I awaken to pain.

“Owowowowow,” I curse with a myopic wince. My eyes, now open, close again thanks to the stinging coursing through my body.

Staggered steps lure me out of my bed. My body is shaky. A pounding sensation pulses through every limb. They’re heavy. Hurt. It is somewhat hard to stand, but I manage.

My bedroom is relatively void of character. I do not ask for much. The only things I’ve changed since I was a baby was removing my crib, adding books, and changing out my wardrobe.

I walk over to a mirror hung on my bedroom wall and look at my body.

Nude. I’m accustomed to a world with air conditioning, and this is not that. As such, I’m hot most nights.

Luckily, I’m never bothered by people in the mornings since I maintain an early sleep schedule. It’s not like it matters anyway. I’ve still got the body of a child. There’s nothing attractive about me. Well, yet. I’m admittedly already pretty cute. If my mother and father are anything to go by, I’ll be stunning in the future.

Damn, that means I’m probably going to have huge boobs, too. Dammit. I hope Mother’s genetics skip me there at least.

My hair is much longer than I’m used to. Red locks flow down past my shoulders. I lived with long hair in my past life, so this isn’t an issue, but I don’t want it much longer than my shoulders. That’s more than I’ve dealt with in the past.

I tried trimming it a little, but when Sonya walked in on me attempting to cut the ends of my hair with a knife, she screamed at me. Instead, I pull all my hair back into a ponytail and tie it with a lovely red ribbon so that it matches my hair. The rest of my hair that can’t be contained flops messily at the side of my temples.

The fact that I even picked the ribbon for that reason alone annoys me. I’m assuming natural feminine instincts are beginning to meld with my prior conscious mind. Either that, or I’m becoming naturally more feminine because my lifestyle and the others around me treat me like I am. To be honest, I’m not sure which is true.

The subtle changes are a little scary, but not in such a noticeable way that I feel like I’m losing total autonomy over myself. I’m probably just adapting to my reality. I think…I hope.

Dappled purple circles protrude from my arms, legs, and torso. There are none on my face, but there isn’t a single unmarred part of my body beyond that.

“Another lesson this morning,” I groan. “Haven’t made much progress in seven months, but it’s getting easier to swing the sword at least.” A broken chuckle leaves me. “All it takes is practice.”

The edges of my mind groan for a few more minutes. When they subside, I get dressed. A skirt and a long-sleeved fitted shirt. Hell, I’m not allowed to pick out my own clothes yet, but the range of movement in a skirt isn’t so bad.

If I had to pick a favorite attire in this current life, it’d be the skirt. Then again, I’m sure yoga pants are better. I’ll never get to wear them, though, so I’m stuck with what I got.

I tuck the shirt into the skirt, tie it with a belt, shove on some boots, strap my practice sword to my side, then rush out of the room.

Quickly, I stop by the kitchen first for some food. Knowing that my body requires protein, I ask for mashed fruit, milk, and a version of peanut butter I got Chef Rumsley to create. Essentially, a smoothie bowl.

“It’s very healthy based on all the dynamics of the foods,” I comment to Chef Rumsley as I scarf down the substance with a spoon.

“Is it? Yes, I suppose it would be,” mulls over the chef. “You’ve been very conscious of your diet lately. Training going well?”

I nod. “Yes, sir. I want to make sure my body grows strong, so I’m purposely eating foods that’ll support muscle growth after a strenuous workout.”

The chef blinks at me. “When you speak, it’s tough to see you as the child you are.”

I blink back. “I get that a lot.”

Chef Rumsley breathes. “Go on. Get to your lesson, or Master Talbert’ll get angry at me.” He feigns a shiver. His eyes travel to the bruises on my legs. “Wouldn’t want that.”

“What are you talking about? He’ll get angry at me. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, do take care of yourself, Lady Scarlet,” adds the chef as I begin to leave the kitchen, having finished my meal.

“No promises!”

Moments later, I open the doors to an expansive, relatively empty room. Master Talbert’s domain.

Master Talbert is a skilled swordsman kept in-house by my father. His official position is “advisor to the Baron.” Why specifically was he chosen for such an important role? He’s my father’s former colleague. They went to war together.

I do not know much about my father, but he doesn’t come from a noble background. He earned his baron status through successful combat operations at a surprisingly young age. I’m assuming that Master Talbert, his brother-in-arms, is being kept here in both an advisory and tutelage role.

It’d support some history from my past life. Strong military men given political positions would always bring their own people to keep them grounded. That’s likely the purpose Talbert serves.

In the grand scheme of things, Master Talbert is an efficient swordsman. A perfect person to learn from, even with his violent tactics. It’s nothing I’m not used to. I’d roll with people during martial arts practice, but this is much worse, mostly because of how annoyingly underdeveloped and weak my body is.

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Master Talbert lives in what looks like an old ballroom. A cot sits in the back by the window. A singular desk flummoxed with papers is beside it. Other than that, the place is plain, full of practice swords, dummies, and armor. You’d think it’d be the room of a twenty-year-old that’s way too into knights, so much so, he never learned how to clean things. But no, it is the room of a man so obsessed with fighting that other aspects of life seemingly fade away from importance.

I’m sure he could have better accommodations, yet he’s chosen to live like this. It speaks volumes about his dedication to the sword.

