Transmigrated Into A Tragic Romance Fantasy – Chapter 20

༺The Gaurd has lot of work༻

 ‘Hmm’

  Adorned with her title of the Purple Knight, Rachel sat by the window under the moonlight, her deep violet hair cascading freely. 

  Once a child who loved the daylight, she now found solace in the night, her life’s trials and tribulations etching a shadow within her heart.

  “Master…”

  This afternoon.

  The sudden offer had gifted her a sleepless night.

  Rachel, her hair a mess just like her thoughts, pondered over the predicament.

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  She had never taught anyone before.

  Nor had she been formally taught.

  It began with a wooden sword begged from her father, hacking away at straw targets in the fields was her crude start.

  Not walking the path of righteousness, but surviving through unrefined combat, using any means necessary without discrimination.

  To her, Elden’s request to become a mentor was enough to keep her awake at night.

  “I never thought about taking on a disciple.”

  It was supposed to start tomorrow.

  Elden clearly had a lot to learn.

  Sometimes frustratingly so.

  However.

  Explaining what he lacked or what needed to be done to compensate was beyond her grasp.

  “Tch.”

  Even recommending a weapon to Elden, who was accustomed only to brawling, was a mystery.

  The sword, her weapon of choice, didn’t seem to suit the madman Elden appeared to be.

  Starting with a wooden sword, she had moved through a myriad of weapons: daggers, spears, axes, halberds, shields, bows, and more.

  Which among these would suit a mindless brawler…

  Regrettably, hand-to-hand combat was not Rachel’s forte.

  “Hmm…”

  With a long sigh, Rachel faced her predicament.

  Why the sudden desire for formal training, presenting such an inconvenient task to his gaurd?

  Flames licked her open palm.

  A small, violet flame danced like a mirage, a habit of hers when deep in thought.

  Based on her observations, Elden Rapellion, the madman, was likely to give up soon, unable to overcome his nature.

  A life lived lightly, unfamiliar with the concept of effort.

  Preferring debauchery over progress, indulging in short-lived pleasures through drink and dalliances, unlikely to endure the pain of growth.

  A man who didn’t respect his own parents was unlikely to accept his mentor’s scolding.

  A few failures would likely see him abandon his efforts out of pride.

  Such was the nature of Elden Rapellion.

  Although there had been inexplicable signs of change recently.

  Was this also part of that change?

  Since she never feared him, his transformation, or lack thereof, mattered little, yet it seemed to herald more troubles ahead.

  Flames continued to dance.

  Unable to end her reverie, Rachel’s mind was ablaze with memories of hacking at straw with a wooden sword.

  And then…

  “Ha, such vigorous swordplay. But perhaps holding the handle a bit lower might serve you better?”

  Her father’s gentle yet instructional gaze as he played along, making it more of a game than a lesson for a young girl, yet she would name him as her master if asked.

  That playful time was the driving force behind the birth of the Purple Knight.

  Thus, the responsibility that came with the title of “master” cluttered her mind, considering the slim chance Elden might find joy and desire in growth from her teachings.

  She had always given her all.

  Never shying away from any task for growth, braving hardships and challenges, considering them shortcuts to advancement.

  And now, in the comfort of success, she had leisurely idled away.

  A commendable fighter, naturally alert to threats, and not easily beaten due to decent combat skills.

  This had rendered her more a standby guard than an active protector, leading to frequent idleness.

  Perhaps becoming somewhat lax, it was a good opportunity to sharpen her dulled edge, making for a fine challenge.

  Extinguishing the violet flame in her palm, Rachel stood from the window and approached the mirror.

  Her slender figure was accentuated by a thin white silk dress under the moonlight, her mature curves subtly highlighted.

  Without paying much heed to the allure reflected back at her, Rachel then retired to bed.

  The next morning.

  “Sword.”

  “Axe.”

  “Bow.”

  “Spear.”

  “Dagger.”

  “Shield.”

  “Halberd.”

  Rachel, having visited the arsenal, borrowed a total of seven weapons.

  Unsure of what her student might prefer, she had gathered every type of weapon available at the rental.

  The clerk, bewildered, inquired,

  “All of these… you’re renting them all?”

  “Yes. Is there an issue?”

  “No… no. Just write down the purpose of rental here, and I’ll prepare them for you.”

  Rachel, looking down at the ledger presented by the clerk, penned down the purpose of rental.

