A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

”Does she know about this?”

Andras looked toward Lyra.

She was already beginning another sequence, completely unaware that her future training had just been decided.

”No.”

Selene’s expression softened slightly.

”Then you should probably tell her.”

Andras nodded.

”I will.”

He looked back toward Lyra.

She thrust forward again, the Darksteel Spear cutting cleanly through the morning air. This time, her rear foot remained exactly where it should. Her recovery was smoother as well, allowing her to transition into the next movement without wasting unnecessary motion. The adjustment was small, but it kept her center of gravity stable through the entire form.

Andras watched in silence.

She was still far from being a warrior capable of standing beside him, and that was precisely why he was leaving her with Selene.

Lyra did not need someone who could simply make her stronger in short, controlled sessions. She needed someone who could teach her how to become a warrior—someone who understood the long accumulation of physical habit, the management of Battle Energy under real exhaustion, and the instinctive decisions that only came from years of actual combat. Selene was a warrior who had spent years fighting, refining her Battle Energy, developing techniques, and learning how to survive against opponents stronger than herself. More importantly, she was the second-strongest combatant within House Darkmoor and possessed the practical experience Andras lacked.

Andras understood the principles of warrior cultivation. He could identify weaknesses, analyze techniques, and tell Lyra where her stance was wrong, where she was wasting strength, or where her Battle Energy was leaking during an attack. But understanding something and teaching someone how to live through it were different matters.

Selene had done the latter for years, and that made her the better teacher.

Lyra completed the sequence and lowered her spear. Her chest rose and fell steadily as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. She glanced toward Andras again, waiting.

Andras gave her a small nod.

”That’s enough for today.”

Lyra lowered the Darksteel Spear completely.

”Yes, Young Master.”

She stepped away from the training area and rested the weapon against her shoulder. The exhaustion showed in her movements, but unlike when she had first begun training, she no longer looked as though she had been pushed beyond her limits. Her breathing recovered faster. Her posture remained controlled even while tired.

Selene watched her approach.

”Your training ends here,” she said. ”From tomorrow onward, your training will change.”

Lyra looked at her with mild confusion.

Before she could ask what that meant, Andras spoke.

”Come with me.”

Lyra immediately followed.

---

By the time they reached Andras’s room, the morning had already begun to fade into noon.

The imperial investigators were still somewhere within the estate, completing their examination of the recovered dungeon materials, while Evelyne remained occupied with them. The corridors were quiet. Mana lamps burned at a steady daytime intensity, casting clean light across the polished stone floors. Lyra walked half a step behind him, the Darksteel Spear held carefully at her side. She did not speak. She rarely did unless addressed.

Andras entered his chambers and sat near the table by the window. Lyra followed a moment later, carrying the lunch she had prepared. She placed the dishes carefully in front of him before stepping back into her usual position—close enough to respond, far enough not to presume.

Andras glanced at the food, then picked up his utensils and began eating. The meal was simple but well prepared: roasted meat still warm from the kitchens, fresh bread, a light herb soup, and a small arrangement of seasonal fruit. After spending the morning watching Lyra train, he was more hungry than he had expected.

When he finished the first portion, Andras leaned back slightly. He reached into his storage ring and withdrew a bottle of dark rum. Lyra glanced at it but said nothing. Andras poured himself a small amount and took a slow drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through his throat and settled cleanly in his chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Andras looked at her.

”Lyra.”

”Yes, Young Master.”

”I’ve been thinking about your training.”

Lyra straightened slightly, attention sharpening at once.

Andras took another drink before continuing.

”I think you should stay at Darkmoor instead of returning to the Academy with me.”

The words immediately changed her expression. The careful composure she always maintained faltered for a moment. She hesitated, fingers tightening against the fabric of her training clothes.

”Why, Young Master?”

Andras said nothing at first. He simply watched her.

Lyra lowered her gaze.

”Have I done something wrong?”

”No.”

”Then...” Her voice thinned. ”Am I not useful to you now?”

Andras looked at her quietly.

The question came quietly, without accusation, but the uncertainty behind it was obvious. Lyra had spent a long time defining her value through her usefulness to him. She served him, carried out his instructions, and trained because she wanted to become strong enough to stand beside him rather than remain someone he needed to protect.

Andras understood that attachment for what it was.

”You haven’t done anything wrong,” he said.

Lyra raised her eyes.

”You told me yourself that you wanted to become stronger. You didn’t want to remain a burden, and you wanted to fight beside me rather than stay behind me.”

Lyra nodded slowly.

”I remember.”

