Dawn’s early gentle light shone across the sky above the Reingarde estate, but the man in the training area had already been awake for hours. He stood alone in the crisp morning air at the center of an expansive training ground near the Reingarde mansion. The grounds were impressively equipped—sand pits for sparring, targets for archery, racks upon racks of practice weapons, steel and wooden alike, prepped for the Miss’s usage. Normally, the sheer luxury of such a facility might have awed him. But this morning, the man’s stomach was doing flips for an entirely different reason.

  At this moment, he was cursing his own stupidity. As he surveyed the training area once again, he ran his callused hand through his short, dark hair and let out a long sigh. ‘Why was I such an idiot?’ he berated himself for the hundredth time since finding out a week ago.

  He was no stranger to combat or pressure. In fact, for most of his forty-odd years, fighting had been his life. When the mysterious Tower appeared in the world some years ago, offering adventurers and warriors like himself the promise of power and glory, he had been one of the first to brave its challenges. A life of soldiering and mercenary work had hardened him, and the Tower’s challenges had honed him further. Floor by floor, battle by battle, he had carved out a respectable name for himself within the otherworldly space.

  He mastered every weapon he could get his hands on: blade, axe, spear… continuously adapting to the ever-shifting trials of the Tower. His prowess was eventually recognized with a moniker bestowed by the Tower itself: “The Weapons Master.”

  It was a grand title, perhaps too grand for a common-born man with no surname, but he had to admit he’d earned it through blood, sweat, and tears. However, even with the Tower’s grace on him, he still knew there were still weapons he hadn’t wielded yet.

  Adventurers who crossed paths with him spoke his title with respect. Some sought to challenge him, others to learn from him. He had always taken such praise in stride, neither overly proud nor falsely humble.

  At the core of himself, he was simply someone who loved the art of combat.

  Yet, for all his achievements, he had reached a point where climbing further up the Tower was no longer an option. Life beyond the Tower walls had caught up to him; a joyous and yet inconvenient human connection. He had fallen in love with a kind-hearted woman who had nursed him back to health after a particularly brutal expedition. They married, and soon, his wife became pregnant with their first child. He could still vividly recall the moment she told him. It filled him with such happiness, and a thump of terror beat in his heart.

  How could he possibly keep risking his life in the Tower now, with a family depending on him?

  The answer was simple. He couldn’t. The decision to stop climbing had been easy when he saw his wife’s hopeful eyes and imagined a little one with her smile. Providing for them, however, was an entirely new challenge. The fortune he’d amassed from his Tower conquests had dwindled rapidly.

  In truth, he had sunk most of his earnings right back into his adventures. Those investments now gathered dust in the attic of his modest home.

  A formidable personal armory to be sure, but not the sort of liquid wealth one could quickly use to buy a crib, or to keep food on the table for years to come.

  One desperate night, he had resolved to sell off some of his prized gear. It felt like slicing off pieces of his soul, but he was willing to do it for his family. When he told this plan to his wife, however, she burst into tears and clung to him, adamantly refusing.

  “Absolutely not,” she’d hiccup between sobs. “I won’t let you throw away your dreams for us. I already feel ashamed that you gave up climbing the Tower because of me… please, don’t sell your weapons. Don’t sell your dreams.”

  He had held her tight and assured her that she was worth any sacrifice, that she and the baby were his new dream. But she remained inconsolable at the thought of him abandoning the life he loved and pawning off the very weapons that symbolized it. In the end, she made him promise not to part with anything. They would find another way.

  And so, he did the only thing he could think of: he sought employment. A former Tower climber with a fearsome title made for quite the résumé, yet he had little idea how to be anything other than a warrior.

  Thankfully, the Guild sometimes connected veterans like him to mercenary contracts or training positions. When word went out that a high noble house was seeking a combat instructor for their heir, he had leapt at the opportunity. A teaching job was far safer than any mercenary job, and the pay being offered was astonishing, more gold than he’d ever earned during his time at the Tower.

  He remembered the exact moment he’d signed the contract, barely reading the details in his excitement. Finally, a stroke of luck! This one job could secure his family’s future for decades if he was careful. He had practically run home, giddy with the good news.

  But his elation had evaporated as soon as he told his wife the name of his new employer.

  “The Duke of Reingarde’s daughter?” she repeated in a fearful voice. The look on her face was alarm enough to make his stomach lurch. That was when he learned of Lady Celestia Von Reingarde’s fearsome reputation.

  When it came to noble gossip, he was technically living under a rock. He spent his days training or busy with work, so he’d only been vaguely aware that House Reingarde even had a daughter, let alone any details about her. His wife, however, had heard plenty from other merchant families and servants in town.

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  According to rumors, Lady Celestia was a despicable noblewoman. The quintessential spoiled lady. They said she flaunted her family’s wealth and influence without regard for anyone beneath her station. What was even worse was that she was allegedly cruel.

  His wife had heard tales about how Lady Celestia spat on commoners in the street for offending her view; how she publicly slapped her maids for the slightest mistakes; how some even murmured that in private, she dealt out physical punishments to her unfortunate attendants. There were stories of broken heirlooms tossed at servants’ heads in fits of rage, of young ladies driven to tears by Celestia’s sharp tongue at social gatherings.

  By the time his wife finished recounting the gossip, she was trembling with worry. “What if she lashes out at you? What if you accidentally offend her…?” She had clutched his hand as if to keep him from being dragged away that very instant.

