A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

The training grounds had grown unusually quiet.

Only moments ago, dozens of soldiers had filled the arena with the sounds of sparring and shouted commands. Now the vast field lay empty beneath the morning sun, occupied by only two figures standing opposite one another.

Andras Darkmoor.

Selene Vaelthorn.

A cool breeze swept across the scarred stone arena, carrying with it the scent of dust, steel, and freshly cut grass. Beyond the training grounds, the distant voices of departing soldiers gradually faded until silence claimed the estate once more.

Selene regarded Andras without speaking.

Even after suppressing her mana, the pressure surrounding her remained unmistakable. She resembled a sword still resting inside its sheath—motionless, restrained, yet carrying enough lethality to make anyone hesitate before drawing near.

Her gaze lingered on him.

For years she had watched this young man grow.

She had corrected his stance, sharpened his fundamentals, and witnessed every victory and every embarrassing defeat. Because of that, the changes before her were impossible to ignore.

His posture was steadier.

His breathing was controlled.

Even his eyes had changed.

The hesitation that once lingered behind them had vanished, replaced by quiet confidence.

It was as though an ordinary blade had been folded and reforged into tempered steel.

Breaking the silence, Selene exhaled softly.

”As you requested, I’ll suppress my realm.”

A ripple of mana spread from her body.

The invisible pressure blanketing the training grounds gradually receded.

Peak Seventh Circle.

Sixth.

Fifth.

Fourth.

Finally...

Low Third Circle.

Exactly the same realm as Andras.

Yet he felt no reassurance.

Suppressing realm reduced her mana reserves and physical reinforcement, but it could never erase decades of battlefield experience. Her instincts, judgment, and mastery over the sword remained untouched.

That alone made her terrifying.

Without another word, Selene extended her hand.

A wooden practice sword flew from the nearby weapon rack and landed neatly in her palm.

The effortless display of mana manipulation was enough to remind Andras how vast the difference between them truly remained.

He inhaled slowly before raising his own training sword.

His grip settled naturally.

His stance lowered.

The familiar movements of the Black Thorn Sword Style flowed through his muscles as though they had always belonged there.

Selene noticed immediately.

A faint glimmer of approval crossed her otherwise impassive face.

At least he remembered what she had taught him.

”Ready?”

Andras gave a single nod.

”Whenever you are.”

The instant the final word left his lips, Selene disappeared.

There was no dramatic burst of speed.

No exaggerated explosion beneath her feet.

She simply crossed the distance with frightening efficiency.

Instinct screamed.

Andras barely raised his sword in time.

The wooden blades collided with a sharp crack, the force jolting through his arms like a hammer striking an anvil.

Before he could recover his footing, another strike descended from a different angle.

He turned his wrists and deflected it.

A third attack immediately followed.

Then a fourth.

Each flowed seamlessly into the next without the slightest pause, every movement economical and devoid of unnecessary flourish.

Selene wasn’t trying to overpower him.

She was dismantling his defense piece by piece.

Andras retreated several steps, redirecting each blow through Black Guard. Even so, every successful block forced him farther backward as the relentless rhythm left almost no opportunity to breathe.

”You’ve improved,” Selene observed calmly, her voice remaining perfectly steady despite the exchange.

The praise lasted only an instant.

Her sword darted toward his chest like a striking viper.

Andras twisted his body, guiding the thrust away before retaliating with Iron Fang. His blade swept diagonally toward her shoulder with impressive speed.

Selene merely inclined her head.

The slash passed harmlessly through empty air.

Before Andras could complete his follow-through, the flat of her practice sword struck his shoulder with precise force.

Pain radiated through his arm.

Not enough to injure him.

Just enough to punish the mistake.

He stumbled back, immediately recognizing the difference between them.

Selene wasn’t winning because she possessed greater strength.

She was winning because every movement she made carried purpose.

She fought like someone who had survived countless real battles.

Watching him recover, she lowered her blade slightly.

”You’re thinking too much.”

Andras frowned.

”I’m fighting.”

”No.”

She shook her head.

”You’re analyzing.”

The words struck harder than the wooden sword.

Because they were true.

Alex’s habits still lingered within him.

Years spent observing instead of acting.

Calculating instead of trusting instinct.

Even now, a portion of his mind continued weighing possibilities while his body struggled to keep pace.

Selene pointed her sword toward him.

”On a battlefield, hesitation is measured in heartbeats.”

”And a single heartbeat is enough to die.”

She advanced again.

This time Andras met her head-on.

Their weapons collided repeatedly as both fighters exchanged blows in rapid succession.

The sharp reports echoed across the empty training grounds while dust swirled around their feet.

Andras slipped into Thorn Pierce, launching a precise thrust toward her ribs.

Selene avoided it by the narrowest margin.

Barely an inch.

Her sword tapped his wrist before he could withdraw.

His grip loosened instantly.

The practice sword almost slipped from his fingers.

”Again.”

No sympathy.

No pause.

Only another attack.

Andras steadied himself and charged once more.

The duel stretched on.

Minute after minute.

Sweat gathered along his forehead, and his breathing gradually deepened, yet something inside him slowly began to change.

The memories left behind by the original Andras no longer felt foreign.

His body stopped resisting.

His instincts aligned with his thoughts.

Every exchange made the unfamiliar feel increasingly natural.

For the first time since arriving in this world, he wasn’t borrowing someone else’s body.

It finally felt like his own.

Selene noticed immediately.

Interesting...

Without announcing it, she increased the tempo.

The exchanges became faster.

Sharper.

Andras met every strike.

Sometimes he defended.

Sometimes he countered.

Occasionally he even forced Selene to adjust her footing.

His improvement wasn’t dramatic.

It was gradual.

Authentic.

The kind earned only through constant adaptation.

A faint smile tugged at Selene’s lips.

Most swordsmen needed weeks to absorb a lesson.

Some required months.

Andras was evolving in the middle of battle.

That talent alone could make him frightening in the future.

Their swords collided again.

This time, something stirred deep within him.

Echo Resonance.

Mana pulsed naturally through his pathways before flowing into the wooden blade.

The weapon emitted a low vibration.

The surrounding air trembled.

Selene’s eyes narrowed.

She recognized the shift instantly.

The next collision released a ripple through the arena.

The ground beneath their feet fractured into fine cracks as dust burst outward in every direction.

Several birds nesting among the nearby trees took flight in alarm.

For the first time since the spar had begun...

Selene gave ground.

Only a single step.

But she had stepped back.

Silence settled over the arena.

Andras lowered his sword slightly, breathing steadily as faint vibrations still lingered around the wooden blade.

Across from him, Selene studied the cracked stone beneath her feet before a genuine laugh escaped her lips.

It was quiet.

Brief.

Yet sincere.

”Good.”

Her dark eyes gleamed with unmistakable approval.

”Very good.”

The atmosphere around her subtly changed.

Until now she had been teaching.

From this moment onward...

She intended to test him.

Andras sensed it immediately.

He tightened his grip on the practice sword and slowly raised the blade once more.

Their eyes met across the fractured training ground.

Neither spoke.

Words were no longer necessary.

The lesson had ended.

Now...

The real spar was about to begin.