A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

Lyra’s hand remained wrapped around the dark-gray spear.

For several seconds, she simply studied it.

Compared to the more extravagant weapons displayed throughout the treasury, it looked almost plain. There were no elaborate engravings or gemstones along the shaft. Yet the moment she held it, the balance felt natural. The dark-gray metal was cool against her palms, and the weight settled evenly through her arms.

Andras reached out.

”Let me see it.”

Lyra handed him the spear.

Andras examined it for a moment before focusing his attention on the weapon and calling the system.

[Ding!]

[Item Status]

[Name: Darksteel Spear]

[Type: Spear]

[Rank: Masterwork]

[Durability: High]

[Mana Conductivity: Good]

[Special Skills: None]

Andras glanced over the information before dismissing the window.

Masterwork.

It wasn’t exceptional, but it was more than enough for Lyra at her current level.

”Keep it.”

Lyra accepted the spear again, her fingers tightening around the shaft.

”Yes, Young Master.”

”You’ll train with it from now on.”

”Yes.”

Andras turned toward the treasury entrance.

”Come.”

Lyra followed without hesitation.

They left the treasury and walked through the eastern corridors of the estate. The air grew cooler as they moved away from the residential wings, while the sounds ahead gradually became louder.

Clang.

Clang.

The sharp collision of wooden weapons and steel echoed through the stone halls, mixed with the grunts of soldiers and the rhythmic scrape of boots against packed earth.

When they stepped outside, the Darkmoor training ground spread before them beneath the clear morning sky.

Dozens of soldiers were already training. Some practiced sword forms in disciplined lines, while others sparred with spears, wooden shafts cracking against one another. Several warriors stood along the far side of the field, circulating Battle Energy through their bodies as they tempered their flesh.

Dust and sweat hung lightly in the air.

At the center of the training ground, Selene watched two soldiers spar with her arms crossed and her attention fixed on their movements.

She noticed Andras approaching and immediately turned.

”Andras.”

The soldiers nearest to them paused. A few others glanced over before returning to their drills.

Andras walked toward her.

”General Selene.”

”You’re back.”

”I returned yesterday.”

Selene’s eyes shifted toward Lyra, taking in her practical clothes and the spear in her hands.

”And you brought Lyra.”

”She’ll train here from now on.”

Selene raised an eyebrow.

”Train?”

Andras nodded.

”She has started cultivating. Now she needs actual combat experience.”

Selene’s gaze fell to the spear.

”You gave her a weapon?”

”She chose it herself.”

Selene studied Lyra for another moment before giving a small nod.

”Then let’s see what she can do.”

Andras said nothing.

Instead, he walked toward the weapon rack near the edge of the field. A moment later, he returned with a plain wooden sword and stopped in front of Lyra.

”Fight me.”

Lyra blinked.

”Fight... you?”

”Yes.”

Selene’s eyebrows rose slightly, but Andras ignored her reaction.

”I need to know where you stand.”

Lyra looked down at the spear.

She had trained her body. She had learned to circulate Battle Energy. She had even broken through the false ceiling that had restricted her cultivation.

But she had never actually fought anyone.

Not properly.

The weight of the spear suddenly felt different.

She raised it.

Andras immediately noticed her stance.

Her feet were too close together. Her grip was too tight. The spearhead pointed slightly too high. She held the weapon as though she was afraid of losing control of it.

She’s completely inexperienced.

”Attack.”

Lyra hesitated, then stepped forward.

Her spear shot toward his chest.

The thrust was slow and telegraphed.

Andras moved half a step to the side. The spear passed harmlessly beside him, its tip cutting through empty air.

Lyra’s eyes widened. She tried to pull the weapon back, but her momentum carried her forward.

Andras lightly tapped her shoulder with the wooden sword.

Thwack.

The impact was light but precise.

Lyra stumbled and caught herself on the packed earth. She quickly turned around, her cheeks already warm.

”Again.”

She nodded.

This time, she tried to move faster.

The spear came toward his side. Andras avoided it just as easily, the wooden sword remaining low and ready.

Lyra tried to recover.

Her rear foot crossed awkwardly behind her front foot, throwing off her balance. She nearly fell, and the spear dipped toward the ground.

A few nearby soldiers exchanged glances.

Then someone laughed.

”She really has never used a spear before.”

”She moves like she’s afraid of it.”

A few more laughs followed.

Lyra’s cheeks grew hotter.

She tightened her grip.

For a moment, she wanted to look away.

Instead, she looked at Andras.

He wasn’t laughing.

His expression remained calm, his violet eyes fixed on her form. There was no ridicule in his gaze. He was simply watching, waiting for her next move.

The soldiers’ laughter suddenly felt distant.

