The Results of My Training

“My dear Young Master,” a sweet, musical, and utterly demonic voice cooed from the other side of the door. “Whatever are you doing… in a place like this?”

The eye crinkled into a perfect, smiling crescent moon.

A beautiful eye.

But at this moment, Ewan felt like a helpless little rabbit, frozen solid in the gaze of a predator. His blood ran cold, and a chill so profound it felt like death itself seeped deep into his bones.

“Anne… h-how did you find me?”

“Hehe, my dear Young Master’s unique scent… I could smell it from ten meters away,” she purred.

Are all yanderes this overpowered? Maybe we should just let you guys handle world peace.

With no time for further thought, Ewan’s muscles tensed, coiling like springs. He had never been naive enough to pin all his hopes on the “sneak away” option. He had already prepared himself, mentally and physically, for this very confrontation. All that grueling, night-and-day, die-and-repeat training in the black book was not for nothing!

BAM!

Ewan slammed his fist into the cabinet door with all his might. The old, rickety door let out a pained, splintering groan and flew off its hinges, crashing down on Anne, who was blocking the exit. She seemed genuinely surprised by his sudden, violent attack, and the raw force behind it was clearly more than she had anticipated. She staggered back under the weight of the door.

Ewan seized the opportunity, leaping out of the cabinet like a cornered animal and delivering a powerful, flying kick to the door. The metal bent inward with a sickening crunch, and Anne, as light as a bird with a broken wing, was sent flying back, slamming hard into the opposite wall.

“Sorry,” Ewan muttered, then turned to run for his life.

But Anne had no intention of letting him escape so easily. With a loud, metallic crash, the poor, abused cabinet door was sent flying again, hurtling through the air toward the fleeing Ewan. He had no choice but to stop and dodge to the side. And in the instant the door flew past him, he saw a ghostly figure clinging to its back.

Anne!

Using the door as a makeshift shield, she had closed the distance in an instant. A sharp, cold blade was clutched in her hand, and she stabbed it mercilessly toward his abdomen.

“Rest assured, my dear Young Master. I have already anticipated this. I have studied human anatomy extensively, so I will not hit any of your vital organs,” she said, her face a mask of cold, clinical indifference.

“God damn that’s even more terrifying!”

Ewan panicked for a split second, but then, a strange, preternatural calm washed over him. Without even thinking, as if by pure, battle-honed instinct, the rusty hatchet in his hand came up to meet the oncoming blade.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The blades met in a shower of brilliant sparks, a blur of motion that created a wall of impenetrable steel. Anne’s attacks were like a relentless, suffocating storm, her blade an extension of her own arm, each strike precise, perfect, and deadly.

But even so, she was shocked to find that she couldn’t land a single blow on him. The rusty hatchet in his hand moved as if he had been born with it, as if he had been playing with it since childhood. It not only perfectly, flawlessly defended against her suffocating assault, but it even seemed to be creating openings for a counterattack.

But the Young Master, under my constant surveillance—I mean, protection—has never even held a kitchen knife. How could he possibly be this good with a hatchet? Did he teach himself?

Anne couldn’t understand it. Just as she couldn’t understand how he had escaped from his supposedly inescapable cell in the first place.

“Young Master, when did you become so strong? Have you been secretly practicing martial arts?” Anne’s eyes narrowed. The Young Master had changed so much, in so many ways, in just a few short days. “But why did I not notice?”

“Hehe, who knows? Maybe I’ve been practicing in my dreams,” Ewan smirked, his own confidence growing with every successful parry.

Dagger Combat LV5!

The countless times he had wielded a dagger in the black book’s space, the countless brutal deaths he had experienced, had finally, in this one, critical moment, borne real, tangible, life-saving fruit. Although a hatchet was not a dagger, their similar shapes and weights meant that Ewan’s hard-won skills were transferable.

He had actually managed to withstand her attack. No, it was more than just withstanding.

The movement of the hatchet in his hand suddenly, fluidly changed. Abandoning his defensive posture, he began to swing with wide, powerful, and unpredictable arcs. At the same time, he did not retreat; he advanced, pressing the attack, forcing her back.

“What—”

A flicker of genuine panic, a rare and beautiful sight, appeared in Anne’s eyes. Under the relentless assault of his rusty hatchet, she was actually struggling to keep up.

But how is this possible?

Although her duties as a personal maid left her with little time to train, she had still been practicing her own martial arts for several years. But the Young Master… she had been watching him every single day. Where had he found the time to practice? Could he really have learned all this in his dreams?

“It’s over!”

In the instant Anne was distracted by her own disbelief, Ewan seized the opportunity. He batted her blade aside, surged forward, and brought the hatchet down in a vicious, whistling arc, aimed directly at her abdomen. At the last possible second, seeing that she truly couldn’t dodge, Ewan frowned and flipped the hatchet around in his hand.

Blade-back facing forward.

But even with the blunt edge, the raw force of his blow was enough to make her curl up in pain, a look of pure, unadulterated agony on her beautiful face.

“It’s over,” Ewan said, suppressing a pang of pity as he forced his face into a hard, unforgiving expression. “Your plan has failed, Anne.”

“Hehe. You are so kind, my dear Young Master. To use the back of the blade…”

“You haven’t done anything to truly harm me, after all. And you are still my personal maid.” Ewan sighed, the adrenaline beginning to fade. “In any case, you can’t imprison me anymore. Give it up, Anne. I will be lenient with your punishment.”

“Young Master… you really do love me, don’t you?”

As if she hadn’t heard a single word he’d said, Anne looked up, an unnatural, feverish flush on her cheeks. “I love you too, my dear Young Master. In that case, why not come to my side and be with me forever?”

“Sorry, but I’ll have to pass on that kind of deformed, obsessive love,” Ewan shook his head, taking a step back.

“I see. Then it can’t be helped. I will just have to use my even more fervent, more passionate love to win you over.” Although her body was still wracked with pain, a crazed, ecstatic, and utterly terrifying smile spread across her lips.

I want you. I want you.

I want to possess you forever, my dear, dear Young Master.

“Hm?”

Looking at Anne’s increasingly crazed expression, Ewan suddenly had a very, very bad feeling.

What’s going on?

Does she have another trick up her sleeve?

From their battle just now, he had sensed that her rank wasn’t actually that high. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have had to resort to poison and sneak attacks. It made sense. As his personal maid, responsible for his daily life, where would she find the time to train? At most, she was probably just a little stronger than average.

But at this moment, a loud, screaming alarm was blaring in his mind. Something terrible was about to happen.

“Damn it! A preemptive strike it is!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ewan swung the hatchet again. Still with the back of the blade. But this time, his target was her slender, swan-like neck.

I have to knock her out. Now.

That was his plan.

But…

“Huh?”

Ewan let out a cry of pure, unadulterated surprise.

Because the hatchet in his hand, halfway through its arc, had suddenly, inexplicably, stopped dead in the air.