Warchief's head felt heavy as he dragged his body down the numerous steps that connected his bedroom to the exercise field below. With each footfall on the stonework, a resonating vibration seemed to ripple through his entire being, causing him to curse at Crystal.

The sleeping potion had fulfilled its purpose, but its side effects proved equally potent, leaving him with a pounding headache and a sense of weakness. Part of him suspected the healer of intentionally making it that way, fueled by spite. Warchief could almost hear her taunting him, suggesting that he find help so he wouldn't have to rely on her potions any longer.

The thought made him snort as he continued his descent down the four levels of stairs, mindful of moss-covered steps and avoiding contact with the intricately engraved banisters. Not that he feared damaging their ornate detailing, but rather he worried that they might crumble under his slightest touch. To the horror of his elven teachers, he had never cared much for history, preferring to focus his attention toward the present.

Crystal often grumbled about how the resistance had modified the shelter's structures to suit their needs, deeming it a desecration. While he understood her concerns, he couldn't help but find such worries futile. Time would inexorably progress, and without people to maintain the underground city, it would fade away, as all things and everyone eventually did.

As he ran his hands along the wall, he could feel the embedded magic crystals that once powered the spells, maintaining the building's pristine state. Now, without magicians to recharge them, they were nothing more than beautiful, yet hollow shells.

Finally reaching the end of the seemingly never-ending spiral staircase, he paused to catch his breath. He felt more winded than expected and wondered how he would train others in such a state. Reaching for his drinking flask, he hoped to alleviate the cottony feeling in his mouth with water, only to realize he had forgotten to fill it before descending the stairs.

It is going to be one of those days…

The temptation to return upstairs and sleep the day away crossed his mind, but he knew his men were waiting for him. With a deep sigh, he mustered the will to step outside. As he opened the door, he was greeted by the gentle glow of the lueur moss surrounding him. For once, he was grateful to be underground, avoiding the harsh sunlight while nursing his headache.

Entering the exercise field, the absence of the usual remarks about his lateness struck him. Instead, an unusual quietness hung in the air, accompanied by a subtle tension among the men. He furrowed his brow and scanned the surroundings until his gaze settled on the source of their unease. Lidea sat at the side of the field, still dressed in his clothes, though they seemed to fit her better this time. Warchief presumed Crystal had resorted to pinning or even sewing the garments to assist her. However, it was her hair that caught his attention the most. Yesterday, it had been a tangled mess, but now it cascaded down in a long braid that reached the ground. He couldn't help but find it an impractical choice to keep her hair that long, and not one he would have expected from what he had learned of her so far.

Apart from the young woman, Crystal sat wearing trousers, which was peculiar as she usually only wore them while traveling. A grumpy expression adorned her face, and Warchief couldn't help but grin at her annoyance. It was rare to see the healer lose in a battle of stubbornness.

"I see that your guardian has allowed you to join us."

A smug smile appeared on Lidea’s face as the healer’s seemed to became more sour.

"We made a compromise. I won't participate in the training, but I am allowed to attend the sessions."

Lidea sounded complacent and Warchief struggled to stifle his laughter, even though Crystal sent him a murderous glare.

“It is good to have you here.”

Before he brought the wrath of the half-demoness further onto himself, he quickly refocused on the task at hand. Turning towards the men who were to become the core of his army, his grin widened. It wouldn't be easy, but fortunately, he relished a challenge.

“Alright, guys. Stop acting as if you have never seen a woman before, it is time for practice.”

A mixture of laughter and embarrassment rippled through the group, effectively breaking the tension as intended. He suspected it would take time for them to warm up to Lidea's presence, much like how Crystal and he were initially received when they arrived. They were all viewed as outsiders—Crystal and Warchief due to their foreign origins, and Lidea because she was a magicless noble.

"As requested yesterday, I thought we'd engage in some sparring today. Pair up, everyone."

Warchief observed how Samson shot a triumphant grin at Lidea. He was the youngest of the group and always sought opportunities for sparring matches, even though he wasn't particularly skilled in them.

