Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: End of Training
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Derek's training was harsher than Damian had imagined.
“Rise and shine. If you're late one more time, I'll splash water on your face.”
“Your balance is off. Focus, focus again. Your thoughts and body must move as one.”
“Don't give up. You can take more. You won't die from one more, so get to it.”
“Eat more. Meals are more important than training.”
No matter how strong one's desires and will, without direction, it was nothing but futile labor.
Derek had become an excellent guidepost for Damian.
As such, Damian's body grew stronger day by day. Before long, he was waking earlier than anyone else in the annex palace, and his appetite had doubled from before.
The log he had once lifted while trembling all over was now easily hoisted, even allowing him to perform feats with it.
'As expected, starting young is the best.'
In his previous life, he had made efforts to address his physical shortcomings. But they hadn't yielded improvements as rapid as this.
In the end, timing was everything when it came to learning anything.
“Swordsmanship, you say?”
Damian wanted to learn not just stamina and strength, but skills as well. It deviated slightly from the contract, but Derek didn't refuse.
How to wield a sword.
How to subdue an opponent barehanded.
How to build a campfire.
How to track enemies, and conversely, how to erase one's own tracks.
How to improvise a weapon from simple materials, and so on.
None of it was directly related to black magic, but Damian absorbed it all.
Not every problem in the world could be solved with black magic. These skills would prove useful if such a situation arose.
And so the sweltering summer passed, giving way to autumn. Winter came and went, and spring returned.
His time was not infinite, yet he didn't rush.
A sturdy body and resilient spirit. Even a black mage, wielder of the world's most profane power, required a body and mind purer than anyone's.
Of course, Damian hadn't devoted all his time solely to physical training.
“Young master, the Adventurer's Guild has delivered the materials you requested last time.”
The locations of the Books of Hell that he had acquired before his regression. Damian investigated them in his spare moments during training.
His past knowledge and experience were a great advantage, but he couldn't rely on them alone. He couldn't be certain they were still in the same places.
Moreover, the circumstances now differed from before his regression.
Back then, civil war was on the verge of erupting in earnest, and security across the continent was quite lax.
As a result, accessing certain dangerous areas faced little restriction. Places that had been easy to enter then might now be inaccessible.
For instance, beyond the abandoned tower, several Books of Hell existed within the imperial palace itself—but the current Damian couldn't reach them.
On the flip side, this was still a time of peace, so the continent's information network remained intact.
Thus, he could roughly pinpoint the Books of Hell's locations even while sitting in the annex palace.
Those locations fell into three broad categories.
Cases like the abandoned tower, slumbering in ancient ruins.
Books tucked away on collectors' shelves.
And finally, in the hands of deranged devil worshippers.
“But why these old tomes...?”
To most people, like Felix, the Books of Hell were just worn-out books.
Over a thousand years had passed since the last black mage before Damian had been executed. People tabooed demons and black magic, but no one knew what power they truly held anymore.
So no one could even imagine that the books Damian was investigating formed the foundation of black magic.
The empire's sole forbidden text concerned demons and black magic, yet no one knew which book it was.
He didn't know how many Books of Hell existed in total. But if possible, he would secure them all.
“Hmm...”
Damian rested his chin on his hand as he gazed at the continental map.
Marked on it were locations where Books of Hell were stored, or suspected to be.
'I didn't realize they were scattered so haphazardly.'
Organizing them revealed just how much luck he'd had in his previous life. The Books of Hell had deviated from their original spots and converged toward the continent's center.
'Was that all Ishtar's doing?'
Ishtar had taken an interest in Damian not long after he began practicing black magic.
She had manifested before him without even using a Book of Hell. Even after he rejected the contract, she kept showing interest.
'Black magic makes you crave ever greater power the more you delve into it.'
So she might have orchestrated this to goad him toward greater strength. Pursuing ever more power would inevitably lead him to her.
'Both the humans and demons obsessed with me are utterly unhinged.'
Rubia and Ishtar. Human and demon, different races entirely—yet both fixated on Damian to a maniacal degree.
Of course, their reasons differed.
Rubia's reason for obsessing over Damian was clear.
His mother, a beauty who had enchanted even the emperor above all others. He had inherited a portion of that allure himself.
Alternating glances between his mirror reflection and the sole remaining portrait of his mother confirmed it objectively: his looks were exceptional.
'I would have preferred aura or magic talent, even if it meant uglier features.'
Rubia was pathologically obsessed with beauty. She was mad about preserving that beauty eternally.
Had he accepted her final proposal in his previous life, he would likely have ended up trapped in a jar of formalin.
Their first encounter had been at Michael and Rubia's engagement ceremony.
When she abruptly proposed he come to her chambers, he had trembled and been too speechless to respond.
Her obsession continued afterward. Since he had holed up in the annex, they rarely met, but she sent letters every few months.
Even after his regression, he had already received six.
In the past, he had cherished and kept them, unsure what to do. This time, he burned them in the fireplace without opening a single one.
'Ishtar's obsession differs in texture from Rubia's.'
To her, Damian's appearance was merely a shell.
Something hidden within—his soul or spirit—drew her fascination.
But he couldn't fathom the reason.
Damian's talents were enough to attract demons' attention.
'I'm the only black mage in the empire right now, after all.'
Yet Ishtar's fixation went beyond mere interest.
For someone of her exalted status in hell to fixate so on a single human made little sense.
'In the end, I'll have to deal with Ishtar too.'
