The bandits circled me now, their weapons poised like predators closing in on their prey.

The roar of the crowd became a dull hum in the background as adrenaline sharpened my senses. Every clang of their steel against mine reverberated, every bead of sweat that slipped down my spine reminding me how real this performance felt.

“Four against one,” I quipped, shifting my stance to face them all. “What happened to chivalry?”

The leader barked a laugh from the sidelines. “This isn’t chivalry, lass—it’s survival!”

Their first move came from my left—a mace swung in a deadly arc.

I ducked just in time. The rush of air brushed my cheek as it narrowly missed. My dagger flicked out instinctively, rattling against the mace and forcing the bandit back.

Before I could recover, the swordsman on my right lunged, his blade aiming for my ribs.

I twisted, the skirts of my dress flaring as I blocked him with my rapier, the steel screeching as it slid against his.

But the others weren’t waiting their turn. A dagger-wielding bandit came at me from behind, his blade slicing downward. I spun, raising my dagger in a frantic block just as the edge met mine with a teeth-rattling clang.

My arms trembled under the strain, and my footing slipped slightly.

The crowd gasped.

The fourth one—a spear-wielding brute—used the distraction to thrust at my exposed side. My body reacted before my brain could catch up, leaping backward and out of range.

My heart pounded in my chest as I reset my stance, my breath coming faster now. “Still breathing!” I called out, grinning despite the pressure. My voice was tight, but I couldn’t help the tremor that betrayed how much effort I was putting in.

They weren’t playing anymore, and neither could I.

The bandits came at me in unison this time, a whirlwind of blades and blunt force. My rapier darted left to block one strike, my dagger sweeping right to parry another.

My heels slid against the stage floor as I spun, narrowly avoiding the spear aimed for my midsection. Every move was precise, deliberate—but frantic, too. My arms burned, and my breath came in quick gasps, but I couldn’t let it show.

This is for show, Charlie, I reminded myself, forcing my lips into a sly smile.

Theatrics are key.

Then I saw it—a strike I couldn’t avoid. The swordsman came in high while the mace-wielder swung low. My rapier was already locked with another blade, my dagger busy deflecting a spear.

I was cornered.

Perfect.

My lips curved into a smirk as I glanced at the incoming attacks. “Alright, boys,” I drawled, “time for the proper fight.”

I flicked my wrists, and the mechanisms hidden in my sleeves hissed softly.

Frost shot out in twin arcs, shimmering under the lights like crystalline magic. The streams hit three bandits square on—sword, mace, and spear alike freezing mid-swing.

The bandits froze too, gasping in mock horror as they staggered backward, their movements exaggerated and theatrical.

One collapsed to his knees, clutching his weapon as if it had truly been iced over. Another spun, arms flailing, before dramatically falling to the ground.

The crowd erupted, their cheers a tidal wave of excitement.

The leader, however, was less amused. “Enough of this nonsense!” he roared, drawing his sword with a flourish. He stepped forward, his boots striking the stage like thunder. “Let’s see how your frost fares against me, lass!”

“Gladly,” I said, raising both hands again. My movements were slower now, deliberate, as if I was summoning every last ounce of power. The frost hissed and surged, wrapping around his blade and creeping up to pommel. The metal shimmered with frostbite, and the leader staggered back, shaking his arm as if trying to shake off the cold.

I feigned a gasp, lowering my hands and letting them fall to my sides, fingers trembling.

The leader stepped forward, his boots thudding against the stage, the sound amplified by the tense hush that had fallen over the crowd. With deliberate precision, he smashed his massive two-handed sword to the poor stage. The blade rang, its sheer size and weight forcing all the ice away.

I love this!

Judging by the way he twirled it with ease before settling into a poised stance, this man was no amateur. He gave a flourishing bow, the exaggerated motion sending the edges of his tattered bandit cape fluttering. “Sword Queen,” he said, his voice full of respect. “Let’s see if you truly deserve that title.”

He wanted theatrics?

Yay! Let’s give the people a show.

