“I wondered how long it would take before another arrived.”

  The writing on the note keeps echoing in my head. It gives me goosebumps that someone is here before me.

  But what I don’t understand is why someone would create a rifle and just leave it there.

  Is that person really meant to leave the rifle, and is he really waiting for another person from Earth?

  But for what purpose?

  “We’ve arrived, My Lady.” Said Alice, who was the coachman from the palace.

  I slowly come out of the carriage to be greeted by Alice, who is waiting for me so she can escort me inside.

  “Alice, tell the head maid to prepare a man’s clothing in my room.”

  “Understood, My Lady.”

  I walk alone to my room to see a man’s clothes in my bed, folded neatly.

  I dressed myself in the clothes prepared, then went out to the training grounds.

  “Let’s go see Roland.”

  At the same time, at the training grounds. Murmurs can be heard from the soldiers under Roland Greaves’ command.

  “Hey, boys, the scene where Head Soldier Greaves defeated the Basilisk still lingers in my head.” Said Tanker as he clasped his hands together.

  “Mine too. I even told my family about it and that I will be as honorable and strong as Head Soldier Greaves.”

  “It wasn’t Head Soldier Greaves who killed it. It was Lady Amethyst.”

  “That’s just straight-up bullshit, Einku.”

  “Hey Tanker, you say that because you haven’t seen Lady Amethyst slaying that big ass monster.”

  “But I’ve seen it, Tanker. She stabbed that monster in a very cool way. I’m seeing Lady Amethyst in a new way. I never thought women could be that deadly.”

  “What’s so cool about it, Einku, when nothing is cool, stabbing that monster when clearly Head Soldier Greaves weakened that monster and just let Lady Amethyst deal the final blow.”

  “And, Einku women should never leave their houses. What bullshit.”

  Tanker walks out, and Einku curses at him for having misogynistic views.

  "Hey Einku, don't mind Tanker. He's rough around the edges, but if you try to duel him, you might end up healing your bones.

  Einku sighs. "Damian, brother, did you hear him mocking the strength of Lady Amethyst? It was infuriating. He doesn't need to dismiss her efforts, you know."

  "Einku, I understand. I know you can relate to Lady Amethyst--"

  "Why? Because I'm a woman too? I know that's why I admire Lady Amethyst for being strong. I wanna be like her brother."

  Damian ruffles his younger sister's hair. "You will, my dear sister."

  “Hey, Damian, Head Soldier Greaves is asking for you.”

  “Where is Head Soldier right now?”

  —

  “Damian reporting, sir.”

  “Oh, Damian, you came. I want to task you in leading, teaching swordsmanship, and monitoring Lady Amethyst when she’s here training with us. I know she might not be acting as a woman should, but—“

  “I’ll think about it, sir.”

  “Alright. You are dismissed.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  ---

  “Hmm? What’s that noise outside?”

  What greeted Damian outside Roland Greave’s office was a group of fellow soldiers shouting cheers in the training yard.

  When he squeezed himself into the crowd, he saw Amethyst wearing men’s clothing and Tanker inside a duel circle.

  What the hell happened? Why is Lady Amethyst dueling with Tanker?

  Tanker might look dumb, but he’s one of the strongest soldiers among us.

  20 minutes ago, while Damian was summoned by Greaves.

  “I wonder what kind of swordsmanship training I will learn today.”

  “I’m kind of excited.”

  I smiled at the thought of learning another way to fight rather than sticking to what I learned.

  Because I have this urge that I want to get stronger, but I don’t know why, I just have this strong feeling that I need to be stronger.

  Amethyst arrives at the training ground, walking straight to Greave’s office, but Tanker stops her.

  “What do you want, soldier?”

  “I heard you shamelessly took the Head Soldier’s credit for defeating the basilisk.”

  His tone carried mock innocence. His stance did not.

  Ah. So that’s how it is.

  I tilted my head slightly. “And?”

  He smirked.

  “And I heard you faint easily. Strange for someone claiming battlefield capability.”

  A few soldiers nearby chuckled. I could feel the weight of it. Not because I cared about the insult.

  But because this was a test. Not of strength. Of position.

  “This is funny,” I said lightly.

  “Hey,” he called to his unit, “did you hear this woman say something?”

  They laughed openly now.

  That was the moment I moved.

  My fist drove forward mid-laugh and connected cleanly with his cheekbone.

  CRACK

  The sound cut through the courtyard like a snapped branch.

  He staggered sideways, laughter dying in his throat as blood sprayed from his split lip.

  Silence.

  Tanker blinked once, stunned more by the audacity than the pain.

  Slowly, he touched his mouth and looked at the blood on his fingers.

  Then he smiled.

  “Oh?”

  I stepped back casually, rolling my wrist once.

  “You seem bored,” I said. “Let’s fix that.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “You want to fight?”

  “No,” I replied calmly. “I want to duel.”

  Now the surrounding soldiers straightened. That word meant structure.

  Honor.

  I gestured toward the training grounds.

  “Duel circle. Any weapon of choice. First one pushed outside loses.”

  A murmur rippled through the yard.

  Tanker wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  “You’re challenging me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You even know who I am?”

  “Yes.”

  Tanker. One of the strongest under Roland Greaves.

  Power-based fighter.

  He laughed again — slower this time.