”Then you need a better teacher.”

Her expression changed again—confusion first, then something closer to resistance.

”A better teacher?”

”Yes.”

Andras set the glass down.

”I can teach you Battle Energy. I can correct your basic mistakes, analyze your movements, and tell you where your technique is inefficient. But I’m not a warrior.”

Lyra opened her mouth, but Andras continued before she could interrupt.

”I understand warrior cultivation, but I don’t possess the practical experience required to develop a warrior properly. I haven’t spent years refining a single warrior path, studying different weapon techniques through actual combat, or training another warrior from the foundation upward. You need someone who has.”

He looked directly at her.

”General Selene.”

Lyra’s fingers tightened again.

”But...”

She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. The words came out quieter, almost reluctant.

”I don’t want another teacher. I want to learn from you, Young Master. You’ve taught me everything I’ve learned so far. I don’t think anyone could teach me better.”

Andras studied her.

”That isn’t the same thing as saying I’m the best person to teach you.”

Lyra looked up. The vulnerability in her dark eyes was unguarded now.

Andras’s voice remained calm, almost clinical.

”You’ve improved because you followed my instructions. But your next stage will require more than corrections. You need practical experience. You need someone who knows how a warrior moves when they’re exhausted, how to fight when an opponent doesn’t follow a predictable pattern, how to use Battle Energy efficiently over a prolonged battle, and how to develop a fighting style that belongs to you rather than simply copying someone else.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward the Darksteel Spear resting against the wall.

”Selene can teach you those things.”

Lyra remained silent. Her shoulders stayed tense, and her eyes dropped before slowly returning to Andras. Attachment pulled her one way. The desire not to remain a burden pulled her the other.

Andras took another drink and waited.

”I don’t need you to remain weak just because you’re comfortable training with me,” he said at last.

That sentence finally made her look at him again.

Andras continued, steady and unhurried.

”If you genuinely want to become strong enough to fight beside me, then you should learn from the person most capable of helping you reach that point.”

Lyra lowered her head.

She remained like that for several long seconds. The quiet of the room pressed around them. Outside the window, distant voices from the courtyard drifted up faintly. Inside, only the soft sound of Andras setting his glass down remained.

Eventually, she nodded.

”...I understand.”

”Good.”

”I’ll train with General Selene.”

Andras gave a small nod.

”That is the right decision.”

Lyra looked toward him again. The reluctance had not vanished, but it had changed shape. What remained was quieter—acceptance mixed with a clear, stubborn resolve.

”But I’ll still serve you?”

”Of course.”

”And when you return from the Academy...”

”I’ll see how much you’ve improved.”

A faint determination appeared in her eyes.

”I’ll make sure you notice.”

Andras’s lips curved slightly.

”I expect you to.”

The tension in her expression eased by a fraction. She looked somewhat relieved, though a trace of sadness remained beneath it.

After a moment, she asked,

”When are you leaving for the Academy?”

Andras picked up his glass again.

”The day after tomorrow.”

Lyra’s expression fell slightly. Only for an instant. She quickly composed herself and nodded.

”The day after tomorrow...”

”Yes.”

She looked toward the window. The sunlight outside had grown brighter, illuminating the gardens and the distant training grounds where soldiers continued their drills.

”So you’ll be gone soon.”

”For a while.”

Lyra was silent. Then she looked back at him.

”I’ll train properly while you’re gone.”

”I know.”

”I’ll become stronger.”

Andras took another sip of rum.

”That is the point.”

Lyra nodded. There was a quiet sadness in her eyes, but she didn’t complain. She had understood what Andras was trying to do. If staying at Darkmoor meant becoming stronger, then she would accept the separation. After all, she had been the one who said she didn’t want to remain a burden. Andras had simply taken her words seriously.

Lyra began clearing the dishes from the table. Andras watched her for a moment before speaking.

”Lyra.”

She turned.

”Yes, Young Master?”

”When I return, don’t show me the same Lyra.”

Her eyes widened slightly. Then determination settled across her face, steady and clear.

”I won’t.”

She gathered the dishes and walked toward the door. Before leaving, she paused with her hand on the frame.

”Then... I’ll do my best.”

Andras nodded.

”I expect nothing less.”

Lyra smiled faintly—small, fragile, but real—before leaving the room. The door closed quietly behind her.

Andras remained seated alone. He looked at the bottle of rum in his hand, then toward the window. The Academy awaited him in two days. The imperial investigators were already examining the aftermath of the dungeon.

For the moment, there was nothing else he needed to handle.

He took another drink and leaned back in his chair.