rose-petal pink.
She unclenched her fists, her whole posture relaxing like I'd just taken a hundred-pound weight off her shoulders.
And then, finally, she smiled.
A real one.
Small and shy, but a hundred times more brilliant than any battle stance she could've shown me.
Yeah. If there was ever a moment to carve into stone and shove in a museum labeled "Peak Clara," this would be it.
Anyway, enough sentimental stuff. Time to suffer.
I took off running, keeping a steady pace.
First lap? Easy.
Second lap? Okay, lungs starting to burn a little.
Third lap? I'm pretty sure I unlocked a new form of pain.
Still, I managed to finish without faceplanting. Always a win.
Catching my breath, I wiped the sweat from my brow.
If I'd even tried running a lap at this speed in my old body, William's body, I would've probably blacked out halfway and needed a priest more than a doctor.
This body though..
Stronger, faster, better.
Not quite superhero material, but I could definitely throw hands with your average adult man and not embarrass myself.
Which... was still not saying much, considering most of the people I'd need to deal with could probably swat me like a fly.
Clara approached again, graceful and unbothered like she hadn't just watched me struggle for dear life.
"You are progressing well, young master," she said, folding her hands neatly. "However, your combat capability remains low compared to even mid-tier knights."
She wasn't trying to be harsh. Just... stating facts. Which somehow made it hurt more.
"You must steadily improve your strength and stamina," she continued. "And considering your innate skill catalyzes your mana control and mental faculties rather than combat-related stats... I suggest we focus your training accordingly."
She gave me a small, encouraging smile, her blonde hair catching the light.
"If it is to your liking, young master, I would be honored to personally guide you in developing your mana mastery."
I staggered inside, still trying to catch my breath. I nodded with whatever dignity I could salvage.
"That was a great idea," I gasped out between desperate gulps of air, probably looking like a dying fish on land. Not my most graceful moment, but hey, progress is progress
Clara led me to a small chamber connected to the training grounds. The stone walls were cool to the touch, and the open windows let in the soft evening breeze.
She immediately stepped forward, starting with a few basic pointers about mana flow control.
Nothing fancy, just posture adjustments, breathing patterns, simple visualization techniques... beginner-friendly stuff.
I followed her instructions diligently, mainly because if I started slacking off now, she might genuinely start crying out of disappointment.
While I focused on her teachings, my mind couldn't help but wander a bit.
See, combat-related innate skills were crazy in their own right, they boosted all sorts of combat stats: strength, agility, endurance, you name it.
On the flip side, psychological skills like Sebastian's Phantom Cloak and well, my own Inspect, didn't exactly turn you into a human meat grinder.
Instead, they specialized in catalyzing your mana mastery.
Not that I was complaining.
Regardless of type, the effectiveness of an innate skill always scaled with its tier.
Meaning: the higher the tier, the stronger the passive benefits during training.
Which was great news for me, considering my Inspect was a full-blown S+ tier skill. Same rank as Absorb — that monstrous combat skill the protagonist posses.
But... there was always a catch.
The mana mastery required to unlock the active portion of an innate skill... Yeah, it scaled with the tier too.
Sword Saint, an S- class skill like Juliette's and Everard's, demanded 85% mana control to activate its true form — the manifestation of physical aura blades.
Sebastian's Phantom Cloak, an S-tier skill? Around 90%.
Which meant for Inspect, S+ monster of a skill?
Probably 95% or above.
Yeah, I might as well prepare a grave next to the training field because chasing 95% mana control was basically asking people to stamp "brain-dead idiot" on my forehead.
Sure, some legends apparently hit 97%... but those guys were myths, not breathing humans walking around in this era.
And no, nobody just knew their innate skills or their tiers magically.
The only way to check was by using one of the few divine artifacts housed in Holy Churches across the human territories.
There were four artifacts total — one in Valthryon, one in Tenjiku, and two in Zarathene. All with humans.
And unless you were rolling in gold or born with a golden diaper, the cost of using one of those artifacts was so astronomical that common folks couldn't even dream of it.