It is in this room that I undergo, for lack of a better phrase, fleshly torment.

“Good morning, Scarlet. I hope you didn’t eat breakfast,” remarks Master Talbert. He lays atop his bed, a book in one hand, staring at the pages lackadaisically.

Oh no.

I gulp. “Yes, sir.” I nod, ashamed.

“Well, try not to puke,” barks Master Talbert. He closes his book, standing up once he does. “Let’s warm up, shall we? We’ll start with a hundred downward swings, lead into a hundred practice thrusts, a hundred sweeps, then a hundred alternating diagonal slashes on either side,” he explains as he walks over to me. His hands casually pick up a weighted practice sword from nearby. He hands it to me as he comes into range of my body. “With this.”

“Yes, sir.”

Finally. I get to go up in weight.

“Remember to focus on getting back into your form, keeping your arms smooth. That’s more important than getting the movements done quickly. If you mess up the form and rush it, you—”

“—have to start over from one in the set of one hundred. Yes, sir.”

“Well, get going then since you know it all,” Talbert scoffs as he goes back to his bed, grabs his book, and continues reading. Even like that, he’d catch me if I were slacking. Trust me, I know from past experience.

This warm-up that I’m doing now, which takes at a minimum a little under an hour with my unformed body, is much easier than it used to be. In the beginning, this is what we started and ended with. I never progressed further than the first set. All we worked on was form. I ended up repeating the downward swing for hours, constantly being reset back to zero, until I got the swing correct consistently.

Then we moved on to the other exercises. It took nearly five months for me to get all the way through them without wasting the entire morning. My body is still that of a child’s and I’ve also never used a sword before. It’s taking longer than if I were Felix, but Master Talbert seems fine with me not rushing things.

I get why Master Talbert is having me do this. I’m not naive. I’m building muscle memory, and getting used to the sword. He’s essentially turning it into another extension of myself, developing an innate ability in my arms to react and strike.

Plus, I need endurance. Using a sword doesn’t matter if you can’t hold it for more than a minute. They’re surprisingly heavy, even though I bet I’m holding a still-lightened version given my current five-year-old body.

In the mornings until the beginning of the afternoon, around lunch, I practice with Master Talbert. Afterward, I complete lessons with Professor Lorik. Around five in the evening, my day is done. I’m free to eat and do what I like. Ever since starting sword practice, what I’ve ‘liked’ to do is eat dinner, bathe, then immediately go to sleep.

Who can blame me?

Especially now.

Luckily, I’ve progressed some since I first started. Now, every time I finish the practice routine, we move into defensive combat. My goal is to block, dodge, and parry Master Talbert as he swings at me with a wooden sword. He admitted I’m “pretty good” at moving my body defensively. That’s his version of calling me a prodigy.

The movements I’ve learned in martial arts have helped, I won’t deny it. However, it’s more like a good sniper switching to archery. The mechanics are there, but it isn’t quite the same. Still, I can feel my mind adjusting to the combat style. In time, I’ll at least be well above average when I’m a teenager.

Needless to say, this practice is why I have an array of bruises going up every inch of my body minus my face. Got to keep up appearances, right?

Speaking of...

Having now finished the initial practice, a wooden blade swings at me with force.

“Anticipate, Scarlet!” Master Talbert shoots the sword behind my knee.

I yelp, buckling forward, crashing to the ground.

“Ready to give up?! Go back to wearing pretty dresses, reading books, waiting to get married off like some prized calf?!”

And there begin the insults. Always so encouraging. I have little time to focus on their content before the next volley begins.

I wince, getting back up. “No, s-s-sir,” trembles my voice.

My flesh feels as if it’s on fire. It wouldn’t surprise me if layers of splinters now bore themselves into my flesh.

“Then dodge!” Master Talbert bellows, winding downward with his sword.

•

Around an hour later, I’m sprawling on the floor. Pain numbs me. Sweat pools around my body. Ragged breathing violates my lungs. Little bits of dried blood cling to cuts opened on my arms, legs, and torso.

Master Talbert sits beside me on the ground. “What has it been, seven months since we started training?”

“Yes….”

“Didn’t add a sir that time?”

“Sorry…sir,” I huff weakly.

Talbert snorts. “There’s no need. I was joking with you.”

“That…so?”

“You have a strong spirit. I expected you to quit within the first week, but here we are,” credits Master Talbert. “And you haven’t cried. Even your father teared up when I’d lay into him during practices years back.”

“Did he now?”

“It got to the point where he’d go out of his way to avoid sparring with me.” A reflective, distant stare etches Talbert’s face. “He got used to it.”

“And if I’d avoided you? Would you have come and got me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It was your father’s duty to use a sword. It was his life’s blood. You have no such burden. I would not have forced you if you’d given up.”

“No duty?” I snort. My mind flashes back to me standing on the ledge of my office building in my past life. I look down, wincing. With courage, my gaze fawns back towards Master Talbert. “Everyone has a duty not to stay weak.”

Master Talbert gawks at me, unblinking. “Well said, child.”

With great anguish, I stand. My fingers, shaking with pain, wrap tightly around the sword left beside me on the ground. They feel distended with blood.

“Shall we go again?” I invite.

Master Talbert simpers. “Wonderful!”