The Vengeful One sat across from Osric, her patience wearing thinner by the second. The ragged man slouched on a worn wooden stool outside a decrepit market stall, lazily peeling an apple with a dull knife. It had been a week—an infuriating week of her making every effort to plead her case, and him brushing her off with infuriating indifference.
"I don't think you understand what I'm asking for," she said, her voice tight, barely concealing the irritation bubbling beneath the surface.
He didn't even look up, his focus entirely on the fruit in his hands. "Oh, I understand perfectly. You want me to teach you how to fight properly. You think you've got it in you to be the best, and you're convinced I'm the man to make it happen."
She narrowed her crimson eyes, leaning forward slightly. "Exactly. So why do you keep saying no?"
Osric paused, finally meeting her gaze with his sharp, hawk-like eyes. "Because you don't get it, lass."
Her jaw tightened. "Get what? Enlighten me."
He clicked his tongue, tossing the apple peel aside and taking a slow bite of the fruit before speaking. "You think fighting is just about moves. Techniques. Power. You've got all of that already—more than anyone else I've ever seen. But you don't have the most important part."
"And what's that?" she asked, her tone clipped.
"The heart for it." He gestured vaguely with the apple. "You fight because you want to win. Because you think it'll make you better. Stronger. But you don't fight because you have to. You've never fought with real stakes, lass. You've never fought for something that could break you."
She bristled, straightening her posture. "You don't know anything about me. You think I haven't fought for survival? You think I haven't faced death?"
Osric shrugged. "I think you've faced death plenty. But not once has it ever scared you, has it? You always knew you'd survive, even if you had to crawl out of your own grave to do it. That's not fighting, lass. That's just existing."
Her fists clenched in her lap. "And you think you're the authority on what fighting is? You're a beggar, for gods' sake. What do you know about stakes?"
His sharp laugh caught her off guard, loud and abrupt. "A beggar, huh? Yeah, I suppose that's all you see. A man who's got nothing. And maybe that's true. But that's why I know what it means to fight. 'Cause when you've got nothing, lass, every fight is for something. Every fight is life or death. Every move matters."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off with a pointed look. "And that's why I won't teach you. You don't have the heart for it yet. You're a queen who's never truly had to fight for anything. You want to learn my craft? Fine. But come back when you've got something worth bleeding for. Until then, we're done here."
Her teeth ground together as she stared him down, the frustration gnawing at her chest. She had faced armies. Beasts. She had conquered nations. And here was this man—this nobody—telling her she wasn't ready.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to stand. "You'll regret turning me down, Osric."
"Maybe." He took another bite of his apple, unbothered. "But I doubt it."
She turned on her heel, her crimson cloak billowing behind her as she stalked away.
Behind her, Osric sighed, tossing the apple core into the dirt. "Stubborn as a mule, that one."
He shook his head, leaning back on his stool.
"…But maybe that's not such a bad thing."
The Vengeful One stood before Osric once again, her crimson eyes locked onto him with a fire that refused to be extinguished. But this time, something was different.
No defiance. No arrogance.
Just resolve.
Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself to her knees.
And then—she bowed.
For a moment, there was only silence. The bustling market square around them carried on, oblivious to the monumental shift in the air. Osric, seated on his usual worn stool, blinked down at her, his expression unreadable.
She clenched her fists against her thighs, inhaling deeply before speaking. "Osric." Her voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. "Please. Teach me."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it like she was giving him a headache. "Damn persistent woman."
She stayed down.
Didn't argue.
Didn't rise until he gave his answer.
After a long moment, Osric clicked his tongue. "You really that desperate to learn? That desperate to change?"
"Yes."
He eyed her for a long moment, then let out a deep, heavy sigh. "Fine."
Her head lifted slightly, her heart giving the faintest jolt of relief.
"But—" He raised a finger. "If I'm going to teach you, it's going to be on my terms."
She sat up straighter, listening intently.
"First—" He gestured toward her with his palm up. "You don't get to act like a queen when we train. None of this 'Vengeful One' nonsense. No titles. No demands. You're just a student, and I'm your master. You will listen, you will obey, and you will not question my methods."
Her lips parted slightly, the urge to argue bubbling up—she didn't obey anyone. But she bit it down, nodding instead.
He smirked slightly. "Second—your power means nothing to me. Your magic? Useless. Your regeneration? Turn it off. You bleed, you break, you bruise, just like anyone else. You won't truly learn if you can just heal yourself every time I knock you down."
She clenched her jaw, but nodded again.
"Third." His smirk faded, replaced by something dead serious. "You give up? You hesitate? You half-ass this even once? I walk. You don't get a second chance. You either commit, or you don't bother at all."
She didn't hesitate.