Which... honestly sucked.
Plenty of talented people out there never even realized they had potential because they couldn't afford the test.
Another funny thing? The artifact only measured skills up to tier S. And couldn't measure below tier D.
Also, there are no pluses, no minuses, no finer distinctions.
Sword Saint and Phantom Cloak were both simply labeled "S" despite their gap, Sword Saint technically being S- and Phantom Cloak being a true S-tier.
As for skills beyond S?
Only two existed: mine and Absorb.
Which was why people back in the day thought my innate skill was just some downgraded offshoot of my mother's 'Appraisal'.
Her skill, Appraisal, was a B- ranked ability that let her read basic details about people, like names, designations, item descriptions, and even the layout of sharp objects or documents within a room if she wanted.
Since the artifact couldn't measure beyond S and beneath D, most people assumed 'inspect' was an E-rank at best, since no one knew there were two skills beyond 'S'.
.
Two days passed just like that.
And in these two days, something ridiculous happened.
My mana control, which had been chilling at a humble 19%, had skyrocketed to 33%.
Yeah, you heard that right. Thirty-three.
Even for a so-called "genius," jumping 14% in two days would be considered... well, straight-up abnormal.
But I guess having an S+ tier innate skill spoon-feeding my mana veins did wonders.
Clara, bless her diligent little heart, had been keeping a hawk-eye on my progress the whole time.
Every minor fluctuation in my mana flow, every moment I lost control or let it leak, she caught it instantly.
I could tell she was shocked — her blue eyes would widen slightly whenever I broke through another invisible wall.
But she didn't let that distract her from her duty.
If there was even a microscopic flaw in my mana control, she pointed it out immediately, always polite, always composed.
She even shared some training pointers she had picked up during her sessions with Seraphina — like minor breathing corrections, slight muscle relaxations — the kind of stuff you wouldn't even realize was holding you back.
Honestly? Half the credit for my absurd progress probably belonged to her.
Of course, while my mana control was blooming like a late-bloomer cactus, my combat skills were... another story entirely.
We had sparred four times in the past two days.
And by "spar," I mean I flailed around like an idiot while Clara gently tapped me with her wooden sword like she was swatting flies.
She couldn't even begin to understand how my swings could be this catastrophically bad, even after drilling the correct stance into me for hours.
It wasn't just bad.
It was embarrassingly bad.
At some point, I figured sparring with Clara was just a waste of both our time.
The gap between us was so wide that we weren't even speaking the same language anymore.
So I shamelessly begged Sylvia for help.
Unlike Clara, Sylvia is at D+, same as my little sister Juli. Juli might have a slightly upper hand in battle, thanks to her Sword saint skill but Sylvia's higher mana mastery is worth considering, so it's hard to tell who wins, though in a span of an year Juli would probably become a power house rivaling even Clara herself.
Sylvia might take longer to get there since her innate skill cannot catalyse battle powers. But like Clara her talent for combat came naturally, not from some freakishly overpowered innate skill, so she could probably understand what a struggling newbie like me actually needed.
At first, Sylvia just blinked at me like I had grown a second head.
Then she agreed.
Twice a day, morning and evening, she dropped by to give a few tips.
And wow, the shock on her face when she saw how bad my instincts were..
Priceless.
Turns out, even basic evasion was beyond me.
Sometimes I wonder how William, my old self, survived crossing the street, let alone fighting assassins.
Still, Sylvia tried really hard to be nice about it.
She'd frown a little, open her mouth like she wanted to scold me, then immediately soften and patiently rephrase everything.
It was honestly... pretty sweet.
Anyway, today, I decided to be ambitious again.
Since I'd finally broken past that annoying 30% bottleneck and now had a solid 33% mana control, I figured, "Hey, why not spar with Clara again? How bad could it be?"
(Answer: Very bad. But at least this time, I'd suck slightly less.)
I tightened the bandages around my training sword, took a deep breath, and walked toward the center of the training grounds where Clara was already waiting, her expression serene as always, like she hadn't just watched me embarrass myself four times in a row over the past two days.
