The Obsessive Male Lead Is Actually Scary-Chapter 55: Edge of the Blade

The next morning, the inn’s training yard stirred to life as we began.

Alessio and I had taken one side for our advanced dagger practice, just as he’d outlined the day before. Emir and Amira were farther off, running through separate drills he’d assigned them. I didn’t know the details, but judging by Emir’s frustrated grunts and Amira’s sharp corrections, it looked... intense.

Alessio stood at the center of the yard, already twirling a dagger between his fingers like it was an extension of his hand. I hadn’t even seen him draw it.

"Dagger throws today," he said, voice clear and calm. "This isn’t about strength, but about control and precision."

I shifted my weight, trying not to look as awkward as I felt.

"Watch carefully," he continued.

He raised his arm and, in one smooth motion, flicked the dagger forward. It spun through the air with perfect rotation and struck the wooden post with a solid thud. The blade sank halfway into the wood.

"Now you," he said simply.

No pressure, right?

I gripped the hilt of my dagger. It was sharp, and I’d used it before in real fights. I tried to mimic his stance with my arm pulled back, knees relaxed, and grip steady but not rigid.

Then I threw.

The dagger wobbled midair like a confused insect and hit the ground with a clatter.

I blinked. "...Okay."

Across the yard, Emir squinted. "Was that supposed to happen?"

"You’re not even supposed to be watching!" I called back.

He saluted from a distance. "Sorry. I just couldn’t look away. Even when you miss, it looks cool."

Amira tugged on his arm and steered him back toward their drill. "You can stare later. Focus now."

I rolled my shoulders and tried again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, Alessio stood silently nearby, offering only short corrections between throws.

"Wrist looser."

"Follow through."

"You’re still rushing."

By midmorning, sweat had begun to gather at my brow. My arms ached, and my fingers were starting to feel sore from gripping the hilt.

"You’re tightening your jaw," Alessio said, stepping closer. "That tension travels. Starts in your face, ends in your shoulders."

I gave him a skeptical glance. "That’s actually a thing?"

"It is. Everything’s connected. Try breathing."

I exhaled slowly. Threw again.

This time, the dagger spun true and sank halfway into the post.

I grinned despite myself.

Alessio gave a faint nod. "Better."

By the end of the first day, my muscles were shaking and my shoulder felt like it had been replaced with stone. But I was also... proud. I wasn’t great yet, but I wasn’t terrible. That was something.

Day two began with feints.

Alessio stood in front of me, holding the dagger in a reverse grip. "Throwing a blade is dramatic," he said. "But most fights happen up close. Feints let you control the fight before the real strike lands."

He stepped in with a sharp downward slash, then twisted mid-motion, reversed his grip, and stopped just short of where my ribs would’ve been.

I barely saw the switch.

"Deception," he said. "Make them move where you want. Make them believe what isn’t real."

I nodded slowly. "Lie with your body. Got it."

We practiced for hours. Alessio moved with fluid precision, each motion efficient and deliberate. I, on the other hand, felt like a stiff marionette pretending to be a dancer.

"You’re hesitating," he said as I flubbed a feint for the fifth time.

"That’s because I am hesitant."

He stepped behind me, gently adjusting my shoulders. "Then stop thinking like a student. Think like someone who’s going to win."

I swallowed, nodded once, and tried again.

The next attempt wasn’t perfect but it was faster, smoother, closer to real progress.

From across the yard, I could hear Emir shouting something about "gravity being a scam," followed by a soft thud and Amira groaning, "Big brother, again?!"

Alessio didn’t react. Neither did I.

We were locked in.

On the third day, we tackled disarms.

"Never assume you’ll keep your weapon," Alessio said as he stepped into the circle. "Sometimes you drop it. Sometimes they take it. You need to know how to get it back or how to take theirs instead."

He demonstrated by gripping my wrist, twisting just enough to make my fingers loosen, then sliding the blade from my hand so smoothly I didn’t even register it until it was gone.

"Again," he said.

We drilled that move again and again, grip, shift, twist, release, until I stopped thinking about it and just started feeling it.

