Morning light spilled through the castle's courtyard like liquid gold, catching on banners and steel alike. Soldiers trained in neat formations, the clang of weapons and barked commands filling the air with disciplined rhythm.
Ren stood at the edge of it all, adjusting the new combat uniform they'd given him. It felt strange — snug, protective, real. Back home, his "gear" had been worn sneakers and hand wraps that smelled like old sweat. Now he looked like someone who belonged on a battlefield.
Captain Darian approached, his crimson plume swaying lightly in the breeze. "Hero," he greeted with a respectful nod. "Today, you'll be introduced to several key figures in the Royal Order. Consider this your first step toward integration."
"Sounds fancy," Ren muttered.
"It is," Darian replied with the faintest hint of amusement. "Follow me."
They crossed the training grounds to a shaded archway where a group of soldiers was sparring. One figure immediately stood out — not because of size, but because of how she moved.
She was fast. Precise. Her sword carved through the air like a ribbon, intercepting every strike from her partner with fluid grace. She wasn't relying on brute strength like the others. Her movements had rhythm — a dancer's footwork blended with a warrior's intent.
She finished the match with a sudden twist, disarming her opponent and pressing the tip of her blade to his throat before he even realized what had happened. The onlookers clapped, some cheering her name.
"Lira," Darian called out. "Over here."
She turned toward them, pushing a strand of chestnut hair from her face. Her eyes — sharp and sky-blue — locked onto Ren's. For a heartbeat, he felt a jolt he couldn't explain. Not romantic, not yet. Just… awareness. Like two fighters recognizing something familiar in each other.
She sheathed her blade and approached. Up close, Ren noticed the faint scars on her forearms, the confident way she carried herself, and the disciplined nod she gave Darian.
"Captain," she said, voice clear and firm.
"This is Ren Takahiro," Darian introduced. "The summoned Hero. Ren, this is Lira Aveline — lieutenant of the Royal Guard, and one of our most skilled swordswomen."
Ren raised a brow. "You fight well," he said simply.
Lira crossed her arms. "And you… fight strangely," she replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Word travels fast. I heard you beat two of our knights yesterday — without a weapon."
Ren shrugged. "Don't need one."
She tilted her head, intrigued but not impressed. "Then let's see how long you last against someone who knows what they're doing."
Darian chuckled. "Lira… you never change. But perhaps a friendly spar wouldn't hurt."
They moved to an empty circle near the courtyard's center. Soldiers began to gather, whispering with excitement. The "Hero" versus the lieutenant — it wasn't every day they got to see something like this.
Lira drew her sword, holding it with practiced ease. Ren rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and gave her a half-grin.
"Don't hold back," he said.
"I never do," she answered.
The whistle blew.
Lira darted forward, a blur of steel and sunlight. Her blade slashed in quick arcs, testing him. Ren weaved through them, barely dodging — no fancy technique, just raw reflexes honed from alley fights and instinct. He countered with a jab to her wrist, forcing her back a step.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Fast," she murmured.
She changed tactics, feinting left and striking low. Ren blocked with his forearm, sparks flaring as the blade scraped against the steel reinforcement on his uniform. He responded with a quick hook that nearly caught her jaw — she dodged by a hair's breadth.
The soldiers roared with excitement. This wasn't a one-sided duel — it was a clash of two completely different styles.
Ren's brawler instincts met Lira's disciplined swordsmanship in a rhythm neither had experienced before. It was rough and elegant all at once — like fire against water.
Eventually, Darian called it. "Enough! This is just a spar."
Both stepped back, breathing hard but smiling — Ren more openly, Lira in a restrained, soldier's way.
"You're reckless," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "But you read my movements faster than I expected."
"You're good," Ren replied. "Like… annoyingly good."
For the first time, she laughed — a light, clear sound that caught him off guard.
"Welcome to the Order, Hero," she said, offering her hand.
Ren took it, their grips firm. Neither of them knew it yet, but something had quietly sparked in that courtyard — not love at first sight, but the beginning of a bond forged through sweat, steel, and challenge.
Three days later, Ren stood at the castle gates beneath the morning sun, the chill of early dawn biting at his skin. He tightened the straps on his forearm guards and adjusted the belt of his uniform. His pulse quickened — not with fear, but with that restless energy that always came before a fight.