  [Purpose: Master’s Training]

  A purpose that seemed more like a strict lesson in disguise.

  Seeing her intent, the clerk couldn’t help but worry about the daunting task ahead, watching the knight leave with her arsenal in tow.

  *

  Knock knock.

  -Come in.

  Arriving safely (?) at the cottage, Lendler opened the door after knocking and called for Rachel.

  “Rachel?”

  “Yes.”

  “The lord awaits at training ground six.”

  “Understood.”

  Rachel, having tied her hair into a bun, checked her appearance in the mirror.

  She detested being untidy.

  Always preferring shoulder-length hair for external activities, she made sure to tie it into a bun for such occasions.

  A knight’s profession demanded physical prowess, where even a split-second’s distraction could prove fatal.

  Yet, her insistence on maintaining medium-length hair represented the minimal femininity she preserved.

  Entering a male-dominated world meant sacrificing many aspects to survive, striving multiple times harder to surpass inherent weaknesses and become top-tier, often at the expense of femininity.

  For Rachel, who had forsaken such aspects, the medium-length bun was a form of attachment, or perhaps, a lingering regret.

  Having tidied her hair, Rachel approached the arranged weaponry.

  Observing, Lendler anticipated which of the seven weapons Rachel would select, curious about her recommendation for her protege.

  Clack.

  Rachel slung the spear diagonally across her back.

  Clack.

  She then strapped the halberd in the opposite diagonal direction.

  Clack.

  The bow was slung over her shoulder.

  Clack.

  An axe was secured at her left waist.

  Clack.

  A dagger was placed on her right waist.

  Clack.

  She held the round shield in her left hand.

  Clack.

  And finally, grasped the sword in her right hand.

  “…?”

  Rachel, fully armed with all seven weapons, resembled the ultimate weapon herself.

  Puzzled by Lendler’s gaze, she asked if there was an issue.

  “Ah… no. I was just wondering if you were heading to a war.”

  “Ah.”

  Realizing the oddity upon seeing her reflection, Rachel explained she had prepared everything, uncertain of her Master’s preference.

  “That’s… thorough. Be careful on your way.”

  “Yes. Then.”

  With a slight bow, Rachel headed towards the training ground where her employer awaited.

  Clank, clack, clack.

  The sound of weapons clashing echoed faintly with each step.

  *

  Clank, clack, clack.

  Amid the noisy ambiance, Rachel maintained silence, her journey marked by memories of traversing bloody battlefields, using broken swords as daggers, shattered spears as clubs, and damaged halberds as axes.

  Scattered weapons outnumbered the corpses, serving as her arsenal, leading her to master all forms of weaponry.

  A master of both sword and magic, Rachel was a warrior mage, enhancing her weapons with magic for battle.

  Clack, clank, clack.

  People around her marveled at the walking arsenal, their murmurs fading as she approached training ground six.

  Then, it happened.

  Bang!

  The door swung open, and someone stepped out from the training ground.

  “?”

  It was her Master, Elden Rapellion, seemingly in a hurry for some reason.

  Rachel, somewhat puzzled, called out to him.

  “Lord?”

  “Ah, Rachel. Let’s hurry.”

  “Where to?”

  Elden glanced back at the training ground, smiling slyly.

  A breath of relief from someone who had successfully navigated his plans.

  “Let’s skip training for today. It seems better to rest.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Zoom.

  With that, Elden briskly walked past Rachel, leaving her to gaze at his retreating figure, feeling somewhat deflated.

  She had spent the night fretting over the training set to begin today.

  Worried countless times whether she could fulfill her role as a less-than-ideal mentor.

  Debating how to explain skills acquired through real combat left her head throbbing with questions.

  Now, postponed by a day, all her worries and dilemmas seemed futile.

  “…”

  Elden, oblivious to her turmoil, seemed excited about something, jauntily making his way.

  “The weather’s nice today~”

   “…”

  “Rachel? Aren’t you coming?”

  “…I’m on my way.”

  Ultimately, Rachel had to follow Elden, leaving behind a sense of unfulfilled expectations.

  “Ah, and from tomorrow, until the Engagement Battle ends, stay by my side.”

  “Is something the matter?”

  “Unpredictable actions from villains are hard to foresee, so it’s wise to prepare.”

  …Indeed.

  That was Rachel’s silent rebuke as she followed.