For a brief moment, Warchief contemplated confessing that it was his headache that spared them from another round of exercises, not their complaints. However, he quickly dismissed the idea, realizing they might get the bright idea of spiking his drinks with alcohol to avoid stamina training in the future.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lidea’s disapproval even from across the field. In contrast, Crystal’s frown had turned into a sadistic smile, indicating that she understood precisely why he wasn’t in the mood for any exercises.

Scary woman.

As the men formed their usual pairs, Warchief walked between them, paying closer attention then before to their current abilities. It was clear to him that they were lacking, a fact he had anticipated. However, their attitude failed to reflect their shortcomings. As Lidea had rightly pointed out, they believed their magic alone would secure victory, disregarding their lack of training.

Warchief understood that their arrogance stemmed from ignorance. If they had witnessed the true capabilities of magic wielders outside of Lynoës, their perception of themselves would undoubtedly change. Having encountered proficient magic users among the elves, he could confidently assert that none of his men would stand a chance against such opponents. This included himself, as he possessed limited control over his own powers and didn't pretend otherwise.

Observing each man in turn, he contemplated how to make them grasp their own incompetence. Mere words wouldn't suffice; they needed firsthand experience to truly comprehend how unprepared they were for real combat. Even if their adversaries were non-magical adversaries.

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The question was how. It wasn’t like he had any skilled magicians running around and he himself was the only skilled swordsman in the camp. He considered sparring with them one on one but knew that it wouldn’t give him the effect he wanted. After all, he was their leader, it was only natural that he

was highly skilled. It might even worsen their false confidence, as they could inflate his abilities based on the assumption that they themselves were powerful as well.

He glanced wistfully at Lidea, if only she had been in a better state. While he couldn't be certain of her capabilities, he had heard that her father was a skilled swordsman. After all, one didn't ascend from soldier to leading the royal guard without talent, unless nepotism played a role, which didn't appear to be the case for him. It would be fascinating to witness what she had inherited from her father's teachings, and Warchief had no doubt that she could outperform his men. It would have been the perfect opportunity to make them comprehend their limitations and motivate them to improve. Unfortunately, according to Crystal, that option was off the table for at least a few more months.

As yet another match concluded swiftly with only a few strikes, he couldn’t help but close his eyes in frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose in dismay, as if that would give him an answer on how to shape these civilians into a fighting force. He would have to find a way soon because as it stood now, the royal army would demolish them.

After training ended, Warchief retrieved a notebook out of his pocket and dropped himself down on the sand. Thinking through what he had seen during sparring, he started dividing them into two groups. Those who wouldn’t know their sword from their arse went to one side, while those with at least some potential were assigned to the other. As he examined the names, a crease formed on his forehead. Out of approximately two hundred men, he could only identify five with even a glimmer of promise.

With a sigh, he forced himself to review the list of those he had deemed hopeless. While he tried to divide the bad from the less bad, he could hear someone approach from behind him. Casting a confused glance over his shoulder, he saw Lidea standing there, peering at his notes.

He was taken aback by her sudden presence, and wondered where Crystal had disappeared to. She tended to be protective of her charges, and it was hard to believe she would leave the young woman unattended willingly.

“Is Cedric the guy with the scar on his arm?”

Now that she was standing, her hair caught his eye. It wasn’t just long, but extraordinarily so, with a braid that extended past her thighs. It looked greasy and he recognized the typical lavender scent that Crystal liked to use in her products. He surmised that the healer had concocted something to untangle it, though he couldn't help but think that cutting it short would have been easier.

“Is he?”

One steel-grey eye looked at him, seemingly judging him in silence as Warchief scrambled to collect his thoughts and answer her question.

“Scar on his arm… I am not sure. He has brown hair, a bit shorter than me.”

“Yes, scar on his arm. Walks a bit crooked, and has a tick of laughing nervously. If it is him, you should put him in the group with talent.”

Frowning, Warchief scrutinized the name she mentioned, trying to understand why she was so confident in her assessment after observing the man for just two days. He also wondered how she had even known what he was doing. Before he could inquire further, Lidea gingerly settled beside him, her legs trembling slightly—a sign that yesterday's training had taken its toll on her body.

Concerned, he once again tried to find where Crystal had gone.

“My chaperone is bringing me something to eat and drink before I have to go up that hill again,”

Lidea explained.

