A few more weeks passed.
Mikhail spent every waking hour searching. Books. Scrolls. Libraries. Archives. Everything the Empire had to offer.
Nothing.
Not a single mention of how to use monster cores.
He sat alone in his study, the black stone resting on the desk before him, mocking him with its silence.
Why is this so difficult? In the game it was easy—
He froze.
Wait. Don't tell me...
Is it because I'm not the original hero? I can't use it?
Rage surged through him.
In one violent motion, he grabbed the edge of the study table and hurled it against the wall.
"FUCK!"
The table shattered. Books and parchments scattered across the floor.
Footsteps rushed down the corridor.
The door burst open. Miyako and Gwenllian appeared in the doorway.
Mikhail stood in the center of the wreckage, chest heaving, hands clenched into fists. Fury radiated from him like heat.
Miyako stepped forward carefully. She reached up and placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"My love... please. Try to calm down."
He didn't respond. His breathing was ragged, his jaw tight.
She spoke softly.
"Come with me. I'll take you somewhere."
She took his hand and led him toward the door.
Gwenllian followed silently behind.
Miyako brought him to the training grounds.
The open courtyard was empty, the evening air cool and still. She picked up two practice swords from the rack and handed one to Mikhail.
"Come on, my Lord. Spar with me." Her voice was gentle but firm. "Take out all your frustrations."
Gwenllian stopped at the edge of the courtyard, watching.
Mikhail looked down at the practice sword in his hand. His grip tightened.
Then he attacked.
No preamble. No stance. Just raw, furious aggression.
Miyako deflected the strike easily, stepping aside with practiced grace.
He pressed forward. Strike after strike, each one harder, faster, more desperate.
She countered every one.
But he didn't stop.
He kept going. On and on and on. Attacking, retreating, barely managing to dodge her counterstrikes, defending clumsily when he couldn't evade.
She was still so much stronger than him.
Hours passed.
Finally, Mikhail staggered back, gasping for air. His arms trembled. Sweat dripped from his face. Scratches and bruises covered his arms and torso where her blade had found openings.
Miyako lowered her sword, barely winded.
"You've improved a lot, my Lord. You landed three attacks this time." She paused. "But your fighting is... desperate."
Mikhail looked up at her, breathing hard.
"Desperate?"
"Yes." Her expression was serious now. "You're fighting like you're desperate to kill. Not to learn. Not to improve. Just to end whatever is in your path—even if it means harming yourself in the process."
She stepped closer, her voice softening.
"I think that's enough for today, my love."
Mikhail shook his head sharply.
"No. I'm not done yet."
He turned, pointing his sword at Gwenllian.
"You. Take a sword and stand before me."
Gwenllian didn't move.
"I'm going to test what you are under that armor."