After spending a night with Teresia, Derek turned his focus to magical training.
His identity was sensitive. His situation was perilous. Only by growing stronger could he ensure his safety.
Besides, breaking his curse might ultimately fall to him alone.
The more he interacted with Teresia, the less reliable this Holy Maiden seemed.
Had she not been so adorably cute, he’d have sworn he was raising a pig—one that excelled equally at eating and… other things.
After a day or two at the combat arena, Derek grasped the rhythm of magic practice.
Just like studying, it demanded balance.
He’d start by firing a few Lightning Bolts or Shadow Blasts at training dummies.
Once his mana felt nearly drained, he’d pause to meditate.
When replenished, he’d rise again and unleash another volley.
In short: drain, replenish. Drain, replenish. Perseverance defined a real man.
Crucially, the *draining* required restraint.
Greed was dangerous. Overexertion hindered growth and harmed the body.
This cycle made his mana swell faster than meditation alone.
He’d considered chugging mana potions to squeeze out extra shots—but potions were for cowards. Quick recovery meant nothing for true strength.
Though his training sounded dubious, Derek *was* progressing.
He also sensed Teresia’s growth.
Though hers manifested in… *terrain* changes.
Since meeting Derek, Head Chef Yeger had indeed increased their portions.
Every meal cart that arrived left Derek stunned.
But Teresia was more astonishing—she wolfed down and digested everything.
That deranged killer Yeger then sent a whole pot of turtle-and-goji-berry stew, a tonic for vitality.
Teresia, ever lacking modesty, sat beside him. If he drank it, wouldn’t he die of embarrassment?
To avoid waste, Derek surrendered the pot.
Teresia happily devoured every drop, sighing inwardly: *Young Master Derek is truly too good to me~*
Her affection for Derek deepened.
Closer proximity meant less personal space—and Derek gained intimate knowledge of the Holy Lady’s… development.
He’d never imagined human growth could inflate like a balloon.
In mere days, Teresia had changed again.
At this rate, raising pigs would make him rich.
*Sigh.*
One phrase echoed in his mind:
*Before long… Before long… the Great Mountain Range of Teresia.*
…
Whether Yeger gossiped or the maids changing sheets spread rumors, after that night, the manor treated Teresia as Derek’s private possession.
No one troubled her now—but Derek remained uneasy.
Life in Duke Wudewen’s manor pressed down with constant stress. He had to control his pace meticulously to avoid trouble.
Derek gazed up at the azure sky, wishing he could be as free as the bird soaring overhead.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, the bird landed.
On the manor’s rooftop…
*Damn it!*
He almost fired a Lightning Bolt at the stupid bird, then ordered Yeger to cook it and feed it to Teresia—a handful of dust toward her mountainous expansion.
But he couldn’t. The bird’s left leg bore a message scroll. It was a carrier pigeon for Duke Wudewen.
…
“Gluttons!”
Derek faintly heard the Duke’s furious roar moments later.
*Ugh. All that bird’s fault!*
With the Duke enraged, Derek would have to tread carefully again.
Better investigate.
…
“Xinzel, what happened?”
Xinzel had received the letter and delivered it to the Duke. He’d know.
“This year’s drought in Dakelos’ North Province is severe. They’re begging Duke Wudewen for relief funds…”
Xinzel’s face clouded with concern for the suffering people.
*Dakelos?*
The name stirred buried memories.
Before the Duke adopted him, Derek had come from there.
North Province Dakelos lay in the northern reaches of Doranbar Kingdom—a fief granted to Duke Wudewen by the King.
But the Duke, an absentee landlord living in the capital, only collected taxes. He ignored Dakelos completely.
Now, with drought crippling the land, taxes couldn’t be paid. Asking *him* for aid? No wonder the Duke seethed.
If this continued, he’d refuse every coin—and might even sign a cruel decree to tighten the screws.
The Duke cared nothing for his people’s lives.
How many would starve? Dakelos might become a hellscape.
Derek had roamed Dakelos in his past life; it was already a desolate, impoverished ruin. Perhaps this drought—and the Duke’s neglect—had started it.
*Wait.*
*Dakelos?!*
This could be his chance.
Heart pounding, Derek strode toward the manor’s most unsettling room.
“Young Master Derek, where are you going?” Xinzel called out as Derek suddenly rose.
“To speak with Father.”
Derek’s voice was calm, indifferent.
Not an act. It was simply his nature—even when terrified, he appeared composed.
…
*Young Master Derek is approaching the Duke?*
*The Duke is furious. Why walk into that storm?*
*Unless…*
*It’s about Dakelos?!*
Xinzel’s thoughts raced. It had to be.
Watching Derek’s retreating back, Xinzel felt tears well up.
*So young, yet his heart aches for his people! To save suffering souls, he risks the Duke’s wrath alone. How noble!*
Derek’s usual composure suggested he had a plan.
*Truly, Dakelos’ people are blessed by his compassion!*
…
*Compassion?*
*What nonsense!*
Had Derek known Xinzel’s thoughts, he’d have scoffed inwardly.
He didn’t care about Dakelos.
He just needed to escape this manor—and its suffocating pressure.
“Derek. What do you want?” Duke Wudewen’s tone was icy, his mood foul.
“Father, I heard about the drought in Dakelos’ North Province… and their request for funds. You refuse to help?”
“Do you dare question my decision?” The Duke’s voice turned threatening.
Derek met the glacial stare without flinching.
“I have… personal insights.”
“*Hmph.*” The Duke’s fingers twitched, weaving flames—a fireball forming in his palm.
But Derek moved faster.
“Why should Father waste coin on Dakelos’ wretches? Being your subjects is their highest honor! These shameless dogs deserve death! We must *punish* them! Without bloodshed, they’ll never grasp the Wudewen name’s supreme might!”
Derek’s words lashed out—cruel, cold, calculated.
They shattered the Duke’s concentration.
The fireball of wrath… never ignited.