  In that moment, his heart, hardened by battle though it was, quailed in genuine fear. He realized he might have signed himself up not to be a noble lady’s instructor, but to babysit a viper that could strike at the slightest provocation. The thought of some papered, ill-tempered girl treating him like dirt, or threatening his family, made his blood run cold.

  But what choice did he have now? The contract was signed. To break it would not only forfeit the money, but also earn the ire of House Reingarde. Reneging on an agreement with a noble would be a dreadful black mark on his record, and might even get him blacklisted from future jobs everywhere.

  So here he was, at dawn on the first day of his new employment, stomach tied in knots. “Well, there’s no backing out now,” he muttered to himself. His breath turned to a light mist in the cool morning air. At the very least, he prayed, Lady Celestia would keep any temper tantrums to a minimum and spare his wife and unborn child from any fallout.

  Surely a duke’s daughter wouldn’t bother retaliating against a lowly instructor’s family if he failed to meet her expectations… right?

  To burn off nervous energy, he had busied himself inspecting the training equipment laid out. The Reingarde estate staff had been nothing but thorough. A variety of practice weapons of all kinds were arranged nearby: wooden swords of varying weights, maces wrapped in padding, even archery gear.

  The plan he’d come up with was simple. First, he’d evaluate the young lady’s current skill level, if there was any. And then begin conditioning. Most noble girls he’d heard about only learned swordplay as a formality. Perhaps this Lady Celestia didn’t intend to take this seriously and simply needed to finish a list on her noble education.

  He allowed himself to hope that the rumors were exaggerated. After all, people loved to vilify the rich and powerful. ‘She can’t be as terrible as they say…’

  A sudden creak disrupted his thoughts, and he froze. It was the sound of a door opening, the heavy oak doors at the entrance of the training hall. Tap. Tap. Tap. Footsteps echoed on the stone floor. He hastily set a weapon back in its stand and straightened up, wiping his palms on his trousers.

  He turned toward the entrance just as the person stepped into the light. For a moment, he almost didn’t believe this was Lady Celestia. He’d imagined a sneering, imperious lady twisted with perpetual displeasure. Instead, what he saw was a vision.

  A young woman with long, golden-blond hair strode toward him, her pace composed. The rays of early sun from a high window caught in her hair, giving it a soft halo. She was dressed for training: a white blouse with puffed sleeves and a high collar, paired with midnight-blue trousers tucked into low-heeled boots. Even in simple attire, she exuded aristocratic grace. And her face was strikingly beautiful, like a porcelain doll come to life. Apart from a delicate dusting across her cheeks, every feature was refined: high cheekbones, a slim nose, and those eyes…

  Crimson eyes framed by dark lashes, they looked keenly sharp. He had been momentarily stunned by her unexpected appearance, but the intensity of her glare snapped him back to his senses. This young woman moved with the confidence of someone who expected the world to accommodate her.

  ‘Beautiful or not, don’t forget,’ he reminded himself. ‘Even a pretty face could hide a cruel temperament.’

  Lady Celestia halted a few paces from him. She was slightly shorter than him, but somehow, she carried an aura of height. Perhaps it was the way she held herself, shoulders squared and chin lifted just so, radiating authority. He respectfully bowed, one hand on his chest in the manner of a knight’s salute, as his heart thudded against his ribs.

  “Good morning,” Celestia said, her tone poised and distant. There was no hint of a smile on her lips. “I was informed that my new training instructor had arrived. You must be him. Introduce yourself.” The words were polite enough, but it was undeniably a command, not a request.

  Jade straightened from his bow. This was the crucial moment, the first impression. He needed to mind his tongue. Commoner habits wouldn’t do here, no matter how nervous he was. He summoned his voice, hoping it wouldn’t crack. “Good morning, my lady.” He managed a cordial tone. “My name is Jade.” He hesitated, unsure whether to offer a handshake or another bow. Instead, he settled for standing straight with his arms at his sides, soldier-like. “Within the Tower, I earned the title ‘The Weapons Master.’”

  Celestia’s crimson eyes flickered with what might have been interest, but her expression remained unreadable. Jade felt heat rise to his cheeks; he probably sounded full of himself, trotting out his title. He raised his hands slightly in a placating gesture. “Though, to be honest, I think that title is far too grand for someone like me,” he added quickly. “I’m just a man who’s handled a lot of different weapons over the years.”

  Lady Celestia tilted her head ever so slightly, her golden hair sliding over one shoulder. Jade realized she was still waiting, perhaps expecting more formality. He mentally kicked himself, he hadn’t even offered a proper honorific or pledge of service yet!

  Flustered, he cleared his throat and dipped his head again. “Please forgive my rough manner of speaking, Lady Celestia,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve not had much practice with courtly etiquette. Rest assured, I am at your service. I will do my utmost to meet your expectations and train you well.”

  When he finally dared to look up, he saw Celestia still appraising him with those piercing red eyes. His stomach did another nervous flip. ‘Is she judging whether to throw me out this instant? Or planning how to punish me if I slip up?’ He stood there, a veteran of a hundred battles, feeling very much like when he was a raw recruit awaiting his captain’s verdict.

  A single bead of sweat tickled down the side of his temple.

  If the rumors were even half accurate, his first day instructing Lady Celestia might also become his last. ‘Let’s just get through today alive,’ he prayed, awaiting her response.

  Chapter 8: “The Early Dog Gets the Bone”