“May I?”

She gestured toward the book and Warchief, intrigued by her intentions, offered it to her without hesitation. Reaching over him, she grabbed his pencil as well and started to write numbers next to each of the names. Turning the page, she then started to draw faces.

At first, Warchief considered her idea to sketch the men a waste of time. He doubted he would recognize anyone from a drawing. However, he soon realized how meticulous her drawings were. While he wouldn't describe them as beautiful, they accurately captured the distinctive features of each of his men, allowing him to identify them even before their names were written down.

He was astonished. Many people could draw at a similar or even higher quality, but to memorize each of their faces in such detail after only a brief encounter was truly remarkable.

“How…?”

A hint of amusement sparkled in her visible eye, while the other remained concealed behind the bandages wrapped around her face.

"I had nothing but time on my hands. So I observed and paid attention, learning what I could about them. You were observing their fights and assessing their skills, so I assumed you wanted to gauge their abilities."

Warchief had heard rumors about her genius, tales that painted her as larger than life, a legendary warrior of their own. He had always believed those stories to be exaggerated, assuming she had learned from the best and survived with the help of her father's trusted right-hand man—an adjunct general of the royal army.

Now he started to question how much truth those rumors held.

"You're right. It seems you know the men's appearances better than I do. Some of them I wouldn't have recognized at all."

She simply nodded, her focus locked on the list he had prepared. There was no mockery in her demeanor, nor any boasting about her own abilities.

“Why did you want me to move Cedric?”

Lidea remained focused on the paper, circling a few more names, without looking up.

"He may lack knowledge, but his work attitude is commendable. Besides, his balance is quite good."

While Warchief had observed the man's balance, he hadn't considered including him, as he lacked the time to train him from scratch.

"But if he's inexperienced, shouldn't he be placed in the less skilled group?"

Lidea shook her head at that.

“Depends on the person, if he is willing to learn he can benefit from being surrounded by people who know better than him. It is easier to learn by observing and emulating others.”

She paused for a moment and her cheeks turned a slight red.

“Sorry, I didn’t plan to interfere in your training…”

Warchief waived her concerns away and thought over her advice. There was no harm in following her suggestions. If they didn’t work out, he could simply swap them again on a later date.

"Honestly, I could use the help. Why don't you divide them based on your judgment? We can reassess their progress in a few weeks. Does that sound good to you?"

A bright smile illuminated Lidea's face as she nodded. Warchief suspected that she was feeling bored and in need of something to occupy her time. If that was the case, he welcomed her assistance gladly. Despite his own fighting skills, he had never been part of an army like she had. There was a high chance for him to learn something from her experiences. Also, if she felt involved with the training, there was a higher chance that she would stay. Though he didn’t expect her to go anyway. Just like he couldn’t abandon the people around him, neither could she.

“Warchief, can I ask something?”

She had paused her writing and looked at him intently. Her sincere tone caught his attention, making him perk up.

“You already did. But yes, go on.”

He could almost see her thinking over how to ask her question but waited patiently until it finally spilled out.

“How did you save me? I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time. Probably because of the smoke. But the executioner was right there and my trial pyre stood in the middle of the Grand Market surrounded by hundreds of people. I can’t wrap my brain around how you managed to get me out. Did you pay off that guard?”

He had anticipated her question, though perhaps not this soon. Warchief was rapidly learning that she had a tendency to act faster than his expectations. It did surprise him when she talked about the guard, and he wondered what had happened to make her think so.

“I have no knowledge of any guard, so whatever transpired with him was not my doing. As to how I saved you, it’s rather simple. I joined the crowd and positioned myself at the front, planning to use my magic to extinguish the flames and get you off that platform. The smoke due to the wet wood was a boon. Else I fear that it would have cost more soldiers’ lives. As it stands, it was only the executioner that got killed but after what he did to your face, I don’t feel too bad about it.”

Her gaze bore into him, conveying comprehension. Yet, he could sense her wrestling with another question, and he let out a weary sigh.

He raised the hand closest to her and held it flat in the air with his palm turned upward. Concentrating, he felt the energy surge through his body and rush towards his hand where it sparked a small flame burning bright orange.

“I extinguished the flames with my magic.”