Learning to ride a horse came easy to Anemone. After a couple of minutes, she could already keep up with Kinler traveling on the roads of Soucrest. As nighttime approached, the sun kept slipping closer and closer to the western edge of the horizon.

Normally, Anemone would despise spending so much time sitting. She remembered how miserable she’d been sitting in the carriages to and from Dormoor, and she wished she could walk anywhere and everywhere instead. But riding a horse felt different from being pulled by one, cramped in a closed-off wooden box. Anemone could look around and see, breathe in the cold, fresh air.

Mary—the name of the mare she rode—felt like an extension of her legs. If they had to turn, Anemone loosened her leg on whatever side she wanted to go, and Mary would take her there.

Kinler was next to her, riding his horse. He seemed solemn on their journey, quiet and reserved. Few words of his ever came up, but when he did decide to speak, he asked questions about Dork and Anemone’s past. She answered as honestly as she could, telling him everything of note. And unlike Calace or Ranun, it didn’t seem like he pitied her for it. He had simply nodded and let it be.

I was never supposed to matter, Anemone thought. Her hands grasped the saddle below her, and her fingers dug into Mary’s fur. Yet everyone acts as if I do.

And I keep mattering for different reasons…

She had her fighting skills in the beast camps, her black, animated blood when serving Aidan, and now… she was taken care of for no reason. At least, none she could understand.

What did they want from her? There had to be something eventually, right?

Her blood was an apparent want. But even then, Ranun had offered her an out from such a life on her first day in Soucrest. Why was it again that she declined it?

“You see the town ahead?” Kinler asked, catching Anemone off guard.

Anemone looked up from Mary’s long neck and saw a town in the distance. The road waved from right to left, but the entire path stretched down their sight. The fields around them were green, beautifully colored. Deer hopped in the distance as forests started forming up north, cutting off the wide-open plains common to Soucrest.

The town before her was small, a fifth of the size of Falcon Hill, with Shorter buildings. The perimeter was without the tall mythstone walls as well, using chain-link fences wrapping around the city. Not even a gate secured the entrance, allowing open and free passage.

She noticed a few lone homes off a couple of miles outside the town. The land near those houses had different looking fields; one was more yellow like pasta, while the other had what looked like rows of orange braids emerging from the ground.

As they twisted and turned their way into the city, the town folk waved a greeting. The town sign greeted them with “Welcome to Noltown.” Kinler stopped and asked one of the town guards for directions to a place called a “battle-inn.”

The guard pointed down the road and said to go straight until his fourth turn next to a corner bakery.

Kinler flipped a gold coin, and the man caught it in his hands, grinning with delight. Kinler nodded, and with Anemone, they continued forward.

They went down brick-paved roads like both Ryuso and Falcon Hill. Horses rode by, but they were less cluttered together than what was typical for Falcon Hill. Noltown was an overall quieter place to be.

And Anemone liked that. It made her feel a kind of peace that the big cities couldn’t provide. It was like back home in Dork, only nobody here cared for her eyes. She could be invisible here.

They reached the inn Kinler sought, and they brought their horses to a stable posted right outside the three-story building. Bringing Mary in, Anemone vaulted off to the hay-covered floor. Kinler handed Anemone a cylindrical treat to give Mary.

Mary neighed, accepting it. She turned her head to the side and whipped it up, catching Anemone off guard. It wasn’t hard, but Mary kept her head there, then twisted her muzzle right above Anemone’s nose.

Does this feeling have a name? Anemone thought. It felt warm, reminding her of when Calace hugged her before departing. Unsure, Anemone petted Mary on the neck, and she sunk her head back down.

“Looks like she likes you,” Kinler said. Anemone turned to him. Kinler was on the ground, pulling his bags off the side of the horse’s saddle.

Anemone copied him, taking off her bags. The heavier one had her armor, the lighter one her clothes. With both of them in her hands, she readied herself. With the stable locked and secure, Kinler and Anemone moved to the inn's front door.

At the desk inside, Kinler purchased a night’s stay for the both of them and the two horses. She figured it wasn’t free for them to stay over for the night, but she didn’t know the horses needed to be paid for as well. Once the transaction finished, Kinler nodded to the receptionist.

“Oh, and is the recreational room open for practice?” Kinler asked.

“Yes sir,” the receptionist nodded with a smile.

“Is it open all night?”

She nodded again. “Twenty-four-seven.”

Kinler looked to Anemone. “You want to train?”

Anemone nodded in a heartbeat. She liked the ride here, but her body felt sore, starved for action. Her current state was a whole other tired than she wanted to be, boredom instead of exhaustion. It was still too early to go to bed.

“Well, let’s drop our bags in our room. Once you change into your armor, we’ll start.”

About ten minutes later, Anemone fitted herself in her armor and was ready to go. They entered a lit room, though the light came out a little duller through half-transparent glass panes. There were thousands of small square tiles on the wall, each with a slightly different shade of light emitting from behind, with the primary light sources easy to recognize by where the tiles were brightest.

Anemone was in her armor, but Kinler wore the same white uniform he wore the entire day. Was he unafraid of her capabilities? Did he think she was beneath him?

