As far as her memories went, Rhea had always described herself in one word.

Useless.

It clung to her like a second skin, always there and suffocating. She recalled it started due to her mother thinking of her as no good.

It echoed in her mind when her mother’s sharp and disappointed voice cut through the air, berating her for not doing things right— burnt bread, uneven stitches, a clumsy fall that shattered a vase.

“You’re no good at anything,” her mother would say, and Rhea would shrink away, the words of inadequacy pressing down on her, harsher and brutal every single time.

When her parents were taken from her, their lives snuffed out by a wolf's claw on the road back from Veralt, she had thought of it once again.

She had been just a child then, helpless and trembling as she watched from the bushes, too scared even to cry out. The memory of their screams haunted her dreams, she would wake up thinking of her inability to do anything that mattered.

Both her parents had died that day, and somehow, through sheer instinct or blind luck, Rhea had found her way back to her village. The entire journey, she was consumed by the thought of her own uselessness. She couldn't do anything right— she hadn’t been able to fight off the wolves, hadn’t even been able to save her parents. Maybe her mother expected it, for her to be worthless even at a time that mattered— at a time she was bleeding to death.

After that, she was a helpless child, stumbling through the woods, lost and broken.

Life as an orphan in the village was just as bleak.

The village chief, out of pity or perhaps obligation, had taken her in, but she was little more than a maid in his household. She scrubbed floors, fetched water, and did her best to remain invisible, head down and unnoticed by everyone.

Adolescence came and went, bringing with it a deepening sense of inadequacy.

She tried to find something—anything—that would make her feel like she wasn’t worthless. She tried her hand at every task the village had to offer, but nothing seemed to fit.

Nothing made her feel any less useless.

She didn’t stop. Even though the dreams came back every night to prove that she would always remain the useless one, she fought for a chance to prove to herself that she was worth something. Maybe it was the suppressed anger within her for years that made her want to fight again and again. Or maybe it was the guilt.

But those thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the beasts began breaking through the borders of their village.

The same type of beast that had killed her parents. Wolves with red fur and fierce eyes that tore away flesh with ease and just their presence was enough to instil fear in their hearts.

The village was thrown into chaos, and in the ensuing panic, Rhea did the only thing she could— she ran.

Alongside the others, she fled, fear driving her every step. A part of her wished to stay behind, to take revenge for her parents, but she knew she was inadequate in fighting too.

They became refugees in Veralt, a city Rhea had visited only once, long ago with her parents who were small traders. But the city she remembered was not the Veralt she found herself in now.

The once-lively streets, filled with traders and merchants from across the lands, were now choked with desperation. The marketplaces, where she had once marvelled at the colourful displays of goods, were now barren, stalls abandoned or destroyed. The air, once fragrant with the scent of spices and fresh bread, was thick with smoke and the stench of fear.

There were a lot of refugees just like her, but there were also a lot of people leaving, away from the fear of the beast. She heard whispers of a beast wave and it seemed like her village was one of the first casualties.

Even if the city seemed changed, there was something that caught her gaze far longer— the new wall. It was massive and created a sense of awe in her in every way. Work was still going on and the workers moved with a sense of purpose she lacked.

To put her mind off the thoughts of losing her home, she looked around.

Rhea could recall the exact spot where her parents had bought her a trinket, a small wooden carving of a dragon. That shop was gone now, replaced by a barricade hastily thrown together to keep the refugees at bay.

She stood there as days started to pass and soon, they were led to a hastily constructed camp with a few shared houses built in that was supposed to be her new home.

It wasn't the worst, but it wasn't the best. Still, Rhea was no one to complain of generosity. Anything was better than living on open roads, especially for a young girl like her.

In Veralt, life as a refugee had its own set of hardships, but to Rhea, it was almost a relief.

They were fed at least once a day, a luxury compared to what she had been used to back in the village. The village chief had often neglected to feed her for days, leaving her to scrape by however she could. So, despite the looming threat of the beasts and the chaos that surrounded them, Rhea found herself oddly content. She was finally receiving enough to eat, something she hadn’t known in years.