I curtsied in response, sweeping my rapier down in an elegant arc. My skirt picked wind from stage fans and flared dramatically, the faint shimmer of the frost-dusted diamonds catching the stage holo-lights. “Let’s dance, shall we?”

He lunged, his sword a blur of silver as it came down in a wide arc.

I sidestepped, my movements quick, the edge of his blade slicing the air inches from my shoulder. My rapier flicked up to parry his follow-up strike, the clang of metal on metal ringing out like a bell.

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For all his showboating, his skill was undeniable.

His strikes were powerful, his movements fluid, each one mixed with a deliberate precision that spoke of years of practice. He swung his sword in wide arcs, each motion designed to not only attack but to look good at doing it.

He wasn’t just fighting—he was performing.

And so was I.

My rapier darted out, a gleaming extension of my arm, intercepting his blade and redirecting it with the same flourish he used. The crowd gasped as I spun, my skirts flaring out like the petals of a flower in full bloom.

Every step, every strike, was calculated to not just fight but to entertain.

“You’re not half bad,” I said, grinning as I sidestepped another sweeping attack, the wind of his blade ruffling the fabric of my sleeves. “For a bandit.”

He barked a laugh, stepping back to reassess. “And you’re not half bad—for royalty.”

The tension crackled between us as the battle continued, neither of us gaining the upper hand. His strikes were relentless, each one pushing me closer to the edge of the stage. My rapier moved like lightning, blocking and deflecting, each clang of our blades echoing through the air.

He even forced me to use imperial arts, at least, which I could manage with a mortal body and a dagger.

But he wasn’t just strong—he was smart. His attacks became more calculated, his footwork a blend of precision and flair.

I met him move for move, matching his over-the-top style with my own.

I leapt, twirled, and spun, my dress adding drama to every motion. My heart pounded in my chest, the adrenaline keeping my movements sharp and my focus laser-precise.

We circled each other, breathing hard, our blades locked in a shimmering cross as we faced off. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine respect breaking through the performance. “You’re better than I expected,” he admitted.

I smirked, pushing against his sword and forcing him back a step. “You’re not the first to underestimate me.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, their excitement feeding the fire of our duel. I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. This wasn’t just a fight anymore—it was a clash of skill and showmanship.

And I was loving every second.

Our blades sang through the air, a relentless chorus of clashing steel and reverberating tension.

But for all his flair, I could see the cracks.

The slight overextension of his swings, the way his weight shifted too quickly in his eagerness to land a blow—it was there, the opening I needed.

“Careful now,” I said with mock concern as I stepped smoothly out of the path of his sword. “You’ll throw your back out swinging like that.” His laugh was breathless, tinged with frustration as he adjusted, aiming a precise overhead strike that I sidestepped with ease.

My imperial footwork kept me just beyond his reach, my movements a dance of controlled precision. Every step was deliberate, each angle calculated to keep him chasing shadows.

The crowd’s cheers swelled, their excitement fueling my energy. The leader’s sword arced wide, his strength driving it forward in an over-committed swing.

Too fast, too much.

And just like that, he was mine.

I sidestepped again, slipping inside his reach with a spin that sent my dress flaring dramatically. My rapier flicked out, not to strike, but to guide his blade further off course, leaving him wide open.

His eyes widened.

I moved to his side, close enough that I could see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Pardon me,” I quipped, grinning as I raised both hands.

The frost erupted from my hidden mechanisms, a dazzling stream of icy mist that bathed him in shimmering white. The crowd roared as the bandit leader staggered, his laughter booming despite the frosty facade enveloping him.

“Well danced!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the stage as he dropped to one knee. Frost clung to his faux-bandit armor, sparkling in the stage holo-lights, as he nodded in genuine admiration. “You’re better than I expected, Sword Queen.”

I twirled my rapier with a flourish, pointing its tip to the ground as I struck a dramatic pose. “Better? I’m just getting started.”

He let out one final hearty laugh, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “Ah… the end… has come!” With an exaggerated groan, he toppled backward, his sword clattering to the stage as he “died” with flair.