"Young master," she said softly, dipping her head, "shall we begin?"
My hands tightened around the hilt.
Let's do this.
.
He stood before me once again, taking the same stance I had corrected time and time before.
Only this time, he held it perfectly.
Back straight, chin tucked, arms steady — just as I had instructed. There was no trace of uncertainty in his posture.
Yet… the flaw remained.
No matter how precisely he mimicked the form, his strikes lacked weight.
A sword swing is more than angles and alignment — it is intent and strength. Theory could polish the form, but not birth power.
Still, seeing him stand so composed, I asked as I always did, "Are you ready, young master?"
He grinned, eyes glittering.
"Bring it on."
As if we stood in the heat of battle.
It made me smile. Just faintly.
I lunged forward, just as I had in our previous spars, with precisely ten percent of my strength.
A safe, tested amount that allowed me to demonstrate pressure without risking harm.
His eyes widened a bit as if surprised, he no longer looked at my sword.
Clugg—
My sword stopped.
Blocked.
My eyes widened before I could suppress the reaction.
He had stopped it. Cleanly.
It wasn't a lucky flinch or a panicked swing.
He looked up at me — and for a heartbeat, my chest clenched.
His eyes glimmered crimson.
And for the briefest instant, I saw not the cheerful, sarcastic young master I had grown used to…
…but His Grace.
The very same presence.
That absolute will that could not be shaken.
I instinctively stepped back.
"Clara… what is that?" he asked, surprised.
I was still collecting myself. "Y-Young master, you've improved greatly. I could see the moment you tracked my—"
"Clara," he interrupted, voice steady, eyes sharp.
"Increase the output to twenty percent. Aim for my gut."
I blinked. "Twenty percent is too—"
"Fast, Clara. Quick, move!"
There it was again. That tone — not reckless, not arrogant.
It was… excitement. Pure, unfiltered eagerness.
As if he had been given a new toy and could not wait to see it in action.
I exhaled softly, resigning myself to what I had already decided in my heart.
I would stop my sword before contact.
There would be no harm done.
I lunged again.
Clugg—!
He was pushed back.
But he withstood it.
His stance broke, his feet slid — but he did not fall.
Not in the way he should have.
My sword had landed clean. Twenty percent.
It should have knocked him down. Easily.
Yet he tanked the blow. With a grin.
I stood still, staring.
Then he called out again.
"Clara, output to forty percent! And don't tell me where you're attacking, throw in a feint too!"
My eyes widened. "No way. 40% is too absurd—"
"Clara, just do it. Trust me on it!"
His voice was forceful, yet pleading.
He trusted me to go all out and to stop if needed.
I nodded.
Gripping my wooden sword with both hands, I stepped forward.
I positioned my left arm slightly forward, angled in such a way that, should my strike land, the blow would pass through me first.
This time, I feinted, lowering my shoulders as though aiming for his gut, then twisted mid-motion and redirected the strike toward his upper chest.
Thwack—
He flew.
The sound of his body colliding with the stone wall echoed.
"Young master—!"
I stepped forward, but paused.
He was laughing. Actually laughing.
Bouncing on his feet. Arms raised in triumph like a child who had just won his first duel.
He was battered. Bruised.
But smiling.
I did not even register his joy at first.
I was still frozen.
Because I felt it, I felt his sword making contact with mine in an attempt to block...He actually saw my sword's movement.
40% of my agility should seem like a teleport to an untrained eye like youngmaster's, yet he clearly put his sword exactly at the spot where my sword would have landed if not for that.
That… that should have been impossible.
A beginner who could not land a proper strike just yesterday... had now tanked a blow at twenty percent and blocked the blow at forty.
Even Lady Juliette, who bore the legendary skill 'Sword Saint', could not have blocked that at her current level.
He was still trembling. Still catching his breath.
But he had crossed a threshold no one could have predicted.
A moment passed. Then another.
And in my thoughts, for the first time, a single word surfaced.
Monster.