But as she looked around at the clamouring guards and the restless faces of her fellow refugees, the familiar feeling of uselessness crept back into her heart. She watched as the guards prepared purposefully and she felt a sharp pang of inadequacy. They were doing something— fighting, protecting, surviving.

What was she doing? Just standing there, waiting to be fed, just another mouth in the crowd. Her thoughts ran to the sky when she realised that she was lacking— again.

That was until the lord returned.

Word spread quickly through the camp— he had been away, seeking reinforcements, and now he was back to rally the people. Rhea pushed her way to the front of the crowd, desperate to see him. When he spoke, his voice was strong and commanding, cutting through the fear and uncertainty that hung in the air. He called for help from the refugees, asking for anyone willing to stand and fight to join him.

As he spoke, Rhea’s heart skipped a beat. His words lit a spark within her— a spark of hope, of purpose. And as her eyes locked onto Lord Arzan, she saw something in him that she had never seen in anyone before— a force. They shone with… Strength; strength to fight for something that might be the end of all of them.

Maybe this was her chance. A grin crept its way to her face.

Maybe this was how she could stop feeling useless. She could fight against the beasts, just as those guards were doing.

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And even if she died, at least her life would end doing something that mattered.

Without hesitation, she registered with the guards. The line moved slowly, and she overheard the murmurs of those around her.

“They won’t take girls,” one man said dismissively. “Especially not young ones like her.” But she didn’t care.

She had made up her mind. She would fight, no matter what.

When she finally reached the front of the line, a man named Feroy greeted her with a warm smile. He introduced himself the next second.

Unlike the others, he didn’t turn her away. Instead, he looked at her with a kindness she hadn’t seen in a long time and welcomed her into the refugee guards.

***

Her training began the very next day.

As she trained, different sorts of expectations pressed down on her.

In her village, girls were only expected to cook, clean, and keep the household running.

Her mother had always been disappointed in her— she was clumsy in the kitchen and had little interest in the tasks that were supposed to define her as a woman. But she had always been fascinated by the blade, by the idea of fighting, even though her mother had dismissed it as foolishness when she explained how she found blades… fascinating.

“You’ll never be good with a sword,” she would say. “Stick to what you’re meant for.”

But here, in Veralt, things were different.

Knight Killian was relentless in his training, driving the recruits to their limits each morning and afternoon.

Rhea hadn't felt this exhausted since the gruelling journey to the village after her parent’s death. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, but she refused to give up.

They’d do long runs off the ground, then would turn to strengthen their body by exercises and practising sword movements for when beasts would actually attack. The same drills would be trained over and over until their “muscles get used to it” as Knight Killian explained.

As the training days blurred together, her exhaustion reached its peak, and one day, she simply collapsed in the middle of the training ground.

The last thing she remembered was the dull thud of her body hitting the dirt, followed by strong arms lifting her. When she came to, Knight Killian was crouched beside her, offering her a flask of water.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said. Rhea looked around for a brief moment, taking it all in. Exhaustion filled her being as she drank the water. "This kind of training isn’t meant to be a race. It’s about endurance."

Rhea wiped the sweat from her brow, her breath still coming in ragged gasps. "I have to," she insisted, her voice hoarse but resolute. "I need to do everything I can to survive."

Killian looked at her for a moment, studying her.

He sighed, finally nodding. "Alright, but pace yourself. There's no point in pushing so hard that you can't stand the next day."

With that, he helped her to her feet, steadying her as she regained her balance.

Once she could walk again, the training resumed.

This time, Killian handed her a spear, showing her how to hold it properly.

The weapon felt awkward in her hands at first, but she persisted, practising the stances and strikes he demonstrated. The posture, body balance and the grip— she had to focus on all three at once. She tried and failed, but continued practising harder.

