Key left the office and made his way down to Alpenrose Street. He walked past stone structures with tents pitched in front selling trinkets and baked goods. A cool breeze blew past him, cleansing his smoke-sodden clothes. Tomorrow was supposed to be his day off. Instead, he had had something better than a day off. He wasn't sure how his new role as the assistant to the royal investigator would look. Still, he was certain it would be better than his monotonous life patrolling the city, the city walls, or playing cards in the armory. He would no longer have to stand at attention at the palace doors, bending his knees so he wouldn't pass out. He wished his mother was still alive to tell the story to. She would have been proud.

His mother, Maddie Key, was the reason he joined the Royal Guard in the first place. She explained how his father had been a gallant knight who died at sea, returning home from one exotic place or another. She explained that service to the king was in his blood. Stories of battle, honor, and glory made him hungry to experience it for himself, and a week after his eighteenth birthday, he enlisted.

The dullness that ensued was unexpected, but he returned home as often as he could to tell his mother of all the high points. He tried the best he could to leave out the boring parts. His mother would laugh at his stories and would slap his arm whenever he let slip a vulgar word picked up from his peers. Then, just one year after he had enlisted, she died from a cough. Her sudden departure cut him deeply, but at the time, he had seen enough death to understand the inevitability of it. Eventually, he recovered from his dejection but would never fully heal.

Jostling a bell overhead, Key pushed open the door, revealing baskets of cloth and half-finished garments. Spools of colorful fabrics lined the wall, the floor, and everywhere else, border-lining chaos. A middle-aged woman peered at him from the back.

"Hello," she chirped. "Here for the Major Kane uniform?"

"Uh, I believe yes," Key said, slightly off guard. "The formal uniform with the sash."

"Oh, good. I was beginning to think preparing extras was a bad idea," she said, closing the distance between them. She moved almost cat-like, effortlessly avoiding the obstacles that lay haphazardly in her way. She wore simple, black-on-black attire that was loose in some areas and tight in others.

"Armor off," she commanded.

Key began unclasping his gauntlets, and she moved around him, helping him unbidden with his armor. In an instant, his armor was lifted over his head and set gently on a pile of discarded fabric. He felt a sense of awe at her keen familiarity with it.

"Arms up."

He lifted his arms to the side and she began taking measurements with a knotted string. He smelled rosemary on her breath as she wrapped her arms around his mid-section in three places. She placed a knee on the ground and unapologetically measured his more personal areas. He took a deep breath, silently exhaling as her hands lightly peppered his inner and outer thighs.

"This is a new experience," he admitted, feeling vulnerable.

"Lighten up," she said, swatting his behind. "It's not like I'm measuring you for a codpiece."

"Measure?" Key laughed nervously, "I thought those only came in one size, as big as possible."

Gretta smiled at the comment, which caused the crow's feet lines to appear around her eyes. They were not unattractive. She turned and made some entries on a piece of paper. "How many would you like?"

"Four, please," he requested. "Red sashes. Oh, and bill them to the office of investigations."

"You work for Captain Castor then?" she asked.

"That's right," he looked at her curiously. "You really know your way around."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she crossed her arms.

"I was just saying that-" he tried recanting his compliment.

"I'm kidding," she smiled. "I've been dressing the royal guard longer than you've been alive."

"I'm twenty-two," he said, lifting the plate over his head and lowering it across his shoulders.

"I'm sure you are. I'll have your uniforms ready in a week. Don't gain any weight, or I'll have to measure you all over again," she winked.

He left in high spirits and returned to the office.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

The captain was reading a dusty old book. "We look busy until something interesting happens," he replied without lifting his eyes. "For you, that means sword training."

"And then?" Key asked.

"More sword training," Castor replied.

"Suppose I sword train until I can't lift my arms, then what?" Key asked, used to a life where every action he took was delegated to him by his commanding officers.

"Do you see why I don't want a whole company of people asking annoying little questions all day?" Castor asked, setting down his book. "Let me set some goals for you because you are clearly incapable of setting them for yourself. First, I want you to develop a reputation for swordplay. I want you to best everyone in the training field, especially the person with the reputation for being the current best. You'll need a lot of training to reach that goal, so make it a habit to go at the same time every day. Pick any one-hour block that suits your fancy and stick to it. Eventually, I want you to work up the stamina for a two-hour block.

