Ulric decided to leave the matter in the hands of his precious friends. He returned to his studies and solitary training, since the girls had plans of their own.

  Alda and Ingrid arrived at the training field where Ronaldo could barely jog. Yuka—more interested in results than in her own brother—sat beneath a parasol, wearing a look full of annoyance.

  Her brother could barely move; the sight of the chubby boy running and stumbling made her feel ashamed. Meanwhile, Sergeant Walrus continued tormenting the boy in every way possible.

  Both he and Ronaldo were fully aware that the child’s martial talent was nonexistent. Add to that his minimal interest and his natural fear of fighting, and the result was a sad lie that only served to fool themselves.

  “Half-breeds—what do you want from us?” Yuka greeted them with hostility, her gaze filled with contempt for King Ulric’s protégées.

  “Why so aggressive?” Ingrid replied, returning a passive smile she had learned from Girasol herself.

  The white-haired girl had watched her mentor speak with soldiers, high-ranking nobles, and venomous courtiers. Many addressed Ulric’s mother with thinly veiled disdain, yet rather than shrinking back, she simply offered them a kind smile without fear.

  Reaching that level of composure was not easy. Girasol had paid for it with time and effort.

  “Bastard girl, stop bothering us.” Alda started to speak, but her best friend shook her head without losing that indifferent smile.

  “Alda is a great fighter,” Ingrid said, introducing the girl. “I’m not an expert in martial arts, but I read that a training partner is always better for refining technique.”

  “He already has Sergeant Walrus.”

  “True, Miss Yuka. But he is his trainer, not a sparring partner. You know he needs extra help, and Alda is the right person for the job.”

  “Of course I am!” the king’s half-sister stepped forward, determination held high.

  “E-Either way, Sergeant Walrus won’t allow it. Speak to him.”

  “That’s what we’ll do.” Ingrid took a deep breath. It was one thing to speak with a refined-looking girl like Yuka—and something entirely different to deal with an adult.

  The two young ladies stepped onto the training grounds and immediately drew the sergeant’s attention.

  “G-Good morning, Sergeant.” Ingrid’s face filled with doubt. Up to now, she’d kept her expression calm, but seeing the angry man-at-arms with his heavy build made fear rise in her chest. Her heart began to beat faster, and her hands started to sweat.

  “I heard the crap you said. The answer is no. Ronaldo only learns through the hits I give him.”

  “B-But he isn’t learning anything—you’re just beating him!” Alda shouted, furious at the injustice.

  “These are martial arts, not some damn dance! If you’ve got nothing to do, then get lost.”

  Alda frowned, trying to respond, but Ingrid grabbed her left shoulder and shook her head again.

  “I-I understand. Th-thank you for your t-time.”

  They withdrew from the training field and left Ronaldo to receive his “proper” blows. The boy hated his own life and existence with every impact his frail body took.

  Walrus showed no mercy. He didn’t even try to lessen the hits he gave “to toughen him up.”

  “Why did we leave?” Alda asked.

  “Because he’s right—we’re not the ones who can change this. But I know someone who can…”

  One important lesson Ingrid learned on her first day as a lady-in-waiting was how to measure her own capabilities as a budding court lady.

  The political structure of the Kingdom of Etrica was a chain of command that unfolded through events. Girasol and Ulric stood at the top, then came dukes, barons, counts, and the ladder did not stop there.

  Alone, the chances of achieving change were zero. Not even the strongest knights could win a war by themselves—they needed peasants, militia, and high nobles to organize them.

  Sergeant Walrus held a high rank within the Vaso Negro retinue. His skills as a trainer were not impressive, but the time he had served and fought for the duke’s cause had earned him status that placed him above more capable fighters.

  In high society, rank mattered far too much.

  After their failed attempt to convince the sergeant, they entered Girasol’s private chamber. Ulric’s mother greeted them with a smile.

  “Lady Girasol.” Ingrid offered an elegant bow, which her friend copied—somewhat clumsily. “I’ve come to ask you a favor.”

  “I’m a bit busy, Ingrid. Today I’m receiving a new member of the Royal Guard. But I’m listening.”

  “Sergeant Walrus won’t allow us to support Ronaldo’s training. Ulric says we can earn respect if we help the Vaso Negro family in the duel.”

