Morning arrived at Varnholt Manor under a gray sky that promised a storm. Emilia woke with the echo of the previous night’s creature lingering in her mind: the scaly wolf, its dagger-like fangs, the blood on Gavril’s arm. She rose from bed, ignoring the pain that had settled into her shoulders and forearms. Training with Gavril was breaking her down, but every aching muscle was proof she was alive, that she was fighting. In the orphanage, she had learned that pain was a cruel but effective teacher, and in Eldoria, it seemed to be the only teacher that mattered.

  She dressed in a simple tunic and leather trousers, concealing the outfit under a cloak to avoid the servants’ stares. The manor was restless after the creature’s attack. The hallways, usually filled with murmurs and hurried footsteps, were heavy with tense silence. Servants worked with downcast eyes, and guards patrolled with hands on their sword hilts. Emilia caught snippets of conversation as she passed: “…slipped through a crack in the forest…,” “…the dungeons are restless this year….” Each word was a reminder that the world beyond these walls was a predator waiting to strike.

  Before heading to the courtyard, Emilia stopped by the library. The tome on Beasts of the Depths remained in her room, but she needed more information. She found a smaller book, bound in green leather, titled Compendium of Tameable Creatures. She flipped through it quickly, skipping descriptions of beasts like “ash hounds”—dogs with bulbous eyes that wept acid—and “shadow weavers”—spiders with needle-like teeth that could hypnotize their prey. Each creature was more grotesque than the last, with twisted bodies and a thirst for blood that turned her stomach. Finally, she reached the section on slimes.

  “Simple creatures, lacking complex intelligence,” she read under her breath. “They can absorb organic and inorganic materials, adapting to hostile environments. They lack eyes or teeth, making them ideal for novice tamers.” Emilia allowed herself a small smile. No grotesque eyes, no sharp fangs. Just a gelatinous mass she could shape to her will. It wasn’t a sword or a spell, but it was a start. She closed the book and tucked it under her cloak. She needed to find a slime, but first, she had to survive the day.

  The back courtyard was busier than usual. A group of guards practiced combat formations, while a blacksmith repaired swords at an improvised forge. Gavril waited by the training dummy, but this time, he wasn’t alone. A young guard with a shaved head and a fresh scar on his cheek stood beside him, clutching a spear with a nervous air. Emilia felt a pang of apprehension. This wouldn’t be a normal lesson.

  “Princess, right on time,” Gavril said, his usual sarcasm in full force. “Today, we’re raising the stakes. This is Torren, one of the new recruits. You’re training with him.”

  Emilia blinked, eyeing the young man. Torren didn’t seem much older than her, but his hands trembled slightly, and his eyes avoided hers. “Training how?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

  Gavril’s smile wasn’t kind. “With wooden weapons, for now. I want to see how you move under pressure. Hitting a dummy is one thing; facing someone who hits back is another.”

  Emilia’s stomach knotted, but she nodded. She couldn’t back down, not with all the guards watching, some with mocking grins. Gavril tossed her a training sword, a polished wooden stick heavier than she expected. Torren raised his spear, adopting a clumsy but determined stance.

  “No aura, just technique,” Gavril said, crossing his arms. “First to land three hits wins. And I don’t want any whining, princess.”

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  Emilia gripped the sword, recalling the stances Gavril had taught her. Torren attacked first, a quick but uncoordinated thrust. She dodged on instinct, feeling the spear’s whoosh near her shoulder. She struck back, aiming for Torren’s arm, but he blocked with the shaft of his weapon. The impact jolted her hands, and the pain in her knuckles flared.

  The fight was short but brutal. Torren was stronger but lacked precision. Emilia, though weaker, was quick and cunning, drawing on Celeste’s memories and her own experience with physical labor to move. She landed a hit on Torren’s leg, but he retaliated with a blow to her ribs that left her gasping. The second point was hers, a tap on Torren’s shoulder, but the third was a disaster. Frustrated, Torren swung a desperate strike she didn’t see coming. The wood slammed into her forearm, and a crack echoed through the courtyard.

  Emilia dropped to her knees, biting her lip to stifle a scream. The pain was blinding, but it wasn’t her first time enduring something like this. In the orphanage, she’d broken a finger sewing in the workshop and kept working. This was no different. She stood, ignoring the guards’ stares and Torren’s worried expression.

  “Done, princess?” Gavril asked, his tone more serious now, watching her closely.

  “No,” Emilia growled, raising the sword with her good hand. “Another round.”

  Gavril raised an eyebrow but nodded. “As you wish.”

  POV: Gavril

  Gavril watched Miss Celeste, now panting and drenched in sweat, her left arm hanging uselessly at her side. He’d seen many things in his years as captain of the Varnholt guard: nobles who thought themselves invincible, monsters that could tear a man apart in seconds, dungeons that swallowed souls without a trace. But this—this was new. The Celeste he knew was a viper, a girl who hurled insults and wine goblets with equal ease. This Celeste, however, was something else.

  It wasn’t just the training. Anyone could swing a sword on a whim. It was how she did it: with a determination that didn’t fit the spoiled brat in his memories. When Torren hit her, Gavril expected tears, screams, maybe a tantrum that would get the poor kid fired. But she stood, her eyes burning with something bigger than pride. Pain, perhaps. Or necessity.

  Last night’s creature attack had left him uneasy. The dungeons were spitting out more vermin than usual, and rumors spoke of new cracks in the forest, portals linking the surface to the underground tunnels. If one beast could reach the manor, others would follow. And this girl—she seemed to know it. She wasn’t a noble playing at being a warrior; she was someone who understood the stakes.

  Gavril scratched the scar on his cheek, a habit he’d never shaken. Maybe he was seeing things that weren’t there. Maybe the girl was just bored. But as he watched her raise the sword again, her face pale but her stance firm, he decided it didn’t matter. If she wanted to fight, he’d train her. And if the dungeons came for them, she’d better be ready.

  POV: Emilia

  The second round was a blur of pain and motion. Emilia dodged a strike from Torren, but her injured arm betrayed her, making her stumble. He capitalized, swinging a blow that would have hit her head if she hadn’t rolled aside. The ground was slick from the drizzle now falling, and mud clung to her cloak. But she didn’t give up. With a shout, she launched a low strike, hitting Torren’s knee. He fell with a groan, and Emilia stood, panting.

  “Enough,” Gavril said, raising a hand. “Three to two. Not bad, princess.”

  Emilia dropped the sword, the world spinning around her. Her arm throbbed, and her bruised rib burned with every breath. But she felt something else, too: the aura, that warm energy, had grown slightly, like a spark refusing to die. It was progress, and in this world, progress was life.

  Torren stood, muttering an apology. Emilia waved it off, too exhausted to speak. As the guards returned to their tasks, Gavril approached, looking at her with something that might have been respect.

  “Get that arm looked at,” he said. “And don’t you dare skip tomorrow. This was just the warm-up.”

  Emilia nodded, too drained to reply. As she walked away, mud caking her boots and rain soaking her cloak, she thought of the book on slimes. A creature without eyes or teeth, something she could control, something to help her face a world where even a training session could break you. The manor, with its intrigues and poisonous dinners, was just the beginning. The dungeons awaited, and she would be ready. Not as Celeste, not as a noble, but as Emilia, the woman who had always survived.