Laughter.

  Not the friendly kind.

  The sharp, mocking kind that echoed across the training grounds like dull blades scraping against stone.

  “Teach Lady Amethyst swordsmanship?”

  “Did I hear that right?”

  “Maybe next she’ll ask to join the frontline.”

  Snickers rippled through the gathered soldiers. Some covered their mouths. Others didn’t bother hiding their amusement at all.

  Ethan stood unmoving in the center of the yard, expression blank, posture straight. The morning sun stretched his shadow long across the dirt ground, but he neither flinched nor reacted to the ridicule.

  Inside, however—

  This kingdom is rotten.

  Not corrupted in coin.

  Not corrupted in law.

  But corrupted in mindset.

  An open secret lived within the kingdom’s bones.

  Patriarchy.

  Women here were ornaments. Political tools. Marriage alliances wrapped in silk and lace. Their voices barely reached the dining table, let alone the battlefield.

  War belonged to men.

  Victory belonged to men.

  Death belonged to men.

  And women?

  They were meant to stay at their homes taking care of their husbands and children. Noble or peasant, all women have equal treatment at home once they get married.

  Ethan exhaled slowly through his nose.

  Idiotic.

  Roland Greaves crossed his arms, his broad frame casting a looming shadow across Ethan. The veteran soldier’s face remained neutral, though a faint crease sat between his brows.

  “I already answered you, Lady Amethyst,” Roland said firmly. “Return to the estate. Swordsmanship is not something you need.”

  “I need it,” Ethan replied flatly.

  “You do not.”

  “I do.”

  Murmurs erupted again.

  Roland’s patience visibly thinned. “You are the duchy’s heir. You have responsibilities that do not involve bleeding in battlefields.”

  Ethan tilted his head slightly.

  “Responsibility includes protecting what belongs to the duchy.”

  Roland’s jaw tightened.

  “You have knights for that.”

  “Five died against a goblin general,” Ethan replied calmly.

  Silence sliced through the training yard.

  Roland’s eyes sharpened.

  “That report is classified information.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Loose lips in a soldier camp are louder than war drums.”

  A few knights stiffened awkwardly.

  Roland exhaled sharply, irritation surfacing. “Even if what you say holds merit, I will not train you.”

  He turned away. Conversation over.

  Or so he thought.

  ?

  The next day—

  Ethan returned.

  Roland ignored him.

  The day after—

  Ethan returned again.

  Roland dismissed him with a wave.

  Three days later—

  Still there.

  Watching drills.

  Observing footwork.

  Studying breathing patterns.

  Roland’s irritation slowly fermented into something heavier.

  Suspicion.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  ?

  By the end of the first week, Ethan stopped asking.

  Roland considered it a victory.

  Until dawn on the eighth day.

  ?

  The training grounds were empty when Roland arrived early for inspection. Morning fog curled lazily across the dirt field, muffling the world in quiet stillness.

  Then—

  SWISH.

  Roland paused.

  SWISH. SWISH. THUNK.

  The sound of blade cutting air.

  Controlled.

  Rhythmic.

  He followed the noise toward the far end of the yard.

  And froze.

  Lady Amethyst stood alone beneath the pale sunrise, sleeves rolled up, dressed in loose training attire far removed from noble fashion. Sweat dampened strands of blonde hair sticking against her temple.

  In her hand—

  A knife.

  Not decorative.

  Not ceremonial.

  A military-style combat knife with a narrow blade and reverse grip.

  Roland narrowed his eyes.

  Odd stance.

  He watched silently.

  Ethan lunged forward.

  STEP—SLIDE—TWIST.

  The knife flashed in a brutal arc.

  SWISH!

  He pivoted, shoulder rolling as if dodging an invisible opponent.

  TAP! TAP! TAP!

  Footwork rapid. Aggressive. Compact.

  Then—

  THUD!

  He slammed his shoulder into a wooden dummy, driving the blade forward into its neck joint with terrifying precision.

  Roland’s brows twitched.

  That… was not swordsmanship.

  It wasn’t noble fencing either.

  It was something raw.

  Violent.

  Built to kill quickly.

  Ethan stepped back, breathing heavy, then repeated the sequence.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Roland watched in silence.

  ?

  That technique…Lacked elegance. But it possessed terrifying battlefield practicality. Every movement minimized exposure. Every strike targeted lethal points.

  It resembled hunting.

  Not dueling.

  Roland’s fingers curled slightly behind his back.

  Where did she learn that?

