Chapter 7 – Practice
After changing into more practical training clothes, Jack and Lidia stepped out of the bedroom and made their way to the gym inside the penthouse. It was fully stocked—weights, dummies, and every piece of equipment one might need for conditioning or combat drills. Jack had made sure this particular room was well-equipped for his training since he knew he would need it very much in the future.
Jack stretched his shoulders as he warmed up, rolling his arms with steady control, while Lidia stood nearby, waiting for him to finish. Her eyes followed him with calm patience, though her mind was already shifting into the discipline of a teacher.
"Are we just sparring today?" Jack asked, glancing her way.
"Yeah," she answered smoothly. "You've already mastered all the fighting styles I've taught you. At this point, it's about refinement—getting more and more familiar with them in actual combat situations."
She walked toward the rack, picked up two wooden swords, and tossed one to him. Jack caught it without looking, his grip instinctive, practiced. The smooth weight of the weapon was familiar. He had been training with it every single day for years.
Thanks to her experience as an Arcane, Lidia had drilled him relentlessly in countless combat techniques—various martial arts, weapon mastery, and everything in between. She had sculpted him for the First Step.
Jack twirled the wooden sword in his hand, his thoughts quiet and sharp. 'His swordsmanship isn't limited to a single style, but several,' he mused, evaluating himself through the lens of his new memories. 'This body is well-trained, physically fit. That's a huge help. I won't have to waste time conditioning myself back into shape.'
Looking at his reflection in the mirrored wall, Jack noticed something startling: his body now was in better condition than the one he had left behind. In the other world, his frame had already begun to wear down with age, fatigue settling into his bones. Here, however, he stood at his peak—a young man's vitality paired with an assassin's mind.
"Now, take your stance, Young Master," Lidia said firmly. She raised her own sword, her posture perfect. "And as always—attack me as if you're going to kill me."
Jack gave a faint nod and slid into position. His stance was casual on the surface, but it carried balance—strong offense and solid defense, one of the many approaches he had studied under her.
For a long moment, silence filled the gym. The warmth between them dissolved, replaced with a cutting, almost suffocating sharpness. It was as if two lovers had been erased, leaving only two warriors facing each other on opposite ends of the mat.
Neither found the shift surprising. When it came to training, there was no room for hesitation, no softness to dilute the lesson. That was Lidia's rule, and she enforced it not out of cruelty, but out of love. She trained him harshly because she could not bear the thought of him being unprepared. She knew more than anyone else how deadly this world can be to weak people.
Jack was bound to face very bad things in his journey, and so she wanted him completely ready for that as soon as possible. So, the pressure was constant and the training was very intense.
And Jack… Jack thrived under it. His talent was monstrous, his capacity to learn and adapt beyond normal measure. He absorbed every piece of knowledge she offered, and once he had it, he honed it to frightening sharpness.
"Come at me, Young Master," Lidia said, her voice steady and serious.
The instant the words left her lips, Jack moved.
He dashed forward without hesitation, his speed impressive for someone yet unable to use mana. The wooden sword sliced through the air as he swung at her torso, his form efficient and fluid.
Lidia slipped past the attack with ease, her body barely shifting out of reach. But Jack was already following up, flipping his grip and stabbing to the side. The transition was seamless—momentum never lost, rhythm unbroken.
CLANG!
Wood met wood, the vibration running up his arm as their swords clashed.
"Your movements are sharper," Lidia noted calmly, pushing him back with a controlled strike. "But you're still not channeling all your momentum correctly. The stronger the momentum, the more force your attacks carry—and the faster you can recover."
Jack caught himself and surged forward again. Their swords collided over and over, the rhythm of their duel echoing through the room. His strikes appeared chaotic, almost wild, but beneath the surface, there was method, a carefully woven sequence that mirrored a dancer's steps.
His body twisted and swayed, slashing and thrusting, while Lidia remained grounded, deflecting with minimal effort. Her eyes tracked every motion with frightening clarity, her reactions operating on an entirely different level.
The room filled with the sharp sounds of impact—wooden swords clashing, feet sliding across the mat. Jack pressed forward relentlessly, searching for any possible opening, though he knew full well he couldn't win. He couldn't even touch her.
But this Jack wasn't the same as yesterday's. Not anymore.
He carried with him the memories of a seasoned assassin—the best to ever walk that path. His instincts, honed by a lifetime of real battles, flowed into every strike. And that made the difference.
Lidia noticed it almost immediately.
'Hm?' Her brow furrowed slightly as she dodged an attack. Jack followed with an upward thrust aimed directly at her throat. She twisted aside at the very last second, her eyes flickering with surprise.
'That's new.'
She studied him carefully. 'Did he actually notice my balance was slightly vulnerable to a throat strike?'
The flaw had been subtle, almost invisible. Jack shouldn't have been able to spot it, not yet. Not at his stage.
For a moment, she considered the possibility that it had been coincidence. But a few exchanges later, her doubts shattered.
Jack feinted with a wide slash. Lidia deflected easily—only to realize too late that he hadn't truly attacked. He had baited her. The wooden blade slid down smoothly, snapping forward in a short-range stab aimed at her stomach.
Her eyes widened as she reacted instantly, deflecting with the side of her sword. Splinters burst into the air from the force.
She pushed him back several steps, her expression unreadable.
'That wasn't a coincidence,' she thought gravely. 'Where did he learn to read balance and momentum with such precision?'
She had only just begun teaching him those principles, and he had been nowhere near this level. Such ability normally required years—decades even—of experience. Yet here he was, applying it flawlessly.
His approach was different now. Sharper. More mature. More… dangerous.
Her gaze narrowed. "What's going on?" she asked aloud.
Jack tilted his head slightly. "Hm? Are we going to continue?"
"…"
She studied him closely. His eyes were calm, steady, almost as if he truly didn't realize the shift in himself. Could it be unconscious? She wasn't sure.
In reality, Jack was fully aware. Every adjustment, every subtle tactic was deliberate. He was testing himself against her, measuring her speed, her strength, her reactions, all while weaving in the assassin's instincts he had inherited.
'She's faster than any human I've ever fought,' he thought, watching her with sharp focus. 'And this isn't even twenty percent of her speed. Her reactions are beyond human. So this is what an Arcane really is…'
Reading about them and facing one in combat were two entirely different things.
"You're evolving rapidly, Young Master," Lidia said finally, her tone carrying a mixture of pride and unease. "Faster than I could have imagined. Your talent is extraordinary. You are truly the descendant of Ash—"
"Lidia."
Jack's voice cut through hers like a blade. His eyes glimmered with cold anger, the sharpness of his gaze making her heart skip.
She froze, then covered her mouth quickly. "I… I'm sorry, Young Master. I didn't mean to bring them up."
Jack held her stare for a moment, then exhaled slowly. "…It's fine. Let's continue."
Lidia nodded, though her expression was heavy.
Jack adjusted his stance again, his grip tightening. Even though the memories he now carried weren't truly his own, they flowed through him so naturally it was as though they always had been. For now, he was still aware of the difference. But he knew, sooner or later, they would fuse with him so completely that he would no longer distinguish them.
It was only a matter of time.