News that my father would personally visit the academy left me surprised, but when I thought about it more, it made perfect sense.

This wasn’t some distant relative—it was his own son who had been nearly killed by a demon worshiper. Add to that my decision to learn martial arts because of it, and there was no way he could refuse.

Besides, my father had always been a warrior at heart, someone who loved teaching martial arts. The only reason he had given up on teaching me as a child was because I was too frail back then. Even now, he continues to practice and hone his skills regularly.

Combining all of these factors, it wasn’t surprising that he immediately set aside his work and came rushing to the academy. Sure, part of it might have been to avoid the daily mountain of paperwork, but the primary reason was clearly his concern for me.

Physical conditioning wasn’t an issue—I had been steadily training my body. All I needed now was to learn martial techniques from him.

I wasn’t looking for enlightenment or glory, just the ability to resist when my shields were gone.

"So, what you need is to accurately target and neutralize their vital points."

"Excuse me?"

Apparently, my father interpreted “resistance” as something entirely different. I stared at him, wide-eyed, as he crossed his arms and stood with an air of authority.

He had arrived at the academy within a day of my letter, thanks to the mage stationed at our estate. After hearing my situation, he responded with those words, which to me sounded like asking a toddler to start running before they could even crawl.

Even with my lack of experience in martial arts, I knew how much effort and talent it took to accurately strike an opponent's vital points.

"Uh… Father? I said resistance, not subjugation."

"Do you honestly think you can resist someone skilled enough to target you? It's far more efficient to aim for their vital points and either incapacitate them temporarily or disable them entirely."

"…"

It was hard to argue with someone as experienced as him. He was right—those targeting me wouldn’t be ordinary opponents.

As seen with the demon worshiper who used magic inside the academy, attacks could come unexpectedly. Even if the attack failed, my enemies would likely be physically formidable, and there was always the possibility of encountering aggressive demons.

"Fine. So, you’re not teaching me simple self-defense but actual combat techniques?"

"Self-defense? Not quite. This is military-grade combat training. Frankly, I’d love to teach you our family’s secret techniques, but…"

His golden eyes gleamed as he looked at me, as if appraising a raw gem.

I couldn’t help but respond with an awkward smile. While I had been frail in the past, I now possessed divine power, making my physical capabilities comparable to those of a knight.

Adding well-structured techniques to my abilities could make me a formidable warrior. However, I had no intention of pursuing that path.

"I’m a writer at heart."

My decision to train was purely for survival—and, perhaps, to satisfy the women who shared my bed.

They say that distance in the body leads to distance in the heart, so I had to maintain my physical fitness to uphold my responsibilities.

Beyond that, I had no inclination toward physically demanding activities, let alone wielding weapons to harm others. The only reason I was learning martial arts now was the unavoidable threat posed by demon worshipers.

"Maybe one day I’ll take it up seriously. It would be odd for your son not to, after all."

"Fair enough. To be honest, the so-called secret technique isn’t anything special. You just grab a good battle axe, swing it, and that’s it. Axes are simpler to use than swords, after all."

Simple, my foot. I’d seen my father, Dave, and Nicole in action, and I knew how ridiculously difficult that style was.

While it’s true that axes are more straightforward than swords—since their weight and balance are concentrated on the blade, limiting their techniques—our family’s methods went beyond brute force.

We combined weapon techniques with martial arts to confuse opponents. And the axe’s devastating impact often forced adversaries into defense, leading to victory. Even a blocked strike could disrupt their balance, creating openings.

Simply put, defending against our family’s techniques was often a precursor to losing, and opponents had to rely on dodging or deflecting to avoid defeat.

"Anyway, before teaching you anything, remember this: Cross and the other guards will protect you, but if you ever find yourself alone, run. Don’t even think about fighting—rely on your stamina and endurance to escape."

"Do you think I’ll even manage to escape?"

"Fully evading them might be impossible. But with some luck, you might escape or find an opportunity to strike back. Ambushes, even by the best fighters, are highly effective."

