And with that, we practiced for hours that day, and the next—and the next—until it all became routine. At first, each session was excruciating, but day by day, my body adapted. It felt like being thrust into a scorching crucible, shaping me into a near-finished blade lacking only a final edge. That edge was about to be forged in my first solo fight.
On the appointed day, I stood in a side waiting room with Instructor Kushim.
"You ready?" he asked. "This isn't a group fight—whatever happens is on you, whether you win or lose."
I nodded, the visor on my helmet dipping with the motion. My nerves churned. I didn't know what I'd be fighting, and apparently, neither did Kushim. My only comfort lay in how Elder Mark had grown more forthcoming lately. The scattered truths he revealed helped me piece together why Caldrithy and Emberlain were at war.
It made sense, in a grim kind of way: Caldrithy had no iron—no mines at all—only tin, copper, and a fair number of precious stones. Meanwhile, our neighbors advanced rapidly, armed with weapons and machinery we struggled to match. And now, with that gap widening, our kingdom felt the pressure of being left behind.
That's why I am the way I am—a last-ditch attempt to see if Caldrithy could harness Emberlain's Devas by forcibly extracting parts of them and grafting them onto ordinary humans. Considering I'm the only one who lived past a year, I guess they gave up on that.
"Hey, stop spacing out." Kushim's fingers snapped in front of my face.
"Sorry, Instructor…" It was a terrible time for my mind to wander, but my nerves were all over the place.
"Don't be sorry—just don't do it," he said. "I know up until now you've only fought trash like goblins and kobolds, but that's something a child could kill. You're a real fighter, so who knows what they'll throw at you… especially since they expect you to be a royal guard."
"About that… is there any way to get out of it? I mean, the princess is downright creepy." I felt more comfortable talking like this to Kushim, given how much time we spent together daily.
"Master Thorne told me if I became a champion, I could earn freedom," I said, letting my voice trail off. "But with her picking me, I don't think I'll ever really be free…"
Kushim exhaled. "Honestly, Edric, I don't know. But I will say if you're a champion, you'll have a better chance of negotiating your status than you would as a regular fighter." He gave my chest a light push—not aggressive, more like an older brother imparting a lesson. "And be careful talking like that in public. They'd cut out your tongue."
I let out a laugh. "Thank you sir ill remember that always." i did a moke salute by smacking my fist to my chest, the metal on metal reverberated in our mostly empty room.
"But considering I'm supposed to be her royal guard, maybe they'll want me alive, so I'll get something easy, you know?" I said, trying to refocus on the upcoming fight.
"Mmm, maybe. But I don't think so," Kushim replied. "My first fight was against a ghoul pumped full of unholy magic."
"A ghoul?" I repeated, the term unfamiliar. Given he said "unholy magic," I guessed it must be something demonic or similar in nature.
"It's a type of undead—kind of like a zombie," he explained casually. The problem was, I didn't even know what a zombie was, either.
"Sir, you know I don't know what that means—" I began, but couldn't finish. The door swung open, revealing the arena in all its glory once more.
"Good luck, Edric!" he shouted loud enough to be heard over the crowd, then smacked me on the back.
I stepped forward onto the dirt, my leather boots shifting slightly in the sand. As I moved closer to the arena's center, I turned in a full circle, taking in row after row of spectators. It was just a standard fight day, so a few sections were empty, but overall it remained well attended. Finishing my turn, I ended up facing the direction I'd started in.
A booming voice cut through the crowd, capturing everyone's attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Today, we present a special event—and an unexpected one, at that. See that young lad down there? He just so happens to be the one who met our glorious princess! Not only that, but she chose him—yes, him—to be a candidate for her royal guard! But it doesn't stop there. Oh, no! She has decided to grace us with her presence today, just to see him fight again!
So, in honor of Her Majesty, we've transformed this match into something worthy of a royal! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you—the MANTICORE!"
The wooden gate in front of me burst open, and a massive shadow leaped out. Each of its four paws was the size of my chest, slamming into the ground hard enough to make the sand quiver. Its face was eerily human but twisted in a cruel, mocking way—like a demented artist's warped sculpture. Its long, barbed tail flicked behind it as if sizing me up, the rest of its body resembling a ferocious feline far beyond any normal cat.
Worst of all was the aura it radiated—something akin to the contractors I'd sensed before. I felt it deep in my core, an undeniable urge to eradicate this abomination from the world. The force of that instinct nearly overwhelmed me, tugging on that Deva-part of my being. It was almost too strong to contain, but I managed—barely—clenching my fists as I glared at the beast.
My breath caught, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement in the royal box overhead. A glint of gold—hair or dress, I wasn't sure—but I knew she was watching. The princess. I couldn't let myself freeze. My hammer felt heavier than usual, but I gripped it with resolve and rage, ignoring the thunderous crowd.
One way or another, this fight would determine more than just survival—it would measure how far I'd come, and how much further I needed to go to escape her clutches.
I exhaled, locking eyes with the Manticore, and braced myself for the first move.