A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

The atmosphere across the training grounds shifted so abruptly that even the morning breeze seemed to fall still.

Only moments ago, the duel had resembled a lesson between master and student. Every strike Selene delivered had carried purpose, correcting flaws and exposing weaknesses. Now, however, the air itself felt heavier.

The lesson was over.

What remained was a hunt.

Selene stood several paces away, her practice sword resting loosely at her side. The faint smile that had lingered on her lips had vanished without a trace, replaced by the cold, unwavering composure that had earned her the title of General of the Darkmoor Army.

Even with her realm suppressed to the Third Circle, her presence alone commanded the battlefield.

She wasn’t merely an experienced swordswoman.

She was a survivor of countless campaigns.

A commander who had carved her reputation across battlefields drenched in blood.

A woman standing only a single step away from becoming an Eighth Circle Mage.

Suppressing one’s realm could diminish mana.

It could weaken physical enhancement.

But it could never suppress decades of instinct.

Nor could it erase the countless life-and-death battles that had shaped every movement of her blade.

A nearly imperceptible pressure rolled from her body.

It wasn’t enough to crush Andras beneath its weight.

It didn’t need to be.

Its purpose was simply to remind him of the gulf that still existed between them.

Selene slowly lifted her practice sword until its tip pointed toward him.

Her voice remained calm.

”Show me everything.”

The words had scarcely left her lips before she moved.

There was no dramatic explosion beneath her feet.

No burst of mana.

One moment she stood several meters away.

The next—

She was already inside his reach.

Andras’s instincts screamed.

His body reacted before his thoughts could.

Black Guard.

The wooden swords met with a sharp crack that echoed across the empty arena.

The impact surged through his arms, numbing his fingers.

Before he had fully absorbed the force, Selene’s blade swept toward his ribs from an entirely different angle.

He twisted, redirecting the strike just enough to avoid a clean hit.

A third attack descended.

Then a fourth.

Each strike flowed naturally into the next, linked by flawless footwork and impeccable timing. There was no unnecessary movement, no extravagant display of skill.

Everything she did existed for one purpose.

To dismantle his defense.

Andras gave ground.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he had no choice.

Every successful block forced him another step backward as Selene’s relentless offense denied him even a heartbeat to regain control of the exchange.

The sound of wooden blades colliding rang across the deserted training grounds, blending with the scrape of boots carving shallow grooves into the packed earth.

His breathing remained steady.

His mind did not.

She’s faster...

Not physically.

Technically.

Every attack begins before the previous one truly ends.

She’s controlling the rhythm.

He couldn’t find an opening.

Every time he believed he had created one, another strike was already forcing him back onto the defensive.

Selene watched him carefully.

Good.

He’s stopped relying on raw reactions.

Now he’s trying to understand the flow.

Her sword descended once more.

This time Andras shifted sideways instead of retreating.

The blade skimmed past his shoulder close enough for him to feel the rush of displaced air.

Without hesitation, he retaliated.

Iron Fang.

His practice sword swept diagonally toward her neck with considerably more speed than before.

Selene neither hurried nor panicked.

She simply inclined her head.

The attack missed by the narrowest of margins.

Before Andras could recover his stance, the flat of her sword struck his shoulder with precise force.

A dull ache spread through his arm.

Not enough to injure him.

Just enough to punish poor positioning.

He slid back several steps before stabilizing himself.

Selene lowered her blade slightly.

”Better.”

There was no mockery in her voice.

Only simple acknowledgment.

She could see the difference already.

Each exchange made him more composed.

More efficient.

Most fighters repeated the same mistakes throughout an entire spar.

Andras rarely repeated one twice.

Interesting...

Very interesting.

Without waiting for him to recover completely, she stepped forward once again.

The pressure resumed immediately.

Her sword traced a clean arc toward his shoulder before reversing direction halfway through the swing, transforming into a thrust aimed at his chest.

Andras barely managed to intercept it.

The force rattled his wrists.

Before the recoil had even faded, another strike swept toward his knee.

He hopped backward, avoiding the attack by inches.

Selene advanced without pause.

Every step she took stole space.

Every strike dictated where he had to move next.

She wasn’t merely attacking him.

She was controlling the battlefield itself.

Andras understood that much.

She’s leading the fight...

Making every decision for me.

If this continues...

I’ll never get a chance to attack.

His grip tightened around the practice sword.

His heartbeat slowed.

The countless calculations filling his mind gradually faded away.

There was no room left for overthinking.

No room for hesitation.

Only the blade in front of him.

Only the woman trying to break his defense.

Only the next movement.

Selene noticed the subtle shift almost immediately.

A faint glimmer of approval flashed through her dark eyes.

There it is.

He’s beginning to trust his instincts.

The real fight...

Could finally begin.

The instant that realization settled in Selene’s mind, she increased the tempo once again.