Michael and Rubia were the biggest obstacles for now, but he couldn't entirely ignore the Queen of Hell.
'I need to investigate that artifact as well.'
The relic that suppressed black magic power. He could guess how Rubia had obtained it.
After mastering all modern magic, she had turned her interest to ancient spells.
Her family had formed excavation teams, digging across the empire for traces of ancient civilizations.
She had likely found that bell then too.
He couldn't assume such an item was unique. Naturally, he needed to locate and either secure or destroy them first.
Fortunately, time remained before Rubia earned the title of archmage and fully seized control of the Clarent family.
'But how did she suspect my power was black magic?'
Modern humanity couldn't distinguish between magic and black magic.
They could only detect mana operation, not the soul-bound contract with a demon.
At most, people sensed something chilling or subtly off. No one dared think it fundamentally differed from modern magic.
Even Archmage Rubia was no different.
If anything, being an archmage made suspicion harder. She wielded power on a trajectory far removed from ordinary mages.
'Not an urgent issue for now.'
Damian had time as his weapon.
Even Rubia had needed over a decade to uncover the truth of black magic.
So he just needed to kill her before then. The dead couldn't speak.
“Young master, I brought a snack.”
Lost in thought, he looked up to see Anna enter with a tray piled high with food.
“Enjoy it.”
Anna spoke with a beaming smile. Her grin seemed even brighter than before.
Thanks to his training, Damian's appetite was incomparable to the past.
Anna, who handled the annex's general affairs, couldn't avoid increased burdens.
“My workload growing doesn't matter. Seeing you full of vigor is far more important.”
A faintly bittersweet smile crossed Anna's face as she said this.
“Truth be told, after losing that duel to the Fourth Prince, I worried you'd grow even more listless.”
It wasn't mere worry. In his previous life, Damian had become a shut-in for years after the defeat.
“I'm glad I was wrong. Your health has improved, and you've grown so much taller.”
As Anna said, they had been of similar height not long ago, but now a full head separated them.
The solidly built muscles were unmistakable, even hidden under clothes.
“You were always so handsome, but I prefer you now over then. Back then, you had a delicate air; now you're solid and strong.”
The transition from boy to young man. Damian was in the midst of it.
“Time has flown by like this.”
“Hm? What was that all of a sudden?”
Anna tilted her head, but Damian just smiled and began eating the snack.
The day he vowed revenge and set his goal of claiming the throne.
Two years had passed since his regression.
* * *
“Then begin.”
At Derek's signal, Damian placed both hands on the boulder and steadied his breath.
He slightly bent his right knee, then drew his left leg back. Don't push with your hands—push the ground with your legs.
Visualizing Derek's teachings, he contracted his muscles. Holding his breath for an instant, he unleashed explosive force, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Rumble. At the sound of the giant rock shifting, birds took flight from the trees with a flutter.
Only after moving the boulder a distance equal to his own height did Damian release his hands. It was strenuous, but not excessive.
This was more than enough to open the stone door.
“With this, our contract is complete.”
Derek approached Damian.
“A lowly one like me lacks both the insight and the inclination to guess at your intentions.”
No matter one's stamina, strength, or skill, without wielding aura, one inevitably hit a limit.
“Confining it to physical talent excluding aura... frankly, it's beyond my expectations. Whether it's due to imperial blood, I couldn't say.”
This wasn't flattery to boost his morale. Derek had been strict during training, heedless of Damian's status.
“Damian.”
Derek paused for a moment.
“Do you seek revenge?”
His wolf-like single eye fixed on Damian, filled with certainty.
Damian said nothing, merely meeting Derek's gaze. To Derek, that silence rang as affirmation.
The imperial palace's illegitimate child seeking revenge. Best not to hear the target—for Derek's own safety.
“If your foe wields aura or magic beyond a certain level... even sustained training like this won't provide much aid.”
Michael and Rubia.
They weren't merely above a certain level in their fields—they stood at the pinnacle.
“You're aware of this, so you must have some stratagem in mind. Though it doesn't strike me as a pleasant one.”
He hadn't considered black magic, but the veteran mercenary's instincts were sharper than expected.
“Though these two years are but a fleeting bond in your life, Damian, I wish you victory from afar.”
With that, Derek gave a slight bow.
“I'll depart by tomorrow.”
His contract as stablemaster was already fulfilled. With the one with Damian ended too, no reason remained to stay.
“Where will you go after leaving the palace?”
“Who knows. I originally planned to settle in a quiet rural village in the east. But with the generous contract fee from you, I'm considering a southern resort instead.”
“The south does sound appealing. Wouldn't be bad to spend your remaining years with some zest.”
“Well, I'll think it over slowly.”
Derek said this and sauntered back to his quarters.
'Pushing too hard would only backfire.'
In the original history, Derek settled in the east and later died ambushed by thugs. Likely mercenaries with a grudge against him.
He had learned Derek's true identity back then due to that incident. With no real connection, he hadn't felt much then.
Now was different. In two years, he'd learned much from Derek. Knowing the fixed future, he couldn't help but intervene. A form of repayment.
The next day, Derek left the palace without a farewell. In his quarters remained only a single arming sword.
The hilt showed age, but the blade gleamed sharp as new. Maintained daily, even if unused.
Damian took Derek's sword.
'My physique is sufficient now.'
No reason to delay. Today, he would open the stone door and form a contract with a demon.
“You damn bitch!!”
He was about to head straight for the abandoned tower when a furious shout suddenly erupted from the annex palace.
It was a voice he knew well.