What the hell is this hand-to-hand combat nonsense?!

Have mages lost their prestige? Or has magic stopped being flashy?!

According to his plan, wealthy benefactors would support him forever—no, repay his kindness! Why was he so damn stubborn? Why insist on learning physical combat from Xinzel?!

The reversal was drastic. Derek’s drastic shift in thinking stemmed from firsthand experience.

At first, Derek figured he’d just pick up some hand-to-hand skills. After all, you can never have too many talents.

Only when he truly began did he grasp how agonizing the process would be…

…

“Yes, exactly like that… Young Master Derek, you’re a genius!”

Xinzel couldn’t help but praise him, his expression flickering with excitement.

Xinzel had started by teaching Derek the combat technique.

Technique was the foundation. Only after establishing fixed magical circuits within the body and strengthening the physique through mana circulation could one progress to other physical arts.

Years ago, Xinzel had joined the Assassins Guild, completed countless contracts, and finally obtained this stealth-focused “Nightchant Combat Technique.” Mastering it had taken him even longer.

He never expected Derek to grasp it instantly. Such terrifying talent left him utterly stunned.

For Derek, it truly was nothing, because…

[You have learned the "Nightchant Combat Technique"]

Yet, feeling Xinzel’s astonished gaze, Derek couldn’t suppress a flicker of pride.

“Since Young Master Derek has mastered the technique, let’s move to practical skills,” Xinzel said, handing Derek a wooden practice dagger. “First, the absolute basics: the thrust. Watch my demonstration.”

He plucked a fallen leaf from the courtyard and tossed it upward.

In the next instant, Derek felt a breeze brush past.

Crisp. Clean.

“There. That’s a thrust.”

Derek: Huh?! What just happened?!

Only upon closer inspection did he notice the tiny hole cleanly pierced through the drifting leaf.

Damn, that’s insane!

Witnessing this power, Derek burned to learn it even more.

“The thrust is the simplest combat skill. But even the simplest technique, honed to perfection, can unleash devastating power. Next, I’ll break down the motion slowly…”

…

[You have learned the combat skill: Thrust]

Skill:

Thrust: 0/10000 (Novice)

Seeing the new skill appear, Derek thought physical combat wasn’t so tough after all~

He didn’t realize his nightmare had only just begun…

“Alright, Young Master Derek. From now on, refine this single skill until you’ve fully mastered it.”

With those simple words from Xinzel, Derek’s excruciating physical training began…

Dagger in hand, under Xinzel’s watchful eye, Derek repeated the thrust. Again. And again.

Boredom was bearable. The real killer was exhaustion.

Magic drained you too, but never like this. After casting a few spells, your body felt hollow—then you’d slip into meditation.

Meditation was pure bliss: mind and body unwinding, like letting your spirit graze freely.

Physical training offered no such reprieve.

Mana circulated internally, draining less than spellcasting, so Derek could repeat the motion endlessly.

His mana reserves were ample, but his body buckled. Though mana circulation strengthened muscles, they wouldn’t magically multiply—just as Mount Teresia wouldn’t sprout overnight.

After a while, Derek felt like he’d been dragged into a marathon. The kind where you never trained and suddenly had to sprint.

Two hours in, his breaths turned ragged. His limbs felt chained with invisible iron weights, no longer his own.

Xinzel, impressed Derek had endured this long on his first day, decided to call it quits. “Young Master Derek, that’s enough for today.”

*(Thank god!)*

Relief flooded Derek like a worker escaping brutal overtime before a long holiday. He nearly whooped aloud.

He almost did—until the curse kicked in. His soft heart couldn’t show.

“No! I refuse!”

The words rang out sharp and defiant, shocking Xinzel—and Derek himself.

“Young Master, but in your current state…” Xinzel eyed Derek’s trembling form, deeply concerned.

*(Xinzel… you get me!)*

Derek nearly wept with gratitude.

But as a destined villain, how could he show such weakness over trivialities?

So…

“Xinzel. Do you think I’d collapse so easily?”

The powerful declaration struck Xinzel like a hammer.

It nearly shattered Derek too.

*Damn it! I’m dying here! Why’s my mouth so damn stubborn?!*

Xinzel took a deep breath, his expression regaining composure—but his eyes now held reverence. “I overstepped. Young Master Derek’s will is unbreakable. Such minor trials could never defeat him. I’ll stand by you until the very end of your training!”

*Stand by my ass!*

Derek screamed internally, lips sealed.

He knew complaining would change nothing. It might even backfire, forcing him to appear even stronger.

What now?

*Sigh. I made this bed. Time to lie in it.*

Especially with two little maids watching nearby!

Catching their sparkling gazes fixed on him, Derek realized he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Thrust! Thrust!

Exhausted beyond measure, Derek drove the dagger forward.

Xinzel watched, pride swelling alongside concern.

Gradually, Derek’s breathing turned into the wheeze of a broken bellows, echoing raggedly in the wind.

He prayed Xinzel would take pity, urging him to stop—just give him an out.

If that chance came, he’d stay silent. Just nod… and collapse. Never rise again.

But Xinzel stood rigid as a statue, back straight, gaze solemn, offering only a silent salute.

As a veteran, Xinzel knew this regimen was far beyond a beginner’s limits.

Watching Derek sway on his feet, he’d nearly called a halt a dozen times.

But…

How could he defy the Young Master’s unwavering will?

How could he insult his dignity?

How could he be so ungrateful?

So Xinzel stood firm, a silent witness to Derek’s growth—his respect deepening with every labored breath…