"I commit."
Osric studied her, searching for any flicker of doubt in her expression. He found none.
He sighed one more time, shaking his head like he was already regretting this.
"Alright then, lass. We start at dawn. Hope you're ready to suffer."
She smirked, finally rising to her feet. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
CURRENT DAY
The Vengeful One stood in the center of her chambers, bathed in the dim glow of candlelight, her irritation palpable. Sweat clung to her skin, her breath steady but measured as she repeated the movements again.
And again.
And again.
Her body ached.
Not from battle, not from magic, but from repetition.
Osric hadn't let her fight, hadn't let her spar, hadn't let her throw a single damn punch in combat. Instead, he had drilled her, forcing her through the same techniques over and over. Stances, footwork, hand placement—the smallest details, hammered into her until she could feel them in her bones.
And now, despite how infuriatingly slow it all felt, despite how she wanted to just fight already, she kept practicing.
Her foot slid into position. Her hands moved exactly as he had shown her.
Her muscles screamed in protest, but she ignored them.
She wasn't about to fail.
Osric had demanded perfection. If she slipped even slightly, if she misplaced her weight by a fraction, he would knock her flat on her ass again.
So she practiced.
Again.
And again.
Her brows furrowed as she executed a movement and felt it wrong.
Not in the way she usually noticed—not because it looked off, but because it felt off.
That was new.
She exhaled sharply, resetting.
Did it again.
It felt better.
She smirked, despite herself.
She still hated how slow this process was.
But…
She was learning.
And for once, it wasn't because she had absorbed knowledge from someone else.
It was hers.
The Vengeful One slammed into the dirt again, her back hitting the ground with a sharp thud. Dust kicked up around her, and for the countless time, she found herself flat on her ass.
But this time—this time—it was different.
She wasn't gasping for breath. She wasn't dazed or struggling to process what had happened.
She knew exactly where she had gone wrong.
Her footing had been too narrow. Her weight had shifted half a second too late. Her block had been off by just a few inches.
And that—that was why Osric had been able to slip past her guard and throw her again.
She exhaled sharply, pushing herself up onto her elbows, her crimson eyes snapping up to meet his.
Osric stood over her, arms crossed, that damn smirk on his face. "Not bad."
She raised a brow. "Oh? That wasn't bad? You just threw me across the damn courtyard."
His smirk widened. "Yeah, but this time, I actually had to try."
She blinked, then huffed a short laugh, rolling her shoulders as she sat up properly.
A month.
For a month, she had been drilled into the ground. Knocked down, thrown aside, forced to repeat techniques over and over until they felt more natural than breathing.
And finally—finally—she wasn't just some mimic.
She still had a long way to go. She knew that. But now, when she moved, when she blocked, when she countered, it wasn't just borrowed knowledge from someone else's memories.
It was hers.
She felt the shifts in weight. She could sense the mistakes before they fully formed.
She still couldn't beat Osric. Not even close.
But she had started to defend herself.
She was fighting back.
And she could tell—even if he wouldn't say it outright—Osric was impressed.
She pushed herself up, dusting off her hands before rolling her neck with a small smirk.
"Alright, old man. Ready for another round?"
Osric chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Think you can land a hit on me this time?"
She grinned, sliding into her stance.
"Let's find out."
The training barracks of Ashwynd echoed with the sounds of clashing weapons, grunts of effort, and the rhythmic thuds of bodies hitting the dirt. Soldiers sparred under the sharp eyes of their instructors, refining their skills, honing their bodies into the weapons they were meant to be.
And then—
"DAMN IT!"
A very un-queenly shout rang through the grounds as The Vengeful One lay sprawled out on the dirt, her arms spread wide, her hair a tangled mess against the ground. Her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths as she glared at the sky, completely defeated.
Across from her, Lian had her arms crossed, an amused smirk curling her lips as she shook her head. "That's three times now, my Queen. You're improving."
The Vengeful One let out a dramatic groan, flinging an arm over her face. "Improving my ass. You just tossed me like I weighed nothing."
Lian chuckled. "Well, you kinda did."
Another groan. Then, slowly, she sat up, dusting off her arms.
"Tch. You know, Lian, you could at least pretend to be supportive."
Lian's smirk widened. "Oh, I am supportive. I'm just also enjoying the rare sight of our all-powerful queen getting her ass handed to her."
The Vengeful One shot her a glare before exhaling sharply, dragging herself to her feet.
Lian tilted her head, eyeing her queen curiously. "Why don't you just use your powers?"
That made her pause.
She flexed her fingers, rolling her wrist, feeling the dull ache in her muscles—an ache she could erase instantly with magic.
She could cheat. She could be unbeatable.
