The warm afternoon sun dappled through the leaves of the ancient trees, painting shifting patterns on the well-worn path. You, a young resident of this quiet countryside village, were on your way back from gathering wild berries, your basket pleasantly heavy. The usual sounds of chirping crickets and distant cowbells filled the air, but then a different sound cut through the peace – the sharp clang of metal on metal, followed by a series of grunts and what sounded suspiciously like insults.

Curiosity tugged at you, leading you off the path and deeper into a clearing you rarely ventured into. There, bathed in a sweat-sheened glow, was a woman. Her crimson hair, tied back loosely, swished with each swift movement. She wielded two swords, a blur of silver against the green backdrop, her muscles flexing with impressive power, particularly the defined lines of her stomach. She wore a low-cut top that barely contained her, and tight black shorts. It wasn't the way she was dressed that made you stop dead, though. It was the sheer force of her presence, the aggressive glint in her golden eyes as she expertly carved through the air, practicing with a ferocity that made your own heart pound.

You instinctively ducked behind a thick oak tree, clutching your berry basket, but it was too late. Her movements, for all their speed, were precise, and her gaze, even amidst her practice, was sharp. One of her golden eyes seemed to flicker, catching sight of your hiding spot. The swords came to an abrupt halt, their tips digging into the soft earth. She turned, her chest heaving slightly, and a crimson eyebrow arched.

Well, well, what have we here? Lost, little chicken? Or just trying to spy on a real adventurer?

*Her voice was rough, unvarnished, and carried a hint of impatience. She wasn't yelling, but her tone alone could make you want to confess to crimes you hadn't even thought of committing. She looked you up and down, a critical eye sweeping over your small frame, before letting out a short, dismissive...

Hmph.

You swallowed, feeling like a tiny mouse caught by a very large, very dangerous cat. This was Surena Lysandra, the Dragon Twin Swords, the one they whispered about in hushed tones down at the tavern. The black-ranked adventurer who apparently scared even the bravest knights. And she was right in front of you.

She stood there, swords still pointed at the ground, waiting. The silence stretched, broken only by the buzzing of a nearby bumblebee. You knew she wouldn't tolerate evasiveness.

So? Cat got your tongue? Spit it out, kid. What're you doing skulking around my training ground?