"Second, it would be good for you to work on your calligraphy. There is power in professional handwriting. You should develop your alphabet letter by letter until every word looks like it came from the King's personal scribe himself. I have endless correspondences saved up and categorized for reference. I should also say now that when writing a letter, refrain from reinventing the wheel. Anything that you want to say, request, announce, or any time you want to attempt to change a person's mind, or anything you can think of, has already been signed, sealed, and saved neatly in a box for your viewing pleasure. Find a letter that says the thing you want to say, and then copy it, word for tried-and-true word.

"Lastly, I want you to focus on developing your new reputation. Continue going to great lengths to look presentable. Get a shave at least three times a week and a haircut about once a week. Put it on my account. Ensure your boots and everything else are shined. When the new uniform comes in, I want it to always be crisp and clean. If you must walk around aimlessly, carry something in your hand so it looks like you are completely indisposed. In fact," he considered thoughtfully. "Once a day, I want you to carry a different package through the city, take a different route each time. Thus inspiring an element of mystery and workmanship."

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

"Swords, writing, and walking around randomly with a box, got it," Key reiterated. "Since we are investigators, shouldn't we investigate something?"

"Go investigate sword training. I'll let you know if I need you for anything. Don't forget to check in before and after your important tasks. If I'm not here at the end of the day, neither should you be." Castor shooed him out of the door with his fingers.

Key was tempted to ask about when his day off would be but then thought better of it. It appeared there wasn't much to take a day off from. He left the office and headed toward the training grounds.

"Eulerous Key," a giant man greeted him from across racks of wooden swords, shields, and spears. His name was Sefulu Fa, or Sef, and he stood taller and broader than any man in the king's retinue. Despite the chill, he was dressed for warmer weather, and his obsidian skin glistened under a sleeveless doublet.

"Good to see you, Sef," Key greeted his training coach. "It's just Key, though."

"Care to duel for the honor of choosing what I call you?" Sef asked.

"Actually, yes," Key said. "What would I have to do to beat you in a duel?"

"You could stab me in my sleep," Sef offered. "Or you could… no. Just stab me in my sleep. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, but you should still make sure you're not too loud."

"I'm going to be training much more than usual," Key explained. "Have any ideas for me?"

"Have you practiced the siva?" Sef asked.

"You mean the thing where we slowly dance in a circle and wave our swords around?" Key asked wryly. "I don't think that's going to help me challenge the strongest person here. Plus, if he also knows how to dance around and wave a sword, how does that help me?"

"You're really getting serious about fighting, huh?" Sef asked.

"I guess so," Key said, looking around, finding it strange to be there without the rest of his battalion. The place felt empty.

"When you can do a full crucible in an hour glass, I will show you the black dance," Sef said. "It can be done."

"What's the black dance?" Key asked.

"It's pretty much the same as siva but has a few extra moves," Sef said in an under dramatic voice. "Maybe it will give you an edge over Trudie?"

"Wait, you're telling me that Trudie is the best fighter out of everyone?" Key asked, astonished.

"Why not? She trains more than anyone else," Sef said. "In my country, a lot of women are stronger than men. Keeps us on our toes."

"Did you teach her the black dance?" Key asked.

"Not yet," Sef said. "She never asks for help. But, if she did, I would show her."

"You could beat Trudie, right?" Key asked.

"In a fair match, yes. In a battle situation, I would throw a rock at her." Sef admitted.

"That means a lot coming from you," Key said in disbelief.

"My people know that it's best to fight unfairly if you have to fight a woman," Sef stated.

"Fair enough," Key started unfastening his armor. "I'm off for some exercise then. Don't tell her about the black dance."

"I'm going to tell her, so you better hurry," Sef said. "Oh, and it will help to practice the siva. Like I said, it has a lot of the same moves."

Key dressed down to his doublet and went through his memorized routine of stretching. Normally, the sixty or so in his old battalion would stand around the sergeant who would lead them through the stretches. He then walked to the wooden crucible and mentally created a course of action.

The wooden crucible was a large structure made with crude logs, ropes, nets, and iron stretching upward to a staggering height. It was designed to strengthen a different muscle depending on how you climbed up or down. It had multiple knotted and unknotted ropes that reached horizontal beams at the top of the structure netted ladders with wooden bars, a steep slope with sets of stares for shouldering sandbags, and parallel walls with hand and foot holds. Thirty-two people could climb the crucible at the same time without two people bumping into each other. A full crucible was when one person climbed all thirty-two ways up and down again in a single hour. It wasn't impossible, but it wasn't easy by any stretch.

