Cornwall, in the south,
A young girl dressed in a linen robe stands on the lush grass, holding a three-foot-long wooden sword, tirelessly swinging it under the faint morning light, diligently honing her swordsmanship.
Her snow-white skin gleams with a pearly luster, exuding an otherworldly beauty. Her golden hair, like molten gold from the first ray of dawn, is tied at the back in a neat knightly manner, imparting a masculine vigor that makes one overlook her original gender. Yet, two strands of hair fall gently across her forehead, hinting at her youthful innocence.
Her brows arch like a drawn sword poised to strike, while her green eyes are like an emerald forest washed by a storm, the edges of her irises flow with gold patterns, as if sealing the brilliance of a dragon's bloodline. However, a tuft of unruly golden hair atop her head flutters in the wind, betraying a hint of immature innocence that completely disrupts this aura of majesty.