  When Ethan finally noticed him, he straightened and wiped sweat from his jaw.

  He approached calmly.

  “Good morning, Head Soldier.”

  Roland studied him for a long moment.

  “Follow me.”

  Ethan blinked twice.

  A slow grin crept across his face.

  ?

  The duel circle formed quickly.

  Soldiers gathered, whispering excitedly.

  Roland unsheathed his longsword with a smooth, practiced motion.

  SHING.

  Ethan twirled his knife once before settling into a loose stance.

  The difference in weapon reach alone was laughable.

  Roland spoke first. “This is a spar. I will not injure you severely, but I will not hold back enough to make it meaningless.”

  “Good,” Ethan replied.

  “Begin.”

  ?

  Roland struck first.

  WHOOSH!

  The sword carved downward in a testing arc.

  Ethan slid sideways.

  SCRAPE!

  Steel kissed dirt as the blade missed by inches.

  Fast.

  Roland adjusted instantly, twisting into a horizontal slash.

  SWOOSH!

  Ethan ducked low.

  CRUNCH!

  His boot slammed against Roland’s shin armor.

  Roland barely shifted.

  Strong.

  He retaliated with a thrust.

  THRUST—!

  Ethan deflected with the knife’s spine.

  CLINK!

  The force traveled up his wrist like lightning.

  Pain exploded through his fingers.

  Damn. Weight difference.

  Roland pressed forward relentlessly.

  CLANG! SWISH! CLANG!

  Sword arcs rained down like falling iron.

  Ethan retreated in rapid steps.

  STEP! STEP! SLIDE!

  Dust kicked into the air.

  Then—

  Roland feinted high and slashed low.

  WHAM!

  The blade struck Ethan’s thigh armor, sending him stumbling sideways.

  Gasps erupted from the watching soldiers.

  Roland paused.

  Ethan straightened slowly, rolling his shoulder.

  “…That would have severed muscle,” Roland commented.

  “Yeah,” Ethan muttered. “Noted.”

  He lunged suddenly.

  DASH!

  Roland’s eyes widened slightly as Ethan closed distance recklessly.

  The knife flashed upward.

  STAB—!

  Roland twisted his torso just enough.

  CLANG!

  Knife struck breastplate.

  But Ethan wasn’t done.

  He pivoted behind Roland’s sword arm.

  HOOK!

  His elbow slammed toward Roland’s ribs.

  Roland blocked instinctively with his gauntlet.

  Close.

  Very close.

  Roland shoved him backward with brute strength.

  Ethan slid across dirt, boots carving trenches before regaining balance.

  They circled each other again.

  Roland’s heartbeat remained steady.

  But his mind sharpened with undeniable interest.

  She adapts mid-combat.

  No wasted movement. Instinctively targets blind spots.

  Ethan inhaled sharply, muscles trembling slightly.

  Roland noticed.

  Fatigue.

  Expected.

  But the eyes staring back at him…Were not noble.

  Not fragile.

  But of predator eyes.

  Roland tightened his grip on the sword.

  “…Again.”

  He advanced.

  ?

  Ten exchanges later—

  Ethan’s breathing grew ragged.

  Sweat dripped from his chin.

  His arms trembled violently.

  Roland disarmed him in a final clean strike.

  CLANG!

  The knife spun across the dirt.

  Silence fell.

  Ethan dropped to one knee, chest heaving.

  Roland lowered his sword.

  “You lose.”

  “No shit,” Ethan wheezed.

  A few soldiers choked back laughter.

  Roland studied him carefully.

  “You are reckless.”

  “Efficient,” Ethan corrected between breaths.

  “…Your body is weak.”

  “Working on it.”

  “…Your technique is unrefined.”

  Ethan smirked faintly. “That’s why I asked for training.”

  Roland stared down at him.

  Long.

  Quiet.

  Then—

  “You begin lessons tomorrow at dawn.”

  Shock rippled across the watching soldiers.

  Roland turned away, sheathing his sword.

  “I am not training you because of your persistence.”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “I am training you because I want to see what kind of fighter uses a knife like that.”

  Ethan grinned, wiping sweat from his face.

  “Fair enough, sir.”

  Roland walked off, voice low enough only Ethan could hear.

  “And Lady Amethyst…”

  “…If you slow down even once, I will personally throw you out of my training yard.”

  Ethan stood, cracking his neck.

  “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  ?

  The soldiers watched in stunned silence as the noble lady retrieved her knife, spinning it lazily between her fingers.

  And for the first time—

  They no longer laughed