A conjurer's effective power was not linear—it spiked based on the spirit tier they could control.
The realization hit me like a blade: I was now considered a low-tier conjurer, essentially at Level One. The next major milestone was Level Five—Claire's current level—and yet the gap between us felt like an endless chasm. How could one level contain such a difference?
Currently, I had the strength of a fragile mortal—barely stronger than a pair of zero-level goblins. My spell power was meager, my body unrefined, my understanding of the arts superficial. I hadn't even enslaved a new spirit yet—the Fire Curse Spirit had already been consumed during my descent.
From this point of view, the pinnacle of military force in this world cannot be underestimated.
Clearing the frustration from my mind, I began to practice in earnest. The first level of the Violent Bear Swordsmanship was composed of foundational routines and combat motions designed not only to teach technique, but to stimulate muscle fibers and condition the body.
I couldn't afford to waste this training time.
> "Status Panel," I murmured, summoning the interface in my mind.
Though this was not my original body, and I could no longer rely on the Feast to strengthen myself, the Proficiency Panel—a carryover ability from my true existence—still functioned.
\\
Status: Barbatos Caesar Volaric (Alias: Sid)
Strength: 0.88
Agility: 0.91
Endurance: 0.96
Mind/Spirit (Consciousness): 3602
Skill: Violent Bear Swordsmanship – LV 1 (0%)
Traits: None
\\
The panel had subtly changed, adapting to the ambient magical laws of this world.
"Strength, agility, endurance, and consciousness are traits that most ordinary people in this world, who have not exercised, should not possess more than a little. I thought to myself.
'In terms of stats, I imagine most untrained humans in this world wouldn't even reach 1.0 in physical attributes. It seems I'm slightly above the mortal average in raw capability. Still... that's far from enough.'
Immediately, I gathered my thoughts and began to practice every move of the Violent Bear Swordsmanship with unwavering focus, pouring all of my attention into each motion.
An hour passed.
My body was drenched in sweat, my breathing ragged, and my arms trembled with fatigue. My muscles screamed in protest with every movement. I could barely hold the wooden greatsword anymore.
Though the blade was made of light wood, it still weighed five or six kilograms. For someone like me—whose current body lacked strength—wielding it continuously placed an unbearable burden on my muscles and joints.
I paused and glanced at the progress panel hovering in front of me.
Skill: Violent Bear Swordsmanship – LV 1 (3%)
"It's not exactly slow, but..."
My eyes shifted to Claire. She remained in the distance, practicing her spellwork with unwavering intensity. Her slender figure was seated cross-legged atop the massive corpse of a six-eyed black python curse spirit. Dark energy coiled around her like a mist, forming mist that shimmered with malevolent light. She didn't even glance in my direction.
I left quietly.
In the manor's kitchen.
Under the stunned gazes of two chefs, I devoured my fifth roast chicken.
Thanks to the Void Source fused into my body, the transformation had quietly begun. My digestion had become unnaturally efficient, breaking down food rapidly and converting it into energy—strengthening muscle fibers, toughening my bones, reinforcing my internal organs, strengthening every cell in my body.
This was not ordinary eating. This was my cheat.
After eating and drinking to my fill, I returned to the training ground. Without a word, I picked up the wooden greatsword and resumed my practice of the Violent Bear Swordsmanship.
Each motion activated a different set of muscles—twisting, coiling, and slashing—forcing my body to adapt. It accelerated digestion further and amplified the feedback loop of growth. Sweat soaked my body again, but I didn't stop.
From afar, Claire watched me silently. A small, rare smile curled on her lips.
This routine continued.
For seven days.
—
Morning. Training Ground.
A shirtless, black-haired youth came to a halt, finishing an entire set of sword techniques in one breath.
"Status," I commanded softly.
Status: Barbatos Caesar Volaric (Alias: Sid)
Strength: 1.52
Agility: 1.39
Endurance: 1.76
Mind/Spirit (Consciousness): 3602
Skill: Violent Bear Swordsmanship – LV 2 (0%)
Traits: None
"Second level," I muttered, a satisfied smile tugging at my lips.
