I should have known "fight me again" wasn't a request.
It was a death sentence wrapped in a smile, delivered by a girl who moved like sharpened steel in human form.
The Battle Maniac—Kaela, as I would later learn—marched me through vaulted palace corridors with the grim efficiency of an executioner. Her grip on my wrist was iron; her stride, relentless. The air inside was cool and faintly perfumed, but every step closer to our destination made my stomach feel heavier. Marble pillars flashed past in neat intervals, their shadows cutting across the polished floor like prison bars.
Behind us, the princess's laughter echoed—a delicate, chiming sound that might have been pretty if not for the way it made the hairs on my arms stand up. It followed us like a curse, getting smaller with distance but never losing its edge.
We emerged into a wide, open courtyard where the sun blazed against pale stone.
The heat struck first—a dry, punishing weight that pressed against my skin and shimmered in the air. My eyes narrowed against the glare, and for a moment, the shift from shadow to blinding light left me disoriented. Then came the scent: oiled leather, hot metal, and something earthy beneath it all—blood seeped into the flagstones over decades.
Weapon racks lined the walls, each blade catching the light like grinning teeth. A faint ringing came from somewhere—a hammer striking steel in a far-off forge—underscoring the sense that this place was made for breaking people down and reforging them.
She tossed me a practice sword.
The hilt slapped into my palm with a sting that shot up to my elbow. The weight felt wrong—too heavy, too real.
I caught it poorly and nearly dislocated my wrist.
"Pathetic," she said, drawing her own blade with a whisper of steel. Though dull, the weapon seemed alive in her grip—loose, confident, as if it were part of her body. She rolled her wrist once, casually, and the motion still made my pulse skip.
"If you die here it'll be aI'll be disappointed."
Her grin was all teeth, and there was no humor in it.
The system purred in my head:
> [New Quest: Last Five Minutes in Combat.]
Reward: +2 Strength.
Failure: Hospitalization.
"Great," I muttered. "No pressure."
My palms were already slick. The grip felt alien. Dangerous.
---
We began slowly—her circling me like a predator, eyes bright with anticipation.
The first clash sent a jolt through my arms that rattled my teeth. I blocked on pure instinct, the impact humming through my bones. The sound of metal striking metal rang in my ears.
She stepped inside my guard—close enough that I caught the scent of leather and something wilder—then hooked my ankle with her boot and swept my legs out from under me.
I hit the ground with a grunt.
The stones were merciless, jarring every bone in my spine. Above me, the sky was a cruel, perfect blue, like it was enjoying the show.
"You lasted three seconds," she said, smirking. "Cute."
Sunlight haloed her, turning stray strands of hair into copper wire.
"I'm not here to be cute."
> [Harem Affection +3: Flustered Retort Detected.]
I ignored the system. Her deepened smirk suggested she didn't.
---
Round two.
She came at me like a storm made flesh—blade flashing, boots scuffing against stone in a steady, predatory rhythm. I sidestepped, parried, and felt the shock of contact rattle my shoulders.
"You've got instincts," she murmured, voice low.
Her breath was warm against my ear, her words brushing my skin like a spark.
"Too bad you have no skill."
She drove me backward with measured strikes, each blow sending fresh tremors into my arms. By the time my heels met the wall, my shirt clung to my back, my breath came ragged, and my forearms burned.
She didn't relent. If anything, she seemed to savor my struggle—the way her eyes darkened when I barely dodged, the parting of her lips when I pushed back. Every movement was precise, but there was a flicker of playfulness in her control, like she was drawing out the inevitable.
---
By the fourth round, sweat glued my shirt to my back.
My muscles screamed, my grip ached, and my stance grew sloppy. She looked fresh as dawn, a faint sheen of sweat making her skin seem to glow in the harsh light.
On the next exchange, she hooked her foot behind mine and shoved.
The world tilted. We crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and dull steel.
I landed on my back, her straddling my waist.
The training sword rested lightly at my collarbone. Her amber eyes burned into mine, framed by a curtain of dark hair. Heat radiated from her legs where they pressed into my sides, and every nerve in my body seemed to notice.
"You lasted almost a full minute," she said—breathless, grinning.
Her thighs tightened around my hips, and the weight of her above me turned my pulse erratic.
"Better."
My mouth went dry. "Thanks…?"
She leaned close, lips brushing my ear.
"I could make you last longer."
> [Side Effect: Harem Chemistry Spike.]
Her heat was everywhere—the sword at my throat, the press of her body, the faint scent of sweat and leather in my lungs. My brain stalled somewhere between fight and… something else entirely.
Then she stood, offering her hand as if none of it had happened. I took it before I could think better of it.
---
"Name's Kaela," she said at last, wiping her blade clean with a practiced flick.
"I have the princess's permission to toy with you until she or I gets bored."
"That's… not comforting."
"Good." She sheathed her sword with a decisive click. "I don't do comfort."
> [Quest Complete: Last Five Minutes in Combat.]
[Bonus Affection: +10 from Kaela for Surviving Sparring.]
The notification glowed in my vision like an accusation.
Somehow, I'd passed.
Somehow, that felt more dangerous than failing.