Darian approached on horseback, his crimson cape draped over polished armor. "Hero," he called, reining in his horse beside Ren. "How do you feel?"
Ren rolled his shoulders. "Like I've been stuck in drills for too long. I'm ready to hit something."
The captain chuckled. "Good. You'll get your chance. A village north of the capital has been under repeated raids by a small orc warband. We're sending a squad to investigate and eliminate the threat."
He gestured toward a small formation of soldiers preparing to leave — among them was Lira, tightening the straps on her sword scabbard. When she noticed Ren looking, she raised a brow as if to say, Try to keep up.
Darian continued, "Normally this would be routine for the guard, but the king wants to see what the 'Hero' can do in real combat. Consider this your first mission."
Ren smirked. "Finally."
The journey north took half a day by horseback. The fields gave way to forests, and the cobblestone road grew narrower until it was little more than a dirt trail through the trees. Birds fell silent as they neared the outskirts of the village — a bad sign.
Ren dismounted, scanning the treeline. His instincts prickled.
The village itself was small — thatched roofs, wooden fences, a central well. But several houses were scorched, and crude spears had been jammed into the ground like trophies.
A trembling villager approached the squad. "T-thank the Light you came," he stammered. "They come at night… smash the gates, take our livestock, anyone who resists…" His voice broke. "Please… help us."
Darian nodded solemnly. "We'll drive them back."
He turned to Ren. "This is where theory ends. We'll set up an ambush tonight. Orcs are strong, but they're not subtle. We use their aggression against them. You'll fight with the vanguard."
Ren cracked his knuckles. "Sounds good to me."
Night fell like a heavy curtain.
The soldiers hid in strategic positions along the main path to the village — behind fences, rooftops, and trees. Ren crouched at the center, just behind the main gate. Lira was beside him, sword drawn, her face calm and focused.
"You've fought humans," she whispered. "But orcs are different. Stronger. Wilder. Don't get cocky."
Ren grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."
The distant sound of guttural chanting broke the stillness. Then came the stomping — a steady, thunderous rhythm. Figures emerged from the darkness: a dozen orcs, hulking and broad, their greenish skin glinting in the torchlight. They wore crude armor and carried axes the size of Ren's torso.
The lead orc roared, raising his weapon. "RAAAID!"
They charged.
The gate exploded inward under their weight — and the ambush sprang. Arrows rained down from rooftops, soldiers surged forward with shields raised. Ren darted into the fray like a bullet, meeting the first orc head-on.
The orc swung a massive club downward. Ren sidestepped, grabbed its wrist, and drove his fist into the creature's ribs with a booming impact. A ripple of golden energy flared from his knuckles — the Soul Gauntlets responding instinctively.
The orc staggered, coughing blood. Ren followed with a spinning hook to the jaw that sent the beast crashing into a fence.
Another charged from the side. Ren ducked low, slid under its swing, and unleashed a barrage of punches to its abdomen — Iron Fang Combo — each hit louder than the last. The orc crumpled before it even hit the ground.
Across the battlefield, Lira danced through her opponents like a storm, blade flashing. Ren caught glimpses of her movements — clean, efficient, beautiful in their precision.
He didn't have time to watch for long. Two more orcs came at him together. He planted his foot, drove a Groundbreakerpunch into the dirt, and the shockwave rippled outward, tripping them both off their feet. He dove into the gap and finished them with brutal efficiency.
The soldiers held their formation, the archers thinned the numbers, and Ren carved through the frontline like a force of nature.
Within minutes, the raid turned into a rout. The surviving orcs fled back into the woods, howling in frustration. The soldiers cheered as the villagers emerged from their homes, crying in relief.
After the skirmish, Ren stood near the well, breathing hard, knuckles throbbing but alive. Lira approached, wiping blood from her blade.
"Not bad, Hero," she said, a small smile forming. "You fight like chaos itself. But effective chaos."
Ren smirked. "I'll take that."
Darian joined them, nodding in approval. "The king will hear of this. For a first mission… you've done well."
Ren glanced out toward the dark forest. The thrill of the fight still pulsed in his veins, but beneath it was something else — satisfaction.
For the first time, he wasn't fighting for scraps in a back alley. He was protecting. And it felt damn good.