  “You sure about that, Lady?”

  I gave him a small smile.

  “Pick your weapon.”

  The circle was drawn in chalk over compacted earth.

  About six meters in diameter.

  Tanker selected a longsword — standard military steel, well-balanced, clearly maintained.

  I walked past the weapon racks.

  I selected a dagger—a simple, straight-edged combat knife.

  Murmurs again.

  “She’s suicidal.”

  “She won’t last ten seconds.”

  Tanker stepped into the circle first.

  I followed.

  The air shifted.

  “First pushed outside the circle loses. No killing blows. Begin!”

  But Tanker didn’t wait. He charged.

  What a predictable fellow.

  His strength was obvious from the first swing — a downward diagonal slash, meant to overwhelm.

  I pivoted left.

  Close.

  His sword carved through the air where my neck had been.

  Instead of retreating, I stepped in.

  That made him hesitate.

  He wasn’t used to opponents entering his range.

  My dagger flashed toward his wrist. He twisted just in time — blade scraping his gauntlet. He responded with a horizontal sweep.

  I ducked.

  The blade passed inches above my head. He was fast for his size.

  I felt something awaken inside me.

  Instinct.

  His footwork was weight-based. He committed his hips before every major swing.

  That meant openings.

  He thrust forward — aggressive, aiming to drive me back toward the circle’s edge.

  I retreated deliberately. Let him think it was working.

  Step by step, he advanced.

  The crowd started murmuring again.

  “She’s being pushed back!”

  “She can’t match his strength!”

  I didn’t need to.

  At the circle’s boundary, just as my heel nearly crossed the line—

  He lunged.

  I sidestepped sharply, hooking my dagger under his sword arm and pivoting behind him.

  My free hand drove into the back of his knee.

  That's a destabilization strike.

  He stumbled forward — but didn’t fall.

  What a strong core.

  He recovered fast and spun, elbow flying toward my face.

  I absorbed it on my forearm and let the momentum carry me backward.

  I created distance again, breathing steadily.

  His breathing is heavier now. Good.

  “Stop running!” he barked.

  I didn't reply, just focusing on the duel while observing his fighting skills.

  He roared and charged again.

  This time I went low. I slid inside his guard, dagger striking the inside of his thigh — a shallow cut, but enough to disrupt muscle engagement.

  He hissed and swung wildly.

  I stepped inside his arc completely, slammed my shoulder into his chest, hooked my leg behind his ankle, And rotated.

  His balance broke. Tanker’s body lurched sideways.

  One massive step to recover—But his heel crossed the chalk.

  Then—

  “He’s out!”

  The overseeing soldier’s voice rang clear.

  “Winner — Lady Amethyst!”

  Tanker stood frozen just beyond the line, breathing hard.

  The courtyard was dead quiet.

  I straightened slowly.

  No grin. No gloating. Just steady eye contact.

  “You rely too much on power,” I said calmly. “And not enough on reading your opponent.”

  He stared at me for a long moment.

  Then—Unexpectedly—

  He laughed.

  Low. Genuine.

  “…You’re insane.”

  “Possibly.”

  He extended his hand.

  After a second, I took it.

  The soldiers around us were no longer laughing.

  And somewhere behind the crowd, I could feel it—The shift.

  Respect isn’t requested. It’s taken.

  And today, I took it.

  ------

  Watching Lady Amethyst take down Tanker makes my stomach flutter.

  What is this feeling? And why am I feeling it again after seeing Lady Amethyst triumph against Tanker?

  The very first time my stomach fluttered was when I was appointed as a soldier in the palace. Back then, I thought my life would become easygoing. But I was wrong. I thought life as a soldier in the palace was comfortable--yes, at first, but then we were sent to Versailles' estate, where monsters show up due to the Aetherglass in a cave located in the estate. It made my life exciting, on edge, but for some strange reason. It felt like my body craved action and life-threatening instances.

  I trained day and night in the past to be a dependable soldier under the Walter kingdom who can serve the royal family with all my best. I even thought that dueling with strong people in our unit makes me think that no one will be able to match me.

  But after witnessing Lady Amethyst win? My stomach is somersaulting.

  I knocked on Sir Greaves' office. I need to tell him.

  "Come in."

  "Father, I've changed my mind. I will lead and train Lady Amethyst."

  "Hah! Damian, I like the look in your eyes. Does this mean you will duel Lady Amethyst to test each other's strength?"

  "You really know me father. Yes, you're correct. I wanna know how strong she is."

  Greaves laughs. "Very well, my son."

  "Well then, I'll get going, sir."

  "Damian."

  "Yes, father?"

  "I told you many times not to call me father, did I? You always do that when something excites you." Roland exerted a dark and terrifying aura that made Damian apologize in a hurry and exit the office to avoid physical punishment.

  "I can't believe that punk will duel that monster."

  *After killing the basilisk.*

  I can't believe a woman could do this much. Killing a serpent as big as the tower clock is like hunting prey. Those eyes of hers, when you look at them, somehow tell a deeper and terror-stricken story that no one can fathom.

  Back to the present.

  What a monster.

  Is what I thought back then. I can see a person's deepest selves a little bit because of our tribe, but looking deep through the eyes of Lady Amethyst, it's so terrifying. It's like looking at the world itself.