Chapter 10
The quiet morning sunlight poured down warmly.
Compared to the old world of choking poison fog and erupting blood-red geysers, this was heaven.
And yet, something in my chest still felt unsettled.
“Whew…”
All because of Ian.
No—because I had to end up inside this trash body of all people.
I still have no idea who planned this wretched joke.
Slap!
I smacked both cheeks hard.
The sting and the flush on my pale skin cleared my head a little.
Think positive. At least the immediate fire is out.
In the duel-trial, Crode will appear as promised, and I’ve stopped the runaway train that would have turned Eimon into a Blank.
But that alone isn’t enough to revive this beggarly count’s house.
The real problem:
Ian is far too weak. I have to get stronger.
“That’s why I got up so early, isn’t it?”
Thanks to my recent rank-up, most of the wounds from the boar fight had healed.
Three days of practicing Heal had restored my body well enough to feel the benefit of reaching Rank 2.
“Mmm… young master… I prepared it just like you said.”
Irene shuffled in, rubbing sleepy eyes, carrying a deep bowl.
She looked as if she’d worked hard the past few days, ever since I’d asked her to bring meat.
“Good. Let’s see.”
A familiar yet strange aroma rose from the bowl—something like kimchi mixed with pizza and sweet-and-sour pork.
Odd, but edible.
“You said to boil the thigh meat for a rich broth and add barley and vegetables… Is this really okay?”
“Taste it?”
“I tried while seasoning it… not sure. The grains feel a bit rough.”
“…It’s fine. I’ll eat it myself.”
Inside was something like beef-rice soup.
[└ Beef Soup Recipe. 1. First remove the blood from the shank meat…]
I remembered the recipe thanks to some lunatic who’d constantly commented recipes on “Rank-Up World Conquest!”
I couldn’t get perfect ingredients, so I improvised with horn-boar meat and barley instead of beef and rice.
Slurp.
A mouthful of savory broth spread across my tongue.
How long had it been since I’d tasted soup like this?
There was a faint boar smell, but after so long it was almost welcome.
“Ahh… that’s it.”
“As you said, I’m turning half the meat into jerky. It should be ready in a few days.”
“Excellent.”
Nothing beats soup for bulking up—hot broth, plenty of meat, and while it’s not rice, barley makes a decent substitute.
Balanced carbs, protein, fat. A complete food.
“Really, do you know how shocked I was when you came in that day?” Irene grumbled, still annoyed by her recent hard work.
“You were covered in blood, carrying dripping chunks of meat! I thought something terrible had happened!”
“…Do I look like someone who kills people?”
“Umm… heh-heh.”
She always has something to say, but she earned the right. I let it slide.
“From now on, serve this for my meals. Make something else for Father. Later the jerky will taste similar.”
“Yes! What’s this dish called?”
“A name? Hmm… just call it ‘nutritious meal.’”
“Nutritious meal… fits perfectly!”
After finishing the hearty soup, the unease in my chest finally eased.
This was the Impera Count family’s old training yard, conveniently sparing me from running into Eimon first thing.
He’s not a bad person, but it’s awkward—like I stole someone else’s body.
Burp.
I looked around.
The once-grand yard behind the mansion was overgrown, the sandy floor choked with weeds.
No wooden dummies—just a neglected lot.
“Well, Eimon was a mage, not a swordsman.”
The yard dated back to Ian’s grandfather.
Eimon had focused on magic, rarely visiting except to fling spells, and once he became head of house, he stopped entirely.
Then came Ian, the hopeless wastrel. No one had stepped here for years.
I picked up a wooden practice sword lying among the family’s leftover gear.
Not an artifact—just a dull piece kept beside armor for show.
Everything valuable Ian had already sold. This sword was too cheap to bother with.
I inhaled and raised it upright.
It had been ages since I’d faced a blade like this.
Compared to my past life as Lee Jin-soo, my arm muscles were meager and my mana pathetic.
But at least my stomach was full.