Before we began training, my father offered a series of practical tips. His advice carried the weight of personal experience, grounded in preparing for worst-case scenarios.

Listening quietly, I couldn’t help but think about how valuable such lessons would’ve been had I started earlier. Back then, I had no idea Zenon’s Biography would become so popular, let alone the complications it would bring.

The discussion eventually turned to identifying vital points, from the obvious to the obscure. Some were places I’d never even considered, where a single strike could be life-threatening.

Midway through the session, a question crossed my mind.

"Father, may I ask something?"

"Of course. Ask away."

Before speaking, I glanced briefly at Adelia, who was standing nearby in workout attire rather than her usual maid outfit. Mari wasn’t here—she had said she had something to attend to, mentioning that Cecily had contacted her.

"What is it?" my father asked as I shifted my focus back to him.

"Well, I’ve noticed there’s an unspoken rule… Why don’t people target a man’s… er… groin more often? It seems like even a light hit would have a significant effect."

Father chuckled at my awkwardly phrased question.

"Interesting question. For starters, it’s not just men—the groin is also a vital spot for women due to its sensitivity. However, targeting it only works well in surprise attacks. Humans have an instinctive reflex to protect that area when threatened."

"That makes sense."

"Instead, you could use that reaction to your advantage and aim for their eyes instead. If you’ve got dirt, throw it—it’ll blind them temporarily, creating an opening."

His advice focused on survival above all else. I took careful notes, fully intent on mastering the techniques he described.

"Now, before we begin, let’s determine your weapon of choice. For self-defense, I’d suggest a dagger, a small axe, or a mace. What do you prefer?"

A dagger seemed the most practical. But just as I was about to say so, my father changed his mind.

"Actually, it’s better to learn both dagger and blunt weapon techniques."

"Both?"

"Yes. With those two, you’ll be able to turn almost anything into a weapon, even a stick lying on the ground."

Life outside the blanket was dangerous, but staying hidden forever wasn’t an option.

"This is all for your own good," my father said with a reassuring smile.

"…Understood."

And so, my journey to step out of the blanket—and into the dangerous world—began.

***

As Isaac's training began, Hawke wasted no time and started with the basics of weapon handling.

While blunt weapons were straightforward—simply a matter of swinging them effectively—daggers required a specific grip technique, which needed a proper explanation.

The training dagger was made of wood, ensuring safety during practice. However, the main challenge wasn’t the weapon itself but Isaac’s inexperience.

Isaac, having only undergone basic physical training in the past, had never held a weapon before. He was a noble who found books far more engaging than weapons or physical endeavors.

Fortunately, Hawke had gone through numerous trials and errors teaching Dave and Nicole, Isaac's older siblings. Compared to a longsword, daggers were relatively easier to teach, so Isaac managed to pick up the fundamentals quickly.

Soon, he was practicing diligently on a wooden dummy.

The exercises focused on repetitive movements to condition his body for instinctive responses during sudden attacks.

“Is this all you’re going to teach him?”

As Isaac struck the wooden dummy with growing proficiency, Adelia approached Hawke and asked hesitantly.

From her perspective, the training was sufficient for an "average" individual’s self-defense, but given Isaac’s unique position, it felt woefully inadequate.

The demon worshipers targeting Isaac were far from ordinary. In the recent incident, not only had Isaac failed to notice the threat, but even Adelia herself hadn’t sensed the assassin until it was nearly too late.

Luckily, swift countermeasures and the intervention of a mysterious archer had saved the day. Without that intervention, Isaac might have been in grave danger.

“This alone won’t be enough,” Hawke replied, his tone serious. “Demon worshipers aren’t the kind of opponents to go easy on. I plan to train him efficiently enough that he won’t be a burden.”

“How would you assess Isaac’s potential?” Adelia asked.

Hawke chuckled, crossing his arms. “Maybe my standards have gotten too high, but his potential isn’t remarkable. He inherited decent physical strength from his mother, but beyond that, I wouldn’t call him particularly gifted.”

