Chapter 23: Book 2 Chapter 01: Morning Practice

Joan stepped just out of reach, narrowly avoiding the training blade of her opponent. Wendalin, one of the few guards who had been assigned to her, pulled back and into a defensive stance the moment the blade missed its target.

Joan’s lungs burned and her body ached, but it was a good ache. Reinforcing her body with her magic did allow her to keep up with the normally stronger and faster woman. More importantly, she was finding that the more she practiced, the better she was getting at understanding where her capabilities truly lay. Finding where her new limits were and what she could do. She was certainly living up to her reputation as a ‘prodigy’, though she couldn’t help but occasionally wonder how they would feel if they knew the ‘prodigy’ had more experience with the blade than most of the castle guards put together.

A loud clang of metal against metal made Joan’s smile waver slightly though. She glanced out of the corner of her eyes at one of the other groups practicing. Searle was training with three soldiers, two using spears while the last used a sword and shield. Even then, with the odds stacked against him, he had already tired out six soldiers and had been practicing for hours before she’d even come down here.

Joan felt another painful stab in her heart, the memories of her past life’s training sessions filling her mind. The days when she would wake up, choke down something then she and Hardwin would come out and fight until just before the sun set. Making the gathered soldiers watch with awe at her endurance and power. When she had been the hero.

“Joan, focus!” Wendalin said before charging.

Joan didn’t even fully look at the woman, her body moving on instinct. With three quick flicks of her wrist and a step forward, she knocked the blade aside, stepped in to hit Wendalin just above the wrist, jarring the woman’s hand for a moment before the third strike hit just below the wrist, making her drop her sword.

There was light snickering from the weaponsmaster, Friedrich. “Perhaps you should focus as well, Wendalin,” he said.

Joan glanced back towards the woman and gave a small smile. “Sorry. Just because I’m not looking at you doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention,” she said as politely as she could, though she doubted it helped dull the embarrassment for the woman. After all, to Wendalin she was nothing more than another child, albeit a talented one.

She didn’t know that Joan had lived a thousand different lives as a ‘hero’, one who had fought across a thousand battles each, at least. One who was used to fighting dozens of people at once. She gave another wistful glance to Searle, her lips tightening into a small frown.

“Very well, reset and let’s try again,” Wendalin said. “I hope you realize if you keep looking at him like that, he’s bound to eventually notice.”

“Notice what?” Joan asked, once more deflecting the other woman’s strikes, using the flat of her blade to try and keep them from getting close while she waited for an opening. She would have been more frustrated by the shorter reach she had, if she hadn’t fought so many trolls and other monsters that had many times her reach in the past. She honestly found the lack of physical strength to be far more annoying.

“Your crush on the boy,” Wendalin said.

Joan couldn’t help it, she actually burst into laughter at that. The laughter died a moment later when she realized the woman wasn’t joking. “You’re serious?”

“I mean, I’ve seen the way you look at him, he--”

“If anything, I have a crush on his shield,” Joan said with another light snort, trying to stop herself from laughing too hard, lest she miss a parry.

Wendalin shook her head. “I see, well, there’s no issue with a little crush here or there. Why, when I was your age I had a--”

“Are you just going to assume I have one regardless of what I say?” Joan asked, her tone quickly turning to annoyance. “Searle is my friend and nothing more,” she said flatly. She then stepped in and, with three quick strikes, disarmed the other woman and moved the tip of the practice blade to her throat. Though once she pulled the blade back she did consider such a thought for a moment.

Joan glanced to Searle. Across her many, many lives she had romantic relationships with almost all of the chosen, of varying levels. All except for Searle. They’d all appealed to her, depending on the kind of person she had been. But he never had. He’d always been an aside, someone she’d ignored until he either died or tried to kill her. He’d also been the youngest and one she had dismissed out of hand often.

She parried the blade of Wendalin’s a few more times, stepping back quickly. “If you weren’t such a prodigy, this would be quite humiliating,” Wendalin said, her voice holding a sharp edge to it.

“What?” Joan asked, glancing back to her.

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Sorry,” Joan said again, focusing on the woman. While she had to admit she was allowing her mind to wander, the fact was the other woman’s movements were predictable by now. Every twitch and movement she had seen so many times before that she often knew where the next strike would come seconds before Wendalin did. The more they trained against each other, the easier it was to compare the woman’s tells to those lifetimes of experience.

