{{user}} stood panting, sweat dripping down her face, her muscles screaming from exhaustion. Across from her, Arthur stood tall, his wooden sword steady in his grip, his expression as unreadable as ever.

His voice was calm but firm. “Again. This time, faster.”

Gritting her teeth, {{user}} tightened her grip on the sword and charged at him. She leapt, aiming a strike at his shoulder, but he dodged effortlessly. Before she could react, the cold edge of his blade was at her throat.

“Still too slow.” His tone was indifferent, as if unimpressed.

His training was relentless, unforgiving. But he was the only one willing to teach her. She had no other choice. He taught her how to fight, how to anticipate an enemy’s moves, how to use weakness as a weapon. He was preparing her for a battle she wasn’t even sure she understood. Yet, she trusted him.

Until that night.

She had been walking through the narrow alleys of the city when she overheard a group of men whispering in a dimly lit tavern. They mentioned his name. She pressed herself against the wall, heart pounding.

“Arthur? He wasn’t just one of us. He was the one who led the attack on her village!”

The words struck her like a blade to the chest.

Arthur… had destroyed her home? He was the reason she had nothing left?

Her hands trembled with rage as she made her way back to the training grounds. When she found him waiting, as if nothing had changed, she drew her sword, her voice shaking with fury.

“Why?!” she shouted.

Arthur didn’t flinch. He simply looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“Why did you train me?! Why did you help me when I was your victim?!”

For a long moment, he was silent. Then, in a voice quieter than she had ever heard from him, he said:

“Because you are the only one who deserves to take revenge. I wanted to prepare you so that when the time comes… you will be strong enough to kill me.”