Dave, the eldest, had inherited Hawke's martial prowess entirely, while Nicole had a mix of Hawke's talents and Anna’s beauty.

Isaac, on the other hand, had Anna’s features and temperament, and while his physique wasn’t weak, his aptitude for martial arts was fairly ordinary.

Not that Anna was ordinary herself—she was anything but. Her physical strength was exceptional, and her marriage to Hawke had only enhanced her abilities.

Still, Isaac hadn’t shown any exceptional talent for combat, much less absorbed skills like a sponge, the way the fictional protagonist Xenon from Zenon’s Biography might have.

“But he has something else that compensates for it—focus,” Hawke continued. “In dire situations, he’ll rely more on his intellect than his body. With proper teaching, that’ll serve him well.”

“That’s reassuring,” Adelia said with a nod.

“What about the demon worshiper who attacked him?” Hawke asked, shifting the topic.

Adelia flinched at the mention of the incident. Though the attacker hadn’t been particularly strong, she still felt guilty for not detecting the threat earlier.

“…They weren’t powerful,” she admitted, lowering her gaze. “But I failed to notice their presence.”

“It sounds like they specialized in stealth,” Hawke said, his tone even.

“I’m sorry… It’s my lack of ability that caused—”

“No need to apologize,” Hawke interrupted. “What matters is learning and improving from the experience. To be honest, the reason I’m here isn’t just Isaac’s request—it’s also for you.”

Adelia nodded silently. She had suspected as much.

While she could protect Isaac in a direct confrontation, her lack of detection skills remained a glaring weakness. With demon worshipers likely to continue targeting Isaac, Hawke’s specialized training was necessary.

“I’ll teach you a technique for sensing threats,” Hawke said. “It served me well during my active years.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t have a name for it, but it allows you to predict when, where, and how something will happen. It’s a skill I picked up during combat. It’s what kept me alive when everyone else on the border fell.”

If Isaac had overheard this, he might have thought, Isn’t that Observation Haki? The ability sounded like something out of a fantasy story—a technique to read and anticipate an opponent’s moves.

However, Hawke wasn’t exaggerating when he added, “The downside is the immense mental strain it puts on you. If you don’t take breaks, it can push you to the brink. I had no choice but to use it continuously during my years on the battlefield, and even then, it couldn’t save everyone. It’s why I retired early.”

“…”

“I can teach you if you want,” Hawke offered. “But if the strain becomes too much—”

“I’ll do it,” Adelia interrupted firmly.

Hawke turned to her, his expression unreadable as he studied her determined gaze. Her clear blue eyes, calm as a still lake, showed no trace of hesitation or fear.

“What could be more painful than failing to protect Isaac?” she said quietly.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Hawke replied, clapping her shoulder twice with a small, approving smile.

Meanwhile, his gaze shifted to Isaac, who was engrossed in his training.

Isaac seemed entirely absorbed in his task, unaware of the conversation happening nearby.

“Did he really write Zenon’s Biography purely as a hobby?” Hawke murmured to himself.

As time passed, Hawke couldn’t help but feel suspicious. His wife, Anna, might have dismissed it as a quirk, but Hawke, with his vast experiences, thought differently.

If everything Isaac claimed was true, why did the gods themselves seem to elevate his reputation?

From a young age, Isaac had displayed a peculiar wisdom and maturity. At first, Hawke chalked it up to personality, but in hindsight, there were too many oddities to ignore.

“How does he know so much about the world when he rarely leaves the estate?”

As Isaac’s father, Hawke felt conflicted even thinking this way, but the truth was undeniable. Isaac had barely stepped outside the mansion, let alone built relationships with others.

Could someone so isolated truly create such an expansive story based solely on imagination?

“Is he… from the future?”

Hawke’s thoughts began spiraling further.

“Or could it be that he deliberately provoked the demon worshipers? Perhaps to gather information on those who might harm him?”

Though the theory was far-fetched, it edged closer to the truth than Hawke realized.