Her sword blurred through the air, changing direction so fluidly that it became almost impossible to predict where the next strike would come from. A slash aimed at his shoulder flowed into a thrust toward his abdomen before seamlessly transitioning into an upward cut that forced Andras to abandon his footing altogether.

Wood struck wood in rapid succession.

The sharp reports echoed across the deserted training grounds as the two figures crossed the arena in a relentless exchange of offense and defense.

Andras refused to retreat blindly.

Instead of meeting Selene’s strength head-on, he began redirecting each blow through Black Guard, borrowing the momentum of her attacks to lessen their impact. It wasn’t perfect—his wrists still ached from every collision—but it prevented her from completely overwhelming him.

His breathing steadied.

His heartbeat slowed.

His world narrowed.

Everything outside the duel gradually disappeared.

The breeze.

The distant estate.

The empty training grounds.

None of it mattered anymore.

Only Selene’s blade remained.

Only its rhythm.

Only its intent.

A faint pulse rippled through his mana pathways.

Echo Resonance.

The familiar vibration spread naturally throughout his body, flowing through every muscle and nerve until the world around him seemed to sharpen.

The movement of Selene’s shoulders.

The subtle shift of her hips.

The tightening of her fingers around the hilt.

Even the faint displacement of air before each strike became clearer.

Not slower.

Clearer.

For the first time since the duel began, he wasn’t merely reacting.

He was reading.

Selene’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

His perception has improved again...

She had noticed the change immediately.

The boy was no longer relying solely on instinct.

His talent had begun synchronizing with his swordsmanship.

Most mages struggled to weave their innate abilities into close combat. They often hesitated, treating magic and swordsmanship as separate disciplines.

Andras did neither.

His body accepted Echo Resonance as naturally as breathing.

That alone was remarkable.

Without hesitation, Selene pressed forward.

Their practice swords collided once more.

This time Andras held his ground.

The impact shuddered through both weapons, sending a ripple of force across the cracked arena instead of driving him backward.

A faint smile touched Selene’s lips.

Good.

At least you’ve stopped giving away ground.

The duel accelerated.

Every exchange became faster than the last.

Andras attacked.

Selene parried.

She countered.

He adjusted.

The rhythm no longer belonged entirely to Selene.

Little by little, Andras began carving openings of his own.

Not large enough to seize control.

But enough to force Selene to acknowledge them.

Then...

He disappeared.

Echo Step.

A blurred afterimage remained where he had stood only a heartbeat earlier.

His true body emerged beside Selene’s flank.

The transition was smooth.

Silent.

Almost impossible to track.

Thorn Pierce.

His practice sword shot forward with ruthless precision, targeting the narrow gap beneath her ribs.

It was the fastest attack he had launched since the spar began.

Yet Selene didn’t even look surprised.

Her body reacted before conscious thought.

Her sword turned just enough to redirect the thrust away from its path.

The wooden blades scraped against one another with a sharp rasp before she stepped inside his guard.

Her elbow drove cleanly into his chest.

The impact forced the air from Andras’s lungs.

He stumbled backward several meters, boots digging through the dirt before he finally regained his balance.

A dull ache spread across his ribs.

He inhaled slowly, suppressing the discomfort.

Interesting...

Very interesting.

He looked at Selene with renewed focus.

She hadn’t reacted because she had seen the attack.

She had reacted because she already knew where it would come from.

Crimson Battle Instinct.

The talent was every bit as troublesome as the system had described.

Against ordinary opponents, Echo Step created confusion.

Against Selene...

The opening barely existed.

Her instincts erased it before it could become an advantage.

Across the arena, Selene regarded him with quiet approval.

Using movement to attack my blind spot...

Good choice.

Poor opponent.

A weaker swordsman would have been caught.

The corner of her lips rose slightly.

”Again.”

There was no arrogance in her voice.

Only expectation.

She wanted to see what he would do next.

Andras smiled faintly.

Rather than discouraging him, the failed attack only strengthened his resolve.

If one method failed...

He would simply find another.

Mana flowed once more through his body as Echo Resonance continued humming beneath his skin.

His stance shifted subtly.

The Black Thorn Sword Style changed with it.

Sharper.

More aggressive.

Less concerned with perfect form.

More concerned with breaking the opponent’s rhythm.

Selene noticed immediately.

He’s adapting...

Not just improving.

He’s rebuilding his style while we fight.

For the first time since the duel began, genuine anticipation flickered within her eyes.

This was no longer merely a lesson between instructor and student.

Little by little...

It was becoming a true duel between swordsmen.

A faint smile appeared on Andras’s face.

If technique alone wasn’t enough...

Then he would add power.

Mana surged violently through his body.

Warborn Limit Release.

A deep pulse echoed from within his chest.

His heartbeat thundered.

