"Attack me. No magic, no sword. Just hand-to-hand combat. Don’t hold back at all." explained Gehrman as he took position.

Electhra hesitated for a fraction of a second, but to help her master she had to do everything she could. She got into guard position, legs slightly bent, her center of gravity low. Gehrman did not wait for her to move. He lunged forward, his sneakers hitting the floor. He attempted a direct punch toward Electhra’s face. His movement was technically perfect, but there was a tiny delay between his intention and the physical execution. Electhra deflected the blow with a simple palm movement, diverting Gehrman’s arm outward with disconcerting ease.

Gehrman did not let himself be discouraged. He pivoted on his supports to deliver a low circular kick toward his servant’s ankles. His reflexes were intact, his brain had already calculated the trajectory to sweep his opponent. However, his muscles took a fraction of a second too long to contract. Electhra took a graceful and quick step to the side, letting Gehrman’s kick strike only the surrounding air. The inertia of the missed movement made Gehrman stumble forward one step.

"Your reaction time is slowed... the control of your body is not quite right, it can’t keep up..." observed Electhra as she countered a new attempt from Gehrman by blocking his forearm with her own wrist.

Gehrman growled. Frustration began to show behind his mask of coldness. He followed up with a series of rapid strikes to the torso. His hands gloved in black leather sliced through the air, but Electhra seemed to read him like an open book. She parried each blow with circular movements of her hands, barely retreating a centimeter with each impact. She was the Sovereign of Frost, an SS+ rank fighter, and even without using her magic, her physical condition far surpassed that of Gehrman’s current body.

Gehrman then attempted a feint. He pretended to throw a knee strike, then changed trajectory for a palm strike toward Electhra’s solar plexus. His gray eyes shone as he thought he had found the opening. But once again, his body refused to follow the rhythm dictated by his brain. His muscle fibers seemed to resist the nerve impulse, creating a stiffness that made his movement predictable. Electhra seized his wrist and, with a supple twist, sent him toppling backward.

Gehrman caught himself at the last moment, placing one hand on the ground before getting back up. He was out of breath, drops of sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and slide down his neck. The surrounding mana pressure, though weak in this room, felt like an additional burden to bear.

"Again..." he ordered, refusing defeat.

Electhra then went on the offensive, but with restraint so as not to injure her master. She advanced with a quick step, her right leg shooting out in a lateral kick toward Gehrman’s flank. The latter saw the blow coming. His mind told him to duck and counter with a strike to the liver. Yet, at the moment he wanted to execute it, his legs remained frozen a millisecond too long. Electhra’s foot struck his ribs. The impact was sharp, a dull sound of flesh against flesh echoed in the room. Gehrman was thrown sideways, sliding across the black stone for two meters.

He got up immediately, his face twisted into a grimace. His former immense power was now only a distant memory. He felt like a giant trapped in a cage that was too small. He rushed at Electhra again, his blows becoming more aggressive, more violent. He used his elbows, his knees, seeking brutal contact to compensate for his lack of speed. Electhra dodged each assault with fluid pivots, her purple hair swirling around her like a cape.

Electhra chained strikes with surgical precision. She used the edge of her hand to hit the pressure points located along Gehrman’s arms. Each impact produced a discharge that ran through his nerves. As a result, Gehrman’s grip gradually loosened, his fingers losing their strength without him being able to do anything about it.

Gehrman then tried a different maneuver. He dove forward, trying to grab Electhra by the waist to pin her to the ground. However, Electhra anticipated his move. She executed a backward pirouette, her feet barely brushing the floor. She landed in perfect position, without even being disheveled.

Electhra sighed, then crossed her arms over her chest. "That’s enough, my lord. You will damage your mana circuits if you push so hard on an unprepared body."

Her tone was calm, but it allowed no reply. Yet behind this firmness, one could sense a form of respect.

Gehrman stopped dead. He let his arms fall back along his body. His heart was pounding so hard against his ribs that he felt like his chest was going to explode. He lowered his eyes to his gloved hands, opened them, closed them, then raised his head toward his servant’s purple eyes. The truth hit him full force: he had become pathetic.

"I see..." he murmured while pushing his gray hair back with one hand. "This body is a more effective prison than the abyss itself." He paused, taking the time to swallow his anger. "Now that my power has disappeared, I am only a shadow of what I was. How ridiculous."

Electhra took a step toward him. Her expression softened as she observed fatigue carving into her master’s features. She spoke in a softer voice: "You need time, master. The awakened system will allow you to regain your strength, little by little. You will have to absorb the energy of monsters, level up. Nothing is lost."

Gehrman straightened up. He shrugged to shake off the apparent fatigue, then regained an haughty posture. He could not bear the idea of remaining in this state of vulnerability a second longer.

"I will stay here for a while," he said in a dry voice. "I need to get used to this body. You can go, Electhra. Go manage your guild."

Electhra bowed deeply, her hair cascading down. "As you wish, my lord. I will send someone to serve as your guide and secretary. This person will take care of you and the administrative details for your registration."

She stood up, then left the room with a confident step. The sound of her heels faded down the hallway, leaving behind a heavy silence. Gehrman remained alone in the middle of the training center.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his gloves creaked. "Fuck!" he spat between his teeth.

He hated what he had become. This weakness made him sick. Trembling like a child, losing his breath after a few movements, having to rely on a servant so as not to collapse. All of it seemed absurd to him. He could not accept this reality.

"Damn it" he murmured between his teeth.