Claire had asked me to reach the first level of swordsmanship within a month. I had reached the second in just seven days. That alone showed my growth rate was above average.
But that wasn't the full story.
My physical condition had undergone a metamorphosis. In just one week, every aspect of my body had improved by roughly 70–80%.
However, the source of this explosive growth wasn't just the swordsmanship. The majority of the physical enhancement came from my constant intake of food—converted into pure energy by the Void Source. Despite not yet awakening the full ability known as the Void Feast, this body possessed the Overeat trait—an instinctual ability any being gains upon ingesting my Void-infused blood.
The gains from the Violent Bear Swordsmanship were substantial, but compared to the Void Source's effects, they were minor.
Ten days ago, this body had belonged to a thin, sickly 1.6-meter-tall boy with no notable strength.
Now, after three days of rest and seven days of tireless training, the change was staggering. My frame had grown to 1.65 meters, my skin had toughened, and my once-slender form now bore the outline of athletic muscle. The muscles weren't bulky—but dense, compact, and aesthetically sharp. My posture straightened. My senses sharpened. Even my gait had a natural power to it.
My mental energy surged too. I felt clearer, more alive than ever before.
Whispers spread throughout the manor. Guards, maids, and servants all noticed the change and spoke about "Master Sid" in hushed, awed tones.
Claire, my so-called sister, though surprised at first, soon replaced her shock with something closer to pride.
"Continue the practice of the second level of Violent Bear Swordsmanship."
Despite the rapid progress, I didn't let it affect me.
Compared to my true self, even one minute old me could kill this body with little struggle. So this was nothing.
Even if one mastered all five levels of Violent Bear Swordsmanship, they would still only be able to handle low-class curse spirits. Those who relied solely on physical techniques and brute strength would eventually hit a wall in this world.
To battle true threats—curse spirits, abominations born from fear and resentment—one needed something else.
Spells.
Curse Power.
And control over curse spirits.
Curse spirits are a form of natural disaster in this world. They are born from the deepest emotions and subconscious darkness of races in this world. They have existed since the dawn of history and cannot be fully exterminated. Even if hundreds are slain, more will inevitably appear. And after certain cycles of buildup, powerful and devastating ones are born.
Each time this happens, the world trembles. Kingdoms fall. Cities vanish. Heroes die.
I knew I couldn't rely on brute strength alone.
That's why I aimed to master the fifth level of the Violent Bear Swordsmanship—to reach its pinnacle—and then begin my true plan: enslaving and absorbing curse spirits.
Without sufficient strength, I could only tame harmless spirits, like the weak fire curse spirit I previously subdued.
But if I encountered a slightly stronger one, I'd be crushed. Without a way to defend myself, I would fall. Again.
And I had no desire to waste another few months rebuilding my blood essence and reverse scale. Starting over once was enough.
---
Time flew by in the haze of relentless practice.
One month passed in the blink of an eye.
Night. Training Ground.
Only one figure remained under the stars.
A tall young man danced through the darkness, wielding a weapon the size of a door—an immense, steel greatsword weighing over 300 kilograms.
Each swing created sharp, slicing sounds in the air, as though the wind itself were being torn apart.
"Phew... the fifth level of Violent Bear Swordsmanship has finally been completed," I muttered.
The tall figure was me.
I now stood over 1.8 meters tall. My body was sculpted—not exaggerated like a bodybuilder, but perfectly honed for function and grace. Every muscle line was deliberate, the result of pressure, strain, and void evolution. Despite the masculinity of my figure, my facial features retained a hint of delicate, youthful charm, creating a strange but compelling harmony of strength and beauty.
\\
Status: Barbatos Caesar Volaric (Alias: Sid)
Strength: 4.52
Agility: 4.09
Endurance: 4.96
Mind/Spirit (Consciousness): 3605
Skill: Violent Bear Swordsmanship – LV 5 (1%)
Traits: Strong Muscles (LV 1)
Unleashes explosive physical strength through deep muscle control. A hallmark trait awakened upon mastering the fifth level of Violent Bear Swordsmanship. This ability temporarily boosts raw physical might for devastating attacks.
