The next morning, I learned something important about Princess Elara: she's a morning person.
"WAKE UP, HERO!"
I jolted awake as sunlight speared through the curtains. Elara stood over me like a fiery angel of death, fully armored, hair perfect, not a hint of sleep in her eyes.
Meanwhile, I was still tangled in my blanket burrito on the floor, drool stuck to my cheek.
"Wha—what time is it?" I croaked.
"Dawn."
"Dawn?!" I sat up in horror. "People aren't supposed to exist at dawn!"
"Training starts now." She tossed a wooden practice sword at me. It smacked me in the forehead and bounced onto the carpet.
"...I think you killed me again," I groaned, clutching my head.
She ignored me. "Get dressed. The knights are waiting."
The castle's training yard was massive, lined with dummies, sparring rings, and racks of weapons that looked way too sharp for casual practice. Rows of knights were already assembled, watching with thinly veiled amusement.
At the center stood Captain Darian, a mountain of a man with scars across his arms and a permanent scowl. He was the commander of the royal knights, and judging by the way he glared at me, he wasn't thrilled about babysitting.
"So this is the so-called Hero?" Darian growled.
I gave a nervous wave. "Hi. Please don't break me."
The knights chuckled. Elara crossed her arms, clearly enjoying my suffering already.
Captain Darian slammed his fist into his palm. "First lesson—combat! Hero, face me!"
"…Face you?" I squeaked. "Like… in combat? With my face?"
He tossed me a wooden sword. "Show me your stance."
I held it like a baseball bat.
The knights roared with laughter.
"Is he planning to hit a demon home run?"
"Maybe his blessing improves laundry swings?"
My face burned.
Elara pinched her nose. "Pathetic."
Captain Darian lunged. I screamed, swung wildly—
And missed.
But as my sword whooshed past, it clipped Darian's cape. Instantly, it was yanked clean, dust and grime exploding off it in a sparkling wave. The once-battered fabric now gleamed spotless, brighter than any knight's armor.
The entire training yard went silent.
"…What sorcery is this?" one knight whispered.
Darian blinked, looking down at his now perfectly white cape. "…It hasn't been this clean in years."
I lowered the sword slowly. "Uh. Surprise dry-cleaning service?"
The knights erupted in awe.
"He polished it mid-battle!"
"Amazing! His strikes purify filth itself!"
"Truly a divine warrior!"
I blinked. "Wait. You guys are actually impressed by this?!"
Elara ground her teeth.
After my miraculous cape-cleaning strike, the knights were convinced I was some kind of divine stylist. Elara, however, looked like she wanted to shove me into the nearest moat.
"Enough swordplay," she snapped. "Archmage Mordrel will evaluate your magical aptitude."
The old wizard shuffled forward, beard swaying like a curtain in the wind. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, well, let's see if the goddess gave you anything useful beyond detergent."
He handed me a wand. It looked fragile, carved with glowing runes.
"Point it at that target," Mordrel said, gesturing at a wooden dummy. "Channel your mana, and imagine fire."
"Fire. Got it."
I pointed the wand, closed my eyes, and concentrated. I imagined flames roaring to life. A great ball of fire. An inferno worthy of anime protagonists.
The wand sputtered.
Pfft.
A tiny spark popped out, fizzled in the air, and landed harmlessly on the grass.
The knights burst out laughing.
"Was that… a candle?"
"I've seen campfires scarier than that."
My face turned red. I tried again. And again. Each time—pfft. A spark, a fizz, maybe a little puff of smoke.
Elara covered her face with her hand. "Pathetic."
But then—
Ping.
The pizza sense.
I whipped around, wand still raised, and pointed it at a random stone oven sitting nearby. Without thinking, I shouted, "Fireball!"
This time, a massive jet of flames exploded out of the wand, blasting straight into the oven.
BOOOOM!
The ground shook. Smoke poured out. When it cleared… the oven door creaked open, revealing a perfectly baked pizza inside.
Cheese bubbling. Crust golden. Steam rising like a divine halo.
The yard went dead silent.
Mordrel dropped his staff. "By the gods…"
One knight fell to his knees. "He conjures… pizza from nothing!"
Another shouted, "It's true! He's the chosen one!"
I blinked. "Wait—did I just… cook that?"
Elara's jaw dropped for half a second before she scowled. "…Ridiculous. It was a coincidence."
The knights swarmed the oven like hungry wolves. Within seconds, they were fighting over slices, weeping at the "sacred flavor."
I just stood there, wand in hand, terrified. "…Okay. So apparently my magic only works if pizza is involved. That's… fine. Totally fine. Not weird at all."
After my miraculous cape-cleaning strike, the knights were convinced I was some kind of divine stylist. Elara, however, looked like she wanted to shove me into the nearest moat.
"Enough swordplay," she snapped. "Archmage Mordrel will evaluate your magical aptitude."
The old wizard shuffled forward, beard swaying like a curtain in the wind. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, well, let's see if the goddess gave you anything useful beyond detergent."
He handed me a wand. It looked fragile, carved with glowing runes.
"Point it at that target," Mordrel said, gesturing at a wooden dummy. "Channel your mana, and imagine fire."
"Fire. Got it."
I pointed the wand, closed my eyes, and concentrated. I imagined flames roaring to life. A great ball of fire. An inferno worthy of anime protagonists.
The wand sputtered.
Pfft.
A tiny spark popped out, fizzled in the air, and landed harmlessly on the grass.
The knights burst out laughing.
"Was that… a candle?"
"I've seen campfires scarier than that."
My face turned red. I tried again. And again. Each time—pfft. A spark, a fizz, maybe a little puff of smoke.
Elara covered her face with her hand. "Pathetic."
But then—
Ping.
The pizza sense.
I whipped around, wand still raised, and pointed it at a random stone oven sitting nearby. Without thinking, I shouted, "Fireball!"
This time, a massive jet of flames exploded out of the wand, blasting straight into the oven.
BOOOOM!
The ground shook. Smoke poured out. When it cleared… the oven door creaked open, revealing a perfectly baked pizza inside.
Cheese bubbling. Crust golden. Steam rising like a divine halo.
The yard went dead silent.
Mordrel dropped his staff. "By the gods…"
One knight fell to his knees. "He conjures… pizza from nothing!"
Another shouted, "It's true! He's the chosen one!"
I blinked. "Wait—did I just… cook that?"
Elara's jaw dropped for half a second before she scowled. "…Ridiculous. It was a coincidence."
The knights swarmed the oven like hungry wolves. Within seconds, they were fighting over slices, weeping at the "sacred flavor."
I just stood there, wand in hand, terrified. "…Okay. So apparently my magic only works if pizza is involved. That's… fine. Totally fine. Not weird at all."