The turmoil of the refugee uprising within the territory at last subsided. Though the true instigators were never uncovered, the Baron's swift and ruthless deployment of his guards—slaughtering a band of offenders and mounting their severed heads high upon the borders—was enough to quell the unrest. Gradually, the vagrants melted away into silence.
During this brief half-month of ceaseless training, Freyja's swordsmanship advanced with visible clarity.Each set of movements now flowed seamlessly, strikes precise and swift, every cut landing upon nearly the same point. Only raw strength remained somewhat lacking.
Yet no one perceived this progress more keenly than Freyja herself. Perhaps due to the remarkable malleability of her young body, she discovered that her agility and coordination had risen sharply beyond their former limits.
In secret, she had once observed the guards' sword drills. By comparison, her present speed of attack was twice that of an ordinary man-at-arms. Where another might manage a single swing, she could deflect it and immediately counter with a strike of her own. Her accuracy, sharpened by her mind's innate clarity, ensured each thrust found its mark.
Moreover, under the Baron's personal tutelage, her style had shed all unnecessary flourish—pared down to something lean, efficient, and deadly.
Though she had yet to test herself in earnest combat, Freyja was certain her strength now equaled that of a common guardsman. All she lacked was a true trial by battle.
…
A modest chamber, a writing desk by the window, and there she sat: a golden-haired girl clad in an immaculate white hunting dress. In her hands rested a thin volume, her delicate posture radiating an air of serenity.
Beside the desk leaned a wooden sword, its brown hilt worn smooth with constant use, gleaming faintly in the morning light.
This was Freyja, half a month transformed. The book she perused was a slim treatise retrieved from the castle library, titled An Analysis of Strength.
Though her power had grown, her understanding of its measure remained hazy. Thus, the discovery of this work came as a fortuitous gift.
Its contents were simple, charting the gradations of might across men. Yet between its lines, Freyja discerned a truth—of this world's brutal essence, where the human frame could be honed to staggering heights.
An ordinary man, by sword drills and toil, might at best become a competent soldier.But to transcend mortality, one must temper body and will through life-and-death trials, push beyond the flesh's frailty, and awaken latent potential. In that crucible of hardship, a faint "breath of power" would stir. By nurturing this breath, unraveling its mysteries, one could step into true strength.
To awaken such a spark was rare. Yet those who had already ascended, in pursuit of further might, devised another method: by condensing their own breath into a seed and planting it within another's body, they could guide the fledgling spark to flourish.
But this method bore strict bounds. Too young, and the body shattered under the strain; too old, and the chance was lost. After long reckoning, sages declared fifteen years to be the ideal age.
Even then, only those of sound constitution and resolute will could bear such a gift. The weak or faint-hearted could never fathom its depths.
Those who succeeded, those who grasped power beyond mortal ken, were formally named Transcendents—their professions marked by titles such as Knight or Swordsman. Above them stood yet loftier ranks: High Knights, Great Swordsmen.
At this passage, Freyja closed the book and lifted her gaze toward the verdant forest outside the window.
"By my current measure, my strength is perhaps equal to a guardsman—no more, perhaps a touch beyond. To break free of mortal shackles, I must either grind my body to its utmost limit… or accept the seed of a strong one's breath."
She understood: the stronger she grew, the higher her chance of success should such a seed be bestowed.
"Fifteen years old… Will my body be deemed worthy of such a trial?"
Within the castle, she knew, only a scant few had ever ascended to the Transcendent realm—among them, the Baron and Howard.
Rumor claimed that in the moment his breath awakened, the Baron had slain dozens of armored warriors in a single instant, and escaped unscathed. Such strength transcended mankind, entering the realm of the superhuman.
And yet, the Baron's rank remained but that of a Knight. As for the fabled High Knights, Freyja dared not even imagine their might.
"It is time I tested the limits of my own strength," she murmured, thoughtful.
…
Noon, within Green Castle's dining hall.
At the long table sat but a handful of diners. Most were absent on duties across the domain, returning only by nightfall; only those permanently stationed at the castle remained.
Today, however, the Baron was present.
Freyja, blade and fork in hand, carved a morsel of unfamiliar meat with delicate precision, all the while pondering how best to test her limits without drawing undue notice.
Lifting the piece to her lips, she chewed—and frowned lightly. The flesh was unusually firm, yet carried a trace of sweetness.
"Today's meat tastes different from usual."
"This is wild bull, brought down by the guard at dawn in the forest," the Baron replied with a faint smile. "Far superior to common cattle. Well worth the effort, don't you think?"
"So that is it. The texture is indeed excellent," Freyja said with a small nod and smile.
Because the lands bordered the great forest, the guards often seized the chance during their patrols to hunt and bring back game for the kitchens. Wild beasts made for richer fare than livestock, taut with strength and flavor.
Freyja herself had once roamed those woods often, and the memory remained vivid.
Lowering her gaze once more, she fell into thought, until suddenly she looked up at the Baron.
"Father, once the meal is done, I would like to walk in the forest."
The Baron's brow furrowed, his voice firm and brooking no refusal."Out of the question. Though the refugees have been dealt with, the forest holds dangers far beyond your strength. Have you forgotten what happened last time?"
"It will be fine, Father," Freyja interjected, her tone resolute."I shall not go far, merely circle the outskirts. If you are uneasy, you may send two guards with me."
The Baron studied her face. His daughter's determination was plain, her spirit unbending. He recalled how, once lively and restless, she had been confined for half a month. Surely her nature could endure no more. Besides, with the vagrants gone, and with guards at her side, the risk was little.
At last he inclined his head."Very well. But you must not venture deep. Within those woods dwell things even I would rather avoid."
"I understand, Father." Freyja smiled softly, bowing her head in assent.
And with that, the hall returned to its quiet, steady rhythm.