\\
'My physical strength now rivals that of a Fourth Order Troll,' I thought, breathing slowly.
This was raw power.
If combat prowess were measured purely in strength and experience, then my current self—at full output—could even challenge some Level Five monsters.
But this world doesn't revolve around physical strength alone.
Against spellcasters and cursed beings, brute force was laughably insufficient.
Curse spirits are metaphysical entities. Ordinary attacks pass through them. Strong blood and physical fitness can have some effect on curse spirits. A full-strength blow might scratch it. That's it.
Meanwhile, a weak spell from a trained sorcerer can tear through a cursed spirit like fire through paper.
This is the disparity between physical cultivation and curse power.
Strength and sorcery. Blood and will. Body and spirit.
The fifth level of the Violent Bear Swordsmanship was complete.
It was time for the next step.
'I'm ready to start hunting cursed spirits.'
Just as I was thinking about going back to sleep and postponing the capture of the cursed spirit until tomorrow, my ears suddenly twitched. A faint, unnatural sound echoed in the distance—low, airy, and distorted, like the shrill cry of something neither human nor beast.
Reacting instinctively, I moved in silence, vanishing into an uninhabited house within a few swift steps. Nestled in its shadows, I turned my gaze northwest.
My vision sharpened.
There, cutting through the night sky, a black shadow descended like a massive bird of prey. Its wings did not flap, nor did it make a sound. It glided—unnaturally—and landed softly on the old training ground.
From where I hid, I could discern the shape more clearly. The figure was tall and unnaturally thin, shrouded in darkness as if it were a tear in air itself. It stood still, scanning the surroundings with a cold presence that seemed to pierce into the world like a cursed needle.
My pupils narrowed into slits.
That training ground was seldom visited by anyone other than Claire and me.
I closed my eyes for a moment, reaching outward with my consciousness. The air vibrated with dark intention. That shadow radiated a potent malice—an invisible fog of hatred that only someone attuned to spirit energies could detect.
"This thing is here to kill," I murmured to myself, voice void of emotion.
And yet—I did not move.
I didn't step out to challenge it. I didn't alert the manor's guards either.
Claire wasn't home tonight.
'There's a mole in the manor. This cursed entity didn't just stumble here by accident—it's targeting me,' I concluded almost immediately.
The timing was too perfect to be coincidence. Why else would the creature arrive precisely when Claire was away?
The fact that it deliberately avoided Claire's presence told me something important—whoever sent this thing feared her. That also meant this intruder was likely weaker than Claire. Strong enough to challenge me, perhaps, but not her.
I weighed my options carefully. I wasn't foolish enough to test the difference in power between us in such an uncertain scenario.
One of my guiding principles is don't start a fight that you can't win.
Instead, I let the shadow search. Unable to find my presence at the training ground, the cursed spirit eventually gave up. With visible frustration, it vanished into the air once more—never even glancing toward the manor's castle.
'It knows,' I thought grimly. 'It knows there are spells, seals, and spirits embedded into the castle's very structure. Probably doesn't want to awaken the defensive constructs.'
Its withdrawal wasn't a failure—it was reconnaissance. It would try again. Next time, smarter. Deadlier.
And in that moment, I recalled the past—the assassination attempt on a young man named Sid, the previous host of this body. A grim pattern was forming.
"Back then, you couldn't control me, so you let me be. But now that I've taken root in this body, you send assassins?" I scoffed coldly. With a flick of my robe, I turned away and returned to the castle.
---
The next day, Claire had still not returned.
That worked in my favor. With no need to avoid her eyes, I donned a black robe, tightened its cord at the waist, and leapt into the sky. Spell power surged under my feet, forming a gliding path of invisible force as I soared toward the nearest town—Fengyu or Wind Whisper Town.