But the fights still helped so incredibly much. Because her body still had to grow before she could--

Joan froze. She could feel it, an ice cold chill washing over her very soul. She whipped around, every instinct she had screaming that something was coming and that she had to be ready to deal with it now.

It lasted only a moment before disappearing, but she was rewarded by her distraction by a sudden strike to the back. She glanced back at Wendalin, the guard’s face slightly scrunched up in confusion. “Lady Joan?” she asked softly, pulling the sword back. “What’s wrong? I don’t think I’ve seen you that pale in a while.”

“What?” Joan asked, before looking down at her hands. They were shaking. Could they really not feel that? She looked around, but nobody seemed to have noticed anything at all wrong. Was it all her imagination? A warning from her past lives as the hero? Was it something else entirely? Was her mind slipping in some way?

“I think I’m done for now,” Joan finally said. As much as she wanted to deny it, she was exhausted. Her magic was spent and her muscles were sore. If she pushed herself too hard again she would likely end up collapsing into another week of being sick.

Maybe that was it. Was that ‘feeling’ a sign that she was exhausting herself too much? Perhaps it was her own fear that if she got too weak, she’d die? Or not be able to deal with the threats coming? Or was it something else entirely?

Joan glanced around for a moment before, very softly, spending what little remained of her magic to cast a silent spell to try and sense if there was anything scrying on her. She couldn’t feel anything, though. But if she was entirely honest with herself, she wasn’t certain if the spell had even gone off at all. It was a depressing thought that her magic was now so weak that even something like that might possibly be beyond her. For a moment she wondered if she had enough magic left that she could try and force a more powerful spell.

She quickly shook her head and reached up, rubbing her right arm. Memories of burning herself out with her own magic flooded to her mind. She wasn’t the hero anymore, she couldn’t push herself to that breaking point and then expect to keep going. “Thank you,” she said as politely as she could to Wendalin, giving a small bow of her head to the woman.

Wendalin gave a soft sigh. “Honestly, I felt more like your sparring post than your opponent,” she said. “I wish I had your talent. Here, I’ll put them away.” She said before walking forward to take the practice blade. She then turned and walked off, stopping in front of Friedrich and the two began to whisper amongst themselves.

Joan tried to avoid rolling her eyes and instead walked to the edge of the training field, leaning against the fence. They had to know that she knew they were talking about her, she wished they’d just tell her to her face what they were thinking. She slowly lifted up her hand and clenched it, feeling the soreness within.

A frustrated frown formed on her lips. She knew, logically, that it was a good time to rest. She had only the barest amount of magic left and she was, physically, exhausted. But she had felt this way plenty of times across her lives and still been able to go for hours. Still been able to push forward despite everything she’d been through. There had even been times that she had been like this, cut and bloody from a dozen different holes or impaled through the chest and still managed to fight off a veritable army. Now if she tried to do that her body would end up making her rest, whether she liked it or not.

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The world had always felt so weak and easy to break, now she was just as easily broken and she couldn’t imagine how normal people could live like this. Well, no, she supposed she could, not everyone had to save the world.

“You’ll get stronger,” Joan whispered to herself. Logically she knew she would. Even now she knew her limits were increasing gradually. Her capabilities, her endurance, even her magical power was getting stronger the more she practiced.

But it didn’t feel like enough when Joan went from a pebble to a slightly bigger pebble, after having lived so long as a mountain. How was she going to save the world like this?

“You know, if I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t believe it,” a voice said, making her jump and glance back towards the source.

The dark beard, the slightly wrinkled face and the dark green garments told her exactly who he was. Ywain Remesy, first blade of Lord Palkin. One of the queen’s frequent visitors, though she hadn’t known he was returning today. “Believe what?” Joan asked.

“That you really did live up to the stories they’ve been telling. I must say, I’ve never seen one of your age move like that. A part of me wonders if Friedrich has been holding out on me,” Ywain said with a small, cheeky grin.

Joan shrugged, not really sure what to say to that. It was kind of hard to explain that she had spent a few thousand years practicing with some of the greatest weaponsmasters the world had, not to mention more years of experience and fighting than he could ever imagine. “Just wait until I’m older,” she said. She couldn’t help feeling a little tense. The first, and last, time the two had met he had tried to kill her. Granted, he had apologized for mistaking her for an attempted assassin, but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy around him. Something about him always nagged at her mind, pushing and prodding as if she had forgotten something important. If she still couldn’t put it together, then she hoped it wasn’t that important.

“I am happy I got to see you today, however,” Ywain said. “I brought you a gift. Please, when you have a chance come by my room later.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, though she tried to stop herself from seeming too suspicious. “A gift?”

