Transmigration: I Made A Deal With A Man in Yellow

I trained nonstop, pushing my body as far as it could go.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months.

And during all that time, I never stopped.

My body had already been well-built before I started, but months of constant training made my muscles more toned and refined. Even my hair had changed. What used to barely reach my shoulders had now grown far enough to touch my back.

My life during those months was painfully simple.

Wake up. Train. then rest.

Then train again.

And sleep.

Then wake up and do the same thing all over again.

Because of that routine, I no longer handled the scythe the way I had when I first arrived here. I had drilled Sister Friede’s movements into my body so many times that I no longer needed to consciously think about most of them.

Her swings, sweeps, lunges, and her pivots.

Even the way she shifted her weight before changing direction had become familiar to me.

Thanks to [Calm Mind], I could replay our previous fights inside my head with incredible clarity and study every movement she had made. Then I repeated those same movements again and again until my body began to understand what my mind already knew.

Still, I wasn’t foolish enough to think that made me her equal.

Far from it.

Even with my Gift helping me understand and learn things faster, Sister Friede still had far more experience than me. The difference between us had simply become smaller than it had been before.

And that was enough.

More importantly, I hadn’t spent all these months merely copying her.

There would be no point in learning someone’s fighting style if I didn’t also learn how to fight against it.

For every technique I copied, I studied its weaknesses. For every movement I remembered, I thought about where an opening could appear and how I could exploit it.

If she used a pivot, I learned where the blade would travel.

If she retreated on her toes, I reminded myself not to blindly follow.

If she lowered her stance, I prepared myself for a sudden leap.

Little by little, Sister Friede’s movements stopped looking unpredictable. But they were still not easy and not harmless.

Just understandable.

I stood silently near the piles of ash that remained of the knights, and they had been surprisingly good company.

Very quiet company, but company nonetheless.

I had spent months here without properly speaking to anyone, and I had to admit it was starting to get boring. Sure, I could technically try talking to Sister Friede, but knowing her, I probably wouldn’t get through my first sentence before discovering what the world looked like without my head attached to my body.

Quite the terrifying woman.

Speaking of her...She hadn’t come outside once during all these months.

That was strange.

From what I understood, there was nothing physically stopping her from leaving the church if she really wanted to. Yet, for whatever reason, she had remained inside the entire time.

Maybe she simply didn’t care enough to hunt me down.

Whatever the reason, I wasn’t going to complain.

It had allowed me to train without interruption, and for that, I was extremely grateful.

I interlocked my fingers and stretched both arms above my head.

Crack. Crack.

Several joints popped at once.

"Ahh..."

That felt good.

I stretched my shoulders, waist, and legs before gathering darkness around my right hand. The energy stretched outward until it formed the familiar shape of a long black scythe.

I looked at it for a moment.

Months ago, holding one of these still felt unfamiliar.

Now it felt almost natural.

I grabbed the shaft with both hands and entered my stance. One foot forward, the other slightly behind. Knees relaxed, my grip firm, but not stiff.

I slowly inhaled and exhaled.

Everything around me faded from my attention. The burning town, the ruined buildings, the distant crackling of flames.

Even the piles of ash beside me.

For that moment, only my body and the scythe mattered.

I recalled everything I had learned during the past several months, allowing the movements to settle naturally into my muscles.

Then I moved.

Swoosh!

The first swing came horizontally.

The black blade whipped through the air with enough speed to send dust scattering across the ground.

My rear foot immediately followed the movement, and I shifted into another stance without stopping.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My feet moved rapidly across the ground.

One stepped forward while the other followed, then their positions switched as I changed direction. Every placement was deliberate. A badly positioned foot could ruin the entire movement or leave me unable to properly control the momentum of the scythe.

I pivoted.

Swoosh!

The weapon circled behind my back before appearing on my other side.

Another step, then another swing.

Swoosh!

I no longer forced the scythe around using only my arms. Most of the power came from the rotation of my hips and core, allowing the rest of my body to carry the weapon’s momentum.

That had been one of the most important things I learned from Sister Friede.

A scythe wasn’t something you simply swung.

You guided it.

Once the weapon gained momentum, fighting against its weight only made your movements slower. It was far better to let that momentum continue and redirect it into the next attack.

Black trails lingered briefly in the air behind the blade as I moved.

Tap! Swoosh! Tap!

I lowered my stance and spun around my lead foot.

The scythe followed the rotation of my body, whipping around me in a wide arc before I pulled it back and transitioned into another strike.

Then I jumped.

My body turned sideways in the air as I swung the scythe beneath me, imagining an opponent trying to rush into the space I had just abandoned.

I landed lightly on the front of my feet and immediately moved backward.

No pause.

No unnecessary movement.

I jumped again, this time performing a backward flip while keeping the scythe close enough to protect my body. The moment my feet touched the ground, I was already prepared to move again.

That had taken a long time to learn.

Back when I first watched Sister Friede fight, I had thought her flips and jumps were merely impressive movements.

They weren’t.

Almost everything she did served a purpose — a backflip created distance, a leap changed the angle of her attack, a rotation built momentum, and even the position of her feet determined how quickly she could return to defense.

I kept most of my weight toward the front of my feet instead of planting my heels heavily against the ground. It allowed me to shift directions much faster, just as Friede did.

Forward. Back. Sideways. Pivot. Strike.

Swoosh!

I twisted my waist sharply and allowed centrifugal force to carry the scythe around me—the blade cut through the air with a deep hiss.

That swing would have been difficult for the old me to control.

Now, I barely thought about it.

I simply moved.

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