The duel-trial would be settled if Crode fought.
But after that?
Crode is a Knight of Eternity—madly devoted to the Empire.
Winning him over is impossible. Even if we win the trial, Count Venere will make his next move.
And in this world where rank is everything, I can’t survive without raising mine.
To be honest, even putting Crode on my side feels uneasy.
I can’t risk standing against the novel’s protagonist.
“Whatever happens, I must grow strong—on my own power.”
I swung lightly.
…Swish!
Only a few weeds bent or snapped.
Even with a wooden blade, failing to cut weeds shows my current level.
“Phew.”
I closed my eyes and recalled the past—days of swinging a sword to survive, slaying beasts.
I compared this world’s swordsmanship with the techniques in my old memories.
Both similar and different, but fundamentally apart:
this world’s lineage-forged styles versus my desperate, self-taught swings.
Sometimes the Tower granted sword manuals as rewards, but those were just artifacts, not centuries of tradition.
And after the first Cataclysm, ten years later, everyone was dead anyway.
“For now, I just need to drill the basics.”
Sword training uses special inner muscles. Not just the shoulders—deeper.
The method is simple: swing, again and again.
“Let’s start with a light thousand swings today.”
Whoosh!
My first baby step toward a higher rank began.
“…Aaaagh!”
At the thousandth swing, I collapsed.
Soaked in sweat, the world spun.
I’d started at sunrise; now the sun had set.
Exhausted, yes, but I knew this wouldn’t kill me.
“Ugh…”
“Young master!”
Irene rushed in with dinner, carefully setting down the soup before helping me up.
Good—food comes first.
“Are you all right?!”
“Ugh… feels like death…”
“That’s what happens when you suddenly overdo it!”
Growl.
Despite everything, my stomach demanded food.
“Irene.”
“Yes, young master?”
“A favor.”
“What now…?”
“Feed me the soup—my arms can’t lift a spoon.”
“Oh honestly… all right.”
Shaking her head, she obediently scooped a spoonful to my mouth.
She must be tired from work all day and now this—such a good kid.
“Mmm… tasty.”
“I’m glad.”
“More meat on the next bite.”
“Here you go.”
I chewed contentedly.
“…This is horn-boar meat, right?”
“It’s not human.”
“So that petition you wanted—this was why?”
“……”
“I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“Didn’t I say? I’m not planning to die yet.”
“Yes, you did.”
Her eyes glistened. I quickly changed the subject.
“Any troubles lately?”
“Troubles? Not once, ever since the Count took me in!”
“There must be at least one or two.”
“Ha ha, really none. Have you ever thought breathing was hard?”
“Hmm… no.”
“That’s what the Count’s house is to me—like breathing, just natural.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked; the mood turned strange.
“Besides, when you’re working this hard, how could I complain?”
“…”
“So focus on what you need to do, young master. I’ll give my all to help.”
“…”
At last the bowl was empty.
After a day of nothing but pale boar soup, I was starting to tire of it.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll add chili flakes.
“All done?”
“Mm. Yes.”
“Call me if you need anything else!”
As always, Irene collected the empty bowl and left the yard.
A truly loyal maid. Not one for empty flattery.
Even when Ian was offered as a sacrifice to black magic, she stayed.
“Huuh…”
Meal finished, training complete—time to recover.
Back when I was Lee Jin-soo, I’d fought to survive and found one shortcut:
Muscles grow as they tear and rebuild.
Breaking them is easy; the challenge is recovery, which takes time.
For someone untrained to swing a sword a thousand times a day?
Normally, days of healing would be required—
if this world had no mana.
“Heal.”
I cast recovery magic over my battered arms, not just once but continuously.
Crackle!
Skin popped and muscles burned with pain.
“Mm…”
It hurt, but not unbearably. I’d been through worse.
I’ll keep ripping and healing my muscles every day.
A simple, brutal training method—
perfect for the penniless young master of a fallen count’s house.