But instead, she smirked.
"Because absolute power isn't everything." She stretched her arms over her head, rolling her shoulders. "What's the point of all this if I just rely on the abilities I stole? If I don't actually learn to fight, to win, without my strength being a crutch?"
She turned to Lian, her crimson eyes glinting with something determined.
"I don't want to just be powerful, Lian. I want to be a proper fighter."
Lian studied her for a moment before a chuckle rumbled from her chest. "You really are something else, my Queen."
The Vengeful One grinned. "Damn right. Now—" she turned back to the Grand Commandant, cracking her knuckles, "—one more round."
Lian laughed outright.
"Oh, this is going to be good."
The grand dining hall of the barracks was buzzing with the usual chatter of soldiers taking their midday meal, but at the far end of the hall, at a table meant for The Vengeful One and her officers, there was a distinct air of pouting.
The Vengeful One sat slouched in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, poking at her plate of food with the most unimpressed expression possible. Across from her, Lian sat with a bright, amused smirk, sipping at her drink like she wasn't watching a full-grown queen sulk.
"You're being ridiculous, my Queen." Lian finally sighed, setting down her cup.
"I am not."
"You are."
A pause.
Then—an exaggerated huff.
"It was a pity win."
Lian blinked, then laughed outright. "Oh for the love of—! It wasn't a pity win."
The Vengeful One shot her a deadpan look before aggressively stabbing her fork into a piece of roasted meat. "It was a pity win."
Lian rolled her eyes. "No, it wasn't."
"Yes, it was."
"It was not."
The Vengeful One jabbed a finger at her. "Then why, after four brutal losses where you had me eating dirt, did I suddenly win in a way that didn't feel even remotely earned?"
Lian leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Because you're improving."
The Vengeful One narrowed her eyes. "Pity. Win."
Lian groaned, throwing up her hands. "Oh my gods, my Queen, I didn't let you win!"
The Vengeful One pursed her lips, suspicious.
"…You hesitated."
Lian scoffed. "I was adjusting my stance!"
"Uh-huh." She took a slow, dramatic bite of her food. "A pity stance adjustment."
Lian looked to the heavens. "You're impossible."
The Vengeful One smirked before shoving another bite into her mouth, her mood ever so slightly improved.
Lian shook her head, grinning. "You really don't know how to take a win, do you?"
She swallowed, shrugging. "Not when it's fake."
Lian rolled her eyes again before reaching over, grabbing the Vengeful One's untouched cup of water, and taking a long drink from it.
The Vengeful One stared at her.
"…Did you just—?"
Lian set the cup back down, smiling sweetly. "Mm-hmm."
A beat.
Then—
"You know what? Never mind. You're losing the next match."
Lian burst into laughter.
The Vengeful One sat at her grand desk, quill scratching against parchment, her focus barely wavering as she sorted through the endless flood of reports, budget adjustments, and military allocations. Great Sage had condensed the workload down significantly, but it was still a mountain of responsibility.
Her crimson eyes flicked over the details, her hand moving with practiced efficiency—until a familiar golden light bathed the room.
She didn't look up.
"You again."
The warm, radiant presence of Aurelith, Goddess of Renewal, shimmered in the air before her. The divine figure stepped forward, her presence soft yet commanding, her golden-white robes flowing as though untouched by the mortal world.
"You make it sound like I visit too often," Aurelith mused, amusement lacing her tone.
"You do." The Vengeful One responded flatly, still not looking up.
Aurelith chuckled softly. "And yet, I still find it necessary. You've done well. Because of you, the Gods and Goddesses continue to recover, slowly but surely. The world is beginning to shift."
The Vengeful One simply hummed, her quill continuing its relentless path across the parchment.
Aurelith tilted her head slightly. "You've done more for the divine than any ruler before you, yet you remain indifferent."
That finally got a reaction.
The Vengeful One sighed, dipping her quill in ink before speaking offhandedly, her voice absentminded as she continued working.
"I didn't do it for you. Or any of the other gods. I'm not some devout priestess, nor am I playing the role of a messiah just to return balance."
She flipped a page, barely even acknowledging the celestial being before her.
"I'm going to rule the world."
Aurelith blinked.
The Vengeful One finally paused, her crimson eyes lazily flicking upward to meet the goddess's gaze.
"That's all."
Silence stretched between them for a long moment.
Then—Aurelith smiled.
Not out of amusement. Not out of condescension.
But out of something deeper.
"I know." The Goddess said softly.
And with that, she disappeared, leaving the Vengeful One to her work.
The queen huffed, rolling her eyes before going back to her papers.
"Damn gods always acting like they know everything," she muttered, signing off another document.
But she never noticed the slightest upward curl of her own lips.