Blood splattered the morning dew.

A lifeless leprechaun fell to ground.

My second kill during this battle.

But something didn’t feel right.

Was I dreaming?

That question repeated itself over and over in my head, drowning all other thoughts.

After all, the sight in front of me was that unbelievable.

To my left, three mercenaries stood back to back and defended against two attacking leprechauns. Another stepped over his dead brethren and advanced toward me. Further back, the bodies of five more leprechauns filled the ground. All of them headless.

Scary. A teenage killing machine was way too scary.

Strong and independent girls who could kick your ass. It had been a viable trend in video game design, and the growing influence of anime tropes furthered the design. And why wouldn’t they? Strong and sexy was the perfect mix for hyped preorder trailers. The tantalizing gap between the ice-cold warrior and the girl who gave piggybacks to the player.

But the reality in front of my eyes was different.

Or rather, it showed the brutality the games hid behind the flashy animations.

Rhoslyn was strong. In fact, she had to be strong if she was the future commander of the moon alliance. I knew that all along. But seeing it in person increased the impact tenfold.

Just like in the game, she used a sword as her sole weapon. No secondary weapon, no shield, not even a dagger for emergencies. Her sword, her armor, and those dance-like movements were enough.

The arriving leprechaun interrupted my thoughts with a fast stab.

A dull impact sounded.

My left hand had blocked the attack with a small wooden shield. No conscious movement or deeper thought. Simple reflexes produced by hours of mindless repetition.

My right hand wielded an ax. Less mobile than a sword, but I preferred the devastating wounds it would tear. Get one hit in and just wait until the enemy bleeds out.

The leprechaun stabbed. I blocked. I swung my ax. It would dodge. It tried a feint, but I would see through it. I pushed it back with my shield. It tripped over its brethren but instantly rolled away.

This battle was different.

Last time, my mind had been all over the place. Filled with the unfamiliar stench of blood and excrements, disrupted by the screams of the wounded, and rattled by the impacts on my body.

This time my mind was clear.

So I kept my calm and used my game knowledge to prolong the exchange, waiting for my chance to deal a critical blow.

Furthermore, my body also kept up with my thoughts and sustained a lot less damage. In fact, I only received one wound on my left leg. After I had fallen from Attila’s back. Face first.

The screeching cries of death reached my left ear.

In turn, my opponent started to show the first signs of unrest.

A flurry of rushed attacks followed. None of them precarious.

Suddenly, the leprechaun’s face distorted, its nose twitching without rest. A choreographed special attack. The sign it would rush me in a suicidal attack.

But thanks to my newfound calm, countering it became child’s play.

A step forward, a push with the shield, and the stunned leprechaun hit the floor. One more swing with my right arm and a nasty wound appeared on its chest.

I stepped back for a moment, watched out for a counterattack, before I raised the number of lives I had taken to three.

The other two parties also finished their respective battles.

To my left, the three mercenaries dissolved their formation and surrounded the lone leprechaun.

And Rhoslyn continued her dance against two more leprechauns.

She should be on her back foot against higher numbers, but the dancing figure displayed her unconcern. No need to rush over and help her. She would end the fight by herself.

Watching Rhoslyn’s fight, I soon realized that her fighting style was based on mobility.

She would sidestep attacks, circle around enemies, and maneuver her enemies into a disadvantageous position. The long sword resembled more a dancing pole that anchored her to the ground than a weapon. At least, until the dance steps stopped, with all her momentum focused into one fast swing.

Another headless leprechaun fell to the ground.

Those rare attacks mesmerized the onlooker.

But more than that, they frightened me.

I had spent months in the game, using videos and guides to learn attack patterns and enemy behavior. All from the safety of my bed with no danger to my life. At most, a misstep would cause a ten minute rerun.

But this young woman achieved the same level of awareness without help.

How many bloody battles were needed to achieve this calm? How many deaths did she cause before it became second nature to her? And how much of her own blood had been shed to forge both body and mind? When each misstep would disrupt that dance and leave her wide open.

