The first class period passed in the blink of an eye, but no one seemed to care about magic formulas or elemental control theory at that moment.
It was Wednesday. The day of "Anti-Personnel Training."
And that meant one thing: direct combat between cadets.
The outdoor training ground was wide and perfectly level. Each cadet had already taken up his position against his squatters, training weapons in hand. Swords, spears, clubs and flails glistened in the morning sun, ready to echo the sound of the clash.
I said, looking at the girl standing in front of me.
Today, unlike last week, I had been paired with none other than the famous and beautiful princess of England, Rachel Elizabeth Louise.
Her long golden hair, braided to perfection, waved gently in the wind, reflecting the sunlight like strands of polished gold. It was impossible not to notice the striking contrast between the delicacy of her appearance and the firmness she exuded. Her blue eyes, clear and deep as the winter sky, were fixed on me with a silent intensity, serene, but as sharp as the steel of her blade.
The training uniform, adapted to her noble bearing, mixed shades of dark blue and pure white. The fabric molded elegantly to her body, without restricting her movements, projecting discipline and grace at the same time. The upright posture, the firm shoulders, the slightly raised chin... Rachel didn't just look ready for a fight, she seemed to belong to it, as if the field itself had been designed around her.
With her foil in hand, she took up her position. The slender, gleaming blade trembled gently at the tip, not from nervousness, but from the restrained tension of someone who is used to seeking perfection in every movement.
In that instant, she seemed not only a formidable opponent, but also a mythical vision, like a warrior out of an ancient song, sculpted in honor and fire.
'Truly befitting the title of princess.'
This thought crossed my mind before I could stop myself. There was no arrogance in her posture, no vanity. There was just the presence, strong, unwavering and silent, of someone who carried the weight of a name, of a responsibility that continually tormented her.
She didn't need to say anything. The way he held his sword, the calculated look in his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders... everything spoke for itself. Rachel Elizabeth Louise was not just a princess, she was the shield of her lineage, the heir to expectations that had never been chosen for her, but which she nonetheless carried without hesitation.
'Hah... It's hard to know these things and stand by.'
I thought to myself, feeling a bitter taste in my mouth. It was impossible to look at her and not see more than the stoic girl standing in front of me. Behind that unshakeable façade, there was a young woman who carried loneliness like an old companion, always present, even in moments of victory. A girl who learned all too soon that silence is sometimes more comforting than empty words, and that kindness, when offered by someone in her position, could be used against her like a blade in disguise.
Insensitive... With her own feelings.
That's how she learned to survive.
But that... Didn't make what she did any less admirable.
'...But it's still incredible.'
Even with all these burdens and responsibilities on her, Rachel was still a girl, who chose to try to honor her people and family in the best way possible, even if the result ended up suffocating her in the process.
Even with all these burdens, all these expectations that she probably never asked of herself, Rachel still chose to move forward. She decided, on her own, to try to be worthy of her name. Of her people. Of the crown that hangs invisibly over her head. Not out of pride, and not even out of vanity, but out of a sense of responsibility that was perhaps her greatest gift? And her greatest prison.
She could have rebelled. She could have abandoned everything. She could have chosen a lighter path.
Even if the price is the slow suffocation of what she really is, behind the mask of the strong princess. Even if it isolates her, makes her a statue among people who only see her function, not her soul.
"Good morning, Theo!"
Her voice came clearly, cutting through the sound of the wind like a delicate blade, neither warm nor cold. Just precise. Like everything Rachel did.
After this brief greeting between us, I put my thoughts of Rachel aside for the moment and prepared myself by walking a few steps to a stop while holding a sword in my right hand.
Rachel's words were brief but true, as soon as she spoke, her feet moved and she attacked me.
With a subtle displacement of air and the slight pressure of the ground beneath her feet, Rachel advanced like an arrow shot from a perfectly tensioned bow. Her foil cut through the space between us with precision, targeting my shoulder with a speed that was almost impossible to follow with the naked eye.
But I easily tilted my body to the side and rotated my wrist, raising my sword diagonally to deflect the blow.
The dry sound of clashing metal echoed softly across the field, muffled only by the wind that surrounded us.
Rachel took a step back, just enough to reposition her guard - and in the next instant, she was back at it with the same clinical speed.
Her steps were light, almost inaudible, they seemed to dance on the floor.
There was no hesitation in his movements, just fluidity. Each blow seemed part of a pre-rehearsed choreography, and I was the one accompanying her as her partner.
But despite her fluidity, I was no mere extra in this duel.
I dodged to the left, narrowly escaping a quick blow to the abdomen. I felt the wind of the foil passing too close, like a whisper of steel trying to touch me.
My feet slid along the firm ground, and my sword cut through the air in a horizontal arc.
Rachel ducked at the last moment, her golden hair spinning like a ribbon of light in the sun. She rose just as gracefully, applying a short thrust in my direction.
I raised my sword again, locking the foil inches from my chest.
The metallic sound echoed clearly, like a distant bell marking the rhythm of the fight.
I commented, pushing her blade aside.
Rachel didn't reply, but just gave a slight push backwards, stepping lightly back.
She rotated her shoulders slightly, realigning her posture. Her eyes analyzed my every move with great precision.
And then she came again.
A fast sequence. Three straight thrusts, followed by a sudden sideways blow.
"Cling! Cling! Cling! Clang!"
I defended every attack calmly, following Rachel with watchful eyes and sharp reflexes. Each of her blows was precise but predictable. My movements were fluid, my body responded like a well-calibrated machine.
That's when I saw it, an opening. Quickly, subtly, in the small instant that she moved her foil back to her guard. A perfect gap for a counter-attack.
My muscles reacted before the thought had even fully formed. I lunged forward, turning my body and preparing to strike with a natural, almost instinctive momentum.
The air whistled around my blade... and that's when I realized.
I parried the blow halfway, the metal ringing with the sudden movement. The attack, which should have been sharp and contained, became a halting, forced, almost clumsy gesture. My feet dragged on the ground to contain the momentum.
The muffled sound of friction on the ground echoed as I held the sword in the air, a few centimeters from Rachel, who didn't even blink. She understood.
I took a deep breath, taking a step back, re-establishing my stance.
'Tsk! Fighting while holding on is harder than it looks. For a moment, I thought her level was the same of the protagonist of this world.'
Rachel, without losing her composure, merely raised an eyebrow and commented in a calm voice:
"You almost hit me for real, Theo."
She knew I'd gone easy on her, but even so, she didn't seem at all unhappy about it.
I said apologetically. After all, if I had hit her, even if those swords made available for training didn't have a blade, it would have hurt her for sure.
"I know. But be careful..."
She returned to her guard position lightly, a smile almost turning her lips.