A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

Selene studied Andras in silence for several moments before finally speaking.

”Yes,” she said at last. ”You are.”

Her dark eyes never left him.

”The mana surrounding your body is unstable. Instead of remaining under your control, it’s leaking into the surroundings.”

Andras lowered his gaze to his hands before offering a faint, apologetic smile.

”My apologies. It wasn’t intentional.”

After a brief pause, he continued,

”I believe I gained some insight during today’s battle. My body hasn’t fully adjusted to the changes yet.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

The fusion of False Ceiling Break and Iron Blood Reinforcement had transformed his body in ways even he was still studying. His mana pathways had widened, his physical abilities had increased dramatically, and even his perception had sharpened. Such sudden changes inevitably left traces—traces that someone as experienced as Selene could never overlook.

A Peak Seventh Circle Mage didn’t need a status window to notice abnormalities.

Selene neither questioned nor accepted his explanation. Instead, her gaze drifted toward the soldiers still gathered around the training grounds.

”Everyone.”

Her calm voice carried effortlessly across the field.

”Training is over. Return to your duties.”

The soldiers immediately straightened before bowing in unison.

”Yes, General!”

They dispersed without complaint, though many couldn’t resist glancing back at Andras as they left.

Their whispers drifted through the morning breeze.

”The Young Master really has changed...”

”Did you see that final exchange?”

”How could someone at the Low Third Circle move like that?”

”It feels like he’s become an entirely different person.”

Others said nothing at all.

They merely looked at him with newfound respect—or cautious wariness—before following the rest.

Andras paid them no attention.

Respect.

Fear.

Curiosity.

None of those emotions lasted forever. They belonged only to the strong, and they changed as quickly as strength itself.

When the last soldier disappeared beyond the gates, silence reclaimed the training grounds.

Only Andras and Selene remained.

A cool breeze swept across the empty arena, carrying away the lingering scent of dust and splintered wood from the previous match.

Selene walked toward him at an unhurried pace.

Her expression remained composed, but beneath that familiar calm rested unmistakable curiosity.

”How is your body?”

”I’m fine.”

Rolling his shoulders once, Andras tested the stiffness in his muscles.

”There’s some fatigue, but nothing worth worrying about.”

”And your condition?”

”Stable.”

His answer came without hesitation.

”I wasn’t seriously injured.”

Selene observed him for several seconds before speaking again.

”There is something different about you.”

The statement was simple.

Its meaning wasn’t.

Andras understood immediately.

She had noticed.

Again.

First Evelyne.

Now Selene.

Perhaps those who had reached such heights could sense changes invisible to ordinary people—subtle shifts in breathing, mana circulation, posture, or instinct.

Whatever the reason, hiding from them wouldn’t be easy.

Even so, his expression remained relaxed.

”I think you’re imagining it.”

He gave a casual shrug.

”Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you believe.”

The atmosphere shifted.

Selene’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

”Are you trying to deceive me?”

Her tone remained even, yet certainty lingered beneath every word.

”I’ve known you since you were a child.”

She stopped only a few steps away.

”I watched you grow.”

”I trained you.”

”I saw your victories... your failures... your habits... and every flaw you tried to hide.”

Her gaze sharpened.

”If anyone in this estate understands you, it’s me.”

Andras met her eyes quietly.

She wasn’t wrong.

Selene had watched the original Andras for years. She had witnessed every setback, every reckless decision, every arrogant outburst.

Compared to that boy...

His current self might as well have been another person.

After a brief silence, he let out a quiet sigh.

”Perhaps you’re right.”

A faint smile crossed his face.

”But maybe what you’re sensing isn’t a mystery.”

He looked toward the open sky.

”Being beaten half to death by my own sister... then spending three days unconscious...”

His smile turned wry.

”I’d like to think something like that changes a person.”

For a heartbeat, Selene simply stared at him.

Then, unexpectedly—

She laughed.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic.

Just a brief, genuine laugh that softened her usually stern features.

”Then perhaps I should thank your sister.”

”If that beating finally knocked some sense into you...”

”...perhaps it wasn’t entirely wasted.”

The words had been spoken lightly.

Yet the instant his sister entered the conversation, the smile on Andras’s face vanished.

Only briefly.

But Selene caught it.

A veteran who had survived countless battlefields learned to read expressions the way scholars read books.

The smallest hesitation...

A tightening jaw...

A fleeting change in someone’s eyes...

None escaped her notice.

Understanding flickered across her face.

She had touched a wound without intending to.

To her, Andras and his sister had always argued.

To him...

That same sister had nearly killed him.

The silence that followed lingered longer than either expected.

Eventually, Selene broke it.

”How about a spar?”

Andras raised an eyebrow.

”A spar?”

She nodded.

”You’ve improved.”

Her gaze drifted toward the wooden sword in his hand.

”I’d like to see how much.”

A knowing smile appeared on Andras’s lips.

He had expected this.

Selene wasn’t the type to leave unanswered questions alone. If something about him had changed, she’d verify it herself.

”I’m willing.”

He rested the wooden sword against his shoulder.

”But only under one condition.”

Selene folded her arms.

”And what would that be?”

”You suppress your cultivation to my level.”

She arched an eyebrow.

”My level?”

Andras nodded.

”Otherwise, this isn’t a spar.”

A hint of amusement entered his voice.

”A Peak Seventh Circle Mage fighting someone at the Low Third Circle isn’t training.”

”It’s just bullying.”

For a moment, Selene said nothing.

Then, unexpectedly, a small smile appeared.

It was so rare that most soldiers in Darkmoor would scarcely believe she was capable of smiling at all.

”Fair enough.”

Turning toward the nearby weapon rack, she reached for a wooden practice sword.

”I’ll suppress my realm.”

Her voice regained its usual composure.

”Low Third Circle.”

”Exactly as you requested.”

The morning wind stirred once more, sweeping across the empty training grounds.

Two figures stood opposite one another.

One was the heir to House Darkmoor.

The other was the legendary general who had forged generations of Darkmoor soldiers.

Andras tightened his grip around the practice sword.

Across from him, Selene rolled her shoulders before raising her own weapon with effortless confidence.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

”Show me how much you’ve truly changed.”

Andras lowered his center of gravity, his eyes sharpening as the last trace of casualness disappeared.

”Gladly.”

The silence broke.

The duel was about to begin.