The last head hit the grass, marking the end of the ambush.

The mercenaries had killed two leprechauns. I added another three to the count. But Rhoslyn’s six even dwarfed our combined count.

Eleven leprechauns and an ambush. Enough to kill an entire caravan of recruits. But our small group was fine. In fact, the wound on my left leg was the only sign it ever happened.

There was a sheer endless gap between our groups.

“You fight better than you ride.” Rhoslyn’s relaxed voice stood in stark contrast to the scene she had left behind. Open-minded and lively. What upbringing was she hiding behind those words? “Any problems?”

“Only riding-related ones.” I presented my left leg. “One pest jumped me after Attila ran away.”

“Attila didn’t run.” Rhoslyn put force into her correction. “He got out of the way after you, um, got off his back. He was trained to give me space during my battles.”

“You dismount every time?”

“Not anymore. But it’s a lot easier for a beginner. And it’s the reason I gave him to you.” She knelt down to inspect the wound on my leg. “You are lucky it isn’t that deep. My father looked worse after each shave.”

Her father? Was he the one who had turned a little girl into a fighting machine?

I wanted to ask more, but Rhoslyn’s next sentence switched the topic. “That’s the third group of leprechauns in eight days. Will they attack soon?”

“Nobody saw a Púca so far. So it shouldn’t be an advance party.” I analyzed the scouts’ findings once more. “Those are all low-level enemies without leader. Separated and hungry sounds right. But that would also mean there is a lot bigger group out there. A group who doesn’t notice or doesn’t need every single leprechaun.”

Rhoslyn’s gaze changed when she heard my words. Distrust? Or wonderment? Not that surprising when a former farmer spouts such knowledge. But I also couldn’t disclose my sources or else she might treat me like a crazy person.

“So you think there is another group out there?”

“Not a group.” I shook my head with a sigh. “An army.”

“Then?”

“If I am right, these small groups got left behind by their scouting parties. Which would also mean that their advance parties might arrive soon. Only one or two more circles before the harvest. And maybe two or three more until snow falls.”

“So if they don’t want to starve, they’ll attack soon.”

“If they want to pillage, they’ll attack after the harvest and leave. That would be the best for us.”

“But?”

“But they had sent their first scouts half a year ago. That’s too early if they eyeball the harvest. So…” So their aim is conquest. I couldn’t finish this thought. As if saying it out loud would make it come true. The attempt to capture land needed an army strong enough to defend it afterward. An endless sea of leprechauns rushing against our small southern fortress.

“I see. We should return right away.” Rhoslyn nodded, reaching the same conclusion. It was an easy one, but it still displayed her experience. “It seems your scouts will have to move as well. No more time to train or play games.”

Our journey back home proceeded without problems.

Even my hideous riding skills improved over the last weeks and the many scouting trips I undertook with Rhoslyn and the mercenaries.

I still looked like a sandbag on top of a horse, but I kept up with their pace. Good enough for now.

The actual problem awaited us when we arrived at the southern fortress. Thea and some recruits had gathered on the outskirts and shouted at a group of mercenaries.

I didn’t understand the content, but the atmosphere was morbid. Some mercenaries clasped their weapons, ready to draw and slaughter at the drop of a hat.

Both parties soon realized our return and stopped their screaming contest, rushing our small group instead.

“What do you want this time?” The coldness of my voice surprised even me. But I had no more nerves for their nagging. Each day, there was some builder who wanted to fight. Every other day, there was a fighter who complained about something else. And Thea always used the chance to add more stuff on top of it.

We just experienced battle and I wanted nothing but a wash and some sleep. Fatal wounds or not. The sequence of riding, fighting, and more riding was enough to kill any composure I might have had for today’s issues.

“We aren’t looking for you.” Thea’s answer surprised me. “We are looking for her.”

“Me?” Rhoslyn was just as surprised when Thea’s finger pointed at her chest. “I don’t think there was anything between us?”

“Oh, but there is!” Thea took a deep breath, clenching her fists. “I challenge you to a duel.”