The afternoon stretched on, the sun beating down on them, but she didn’t stop, her grip tightening around the spear with each thrust and sweep.

“Lunchtime,” a guard yelled from behind, making Rhea drop the spear at once. Her frown disappeared at the thought of food, her entire body relaxing into the thought of having something to refill her energy,

***

After lunch, they were led into a small, makeshift classroom— a large tent that offered some relief from the sun.

Rhea hadn’t expected this when she joined the guards, but apparently, combat wasn’t the only thing they needed to learn. The room was filled with crude wooden benches, and at the front, a guard who could read and write stood by a large board, chalk in hand.

This had been a part of their routine. Every day, they’d learn more and more about different beasts. So, when the beast wave came all at once, they’d know how they should attack different beasts, and much to their liking, the variations were massive.

"Pay attention," the guard named Ansel began, his voice commanding their focus. He drew a rough diagram of a beast on the board, its features exaggerated to show detail. "This is a stalker hawk. You’ll be facing these soon enough. Notice the weak points— here, at the base where their wing joint is, and here, just above the talons." He tapped the chalk against the board, emphasising the spots. "They’re fast and would always be just above treetops, but they rely heavily on pack tactics. If you can isolate one, it’s vulnerable. But be careful, you don’t want to chase after it, wait until it chases you."

Rhea leaned forward, absorbing every word.

The guard went on, detailing the behaviour of the stalker hawks, how they communicated with each other, their strengths, and their weaknesses. He moved on to other creatures, like arsenic bears and trolls, each one more terrifying than the last, explaining how they acted, what to watch out for, and how to exploit their weaknesses.

For the first time, Rhea realised the true scale of what they were up against.

The beasts weren’t just mindless creatures; therefore she soaked up every bit of information like a sponge, knowing it could mean the difference between life and death when they attacked.

The days sped together as she fell into a strict routine— gruelling training sessions under Knight Killian's watchful eye in the mornings, spear practice in the afternoons, and then evening classes where they studied the monster ecology and battle strategies.

By the end of the sixth day, her body ached in ways she hadn’t thought possible, but she woke up every day, wanting to practise and learn further.

It was the same as usual with the laps and the spear training. Then, she sat in the class, learning about a beast called gorehounds.

That evening, however, as the class came to an end, they were stopped by a guard at the entrance for a test. It wasn't out of nowhere as there were rumours of such a test.

Moreover, the Lord himself was going to conduct it. For what? No one knew to be exact.

She’d only heard fragments of conversation about this test, something about how those who passed were special, chosen to become the lord’s personal guards. No one knew exactly what the qualifications were, but everyone waited anxiously, their breaths held as they lined up outside.

The Lord appeared, causing all the eyes to fall on him and moved down the line, checking each refugee one by one.

Rhea watched as he placed a hand on each person’s wrist, his expression unreadable as he conducted the so-called test. Each time, he shook his head slightly, and the rejected refugees looked both relieved and disappointed.

The line grew shorter and shorter, and her nerves tightened with each passing moment.

Finally, it was her turn.

Her bruised hands were clammy as she offered her wrist, her heart thudding in her ears.

The Lord took her hand, his touch cool and steady, and she felt a sensation like a ripple spreading through her veins. She stared up at him, trying to read his expression, but he remained stoic. Then, something in his eyes changed.

"What is your name?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Rhea blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t asked anyone else their name.

"R-Rhea, my lord."

Before she could say anything more, Knight Killian stepped forward. "My lord, this girl is relentless in her training. She pushes herself beyond her limits, even when her body gives out. She’s determined and stubborn. Her name is Rhea Valen."

The lord’s gaze softened slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

His eyes, dark and intense, met hers.

"Rhea Valen," he repeated, "Do you want to be my disciple?"

Disciple? Me? What’s happening?

She wondered as something fluttered in her as she stared back at him. She didn't understand his words properly, but a hope emerged out of the depths of her heart.

Maybe, just maybe this was her chance to not be useless.