The day began like any other since we'd been officially inducted into the knightly order. The "newbie section," as everyone called it, was a motley group of fresh recruits from all walks of life, now united under a single banner.
We were in the middle of a rigorous training session, sweat pouring down our faces as we drilled formations and sparred with one another. Fulgur, Willhelm, and I had started to find our rhythm among the group. It felt oddly satisfying to be a part of something so structured—though the training was no joke.
By midday, the knights finally called for a break. I leaned against a shaded wall, gulping down water from a flask. Willhelm sat nearby, sprawled out and panting like a dog in the sun, while Fulgur stretched, his perpetual energy refusing to wane.
Just as the atmosphere began to relax, the trouble started.
A group of older knights wandered over, their swagger and smirks making their intentions clear. Their leader, a tall man with a jagged scar running across his jawline, sized up the newbies like a wolf scanning a flock of sheep.
"Fresh meat, huh?" he drawled, his voice carrying a sharp edge. "Guess they'll take anyone these days."
A murmur ran through our group, but no one dared to speak up. One of the newer recruits—a wiry boy named Jared—was unlucky enough to catch the leader's attention.
"You there," the man said, pointing his sword lazily in Jared's direction. "Think you're cut out for this? Let's see what you've got."
Jared froze, his face paling as he stammered, "I-I don't think—"
"Hey!" Fulgur's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stepped forward, placing himself between Jared and the older knight. "Leave him alone. He's just here to train like the rest of us."
The older knight's smirk widened. "Oh? And who's this? The newbie protector?"
Fulgur squared his shoulders, his hand resting on the hilt of his training sword. "Just someone who doesn't like bullies."
The tension skyrocketed. I exchanged a glance with Willhelm, who looked equally torn between jumping in and staying out of trouble.
Before either of us could decide, the older knight laughed and waved a hand. "Alright, alright. No need to get your feathers ruffled."
But then his gaze shifted—landing squarely on me. His demeanor changed, his smirk fading into something sharper.
"You're her, aren't you?" he said, stepping closer. "The champion of the new recruits."
The rest of the group turned to look at me. I felt my stomach drop as the man's eyes gleamed with recognition.
"Name's Eans Diggory," he said, his tone casual but his expression anything but. "You've probably heard of me."
I hadn't, but the way the others tensed told me enough.
"I've been curious to see what the big deal is," Eans continued, his smirk returning. "How about a match? Champion to... well, whatever you'd call me."
"I don't think that's necessary," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Scared?" he taunted.
Before I could respond, Fulgur stepped in again. "She doesn't need to prove anything to you."
Eans raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? Is that how it is?" He turned back to me, his smirk widening. "What do you say, champ? Let's give the recruits a show."
I clenched my fists, weighing my options. Refusing would only make things worse.
"Fine," I said at last, stepping forward. "If you want a match, you've got one."
The crowd parted as we moved to the center of the training grounds. Whispers buzzed around us, excitement mingling with tension. Eans drew his blade, his movements fluid and confident.
"Don't hold back," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance.
I nodded, gripping my training sword tightly. This wasn't just about me anymore—it was about showing the others that we wouldn't be pushed around.
The match began with a clash of steel, Eans attacking with brutal precision. His strikes were faster and stronger than I expected, each one aimed to overwhelm me.
But I held my ground, countering his attacks with measured movements. My muscles burned with the effort, but I refused to falter.
He parried effortlessly, his smirk widening. "Not bad. But let's see how long you can keep it up."
His next attack came faster, a relentless barrage of strikes that forced me on the defensive. Each blow rang out like thunder, the sheer force of his attacks rattling down my arms. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give an inch.
The crowd roared, their cheers blending into a deafening cacophony. But I tuned them out, my focus narrowing to the man in front of me.
Eans wasn't just strong—he was precise, his movements honed to perfection. Every attack was designed to exploit a weakness, every feint a trap. But I wasn't a novice. I'd fought too hard, endured too much, to falter now.
Our blades clashed again, sparks flying as I met his strength head-on. My muscles burned with exertion, but I refused to let up.
Eans chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "Not bad. But you're holding back, aren't you? Let me see the real you."
His words struck a nerve, and I felt a flicker of doubt creep in. Am I holding back?
He pressed the advantage, his strikes growing wilder, more unpredictable. I barely managed to deflect a blow aimed at my shoulder, the force of it sending me stumbling back.
"Come on!" he roared, his smirk replaced by a fierce grin. "Show me why they call you 'Unfathomable!'"
The words ignited something within me. A spark, a memory, a feeling I couldn't quite place. My grip on my sword tightened, and I felt a surge of energy course through me.
I steadied myself, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. "You want to see what I'm capable of? Fine."
I lunged forward, my blade cutting through the air with renewed purpose. Eans' eyes widened slightly, the first crack in his confident facade.
Our battle shifted, the tide turning as I matched him blow for blow. Each strike carried more weight, more intent, as if the very essence of the protagonist's body was guiding my movements.
Eans gritted his teeth, his smirk gone. He tried to regain control, but I didn't let him. My blade danced through the air, weaving a symphony of steel that left him struggling to keep up.
Finally, I saw my opening. He overextended, his balance faltering for the briefest moment. I seized the opportunity, stepping inside his guard and bringing my blade to a halt just inches from his throat.
Silence fell over the arena, the crowd holding their breath as they realized what had happened.
Eans froze, his chest heaving as he stared at the blade hovering near his neck. Slowly, he raised his hands in surrender, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"Well," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "I'll admit it. You've earned the name."
The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices washing over me like a tidal wave. I lowered my sword, my legs trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.
Eans stepped back, sheathing his weapon. "You're the real deal," he said, his tone genuine. "But don't get too comfortable. Next time, I won't make it so easy."
I nodded, too drained to respond, as the announcer declared my victory.
As I left the arena, my mind buzzed with a mix of emotions. Relief, pride, and a lingering unease. The protagonist's body had taken over again, guiding me to victory. But the question remained: At what cost?