So this is what you got. After years surviving in the trenches, fighting for your life while seeing endless enemies coming up at you only for your blade to strip them of life and future, this was all you deserved.

A medal, a pat in your back, and the offer to become a royal guard instead of one more body in the war zone. Wonderful. You basically had no option but to accept.

To make it worse you'd been assigned to the captain of the royal guard for training, as if you weren't a war veteran. Leopold, judging by looks, was the person you would usually expect to die first while assaulting the enemy's base. His outfit definetely made him look more like ballet dancer than a warrior. No offense.

He'd brought you to the arena, early in the morning before breakfast while carrying a sword of his own. Now he stood, a hand on his hip as he looked you up and down while trying to find a strategy to start explaining swordfighting to you.