I’ve been here before, Anemone thought, glaring at Kinler as if he genuinely did underestimate her. And I’ve proved more than once how good I really am.

“Do you have your sword?” Kinler asked. He pulled out his. It was a heavier blade than Anemone’s; one Kinler could lift with one hand but looked more comfortable holding it with two. The hilt especially was long with a large crossguard bent slightly up toward the blade. And at the bottom of a hilt was… a Soulgem? A large one, too, similar in size to the one Cyril implanted in her. It screwed into the pommel, and the pink Gem itself matched the size of the hilt. What did the Soulgem do to the blade? Blades didn’t have blood to turn black.

Anemone nodded. She drew it from around her waist, satisfied by the sound of the metal grinding on the sheath.

Kinler frowned. “Gelguard it.”

“Yours isn’t guarded,” Anemone noted.

Kinler sighed. He walked up in a confident stride, closing the distance between them. He crossed the sword to his left, then whipped his wrist, bringing the blade in a fierce swoop. The tip whizzed only a few centimeters away from her throat. She felt the wind of the strike, but the metal never breached her skin.

Anemone froze in place, paralyzed. Her eyes moved before her body, peeking left to see Kinler’s sword tucked to his side. The tip so close to cutting her throat held only an inch up above the floor.

“Until you can do that with confidence,” Kinler said. “I won’t trust you swinging your sword without one in practice. There are reasons laws prohibited children from purchasing swords—they always end up cutting themselves in the shins. Now, put on the gelguard.”

Anemone nodded, pulling her gelguard tucked into her belt. The gel substance preserved the sharpness of the blade but softened it while it was on. It took a lot of force to claw through the gel. Even if their blades collided, his sword would halt to the stern friction the gel mold provided.

“Now, are you ready?”

Anemone nodded, clipping the bottom of the gel around the back to the dull side of her blade.

“Good, now, charge me. Try to land a strike on me, and I’ll play to decline your every attempt. I’ll stay stationary; my left foot, in particular, won’t move other than to pivot.”

Anemone grinned. “That’s why you wanted my sword gelguarded, huh? Afraid I would kill you otherwise?”

Kinler smiled back. “Oh, that’s exactly how good I wish you were. But unfortunately, that is yet to be reality. Now come, while you waste words, you waste energy.”

Anemon kept her smile, lifting her sword with the same familiar joy she got whenever she had to prove herself. This was, however, still strange for her. Ranun had never gone as far as to have her aim the sword in his direction, nor did he aim his sword back at her. This already felt intense.

She crept forward, assuring herself she could do it every step. She paused, measuring his sword as if it were an extension of his arm, calculating the distance she could enter before it got dangerous.

Kinler stood straight. His body looked like a statue as Anemone approached.

Anemone had faced beasts in fights similar to this one, at least in how he acted. They couldn’t innovate, so they had her make a move instead. The trick she used…

She strafed right, faking a thrust up to his chest. In fist-fights, she did a body turning backward swipe of her arm, usually with a free opening to their head. As soon as Kinler lifted his sword to fend off the fake strike, Anemone crouched down, twisted her body, and swung across her body with her sword, sending her blade with a motion towards his shins.

Kinler—on the same motion he used to fend off the fake strike—swung down like a clock’s hand. The impact of blades shivered Anemone’s grip before the vibrations turned to pain, and her sword launched out of her grip and spun across the floor until it crashed into the corner wall.

Anemone looked up at Kinler, who simply grinned at his victory. “Clever moves,” he said. “You’re an entertaining one. But be warned, while that move looked cool, it sounded cool, but all that information came from your head. You want to know what my head was saying? It said, ‘If I weren’t playing to block her attacks, I would just stab her while she’s undefended on the ground.’”

Anemone frowned, standing up, walking back until she could pick her sword back up, maintaining eye contact. Kinler wouldn’t go easy on her, despite all the handicaps he gave himself. With his sword back to his side, and Anemone pointing her own, she readied herself to go again.

She charged, this time going fast, going for a simple thrust move.

Kinler blocked with the face of his blade, using it as a shield against her tip. Gel struck metal like a flick of the finger, the tiniest hint of vibration.

Anemone retreated. For now, the only victory she could get was holding onto her sword. Again, she pushed forward, swinging up across her body, but Kinler would block. And they wouldn’t even be clashing blocks. He would simply hold his sword steady, and her sword came forward like a gold coin bouncing off of a wall.

Every. Single. Strike.

Kinler slashed, catching Anemone off guard. Her sword broke out of her hand and flung into the air behind Kinler’s shoulder. He snagged it by the hilt behind his back, giving a smug look as he had his eyes on Anemone the entire time. He tossed her her sword back.

“Tell you what,” Kinler said. “If you can strike me once, I’ll buy your dinner tonight.”

Anemone frowned. “I thought you were already buying me dinner…”

Kinler frowned. “And why would I waste my coins?”

Anemone grunted. Now he made it real. She had no other choice but to win. Was it because of what she mentioned earlier on the road, how she once had to fight for her food? It was one of her greatest motivators. Obstacles were another. Right now, Kinler was one of them while threatening to take away another.

