Sylvia led us toward the eastern side of the mansion, the part closest to the conference hall we'd just left. Apparently, this was where the training hall sat.

The moment I stepped in, I could tell it was different from the one I used with Master. This one was big—just as wide as mine, sure—but it had a wooden floor, polished enough that I half-expected someone to demand I remove my shoes before walking across it.

The walls, too, weren't anything impressive. They were the same as the rest of the mansion, smooth and elegant, but nowhere near as sturdy as the reinforced stone outside.

In short, this place was designed for nobles to wave their swords around and call it "training," not for… well, me.

I stared at the floorboards, remembering the dents and cracks I'd left in the outer hall. One wrong move here, and I'd probably be paying the carpenters' salaries for the next three months.

"Lord Hugo, let's start," Sylvia said as she walked toward the weapon rack.

"Right now?" I asked, arching a brow.

She tilted her head slightly, her voice even. "Is there a problem?"

I looked her over. Well, at least she wasn't in her usual I'm-a-noble-and-you'd-better-know-it long dress today. Still, what she had on wasn't exactly light enough for training either. Did she underestimate me that much?

"Not at all, Lady Sylvia. On your mark," I replied with a polite nod and made my way to the weapon rack across from her.

Clara stepped into the center to act as referee. Though honestly, I doubted there would be much of a match to oversee.

We both took our stances.

I settled into the most basic form Clara had drilled into me during her sessions—simple, rigid, and probably laughable to anyone from the academy.

Sylvia, on the other hand, slipped into her usual stance, one I still couldn't make sense of. Some polished technique she had picked up in her academy days, no doubt. Elegant, refined, and intimidating.

Clara raised her arm, palm turned in a choke-like gesture, before sharply cutting it down.

"Begin," she said.

A gust of wind brushed across Sylvia's face.

"I win," I announced from behind her.

By the time she blinked, my wooden sword was already resting against her throat.

"What…?" Sylvia's voice cracked in disbelief, her eyes wide, trying to process what had just happened.

Clara, however, looked anything but surprised. Her eyes were serious, her expression calculating — as though she had expected exactly this outcome.

Sylvia immediately leapt back, her blade still trembling in my direction, as if I might blink behind her again.

Clara's calm voice cut through the tension. "The battle is over. Victory goes to Lord Hugo."

With that, she bowed slightly and walked toward the weapon rack. No fuss, no surprise—just the efficiency of someone who'd already seen the result before the match even began.

Sylvia, however, looked like someone whose entire worldview had just tripped over itself.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. "How… what…?" she stammered.

I gave her my most polite smile. "Ah, I boosted my agility stat and moved instantly to your back. It might have looked like teleportation to you, but…"

"Stat enhancement with mana… yes, but this much?" she pressed, still blinking at me as though I'd sprouted a second head. "What exactly happened?"

"As I said, I boosted my agili—"

"No way!" she cut me off, stepping forward. "Are you telling me you can access enough mana to boost your stats by that much? Do you really have that much control after just a few days?"

Persistent, this one.

Before I could answer, Clara spoke, wooden sword resting casually in her hand. "Lady Sylvia, it's clearly mana that boosted his agility. I saw it happen. But…" She narrowed her eyes at me. "I still have doubts about the nature of the mana he used."

"Different nature…?" Sylvia repeated, glancing between us.

Clara nodded. "If I spar him myself, I'll understand better. If you allow me, I would like to follow up with the sparring task he gave me earlier."

She didn't even look at me for permission. Typical Clara — straightforward, direct.

I sighed inwardly. You could've just asked me, you know. I nodded. "Sure. I was going to ask you the same myself."

I walked toward the far side of the floor to take position, while Sylvia still stood rooted in place, her face dazed, her mind clearly trying to glue the broken pieces of logic back together.

"Lady Sylvia," Clara said gently, "could you please act as referee?"

Her tone made it sound like a request, but I knew it was more about moving Sylvia out of the way than any actual need for officiating.

I took the stance Clara had drilled into me countless times before. What was surprising, was that she mirrored me, slipping into the exact same stance with unnerving precision. Copycat? Or a lesson about to be hammered into me?

Sylvia, standing at the referee spot, raised her hand and then cut it down. "Begin."

The word had barely left her mouth when my vision flared — an incoming trajectory, straight for my throat. Inspect highlighted it cleanly, like a helpful little "you're about to die here" notification.

I drove my sword up from below in a vertical arc, blade meeting hers. Wood on wood thudded with weight. My mana control sat steady at seventy-four percent. Clara's… around fifty-seven. Respectable, but far from mine.

I boosted my strength stat. The instant I did, Clara abandoned the contest of force altogether. She anchored her body on my blade, one leg balanced on it like it was a tree branch, then lashed out with a low kick aimed straight for my face.

There are very few polite ways to describe a boot to the skull.

I dropped my sword, threw up both my forearms, and intercepted the strike. The impact thundered, echoing across the hall. A gust of displaced air whipped Sylvia's hair about, and she clutched her dress tightly to keep it from betraying her dignity.

Clara didn't relent. With her foot still pressed into my arm, I grabbed hold and tried to slam her down headfirst into the wooden floor. The kind of maneuver that makes referees faint.

She caught herself on the tip of her ten fingers, halting what should have been a bone-crushing impact as though the floor itself had changed its mind. Then, with a violent kick upward, she jolted herself free of my grip.

Her aerial technique and flexibility were monstrous.

Numbers danced in my head. My seventy-four percent mana control let me boost my combat power from grade D to grade C+ — skipping four breakthroughs in an instant, albeit briefly. But Clara? Her fifty-seven percent control could push her solidly from C grade to B-. Add to that her encyclopedic arsenal of techniques, and even if we stood on the same tier, I wouldn't win.

No, this wasn't a fight to win. This was a chance to carve instincts into my bones, to see firsthand how true powerhouses wield agility and technique.

"As I thought…" Clara said while tossing me my sword, and picking hers up. She held her own weapon steady, her eyes narrowing.

"The mana I'm sensing… it has both your scent and something foreign," she said, jolting her blade that sent the wind scattering in every direction.

I smirked. "Well, as I was about to say, the mana I'm using isn't just mine. Turns out I can absorb and incorporate foreign mana into my circuits. And I absorbed quite a lot of it back in the dungeon."

Clara's brows knitted. "What…?"

Sylvia stepped in, her tone sharp. "...Is that even possible?"

"I only realized it myself when my master pointed it out to me," I replied, trying not to sound too smug.

Clara's expression shifted in an instant, her face lighting up as if she had just discovered treasure. "Doesn't that mean you can now learn techniques that require the strength and agility of a powerhouse?"

I gave her a slow nod. "Well… If I use my mana I'm atleast stronger than some borderline powerhouses."

Her lips curved into the kind of smile that usually meant trouble for me. She raised her sword, eyes glinting faintly purple. "Pick your sword up, young master. I will begin teaching you every technique I know."

[Ding! Target combat stat rose to (B-).]

Inspect flashed before my eyes.

Wait. Did that mean she hadn't even been fighting at her full strength until now?

Am I cooked?

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