At some point, he had me try disarming him.

It didn’t go well.

The first time, I barely budged him. The second time, I got his dagger halfway out before he flipped it and ended the exchange with it pointed at my throat.

He didn’t say anything. Just raised a brow.

"Okay," I muttered. "So... more angle. Less hesitation."

He smiled faintly. "Now you’re thinking like a fighter."

By the fourth day, the drills changed.

No more isolated skills, no more slow motion.

It was all about blending now. Throws, feints, disarms. One after the other with no breaks.

I moved across the yard with Alessio trailing beside me like a quiet storm, correcting form, testing reactions, escalating the speed.

"Again."

"Faster."

"Don’t think. Trust it."

Every time I faltered, he pushed again. Every time I landed a throw or twisted away from a grip, his silence said more than praise ever could.

There was something oddly comforting in the repetition.

I was still getting bruised on my arms, ribs, and pride, but it didn’t feel hopeless anymore.

I was holding my own, not perfect but steady.

The fifth day arrived, cool and gray.

Alessio stood across from me in the yard, dagger in hand.

"This time," he said, "we spar."

I blinked. "Like... for real?"

"As real as we can without stabbing each other."

I drew in a slow breath and nodded.

He moved first, quick and low, deceptively so. I barely parried the strike, ducked under the follow-up, and spun away just in time. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

His movements were cleaner, sharper, more precise than anything I’d ever seen. But I wasn’t collapsing under it. Not today.

I slipped in a feint, swept low, disarmed him for a moment, and tossed the blade back with a grin.

He caught it midair. "Cocky now, are we?"

"Terrified," I said honestly, panting.

He chuckled softly. "Good. That means you’re paying attention."

We sparred until my legs shook and sweat dripped from my neck. Until the world narrowed to only footwork, timing, and instinct.

When we finally stopped, Alessio lowered his blade and gave me a rare look, something that almost resembled pride.

’He’s so sweet to me these days, but the moment we start training, he’s back to being the demon lord,’ I grumbled inwardly.

"You’ve come a long way," he said quietly.

I exhaled, heart still pounding. "Thanks to you."

Before he could reply, a familiar voice cut across the yard.

"Your Highness."

We both turned.

Caleb and Mateo were approaching from the edge of the yard.

It had been days, maybe even longer, since we last saw them, and something about them had changed. They looked tense and serious.

Mateo’s expression was tight. Caleb’s brow furrowed. And neither of them looked particularly happy.

Alessio stepped forward, calm but alert.

"How is it?" he asked.

Caleb’s gaze didn’t leave his face.

"Something’s happened."

Mateo nodded, voice quiet but firm. "We need to talk. Now."

Then he said it again, and this time it landed like a weight.

"Your Highness..."

* * *

For days, Caleb and Mateo had been away.

After capturing Count Belmont alongside Alessio, they had left with the ledgers and documents taken from his estate in Kalvena, hoping to find something that could tie the black market lord back to Marius. They worked late into the nights, flipping through pages that smelled of dust and ink, scanning for patterns hidden beneath layers of forged transactions and coded entries. Every name, every symbol, every obscure marking was combed through with growing urgency. But no matter how many tricks they unraveled or cross-referenced with the Empire’s intelligence files, it always led them nowhere.

It was as if someone had wiped the path clean.

The man had erased his trail well, so thoroughly that even the sharpest eyes found nothing to hold onto.

Eventually, since Belmont had already been transported back to the Empire under heavy guard, they had turned to the only option left. Caleb reached for the communication pendant resting against his chest and activated the link, his voice steady despite the frustration beneath it.

"Interrogate him again," he had said, each word weighed with intent. "Specifically about Marius. Push harder this time. Do not let him dance around the questions."

The team on the other end had listened without argument. They understood the urgency and promised to extract the truth, no matter how deeply it had to be dug out.

But this morning, just as the sun began to rise behind the mountains, the pendant flared to life again. A voice crackled through the link, and from the first breath, Caleb could tell something was wrong.

"Sir, Count Belmont is dead."