She pressed further, swinging, this time with faster but more wild strokes. They worked off the bat, allowing her to get more potential hits to begin with, but Kinler eventually countered with a deflecting blow. Again, her sword flew out of her hands.

“My oh my,” Kinler said. “I know you like food and all, but to have butter on your hands while we fight is a whole ‘nother level.”

Anemone looked at her hands. All she saw was bruises forming, showing Kinler her palms. “I don’t see any butter.”

Kinler laughed, but for what for, Anemone had no clue.

“What’s the recurring problem you’re facing? The one thing that always loses you the duel no matter what?”

Anemone lowered her brow. She thought about it. Was she not fast enough? Perhaps her strikes were too weak, but how did she fix that? Or was it something else… “Oh!” Anemone said. “I’m losing the grip of my sword.”

Kinler nodded. He brought his sword out in one hand, the Soulgem on the bottom of his blade faced down while the blade pointed up. “Hold your sword like this.”

Anemone replicated.

“Hold it like you normally do,” Kinler said. He moved his sword, tapping along the sides, checking the sturdiness of her blade. Under light pressure, her sword wobbled. “Ah, that’s your problem. Your grip is simply too lax.”

“Is that bad?”

“Depends on what you consider to be bad,” Kinler said. “A loose grip is easier to solve than a stern grip that breaks easily. You’re not weak, Anemone, only inexperienced.”

She nodded. It felt like a compliment to be called not weak. “How do I get a better grip?”

Kinler checked her hand on the sword as she kept it pointed up. He played with her fingers, primarily her knuckles. “Reach as far around as you can with your fingers. You’re clawing them when you need to be wrapping them around.

She adjusted to what she believed he was looking for.

Kinler tapped lightly on her sword. It held. Then, he hit a little harder, and it broke again.

This time, Anemone gasped. My thumb, she thought, feeling pain begin to surge in. All the pain before that spread into her fingers now came to her singular thumb.

She worried she was too weak to hold a sword after all.

But Kinler looked at her hand again, toying with her thumb. “Look at how many of your fingers are covering the front,” he said, tapping her fingers, “And how you have only one serving the back. The thumb is vital to your grip. Try again. This time, keep your thumb as tight as your other fingers. With one hand, you should be able to hold normal-weighted blows.”

Anemone drew a breath, then held her blade up again.

Kinler’s sword clanged from striking the side, but her hand held.

Anemone smiled, finally holding. “Hit it harder.”

Kinler nodded, rewinding his sword and swinging. She held again, the vibration she usually felt turned into a singular beating pulse in her hand. Uncomfortable, but not necessarily painful.

“Very good,” Kinler said. “Now, do you want to try again?”

“Ye—” her stomach growled, and she nearly dropped to the floor. They hadn’t had a proper lunch on their way to Noltown, only eating packaged snacks instead. “I don’t have any money…”

“Then you better beat me,” Kinler smiled.

Anemone tightened her face, giving off an indignant expression. But rules were rules, so she lifted her sword with a fury.

“Oh, alright,” Kinler said. He checked at the clock above the door. “I’ll just ask Ranun for reimbursement when we get back.”

After dining at a nearby restaurant, they returned to the training room with full stomachs—or close enough to it. Kinler told her to “hold back” from overeating. He said training while you were too full would make you feel sick and cramp up. But Anemone had a feeling he was just stingy with coins.

Anemone started their second phase of duels, swinging low. Kinler jabbed her sword to the ground, pinning and trapping it under his strength. He let go, and Anemone retreated.

It seemed everything she threw his way wasn’t good enough. Nothing she did could break his blocks, nor could she attack fast enough to avoid them. She lost at every step of the way.

An hour went by, and Anemone was gasping for breath on the floor. Her face heated red. Kinler had instructed her to drink water in between attempts. Hydrating kept her awake, ready and active. The sun had already passed over the horizon, but they kept dueling through the night.

“Are you done yet?” Kinler eventually asked. After many, many attempts. How many it was, only the Gem God knew.

“Are you?” Anemone asked.

“That wasn’t the question,” Kinler said. “We can go until morning if you wish.”

Anemone smiled. “Then we go to morning then.”

Kinler frowned but gestured for her to come forward and attack. Ranun always had a limit with how long he could train her, always stopping an hour or two after they started. But Kinler promised her until morning? She wouldn’t back down from a bold claim such as that, especially when she had so much fun doing it.

Yes, it did hurt. It was exhausting and irritating to lose, but there was progress within her constant failure. It brought her to a place of glee, a part of her past that she had cherished. The grind going from weak to strong—from being a poor fighter to a rich one—was just so. Much. Fun.

She pushed herself, knowing that next time, she’ll try harder than the time before. She would win eventually. Whether it took a hundred, a thousand, or a hundred thousand attempts, she wouldn’t quit so long as she thought it was possible.

Kinler ultimately failed to keep his promise, quitting a couple of hours before sunrise. He said he didn’t expect her to be so determined to practice throughout the night.

In a night of total failure, Anemone could at least take his mistaken doubt of her determination as a slim victory.