The next morning, I stepped into the arena at first light. Harold and the elven shieldmaiden were already sparring.

  And it hit me instantly—they’d been holding back yesterday. Entertaining me.

  Now? Now they were monsters.

  The speed they moved at was unreal. Harold, the stocky brick of a dwarf, shouldn't have been able to move faster than my eyes could follow—but he did. His two axes blurred through the air, each swing aimed with deadly precision, constantly shifting the momentum of the fight.

  The elf was just as terrifying. Her spear weaved and stabbed like it had a will of its own, flowing from strike to strike with brutal elegance. She didn’t dance—she dissected. Every move calculated, every step grounded, her body coiled like a spring, exploding into motion over and over.

  They fought like storms colliding—pure force meeting pinpoint precision.

  Harold tried to hook her shield with one of his axes, forcing her to backpedal, to defend. But she adapted instantly, twisting, pivoting, stabbing low, then feinting high. He blocked with a grunt, the clash of metal ringing through the stone hall like a war drum.

  Five minutes passed with neither gaining the upper hand. Blow for blow. No breaks. No wasted motion. Just raw, relentless skill.

  I stood there, mouth open, completely stunned. This wasn’t training anymore. This was war.

  It was the highest level of physical combat I’d ever witnessed. My brain scrambled to process it, but by the time I focused on one movement, they were already three steps ahead, locked in another exchange that blurred the line between battle and art.

  Soon, a dozen shieldmaidens entered the arena, forcing the sparring duo to pause.

  “Sorry, honey, I’ve got a class to teach,” the elf said, stepping back and twirling her spear into a resting position. “We’ll pick up where we left off later. Take care of my student while I’m gone.”

  She leaned in and gave Harold a quick kiss. The dwarf had to rise up on his tiptoes to meet her halfway.

  That old man was a short king for sure, I thought, smirking. They were kind of adorable, though—like a battle-hardened fairytale couple.

  Harold started by showing me some basic guards and strikes, focusing on technique and the flow of combat. He actually had me practice with two axes—his preferred fighting style. Even at half speed, his movements were brutal and efficient. Every strike had a purpose: to deal maximum damage or to crack open a hole in an enemy’s guard. We were having a hell of a time.

  Between swings, I asked him, “What do you think I should do once I know enough to survive in this foreign land?”

  He didn’t even stop to think. “I think you should go to school in the Holy Capitol. From there, maybe become an adventurer. You’ve got guts, kid. Do that for a couple years, get a wife or two, have some kids. Then, if you still want to hunt evil, come back and become a Templar. And by the heavens—if you figure out how to fix your magic, you might even become a Paladin of the Order.”

  “Well, that’s refreshing,” I said, stepping back to wipe sweat off my brow. “I half-expected you to try and recruit me on day one.”

  Then it hit me. “Wait, your church folks can get married? And have kids? Multiple wives?”

  The kiss between the two warriors flashed in my mind. That was... unexpected.

  Harold must’ve seen the look on my face because he blinked, just as surprised by my surprise.

  “Well, of course we can,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Nothing is more sacred than love. What purpose is there to fight, if there’s no one to share the joy of being alive with?”

  His words hit like a hammer striking an anvil—clean, heavy, and echoing deep. A reminder I hadn’t asked for. That I had lost everyone I once knew.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The dwarf must’ve felt the shift in my mood, because he stepped in before I could spiral.

  “Don’t worry, boy. Trust in the will of the God-King, and your life will smooth out. And don’t you go hitting me with that ‘waa waa, I’m a poor sorry-ass with no one’ crap either.”

  He poked a thick finger at my chest, grinning wide.

  “We’re friends now. You’ve got an open road and a world full of opportunity in front of you. So don’t waste it pitying yourself.”

  Harsh words—but they landed right in the heart.

  Harold wasn’t done dropping surprises.

  “Also, yeah—you can have wives, husbands, whatever floats your boat. Normally, folks follow what matches the land’s birthrate: two wives and a husband’s pretty common. But it’s not rare to see groups made of just women, or just men, or even mixed pairs and quartets. Love’s love, y’know?”

  He looked at me again, squinting like he was trying to solve a riddle that talked back.