Every muscle tightened as overwhelming strength flooded through his limbs. Crimson mana intertwined with his natural aura, wrapping around him in restless waves that distorted the air. The pressure rolling from his body rose sharply, and fine cracks spread beneath his feet as the stone struggled to bear the sudden increase in force.

Selene’s eyes sharpened.

There it is...

The mysterious power she had sensed earlier.

Despite remaining a Low Third Circle Mage, the presence Andras now radiated rivaled that of many Fourth Circle fighters. It wasn’t merely an increase in mana—it was as though every aspect of his body had been refined beyond its natural limits.

Without warning, he moved.

The distance between them vanished in an instant.

This time there was no hesitation.

No probing attacks.

His sword descended with explosive momentum, forcing Selene to raise her own blade immediately.

The collision rang across the training grounds like a struck bell.

For the first time since the duel had begun, Selene felt the impact travel through her arm.

Not enough to shake her.

Enough to surprise her.

Andras didn’t allow her a moment to recover.

The Black Thorn Sword Style unfolded in rapid succession.

Iron Fang.

Black Guard.

Thorn Pierce.

Execution Line.

Each technique flowed naturally into the next, linked by seamless footwork and relentless pressure. His style revealed its true nature at last—not elegant, nor ceremonial, but practical and ruthless. Every strike sought to deny his opponent time to think, steadily forcing them onto the defensive.

Selene met the assault with calm precision.

She neither hurried nor panicked.

Her blade intercepted every attack by the smallest possible margin, conserving movement while disrupting Andras’s rhythm whenever an opportunity appeared. Yet even she had to admit the pressure had changed.

Good...

A true Black Thorn swordsman should fight exactly like this.

She gave a fraction of ground—not because she was forced to, but to create a better angle for her counterattack.

Their practice swords clashed repeatedly, each impact sending vibrations through the arena. Dust swirled around their feet as both fighters shifted across the fractured ground, neither willing to surrender the initiative.

Andras pressed harder.

Warborn Limit Release enhanced every burst of speed.

Echo Resonance refined every movement.

Together, the two talents transformed his swordsmanship into something unpredictable. His timing changed without warning, his rhythm broke conventional patterns, and attacks that should have followed one sequence suddenly shifted into another.

It was rough around the edges.

Incomplete.

Yet undeniably dangerous.

Selene felt it clearly.

Most swordsmen fought according to habit.

Andras abandoned habit the moment it became predictable.

Each exchange demanded fresh judgment rather than relying on experience alone.

A frightening style...

Still immature... but frightening.

Against an ordinary opponent, the duel would already have ended.

Unfortunately for Andras...

She wasn’t an ordinary opponent.

A quiet light flickered within Selene’s crimson eyes.

Crimson Battle Instinct.

The world sharpened.

Minute details flooded her senses.

The rhythm of Andras’s breathing.

The contraction of his muscles before every swing.

The circulation of mana through his pathways.

Even the slight shift in his balance before changing direction became perfectly clear.

The battlefield slowed—not because time itself had changed, but because her instincts processed every possibility before it unfolded.

She stepped forward.

Just once.

No dramatic flourish.

No overwhelming display of strength.

One perfectly timed strike.

Nothing more.

The moment her sword moved, every instinct within Andras erupted in warning.

Danger.

His body reacted before his thoughts could catch up.

Black Guard.

The two practice swords met with explosive force.

A violent shockwave burst outward, scattering loose stones and sending dust spiraling into the air. The cracked earth beneath Andras’s feet finally gave way, splintering outward in a web of fractures as the tremendous force drove him backward.

His boots carved deep trenches through the training ground before he finally managed to stop, nearly thirty meters away.

Silence descended.

Only drifting dust remained between them.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

After several long moments, Selene lowered her sword.

A faint smile softened her usually impassive face.

”You’ve improved.”

The words were simple.

Yet they carried more weight than lavish praise from any noble within the Empire.

Selene Vaelthorn did not offer compliments lightly.

If she acknowledged someone’s growth...

They had earned it.

Andras straightened slowly, drawing a measured breath as fatigue settled into his limbs. His muscles ached, his palms stung from countless impacts, and every heartbeat reminded him how wide the gap between them still remained.

Yet a smile found its way onto his face.

The duel had given him exactly what he sought.

Not victory.

Perspective.

For the first time since arriving in this world, the strength of those standing at the Empire’s summit no longer existed only in the pages of a novel.

He had crossed blades with one of them.

He had felt that difference firsthand.

The road ahead was unimaginably long.

But it was no longer hidden.

Selene rested the practice sword across her shoulder and regarded him with quiet satisfaction.

”So...”

A rare smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

”Again?”

Andras let out a tired chuckle before tightening his grip around the wooden sword once more.

His violet eyes met hers without the slightest trace of hesitation.

”Again.”