“Indeed. Now, I don’t think her highness would necessarily approve, but after seeing you fight, I’m certain you’d put it to good use.”

Joan paused for a moment before her eyes went wide. Did he mean a weapon? She felt a small quiver of excitement at that thought. Due to how much time she had spent recovering and in a rush, she had never had a chance to replace the sword she had lost. Unfortunately as she was currently being kept in the castle grounds until the return of Hardwin, the chosen of the sword and her caretaker, she’d had no opportunity to replace it. The queen certainly seemed to have no intention of allowing her to be armed.

Probably because they all suspected if she were to have a proper weapon she’d have left the castle at the first chance in order to do something reckless. Yes, she imagined they were probably right but she’d never openly admit it to them. They treated her enough like a child as it was.

“I’ll come by after I’ve cleaned up,” Joan said. He gave her a small nod before turning and walking away. She watched him for a few moments before turning back towards Wendalin. Now that she had a moment to think about it, she hadn’t even noticed he was there until he announced himself. She wondered if she was more tired than she thought. It was disheartening for her to realize that, most likely, she was. She glanced down at herself and felt another wave of annoyance wash over at how weak she was.

When she’d made this agreement with the three sisters, she had never suspected just how delicate normal people were. She wondered if she would have still made the choice if she knew then what she knew now?

Joan shook her head and tried to shove those thoughts away. It was too late for that, anyway. She had to focus on what was, not what had been. She couldn’t go back either way, so she had to do whatever she could do not to ensure this time she succeeded.

“I saw you speaking with the First Blade,” Wendalin said, making Joan glance up at the approaching woman. “What about?”

“We were just talking about my practice,” Joan said, quickly deciding not to tell the woman what else was said. In the end, Wendalin served the queen. If there was even a hint of Joan getting a proper weapon she suspected the queen would know within the hour. “He offered me some tips.”

“Really? You must have made quite the impression,” Wendalin said with a small smile. “He’s not known for talking to many here, aside from those he is required. I can’t say I’m surprised he’s here, though. Lord Palkin will want any bit of news he can get about the prince.”

“What about the prince?” Joan asked.

Wendalin paused for a moment before eyeing her. “You haven’t heard? Surely the queen or king has mentioned it during your meals?”

Joan shook her head. While it was true that she was often eating meals with the royal family, they often didn’t talk much. To be entirely honest, it always felt like a rather uncomfortable and awkward affair. She always felt like the king was waiting for her to slip up and the queen was trying not to push her too hard lest she try to escape. “Mentioned what?”

“Prince Garbert will be returning from the front lines within a few days. This should be your first time meeting the prince, correct?” Wendalin asked.

Joan barely suppressed the urge to say that she had met him a thousand times already, before nodding. “I’ve never met him before, though I think I’ve seen them. Prince Garbert is the oldest and is monitoring the front lines, correct? Prince Quincy is the spare and currently with the elves and the youngest is Prince Marion who is with the dwarves?” she asked.

Wendalin froze, her eyes going wide and she stared at her as if she had just grown another head. “How did you know that?”

“Know what?” Joan asked.

“Where the princes are?” Wendalin asked, her hand moving down to grip Joan’s shoulder in a rather fierce grip.

Joan opened her mouth to answer, before freezing. Now that she thought about it, nobody had said anything about them or their locations since her arrival. She’d been privy to that information as the Hero, but even then she only knew about that because she had been required to aid them at some point. Had it been information that was kept silent? She mentally cursed herself for her stupidity. “Lord Hardwin told me,” she said quickly. “Prince Marion had appeared in my vision.”

Wendalin paused for a moment before, finally, letting her shoulder go and walking again. It seemed she accepted the answer at least.

Joan rolled her eyes and walked a little behind the other woman. She didn’t see why it was a big deal. Three children, three kingdoms. It made sense to send one to each of them. After all, it--

Her eyes widened when she realized why. In case one of the kingdoms fell, there would still be members of the royal family remaining. Some semblance that they had existed. No, not just that. If what the queen had told her before was true, each ruler had married and had children with the greatest warriors, mages and adventurers that their kingdom produced. The princes wouldn’t just be royalty, should any of the kingdoms fall they could very well be the only symbol through which they could rally behind.

Joan felt a small bit of nausea wash over her and, once again, she let out a silent prayer to the heavens to grant her success in her attempts to fix all that she had ruined. She had to succeed here, everything and everyone was depending on her.