  “Sometimes, Sam, I swear—you must come from the strangest place. Half the time I think you’re just pulling my leg. Either you’ve got the best poker face in the world… or you’re the most clueless man I’ve ever met.”

  I gave him a wide grin.

  “Well, back home I was voted ‘Most Likely to Trip Over My Own Feet and Accidentally Start a Fire,’ so... you might be on to something.”

  He barked a laugh, loud and hearty.

  "But for now," Harold said between strikes, "how about you focus on learning to not lose your head?"

  We were still sparring at half speed—technically—but it felt like his arms were made of lead. Every blow sank deep into my muscles, rattling bone and pride alike. The only reason he stopped battering me was because his wife returned, just as the third group of shieldmaidens limped off the field, drenched in sweat and bruises.

  She looked me up and down with the precision of a medic and the judgment of a general.

  "Go eat, boy."

  I didn’t argue. I racked the training axes and started making my way out.

  "Not you, honey," she added, halting Harold just as he was about to put his weapons away.

  I caught the flash of panic in his eyes—the universal 'I’m in trouble' look every man learns to fear. Grinning like an idiot, I ran out laughing before I got drafted into whatever lecture was brewing.

  After a quick lunch, I grabbed a spare set of clothes and made a beeline for the baths to wash off the sweat and grime. The place was more impressive than I expected—split into three separate sections: one for men, one for women, and one for both. I stuck to the men’s side, not looking to start a diplomatic incident with a towel.

  The facilities were surprisingly complex. Apparently, the church had figured out how to pump water from an underground river running beneath it. I stepped under a narrow waterfall, the water hitting me like liquid ice. I could’ve sworn it glowed a little. Probably magic, probably not my business. I scrubbed myself clean under it, freezing my ass off, before stepping into something much more civilized.

  There was a sauna and a few hot baths, and after the cold plunge, the warmth was divine. The icy water had dulled the sting of my bruises, but the heat melted the knots out of my aching muscles. After soaking for a while and feeling slightly more human, I dried off, dressed, and headed off to study the local language with Hope.We studied until dinner, after which she left again to go back to... whatever secret job she had. I’d tried asking a few times, but she always managed to dance around the question—slicker than a sheet of ice with a fresh coat of snow on top that oneAfter that, I went back to my spot and studied until my eyes felt heavy, then crashed for the night. The rest of the week was a rinse, wash, repeat of the same routine—eat, train, get beat up, study, sleep. I was improving, slowly but surely. By the end of the week, I could follow most casual conversations, string together a few sentences, and even write them down without butchering it too hard. Still a long way to go, but hey—it was a hell of a lot better than fuck all.

  On the last day, Hope took me out into town. Before we left, she grabbed her flanged mace—just casually strapped it to her belt like it was a purse. Apparently, open carry was the norm around here, and walking around armed was the best way to tell folks in the sketchy parts to keep their distance. This would be my first time going around town on my own two feet, and I was excited—if a little wary.

  She brought me to her favorite bakery first (fantastic bread, by the way), then walked me around the safer parts of town, pointing out which streets were fine to roam and which ones would get me mugged, stabbed, or worse. She strictly forbade me from going to certain areas—the black market, the pleasure district, a few seedy taverns, and one particular adventurer's guild that apparently even she didn’t want to mess with.

  Hope seemed... extremely well-informed about local affairs and the shadier side of town. Almost too informed.

  I couldn't help but wonder—was she part of the Inquisition?

  We went to a really nice restaurant where we had steaks that left a special kind of warmth in the belly—the kind that made you forget your worries for a while. The change of pace, the noise of the city, even the little things like the way the light played in her hair—it was a good kind of different.

  We walked back to the church in comfortable silence, both of us tired from a long day of wandering through the city and talking for hours without pause.

  It was a good day.

  Later that night, lying in my alcove, I stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the church settling into sleep. My body ached from the week’s training, my head was full of new words, and my heart… well, it didn’t feel so empty anymore.

  I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing in this world, or what the God-King wanted with me. But for the first time since I got here, I didn’t feel like I was just surviving.

  Maybe, just maybe, I was starting to live.