Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest-Chapter 34: Idiot? Me? (2)

"...Um... Is there anything I can help you with...?"

Lyla's voice wavered slightly as she watched Renard, who seemed utterly lost in his own world.

Instead of answering directly, Renard gestured toward the wooden sword he had just pulled out and placed on the ground.

"Step on this."

Lyla hesitated for a brief moment before cautiously stepping onto the wooden sword as instructed.

Renard nodded, a look of satisfaction crossing his face before he began fastening sandbags onto his body.

Lyla could only watch, her eyes growing increasingly overwhelmed as she processed the absurdity before her.

He was already wearing a chainmail vest—one several sizes too big for him.

Now, he was adding sandbags—not only on his arms and legs but also onto the wooden sword itself.

'There's no way...'

Even at a glance, Lyla could tell that the wooden sword alone must be at least twice Renard's weight.

And yet, as if utterly unfazed, he simply waved her off with a satisfied expression.

"You can move now."

"Y-yes..."

Lyla quickly stepped off the sword, her movements stiff with unease.

Renard bent his knees, gripping the wooden sword with both hands.

For a brief second, his teeth clenched as his body adjusted to the sheer weight.

The wooden sword was so unbalanced and dense that his muscles tensed, and his bones trembled under the strain.

And yet—he smiled.

This feeling—this pain—was proof that his body was growing stronger.

"Get back... No, even further... Just keep going until you reach the shade!"

Startled, Lyla hurried backward, stopping only when she found shelter under the shadow of a nearby tree.

Renard checked his stance, made sure Lyla was out of harm's way—

And then, with explosive force—

He swung.

Whoosh!

The air howled as the wooden sword sliced through it, moving in a wide arc.

It was heavier than him, yet he refused to let it control him.

The chainmail vest and sandbags served a second purpose—they prevented him from being dragged around by the weapon's momentum.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the training ground as Renard kept swinging, faster and harder.

Each motion stretched his muscles to their limit, and every time he turned his waist to control the rotation, his entire core screamed in protest.

Lyla covered her mouth, her breath hitching in fear.

To her, this exercise was madness.

A body as young as his should have collapsed under such extreme strain—

But he didn't.

Whenever it seemed like his body would falter, Renard would push himself further.

He would increase the speed of his swings instead of slowing down.

And just when the momentum threatened to spiral out of control—

He would stop it.

Transitioning instantly into a stabbing motion, he forced himself to arrest the movement mid-air.

Pop!

A sharp sting shot through Renard's hands.

His calluses had torn apart.

A normal swordsman would have dropped their weapon at this point.

But Renard?

Renard laughed.

He could feel the hot, wet sensation of blood trickling from his palms.

And he embraced it.

'Good.'

Had he been wearing gloves, he wouldn't have been able to feel this pain—

And that would have been a waste.

Pain was a reminder.

Pain was proof of his existence.

With blood-soaked hands, he tightened his grip on the wooden sword, ignoring how his fingers slipped against the dampened hilt.

His breath came in short, rapid bursts, and his red-tinged eyes gleamed as he pushed through the limits of exhaustion.

Lyla could only stare, awestruck.

Until—

"Hey."

A voice—sharp and unimpressed—broke through the moment.

Startled, Lyla whipped her head to the side.

Standing beside her was a young man and a girl, their arms crossed, golden eyes narrowed in obvious disdain.

"What the hell is that bastard doing?"

It was Aedric and Adrienne—the evil twins known for causing countless maids to soak their pillows with tears.

They had crept up beside Lyla without a sound, their golden eyes twinkling with curiosity as they stared at Renard.

Lyla stiffened, immediately lowering her gaze. She knew better than to meet their eyes directly.

"Y-Young master... Young lady... What brings you here...?"

Aedric ignored her polite question, his brows furrowing in visible irritation.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

"I asked you—what the hell is that bastard doing?"

Lyla hesitated.

Under normal circumstances, Aedric would have ripped into her for not responding immediately.

But right now, he was more interested in the country bumpkin swinging a sword in the training ground.

His irritation, however, only deepened when the reply didn't come from Lyla—but from Renard himself.

"Can't you tell just by looking?"

Renard took a deep breath, exhaling as he lowered the massive wooden sword to the ground.

He kicked it lightly, his gaze locked onto Aedric.

"Do you know what this is?"

Aedric didn't answer immediately, his golden eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Before he could speak, however, Adrienne—grinning mischievously—answered for him.

"You idiot, it's a wooden sword, of course. Don't you even know that?"

Renard nodded.

"That's right. It's a wooden sword."

Adrienne tilted her head. "So what?"

Renard shrugged, his voice carrying an almost mocking indifference.

"Since you know it's a wooden sword, you also know what swinging a wooden sword is, right?"

Adrienne scoffed. "Obviously."

Renard tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Then why were you asking her what I was doing?"

Adrienne blinked. For the first time, she hesitated.

"I... I wasn't the one who asked. It was my brother."

Renard raised a brow.

"Then why don't you explain it to that idiot brother of yours? Tell him, 'That bastard is training by swinging a wooden sword.'"

Adrienne's eyes widened, caught between shock and amusement at the sheer audacity of his words.

Aedric, however, didn't look amused at all. His narrowed gaze turned razor-sharp.

"Idiot? Me?"

Renard shrugged. "Well, you were staring straight at it, and you still couldn't figure it out. That doesn't seem very smart to me."

Adrienne let out a delighted giggle, clearly enjoying the exchange. She poked Aedric in the ribs, her grin widening.

"Brother, did you hear that? The bumpkin just called you an idiot."

She didn't sound offended—if anything, she sounded entertained.

She had long since realized that Aedric's temper could be stirred easily, and she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity.

And sure enough—

Aedric snapped.

"You dare?!"

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