  “I see… then Ulric did well.” The woman with beautiful black hair looked satisfied. Her son wanted the support of a ducal house—and not only that: he had also made his two precious companions part of his plan.

  Deep down, Girasol truly wondered what Ulric’s limits were, because he seemed to grow more intelligent with each passing day.

  “C-Can you help us?” Alda whispered, her innocent eyes always capable of softening the young mother’s heart.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Of course I can—but it will have to be tomorrow…”

  So the next day, Alda and Ingrid returned accompanied by Girasol herself.

  The queen regent walked with her usual elegance, wearing her classic black dress and golden jewelry at her neck. Soldiers bowed as her steps carried her toward the place where Walrus and Ronaldo trained.

  Yuka was there too, supervising her brother’s practice. She hated the idea of suffering humiliation.

  “Sergeant Walrus.” Girasol called to the trainer in an authoritative tone. The soldier was forced to pause Ronaldo’s sword repetitions and answer the ruler.

  “You called for me?”

  “Yes. I have a new task for you. I need you to patrol the surroundings of the capital. We’ve received reports of Pu?o Gris thieves attacking merchants. I require a man with your experience in command.”

  “I-It will be an honor, Lady Girasol. But what about my assignment? I have strict orders from my lord to train Ronaldo.”

  “I’ve already handled that. Lady Nora—step forward.”

  A new member of the Royal Guard appeared. She was a woman of twenty-three, with brown hair, brown eyes, and dark skin—very similar in tone to the late Sora. But unlike her, her chest was small, and thanks to harsh training, her muscles looked defined even without armor.

  “At your service, Lady Girasol.”

  “I assign you the mission of training Ronaldo and protecting Yuka as well. They are valuable guests in the castle; their father is an honorable duke. I expect flawless protection from you. Remember: the safety of these children is the safety of the king. I want no excuses.”

  “And there will be none, my lady.” Lady Nora bowed again in respect, then stepped beside Sergeant Walrus and offered him a courteous nod. “I’ll take over from here.”

  The sergeant could not object. A mere man-at-arms had no voice to dispute the decisions of the highest-ranking authority in the castle.

  Before leaving to carry out his new orders, the soldier shot a furtive, hateful look toward his former trainee.

  He had achieved nothing with him, and he felt that shame heavy on his shoulders.

  “I’m leaving.” Without another word, Walrus accepted defeat as a trainer and departed—never to return to Ronaldo’s life again.

  Yuka watched the entire spectacle in disbelief. A member of the Royal Guard had been assigned as her brother’s personal trainer—and beyond that, Ingrid had delivered a powerful message through her actions:

  Alda and I have Ulric and Girasol on our side.

  “With this, the scales will be even,” Yuka forced herself to admit. “King Ulric is also training under Sir Marte Hogan, captain of the Royal Guard.”

  Yuka was forced to acknowledge the favor the two girls had done. She still hated them from the depths of her soul.

  But hatred was one thing—her pride as a noble young lady was another.

  “Thank you for the help, Lady Girasol.” The proud girl thanked the queen mother out of obligation. But Girasol simply pointed at the girls with a relaxed smile.

  “Don’t thank me. Thank them. Ingrid is the one who asked me to come and help you.” Girasol gestured toward the girls with pride. Hearing Ingrid’s plan was certainly progress—too fast, even.

  Perhaps the little one had talent for politics.

  “Th-Then… th-thank you, Ingrid and Alda. You have my gratitude.” Despite stuttering with anger and frustration, Yuka managed to behave like a proper lady.

  “Thank you very much, and it’s a pleasure,” Ronaldo added.

  “Good. Then let’s begin practice. Miss Alda is also training with Sir Marte Hogan, but from time to time she can help us here. It will be a pleasure to work with you, miss.” Lady Nora drew her training sword as she spoke. She wanted to prove her worth as soon as possible—she considered the post of ducal weapons instructor extremely important. “I’ve heard you don’t like weapons, Ronaldo. Is that true?”

  The chubby child lowered his head, expecting a scolding.

  “I don’t like them…”

  “I understand. But don’t worry.” The knight stepped forward and gently ruffled his messy hair. “You don’t have to like something to be good at it. Of course, a bit of positive attitude makes you stronger. But most soldiers don’t love the profession of arms. For them, training is simply a job—nothing more, nothing less.”

