The ghost of his father faded, but the feeling remained.
Alex gripped the wooden sword, his knuckles white. He didn’t wait for the vision to return. He just swung.
Whoosh.
Correction: He tried to swing.
By the tenth repetition, his arms felt like they were filled with wet cement. His shoulders screamed in protest. The "slender, pretty boy" physique was great for looking good in a suit, but terrible for actual labor.
"Haah... haah..."
Sweat dripped from his chin, splashing onto the polished floor.
It was strange, really. He was enrolled in the Magic Department. He was supposed to be waving wands and chanting Latin. Practicing swordsmanship here was like bringing a knife to a nuke fight.
But Alex knew better.
’I know the plot,’ he thought, gritting his teeth as he forced another downward slash. ’Magic isn’t omnipotent. There are anti-magic zones, silence spells, and monsters that feed on mana. When the casting fails, cold steel is the only thing that saves you.’
He swung again.
Whoosh.
This time, the angle was perfect. The phantom memory of the Duke overlaid perfectly with his own muscles.
[Skill Proficiency Increased: Basic Edelhart Swordsmanship (1%)]
"It’s working," Alex whispered, a manic grin forming on his exhausted face.
The "Memory of the Body" wasn’t just a flashback; it was an installation wizard. He was downloading the software. Now, he just needed the hardware to run it.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:00 PM.
It had only been an hour, but he was done. His legs were trembling so hard he looked like a newborn giraffe.
"This body is trash," Alex stated the obvious, dropping the sword.
He collapsed onto a bench, wiping his face with a towel.
"I need a plan. I need protein. I need cardio. I need a montage."
Luckily, he had the knowledge. In his past life, he had spent hours reading about the training routines of Olympic athletes and special forces soldiers. He had bookmarked them all. He had never done them, of course—he was too busy raiding dungeons and eating chips—but the knowledge was there.
"Laziness means death in this world," he muttered. "Tomorrow, I start the Hell Routine. But for now..."
He looked down at his trembling hands. He couldn’t lift a weight if he tried.
"Physical training is out. Let’s try the engine."
Internal Circuit.
In Erosbound, knights didn’t just use muscles. They used mana to reinforce their bodies. It was like hydraulics for humans.
This "Internal Circuit" was innate. You couldn’t learn it; you were born with it. It was like a magical tattoo engraved on your bones. A commoner might have a circuit like a garden hose. A noble? They had fire hoses.
And the Edelharts?
"We are a Ducal house of Knights," Alex mused, closing his eyes. "My hardware might be weak, but my engine should be a V12."
He sat cross-legged on the floor and concentrated.
Thanks to his Mana Sensitivity (75), finding the circuit was easy. It felt like a complex web of cold veins running deep beneath his skin, dormant and waiting.
"Found it."
It was intricate. majestic, even. It felt powerful.
"Okay," Alex thought, taking a deep breath. "Let’s turn the key. Just a little bit of mana to jumpstart the system."
He guided a tiny thread of his recovered mana into the circuit.
Click.
The connection was made.
WEEEEEEEEING...
"Huh?"
Alex’s eyes snapped open.
That wasn’t a magical hum. That sounded like a high-performance sports car revving to 9,000 RPM in an enclosed garage.
The mana didn’t just flow; it exploded through the circuit. The Edelhart bloodline wasn’t a joke. It was designed to pump massive amounts of power instantly.
The problem?
Alex’s body was a rusted bicycle. And he had just strapped a jet engine to it.
[System Warning: Overclocking detected.] [System Warning: Hull integrity critical.]
"Kuhak!"
He didn’t even have time to scream.
A fountain of blood erupted from his mouth, spraying across the pristine floor.
It wasn’t a cough. It was a purge.
His insides felt like they had been put in a blender. The sheer torque of the mana tore through his undeveloped meridians, rupturing capillaries and straining organs.
"Ah... ugh... shit..."
The world spun violently.
Alex tipped forward, face-planting into his own puddle of blood.
Thud.
His limbs twitched uncontrollably, like a bug sprayed with raid. The pain was blinding—white-hot agony searing through every nerve ending.
’I... broke... it...’
That was his last coherent thought.
The "engine" stalled. The noise died down.
Darkness rushed in to save him from the pain.
Alex Edelhart, the man who wanted to change his destiny, passed out cold on the gym floor, defeated not by a monster, but by his own horsepower.
****
"You’re awake."
"..."
As soon as consciousness trickled back in, Alex turned his head toward the soft, husky voice.
His vision was blurry at first, but it focused quickly. And when it did, Alex almost flatlined right there on the bed.
Standing over him was a woman who looked less like a medical professional and more like the start of a very expensive adult film.
She was petite, with messy black hair tied up in a loose bun held together by a pencil. She wore glasses that slid down her nose. And she was wearing a doctor’s coat.
Just a doctor’s coat.
No shirt. No blouse. No bra.
The white fabric was buttoned once, precariously, around her navel. The neckline plunged deep, revealing mounds of pale, soft cleavage that swayed slightly as she checked the IV drip. A stethoscope hung around her neck, the cold metal nestling right between her breasts. Below the coat, Alex caught a glimpse of red lace garters holding up sheer white stockings.
"Easy now, stay lying down," she said, noticing his eyes popping out.
"Ugh... what happened?"
Alex tried to sit up, but a bolt of lightning-hot pain shot through his spine.
"Gah!"
He collapsed back onto the pillows, panting. It felt like he had been put inside a washing machine with a bag of rocks. Every muscle, every joint, every nerve was screaming.