Their opinions didn’t matter.

Only his did.

Lyra took a slow breath and raised the spear again.

”Again.”

Andras gave a small nod.

”Attack.”

She stepped forward.

The spear thrust.

Andras moved aside.

Lyra missed again, but this time she remembered his previous correction. She forced herself not to cross her feet. Her balance still shifted, and the spear tip wavered, but she remained standing.

Andras’s eyes narrowed slightly.

”Better.”

Lyra looked down at her feet, then back at him.

It wasn’t much.

But she had corrected one mistake.

”Again.”

The next attempt was still poor.

Her grip remained too rigid, and her thrust was obvious. Andras knocked the spear aside with almost no effort.

The wooden sword tapped against the shaft with a clean, dry sound.

Lyra recovered too late.

Andras tapped her shoulder again.

”Your grip. You’re holding it too tightly.”

Lyra loosened her fingers.

The shaft immediately felt less constricting in her hands.

”Again.”

She attacked.

The same problem returned.

Andras knocked the spear away.

”Still too tight.”

Lyra adjusted her grip.

Again.

The result was almost the same.

Again.

She made one mistake, corrected it, then made another.

The process was slow.

Painfully slow.

There was no sudden transformation. Lyra didn’t suddenly move like a trained warrior. She wasn’t even close.

But after several exchanges, Andras noticed something.

Lyra remembered.

Every correction stayed with her. She didn’t always apply it correctly, but she didn’t completely forget it either.

Her movements remained awkward, yet they were becoming slightly less chaotic. Her footsteps grew more deliberate. The spear no longer moved entirely on instinct; there was beginning to be some intention behind each motion.

Andras continued testing her.

He changed the angles of his attacks and stepped closer, forcing her to adjust her distance. He pressed her backward across the packed ground and watched how she reacted.

Whenever she made a mistake, he corrected her.

Whenever she repeated it, he corrected her again.

Lyra’s arms began to ache.

Her breathing grew heavier, and sweat gathered along her temples and the back of her neck. Her palms were sore from gripping the spear, the dark-gray metal now warm from the friction of her hands.

Still, she continued.

At one point, Andras stepped forward and tapped her chest with the wooden sword.

Lyra instinctively moved backward.

Her foot landed incorrectly.

She almost stumbled.

But she caught herself.

Barely.

The spear tip dipped toward the ground before she steadied it again.

Andras lowered the wooden sword.

”That.”

Lyra looked at him, breathing hard.

”You recovered.”

She glanced down at her feet.

It wasn’t much.

She hadn’t blocked him. She hadn’t landed an attack. She hadn’t even come close to touching him.

But she hadn’t fallen.

A small smile appeared on her face, brief and almost unconscious.

Andras noticed it.

”Don’t get proud.”

The smile vanished immediately.

”Yes.”

”Again.”

The spar continued.

The soldiers gradually lost interest and returned to their own training. There was nothing impressive about Lyra’s movements yet. She was still a beginner.

But she was no longer making every mistake blindly.

She was beginning to understand what her body was doing wrong.

The laughter faded. A few of the closer soldiers watched with mild curiosity instead of amusement.

Eventually, Andras raised a hand.

”Enough.”

Lyra stopped.

Her arms trembled from exhaustion, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead. The Darksteel Spear felt considerably heavier than it had at the beginning.

Andras lowered the wooden sword.

”You’re still terrible.”

Lyra lowered her eyes.

Then he continued.

”But you’re learning.”

She looked up.

”You remembered most of what I corrected.”

Lyra tightened her grip around the spear. The metal was warm now, almost familiar.

”I’ll remember the rest.”

Andras studied her quietly.

Her talent was only C-Rank. Nothing about it suggested overwhelming potential.

Yet her ability to adapt during the spar had caught his attention.

Her improvement was small—almost insignificant to an experienced warrior—but Andras had watched every movement from the beginning. He had seen exactly how poor she had been when she first picked up the spear.

Now, she had corrected her footing, adjusted her grip, and learned to recover her balance.

One mistake at a time.

Slowly.

But consistently.

Andras’s violet eyes narrowed slightly.

She’s not a genius. At least, not by talent alone.

But once she’s shown what she’s doing wrong, she actually learns.

That was enough to make her worth investing in.

Andras turned toward the weapon rack and set the wooden sword aside.

”Tomorrow, we’ll continue.”

Lyra straightened despite her exhaustion.

”Yes, Young Master.”

Andras began walking away, his shadow stretching across the packed earth in the morning light.

Lyra remained where she was.

She looked down at the spear, then at her hands.

Her arms still ached.

Her stance was still imperfect.

She still had a long way to go.

But this time, she knew where to begin.