NOVPUBWhile Ghislain skimmed through the novel Gordon had written, one particular idea from its pages captured his attention.
“A strike that leaves no trace and cannot be seen, even as it lands...”
Such a feat was plausible only if the skill gap between opponents was vast. However, in Gordon’s narrative, it was depicted as a power that transcended skill—a near-divine authority. In some ways, it was even more dangerous than a force that could destroy anything.
The concept alone was chilling, but Ghislain knew it wasn’t possible. Such abilities existed only in the realm of imagination.
"Even the Saintess couldn’t wield a power like that," he mused.
Not even the Saintess, who borrowed the authority of the goddess, could perform such an impossible feat.
For most people, it would’ve been something to laugh off, but Ghislain found himself intrigued.
"What if I encounter an enemy capable of such a thing? Or someone with a similar ability?"
In his previous life, he could’ve handled it by extending his senses to envelop his surroundings entirely. But what if he couldn’t detect the threat in time?
Even if such a power didn’t exist in reality, facing an opponent stronger than him might lead to a similar scenario.
"I need a way to survive and retaliate."
To avoid instant death, one needed a body capable of withstanding any attack.
Those who mastered mana naturally developed superior physical abilities. Over time, their bodies adapted, absorbing mana and becoming more resilient.
The higher one’s mastery, the sharper their senses and the greater their strength and regenerative abilities. But no matter how far one progressed, the human body couldn’t become as hard as steel.
That’s why knights used mana techniques to envelop their bodies in a protective aura during combat. Without such techniques, even a mana user’s defenses would significantly weaken.
Even skilled mana users, if caught off guard, could be injured by a regular person’s attack. Many assassinations had succeeded by exploiting such gaps. If the assassin also wielded mana, they could inflict fatal damage.
"But what if my body could automatically defend against attacks and counterstrike without conscious effort?"
This would ensure he wouldn’t be caught off guard by anyone of equal or lesser skill. It would also prove invaluable in chaotic battles against multiple opponents.
No matter how many weaker foes gathered, they wouldn’t be able to scratch him. If he could achieve such a body, he would become far stronger than he was now.
"Let’s try it."
There were several ways to develop a new technique.
The most orthodox method was to conduct extensive research, establish a theoretical framework, and refine it through countless safe experiments.
The second method was to recklessly dive into the process and learn through life-threatening trial and error. It was dangerous, but much faster.
Ghislain preferred the latter.
With a swift motion, he drew a dagger and stabbed his arm without hesitation.
Thud!
Blood spurted from the wound as the blade sank in. Though his body instinctively gathered mana to create a weak repelling force, it wasn’t enough to stop the strike.
The attack had been too strong and too fast.
"Too slow, and not enough."
His body needed to react before he was even aware of the attack. The moment his skin was breached, his core should automatically draw mana to protect him.
That was the first step. Retaliation could come later.
The shallow wound healed quickly. Focusing his sharpened senses, Ghislain made sure his body would remember every detail of what he was about to do.
Even in his previous life, where he had sustained countless injuries, he had never undertaken such brutal training. Back then, he had focused more on evading and blocking attacks.
This time was different. He was determined to evolve his body itself.
"Let’s push it a bit further."
With a series of rapid movements, he inflicted multiple wounds on himself, concentrating his senses on the areas around each cut.
The amount of mana gathering at each wound varied slightly. As he progressed, the wounds grew marginally larger.
This discrepancy proved that his body’s response time wasn’t yet fast enough to keep up with the speed of his attacks.
"Looks like I’ll need a few more days."
There was no need to go to the training grounds. Ghislain alternated between fieldwork during the day and paperwork at night, stabbing himself in his office while reviewing documents.
Day after day, his clothes were torn, bloodstained, and riddled with holes. Eventually, Belinda began to grow suspicious.
"What’s going on? Even on days without sparring, his clothes are in this state?"
Everyone knew Ghislain was a training fanatic. It wasn’t unusual for his clothes to be damaged. But lately, it had become excessive.
While Belinda harbored doubts, Ghislain’s training grew increasingly intense.
"Am I hesitating unconsciously?"
His heightened senses had improved to an extraordinary degree. Even deep stabs now resulted only in shallow wounds, as his body instinctively gathered mana to protect itself.
However, his reaction time had plateaued. No matter how much he pushed himself, there was no further improvement.
The problem lay in his attacks—they had reached a ceiling. His body, aware of its limits, refused to go beyond them.
Ghislain knew how to overcome this hurdle.
"To break through, I need to truly risk my life."
Narrowing his eyes, he stared at the dagger before imbuing it with mana. He couldn’t afford to die, but his body and mind needed to feel the genuine threat of death.
"This should do it..."
Sweat trickled down his back as he raised the dagger. A single mistake or delayed reaction could cost him his life.
He had no intention of manually channeling mana to block the attack. His body needed to move on its own, driven purely by the instinct to survive.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly lifted the dagger.
Just as Ghislain prepared to plunge the dagger into his chest, the door to his office burst open.
"Young master! What are you doing every night to end up in this state—ahhh!"
Belinda’s scream echoed through the room.
Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the sight of Ghislain holding the dagger, already halfway embedded in his chest.
"Half a success."
Ghislain lay in bed, reflecting on his attempt.
The dagger had pierced halfway into his heart. Any deeper, and the organ would’ve been completely destroyed, killing him.
But the sudden surge of mana had stopped the blade just in time. His extraordinary regenerative abilities had already begun healing the damaged heart.
Even so, internal injuries took longer to heal than superficial ones. Losing a large amount of blood had slowed his recovery significantly.
Had Piote arrived any later, Ghislain might have survived, but he would’ve suffered long-term complications.
