"It's the kind of mucles you'd see at those pageants for men. You know, the uncomfortable kind which uses drugs to enhance their appearance. A bit aesthetically pleasing if you ask me."

"Aesthetically pleasing?"

Usually he would hold his head up with pride at the compliment, maybe even a little arrogant because of it. But now he found himself embarrassed. His face turned crimson red as he stood at an equal height with Ethel, who stared at him peculiarly.

It didn't intimidate Ethel in the least. She looked him in the eye with a condescending look. She could care less if her words made him angry. Was it her fault that his muscles were completely just for show?

Her job was to correct and train Vyron's body and mind, not a maid who would flatter him if it pleases him. Whether he be a high noble or an emperor, her only responsibility was to train him. If he didn't like that then he's free to leave.

"Yes."

Vyron did at least have some restraint, calming himself down the way Carys taught him and sat back down on the bench.

With a heavy voice he then continued, "Then how would you suppose I change?"

Words are easy to say but hard to commit. For all Ethel knew, it was possible that Vyron may be putting on a show of humbleness to downplay his faults. If by any chance she could not offer Vyron any improvements, then he could just claim that she's a fraud.

She crossed her arms and said, "Then change your diet and training regime."

"That's not possible." Vyron shook his head. His diet had been handled by his family's nutritionist ever since he was young. If he were to change it, then it would be akin to slapping the hand that fed him. It would've been fine if it was just changing his training regime, after all who didn't want to improve, but what had diet have to do with this?

Ethel sighed. This man needed to calm down. It wasn't like she asked him to die for her. Instead, she took a dagger from her belt and began to throw it in the air skillfully. Seeing this, Vyron couldn't help but flinch every time the blade would narrowly avoid the skin. A woman would usually pay attention to their appearnace, even Fleur always made sure to take care of her body, but this madwomen didn't seem to care at all even if she was full of scars.

"If you aren't going to heed my advice then I suggest you leave. Besides, you're not the only person I want to spar with."

Many people usually disliked Ethel's obsession with sparring. Though people do approach her for guidance. Unlike the teachers, sparring with Ethel gave them insight on their flaws and not have to worry about being publicly shamed for not being good enough. All in all, there were plenty of people who looked at Ethel with a favorably good impression.

Vyron bit his lip. Unwillingness flashed in his eyes as he debated whether or not to go along with her plans. He did, after all, want to improve. Being made aware that he was lagging behind the others by a tiny bit, he would be stupid not to seek help from her.

He tried to remember what Carys would do in this situation. But then again he would probably accept with no hesitation. Unlike him, Carys would strive towards his goal of getting stronger even if it meant sparring with a woman.

And there were only a few months left since the competition. If he does not manage to get into the top ten, he could never hope to inherit the title of Grand Duke and most importantly, his pride and dignity would be forever lost. For him, this is a battle with himself. Before he would've vehemently refused and stomped out in anger before exacting revenge using his lackeys but after meeting with Carys...

"... Fine," a small mutter escaped his lips.

"What was that?"

Vyron turned red and yelled, "I said okay!"

Her lips curved up in an amused smile. Patting his back she then said, "A pleasure."

"With that out of the way—" Ethel maneuvered behind his back, deftly cutting his precious hair.

Vyron turned pale when he heard the slash of her dagger and swerved around to catch her holding his silver locks in her hand.

"You—!"

"Your long hair gets in the way of fighting. It would be fine if one were skilled, but in your case you're not," Ethel bluntly replied as she threw away the locks without a care.

"My hair..." Vyron wanted nothing more than to wring her neck for cutting his thick, beautiful locks. But he held back and instead let out a 'tsk,' the vein on his forehead threatened to burst.

"Don't believe me? Let’s spar," Ethel said, grabbing a different sword, one much lighter and thinner than the zweihander and jumped on the platform with a kick of her heel.

The provoked young man thought it the perfect way to vent out his anger and frustrations, even if he perfectly knew what the outcome would be.

After a great spar with a much faster pace of swords clashing. Vyron panted for air, holding himself up with the zweihander, sweat dripped down his forehead. But unlike earlier, he felt the weight of his head lighter and he could see much clearer than before.

In addition to Ethel's continuous words of advice during the match, he could feel himself swinging the heavy two handed sword more efficiently, making use of his strength.

"Have you noticed the difference?" Ethel asked as she got down the platform and threw the sword back into the rack, the other weapons clanging from the force of her throw.

Vyron nodded, bewildered by the subtle difference his hair had made.

"Your hair is thick and luscious. When wet it weighs you down more than you think. And that fringe looks hideous on you, has no one told you that? You have a nice forehead, you'll find it refreshing to see clearly for once." While hair is considered a certain look that nobles prided in, added to the fact that most nobles don't make it out of their way to become warriors, they often fail to realize the subtle but enormous difference.

Ethel also knew that his clothes were unnecessarily expensive. You would never see a warrior wearing such high quality leather; most would opt for a cheaper version because leather had the tendency to become susceptible to wear and tear.

But of course she wouldn't mention it. It was his money that was being wasted, not hers. Vyron turned red yet again, as he let out a ‘hmp,’ jumping down on the platform.

“By the way, you may want to think about going to a salon.”

“Huh, why?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly cut your hair with scissors did I? To be honest, I haven’t said anything but you honestly resemble an apple with that hair...”

She was not a hairdresser, of course cutting hair was not within her area of expertise. Vyron touched his hair and felt it weird that his neck had been exposed in the back. When he noticed that some parts were longer and some were extremely short, he had half a mind to give Ethel a good smack in the head but he’d rather live than end up in the hospital.

“Damn you...” Vyron muttered angrily as he stomped out of the arena, his sword in hand.

Ethel shrugged her shoulders and packed up her things. If the janitor ever found out that she had once again rearranged the placement of weapons on the racks, she’d be subjected to cleaning the bathrooms, which wasn’t exactly the most pleasant sight to behold. She quickly left the scene of the crime.