  “A job?” Ronaldo echoed.

  “Yes. You’d be surprised, but most people consider soldiering risky and undesirable. Still, it’s a moral obligation. We cannot turn our backs on it.”

  “S-So… I’m not the only one who hates weapons?”

  “Not at all, Ronaldo.”

  “Th-That’s a relief.” Those words had a positive effect on him. His entire family possessed great martial virtue—except him and Yuka. But Yuka wasn’t expected to be a warrior, so hearing such gentle truth from a Royal Guard lifted a tremendous burden from his chest.

  “As a noble, you have a duty to fulfill. But no one said you must be a warrior. With me, you will learn the profession of the soldier and perform it without shaming your family. You don’t need to enjoy it.” She patted his head, then pointed at the king’s half-sister. “Miss Alda, could you please show Ronaldo the basic stance? We’re starting from zero.”

  “Of course.”

  Alda followed the new lady’s orders. Ronaldo had never felt so safe on a training field. Having a young woman teaching him instead of an abusive sergeant was a blessing he would remember for the rest of his life.

  And so formal training began.

  Lady Nora jogged alongside him during the first days to build confidence. Instead of striking him when he got tired, she stopped beside him and encouraged him to keep moving.

  “Come on. If you can’t jog, then walk. I’ll stay with you.”

  At first, Ronaldo only managed two laps before stopping. But he began marching until he could complete four laps without collapsing. As the weeks passed, the number of jogging laps increased—three, then four, until he could complete the five required as the minimum.

  They focused on conditioning rather than technique. Swordsmanship meant nothing if the fighter’s physical base was weak.

  Once a week, Alda held small training bouts with Ronaldo. She didn’t strike him; everything was light marking. The point was to lose fear of being hit and keep his eyes forward.

  Lady Nora wanted Ronaldo to accept incoming attacks without turning away or showing his back. She focused on character and courage more than technique.

  “Never look away—eyes forward!”

  “Y-Yes, Lady Nora.”

  From time to time, Ingrid came to the training field to check Ronaldo’s progress. Yuka had grown accustomed to the future queen’s presence, and for that reason, she chose to ignore her.

  “How are we doing, Lady Nora?” Ingrid asked. She was slowly leaving behind her fear of adults, though she remained shy in personal matters—a trait that would likely follow her for life.

  “Ronaldo has better stamina now, and he’s lost his fear of blows. But there’s still a long road ahead. Now we’ll focus on technique.”

  “That’s good. I’ll keep supervising and report to Lady Girasol, if-if it’s not a bother…”

  “Of course not, Miss Ingrid. You’re always welcome—right, Ronaldo?” Nora’s confidence influenced her student. He nodded and continued the tedious task of striking the dummy.

  “How is the king’s training going?” Yuka asked, hiding her worry for her brother. Five months had passed since the challenge, and she still saw no dramatic change in Ronaldo. She feared for both his safety and her clan’s reputation.

  “Ulric is good,” Ingrid said, her expression dark and reserved. “I’ve seen him train. Besides talent, he works extremely hard. I-I don’t know much about martial arts, but the way he moves is honestly unsettling.”

  “And you’re not saying that just because you like him?” Lady Nora teased, trying to lift Ronaldo’s spirits.

  “E-Eh… I-I…”

  “See, Ronaldo? You can’t trust the words of a girl in love. King Ulric is good, but he isn’t a knight… Your levels aren’t that far apart.”

  That was a lie. Lady Nora knew Ulric’s skill very well, and deep inside, she didn’t have much hope.

  She trusted Ronaldo and respected his enormous effort to improve—but sometimes, walls were beyond one’s capacity. If she could not make Ronaldo a great fighter, at least she could give him hope to fight honorably.

  Recently, the new knight had taken a quick look at the king’s training. There, she understood firsthand that Ulric’s ability surpassed his age—every posture flawless, practiced for hours.

  As for physicality, her student’s only advantage was his robust build—his father’s genetic gift.

  “Thank you very much, Lady Nora! I can’t fail you!” Ronaldo’s happy smile made her genuinely glad. Even if weapons would never be his passion, thanks to her he could face the problem in a bearable way—and perhaps, just perhaps… earn the approval of his strict father.

  “That’s the spirit—keep going!”

  And so the months continued to pass, little by little, slowly…

  INTERLUDE END