"Young master! Why do you keep doing this?! Is it because you met Lady Amelia again? Are you pining for her? You’re a Grand Duke now—why dwell on a past love? Just settle down and find a suitable match already!"
"...It’s not that."
"Then what? Is it because of that ridiculous bet? Are you afraid you’ll actually lose this time? I swear, I’m so sick of the overseer and Alpoi!"
"...It’s not that, either."
Ghislain glanced around. As expected, his retainers had all gathered. He had seen this coming.
Pushing through the crowd, Claude appeared, looking thoroughly irritated.
With an exasperated expression, he said, "You’re doing this just to make me look bad, aren’t you? If you think you’re going to lose, just forfeit already! What’s with this pride of yours?"
"...It’s not that."
Ghislain’s calm reply only fueled Claude’s frustration.
"Everyone’s blaming me again! They’re saying it’s because of my bet that you’ve pulled another stunt like this! Are you trying to drive me crazy?!"
From the side, Alpoi muttered complaints of his own.
"I’ll call it a draw, so let’s cut ten years off the term. Stop being so stubborn already, will you? Every time you pull stunts like this, I’m the one who suffers! Me! The man who defeated a god! Ugh, it’s so embarrassing," Claude groaned.
Once again, Claude and Alpoi found themselves cornered by the retainers. The complaints were the same as always: why did they keep stirring up trouble and making life harder for the lord?
While Ghislain’s poisoning stunt had been shocking in the past, they’d eventually accepted it as part of his training. But stabbing himself in the heart? No one could see that as anything but self-harm.
Who in their right mind would train like that?
The retainers were convinced this time that Ghislain’s infamous pride had pushed him over the edge, causing him to lash out in frustration.
Ghislain, contemplating whether to simply kick everyone out, sighed deeply before giving them a brief explanation. Even he thought this time they were justified in intervening.
"It’s a new training method. Yes, it’s risky, but I’m managing it carefully. There’s no need to worry."
Belinda’s skeptical gaze didn’t waver as she pressed further.
"What kind of training is this, exactly? Who on earth trains like that? And how is it even helpful?"
"Well, it’s, uh..." Ghislain fumbled for words before summarizing his hypothesis. His explanation was more of a theory mixed with conjecture, but the core idea was clear.
When he finished, the room fell silent. The retainers stared at him, blinking in disbelief.
After a long pause, Belinda finally spoke with a look of exasperation.
"So... you’re doing this because you’re afraid of being ambushed by an invisible opponent with no presence?"
"Not exactly. I just drew inspiration from that idea..."
"Young master, detecting an opponent’s presence is a matter of skill. There’s no such thing as an invisible creature with no presence!" Belinda retorted.
Vanessa chimed in with her own insight.
"From a physical standpoint, that’s impossible. Even with magic, an object with mass requires energy to accelerate from rest to a certain velocity, and any such phenomenon—"
Before Vanessa could launch into a full-blown lecture, Ghislain hastily interrupted her.
"That’s not the point! I’m just training to improve my defenses against ambushes. Stop overthinking it and get back to work. Aren’t you all busy?"
The retainers urged him to abandon such unnecessary training, arguing he was already strong enough. But Ghislain remained unmoved.
Claude shrugged and said, "You saw me try to convince him, right? The lord refused. Not my fault."
Alpoi nodded in agreement. "I made concessions too, okay? Don’t blame me for this."
The two, having endured threats and accusations from the retainers, left the room with smug expressions.
This incident quickly spread throughout the territory, much to the shock of the citizens.
"Why is the overseer so intent on tormenting our lord? He’s obviously going to win again!"
"We need to talk to the Saintess and have her punish him!"
"Alpoi is just as bad! How dare he disrespect the Saintess like that?"
Claude and Alpoi’s reputations, already at rock bottom, somehow sank even further. The citizens’ loyalty to Ghislain was unwavering, and they mocked the pair mercilessly.
Yet the two men had grown resilient. No amount of ridicule or curses fazed them now.
"There are a lot of people badmouthing us," Claude remarked.
"Just ignorant fools showing their limits," Alpoi replied.
Standing on the castle balcony, each holding a glass of wine, the two men chatted with an air of indifference.
"What will you do once you’re free, Alpoi?" Claude asked.
"I’ll finish my heirship training and eventually take over the Tower. Under my leadership, it’ll reclaim its position as the strongest in the North."
"A man of ambition. Befitting someone who defeated a god," Claude said with a chuckle. "As for me, I’m thinking of becoming the lord of a small territory. Something peaceful."
"How noble of you. A quiet life suits you."
"After all I’ve been through, I think I’ve earned it."
The two men shared a knowing smile, their camaraderie evident without the need for words.
Claude raised his glass. "You’ll make an excellent Tower Master."
"And you’ll make a fine lord," Alpoi replied, clinking his glass against Claude’s.
Watching this scene unfold from the shadows, Wendy couldn’t suppress the derisive sneer spreading across her face.
Outside of Ghislain’s self-inflicted injuries, life in the territory carried on as usual. Despite the retainers’ protests, Ghislain continued his bizarre training.
Before anyone realized it, a month had passed.
Two days before the appointed date, rain began to pour.
Sssshhhhhh...
Claude stood by the window, gazing at the downpour with a satisfied smile.
"The weather’s perfect," he muttered.
The heavy rain had turned the ground into a muddy mess. Moving through such terrain during mock battles would sap the participants’ energy faster. The odds were stacked against them.
He couldn’t help but grin.
"Two days left..."
Closing his eyes, Claude steadied his breathing, preparing himself for the final confrontation.
The sound of wind and rain pounding against the office windows added to the atmosphere. It was the calm before the storm.
Claude offered no rebuttal to those who mocked him or doubted him in the territory.
Whether the lord was weak or Claude himself was, the results would speak for themselves.
This was the way Claude lived—as a gambler.