It was common knowledge among spellcasters that cursed spirits were attracted to human emotion—fear, hatred, obsession, and despair. They didn't simply spawn from thin air; they were the foul fruit of humanity's darkest thoughts, given twisted form.
While this correlation had never been universally confirmed, history and countless battles had etched it into practical law: the greater the human population and emotional disturbance in an area, the stronger and more frequent the cursed manifestations.
Kageno Manor sat on a ridge behind Fengyu Town—not far by flight, perhaps twenty minutes at my current speed.
Fengyu Town itself held a population between seventy and eighty thousand—large enough to nurture all manner of weak to mid-level cursed spirits. Based on its size and ambient spiritual pollution, it was rare for a cursed spirit above Grade Four to be born here.
In fact, in the past month alone, the highest cursed spirit to emerge from this town had been a Grade Five.
'Then why hasn't Claire returned yet?' I wondered. 'Did a Grade Four appear unexpectedly?'
I descended into the crowded streets of Fengyu, my black robe flowing around me like mist. Using a low-level concealment technique, I shrouded my face and eyes in spiritual haze. Around me, merchants shouted their wares, children laughed, and gossip flowed like water.
And yet I saw more than others.
Through my enhanced spiritual perception, I scanned the area. My mind remained alert. Though cursed spirits were usually easy to detect due to their chaotic aura, the stronger ones learned to hide in shadows, lurking behind layered barriers of illusion and misdirection were mainstream for them.
Most of Claire's missions involved eradicating cursed spirits that had evolved beyond their place of origin or had migrated in search of fresh emotions to consume.
It wasn't just for the safety of Fengyu Town. These extermination tasks were part of her cultivation.
Spellcasters, after all, didn't grow stronger by simply meditating under a waterfall.
Our strength—our ranks—were determined by our understanding of spell theory, our depth of spiritual energy, and the real-world experience gained through defeating cursed entities.
Every city, town, and village had its own allocated number of spellcasters, arranged based on population size and recorded threat level. Too few, and the town would fall to spiritual chaos. Too many, and competition would devolve into conflict.
This balance was known as the Principle of Equilibrium—a core doctrine in the Spellcaster Association.
Before the Kageno family settled near Fengyu, the town had only two spellcasters: Thorne Lex, the town's administrator, and his son, Gilder Lex.
Thorne was likely a Grade Five magician at best, judging from the deference he showed Claire. He was on weaker end of Fifth Grade.
A man of his age and responsibility wouldn't fear her otherwise. His son? Likely weaker, perhaps Grade Six or an unranked apprentice.
Compared to them, Claire was a different beast altogether. Though technically also a Grade Five conjurer, she stood at the peak of that tier, possibly nearing a breakthrough.
The gap between a high-tier Grade Five and a low-tier was like that between a seasoned warhound and a house glock.
---
Suddenly, my senses flared.
I froze mid-step, my spiritual vision locking onto a small, seemingly ordinary house to my right. Through the lens of spellpower, I saw it—a faint trail of grayish-white smoke leaking from beneath the roof. Ethereal, flowing against the wind.
The signature of a cursed spirit.
Invisible to the average person, but clear as day to my eyes.
Without hesitation, I vanished. Reappearing instantly before the house in a blink.
Just as I approached the door, it creaked open.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out, brow furrowed. His eyes fixed warily on me.
"Master Samurai… Who are you looking for?" he asked, cautious but respectful.
His suspicion wasn't without reason. While many in Fengyu wore black robes—especially martial cultivators who trained their bodies for battle—my presence was too sudden, too close to his home, and radiated too much spiritual pressure.
Samurai, unlike spellcasters, did not wield traditional magic. They walked the Path of the Blood Pulse—training their bodies through grueling discipline, forbidden elixirs, and spiritual forging rituals. Their flesh became armor, their bones weapons, and their blood a conduit of ancestral strength.
Though not officially recognized as spellcasters, many towns employed samurai as cursed spirit hunters to reduce the burden on licensed conjurers.