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, their applause thunderous as the leader’s comrades rushed forward to drag his “fallen” form back through the shimmering portal.

I stood there, catching my breath, my heart pounding from the effort and exhilaration. Each inhale felt like fire in my lungs, but I wouldn’t let that show.

Not here.

Not now.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a tidal wave of cheers and applause that made the floor beneath me tremble. The energy in the air was electric, crackling with an intensity that I couldn’t ignore. I glanced sideways at the stage mirror, catching my reflection—and almost hiccuped.

The stage holo-lights hit my tiara just right, scattering tiny rainbows like starlight against the rich velvet backdrop. The faux diamonds sparkled brilliantly, framing my flushed face like some kind of cosmic crown. My hair, still perfectly coiffed despite the chaos, framed my face in a way that made me do a double take.

And the dress—oh, the dress—clung to my form like it had been poured on, the swirling frost pattern imprinted into the fabric, catching the light with every breath.

Was that me?

I looked… unreal.

Like something out of a dream.

It’s incredible what a dress, a tiara, and a gallon of stage makeup can do. I could’ve conquered kingdoms looking like this. I could’ve—

My lips quirked upward, my confidence swelling as the reality of the moment hit me. With a theatrical flourish, I raised my rapier high, its blade gleaming as it caught the holo-light again. The crowd’s cheers surged, their voices blending into a symphony of adoration.

For this moment, for this fleeting second, I was the Sword Queen.

And damn, it felt good.

Sorry, my old body, but you are only a distant dream.

I’m Charlie.

“And so it has started, dear people!” I called out, my voice carrying effortlessly over the cheers. “Come and challenge me in the Sword Queen Challenge!” I grinned, the grin that dared anyone bold enough to step forward. “Can you dethrone me?” I winked for good measure, the cheeky gesture earning a fresh wave of applause.

The holographic portal shimmered behind me, still crackling with its ethereal glow, as if daring the next contender to emerge.

But I wasn’t done yet.

No, the performance had only just begun.

“And for those who can’t—don’t despair!” I gestured with a dramatic sweep of my rapier. “There is a crisis in Rimelion! At the edge of the human empire, rebellion brews! The elven Queen Irwen has risen in arms, and the first epic Rimelion battle is on the horizon!”

My voice rose, the weight of the words amplified by the subtle hum of the stage effects behind me.

I pivoted, my dress flaring once more, the silky fabric catching the breeze from unseen stage fans. The holographic displays around the arena flickered to life, showcasing scenes of verdant elven forests, towering fortresses, and the ominous shadow of war.

Woah, Riker… How did you…

I was glaring at it, not expecting it to come up at all. “Come to my East Fortification to take part and save the empire!” I finally managed, pointing dramatically toward the display. “Don’t forget your respawn tokens, so you can travel even while offline. The empire needs heroes, and the battlefield awaits!”

The audience’s excitement surged again, their cheers blending into a noise of anticipation and eagerness.

Then I felt it—the faint change of colors.

I didn’t need to turn to know what it was.

The glow intensified slightly, casting a faint golden light that mingled with the cool blues of the portal.

I sensed Riker’s presence even before his booming voice joined the fray; the man arriving like an over-enthusiastic sunbeam breaking through a cloud. “Ah, what a moment, dear people!” he exclaimed, his voice gilded with his usual flair.

“Thank you, oh illustrious Sword Queen, for your impeccably timed rescue!” Riker’s voice boomed, his arms spread wide as he basked in the crowd’s adoration. “But, might I suggest for next time—please don’t mistake me for a light mage. It’s not magic, you see; it’s simply my radiant personality shining through!”

The crowd erupted in laughter, their amusement mingling with his absurd flamboyance. I couldn’t help it—a giggle escaped me, light and unguarded.

With a slight bow to the audience, I pivoted again and made haste to the backstage, my steps light with satisfaction.

Behind the curtains, the relative quiet wrapped around me like a calm night at Patrick’s. I exhaled, finally letting my shoulders relax, a small, content smile tugging at my lips.