The next day, the real training began.
They didn't have a proper training ground or dojo—just wide stretches of farmland and the occasional shaded patch beneath the trees. It was enough, apparently.
Albrecht was told he'd be training with the oversized greatsword taken from one of the attackers in Vaelmont. He still didn't know why they had targeted him, but it clearly hadn't been a random robbery. They had recognized him. That much was obvious.
But without more information, thinking about it was a waste of energy. The same applied to Selene… and his missing memories. Whatever mystery lay behind, it would have to wait.
For now, his world was narrowed down to a single purpose: to survive Thereon's training.
Which, so far, felt more like punishment than education.
The first week didn't involve swordplay at all. No techniques. No stances. Not even a stick to swing around. Just endless running, pushups, sit-ups, squats, planks—anything that would break him down physically.
Thereon wouldn't even let him touch a sword.
Every time Albrecht asked a question, Thereon would roll his eyes, giving a vague answer.
And if that wasn't bad enough, the old man seemed to go out of his way to be insufferable. The criticism never stopped—whether it was about Albrecht's posture, breathing, or how stupid his face looked when he did push-ups.
And that was just during the training.
In the evenings, in their separate rooms at the inn, Thereon somehow managed to be even worse.
He had randomly found a flute lying around his room and decided it was the perfect time to become a musician, even though he'd never played an instrument before.
Albrecht had initially hoped it was part of some deep lesson, maybe a metaphor for progress or a demonstration of personal growth.
But no. After a few days of torturous squealing from the next room, it became clear.
There was no lesson. Thereon was just an annoying old man with too much free time and absolutely no sense of music.
When the first week passed, Thereon clicked his tongue and muttered that Albrecht was too slow at building muscle.
'How am I even supposed to accelerate muscle growth? It's not like I can just inject testosterone.'
His gaze drifted toward the fields surrounding Branlow. There were plenty of farms—wheat fields, vegetable plots… and livestock. Lots of livestock.
He was pretty sure he'd seen not just cows but bulls, too.
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'Wait… isn't there that myth? About eating bull testicles to boost testosterone?' The idea sat in his brain for a few seconds too long.
He blinked.
'Maybe I should…'
Then, he immediately shook his head.
'No. Absolutely not. I still have some dignity left.'
Besides, science did not support that claim. It was just a myth. Also, that was exactly the kind of thing that Thereon would suggest.
Albrecht sighed.
The old man was rubbing off on him. And not in a good way.
Sometimes, thinking about nonsense was… kind of fun. Was this how people felt watching anime?
He'd never actually watched one himself, but he'd caught glimpses while his sister binged through her favorites. And it certainly had not left a good impression.
There was that one scene during a cooking duel where some guy took a bite out of rice and exploded out of his clothes, screaming something in Japanese like he'd tasted the meaning of life.
Yeah… he didn't miss that kind of nonsense.
But after a week in this world, there were definitely things he did actually miss. Obviously, his sister. But also the mundane stuff, books, good food, even something as simple as a proper shower.
Here at the inn, showering meant standing behind the building while a couple of buckets collected rainwater and hoping no one walked by. It felt like something out of a caveman documentary.
Thankfully, that seemed unusually primitive—even for this world. Public bathhouses and natural hot springs existed, and wealthier folks apparently had it even better.
Rich nobles could enjoy hot showers via magic, though not cast by themselves, of course, but by trained servants with water-affinity spells.
According to Thereon, it wasn't that hard to learn. What he'd done the other night—pulling water straight from the ground, was considered a basic water magic application.
But the part where he split the ground open wasn't so simple. It required a different level of control and power, one that would likely draw unwanted attention.
That was also why he didn't use it to give them a proper shower. Quiet travel meant staying unnoticed, and doing something like that was definitely the opposite.
Thankfully, Albrecht was allowed to rest over the weekend. Apparently, Thereon had just enough common sense to understand that overtraining could actually slow muscle growth.
Back on Earth, Albrecht had worked out a bit. Nothing too serious—just enough to stay in shape. For a few weeks, he'd even taken Jido classes, a modern, streamlined form of Jiu-Jitsu.
Unfortunately, the gym had to shut down after a certain… incident.
But compared to what he was doing now, that felt like child's play.
Thereon made sure to push him to his limits—or, at the very least, as close to the edge as possible without completely breaking him. Every day was a grueling blend of muscle fatigue, mental exhaustion, and constant mockery.
When Albrecht was finally allowed to hold the greatsword, he expected something exciting.
Instead, he was told to practice a single, basic forward swing.
One motion. Over and over.
He was to repeat it 300 times each day.
No footwork drills. No parries. Just that same forward strike.
Before and after sword training, he still had to do all the physical exercises from the first week—running, pushups, planks, and the work.
"Repetition builds form," Thereon said.
"Form becomes instinct. And instinct is what keeps you alive."
Albrecht wasn't sure if it was wisdom or laziness on Thereon's part, but he didn't really have a choice.
So he swung the sword. Again and again.
And every day, it felt a little less heavy.