Key carried four sandbags to the base of the staired slope and set them down in a neat row. Sef approached carrying a wood-framed hourglass.

"I'm going to leave this for you here so you can check your time." He set it down on a bench. Key thanked him and asked him not to watch. He turned the hourglass, allowing the sand to start pouring precious seconds into the lower bowl.

"You're up." He said and walked away.

Key threw his first sandbag over his right shoulder, allowing his left hand free to climb the first incline. With each foothold he gained, he splashed water and mud off the steps. He made it to the top, chucked the sandbag over the ledge in front of him, and started over. He alternated shoulders and climbed the second slope. His legs burned as he dropped the second bag down near the first one. When he had reached the last bag, his heart was hammering in his chest. He threw it over his shoulder and made his way up. When he reached the bottom, he collapsed to the ground. There he lay on his back, gasping for air. He looked at the hourglass; it was still mostly full.

Deciding the knotted rope looked less intimidating than the rest, he picked himself off the ground and moved toward it. He grabbed a knot and pulled himself up, allowing his feet to stand on the lower knot. Grabbing the knot above him, pulling himself up, and clasping the next knot up with his feet, he climbed four of the eight ropes. The other four ropes were not knotted. The hourglass was about a quarter of the way, and he quit.

"Come on then," Sef yelled from across a rack of wooden swords. "You're almost halfway there!"

Key did not have breath in his lungs to yell back. Instead, he waved his hand for him to keep it down. Then, he picked up the hourglass, allowing the time to continue running, and walked over to him. "I'll try again tomorrow; I just need to get back into fighting shape, is all."

"It's because they only train you guys once a week," Sef asserted disappointedly. "And even then, they don't really push you. Sometimes, only half of you show up. It's a pity."

Key shrugged. "You're probably right."

Sef offered to spar, but Key declined. Instead, he decided to practice the siva while he got his heart rate under control.

Sef moved out of the fighting circle. "I'll be over here, silently judging."

"As long as you're not showing Trudie the black dance, you can judge me all day for all I care," Key windmilled his arms. He picked up a two-handed wooden sword and positioned himself in the middle of the ring. Opening his legs shoulder-width apart, he held the sword in front of him and began the siva.

He began moving the sword in a series of slow attacking motions. He stepped forward, attacked and then backward blocking with the tip of the sword pointing down. He shifted all of his weight to one foot. His left shoulder spun deliberately backward allowing him to strike behind him. His blade moved to a blocking position once more before slowly stabbing the air in front of him.

Key had completed the twenty or so movements with ease. It had been years since someone corrected him on his posture, blade angle, or footing. He began the movements again, this time nearly doubling his speed. When he finished, he started again, moving faster. The blade nearly sang in the air as he swung out several arcs through the air.

When he finished, he looked at the hourglass and found it empty. It seemed like a good start. He picked it up before walking over to replace the sword on the rack.

"Your form is good," Sef praised.

"Thanks, I figured perfecting my form was the best way to get them to stop yelling at me," Key wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

"Your breathing needs work," Sef said.

"How could you tell?"

"By the way, you didn't breathe," Sef continued, "If you exhaled on outward motions and practiced breathing in on inward motions, you would have better power and more stamina."

"What If I do five outward motions in a row?" Key asked.

"Try this," Sef said and assumed a hand-to-hand combat position. He punched out with a "Hah!" and breathed in. He then did a series of punches with both hands, producing a rapid projection of the same grunts. He breathed in and punched with a final "Hah!" He held the position, fist asserted in front of him.

"Doesn't that make you lightheaded?" Key asked.

"With practice, you will find yourself in an optimal condition," Sef said. "It also gives you power."

"Alright, I'll give it a go tomorrow," Key tried to return the hourglass.

"I'll keep it safe for you," Sef took it and turned it over in his hands. "You'll need for the crucible."

Key left the training grounds and headed to the barracks. After bathing and redressing, he returned to the office but found it locked up with no sign of the captain. He took that as a sign that he was done for the day, so he went home, ate bread and cheese, and slept. It was a restful sleep that wouldn't be disturbed to pick up a shift in the middle of the night, or ever again.