"How about you show me your skills, then?" Julian said, grinning despite the nerves knotting in his stomach.
"I want to see how good I need to be to beat you."
Deep down, he knew he was about to get his ass handed to him.
He had never held a weapon seriously before, let alone fought anyone. But if he wanted to survive here, he needed to know exactly how wide the gap was.
Emma raised an eyebrow, her mouth curving into a playful smile.
"Sure," she said. "It'll be a good wake-up call."
She turned, waving for him to follow.
"Let's go see Kevin. He'll know what weapons suit you best."
They walked a few meters toward the blacksmith's station, where Kevin was still hammering away at glowing metal.
Sparks flew with each heavy strike, and a sword slowly began to take shape on the anvil.
Kevin didn't stop until Emma spoke up.
"Young lass," he said, his voice rough and amused.
"Don't tell me you've been roped into giving this guy a tour. Leave that for Xavier or Rudeus."
He grabbed the red-hot blade with tongs and dunked it into a vat of oil, sending up a hiss of steam. After wiping his hands on a filthy rag, he finally turned to face them.
"We came to pick up some training weapons, Kev," Emma said, ignoring his teasing.
"The new guy wants to test himself against me in a sword fight."
Kevin raised a thick brow.
"So, you want to die young, huh?" he said, eyeing Julian like a butcher inspecting a sheep.
"Fine. Let's see what I can dig up."
Emma handed her rapier over to Kevin, who inspected it quickly.
"You'll be needing this, lass," he said, handing it back.
"As for the kid... thin dual blades would suit him. He doesn't have the muscle for anything heavier."
Julian watched hopefully, eyeing the gleaming swords laid out nearby.
But Kevin just tossed him two wooden sticks instead.
Julian caught them clumsily, blinking in confusion.
"What? Why these?" he asked, frowning at the rough practice weapons.
Kevin snorted.
"Shut it, kid," he said. "You won't even be able to lift the real thing properly yet. Prove yourself first.
Maybe someday, I'll forge you a sword worth carrying."
Julian closed his mouth, knowing better than to argue.
Emma, meanwhile, smiled sweetly as she placed her rapier against her shoulder.
"Let's start," she said, walking toward an open spot near the training field.
She picked up a stick and drew a rough circle in the dirt.
"We'll see if you're even worthy of touching real steel."
She twirled her rapier with a practiced flick of her wrist, her green eyes shining as she dared him.
"I didn't earn my blade just by swinging it around," Emma added, her voice sharper now.
"I earned it after saving ten people from monsters."
She stepped back into the circle, raising her blade in a ready stance.
"Now, let's see if you even deserve to call yourself a fighter."
Julian swallowed hard and stepped into the circle, gripping the wooden sticks tightly.
This was going to hurt.
He just hoped he would learn something before hitting the ground.
"I'll make it easy for you," Emma said, her voice almost teasing. "Hit me once, and you win."
She smiled provocatively, twirling her rapier slightly.
"But if I make you step out of the circle, it's my win. And the winner gets to order the loser to do one thing."
Julian blinked.
For a moment, the stakes completely erased the nerves from his mind.
He stepped fully into the circle, trying his best to look confident.
Spinning the wooden sticks around like he had seen in movies, he added a little flare to his moves.
Emma clapped once, mock-impressed.
"Wow, so cool," she said with a giggle. "Now come on — do your best."
She raised her rapier, its tip aimed lazily at his chest from about a meter away.
Julian didn't overthink it.
Not knowing any real technique, he simply charged forward. He kept one stick raised in front of him defensively, while the other remained poised to strike if he found an opening.
As he closed the distance, he felt a sharp, almost invisible pressure — Emma's rapier lightly tapped and pushed aside his defensive stick.
Reacting on instinct, Julian jumped back, using his other stick to make an X-shape, trying to knock her blade further aside.
He managed to deflect it — barely — and even made a clumsy attempt to slash toward Emma's arm.
For a second, he thought he might have surprised her.
But without effort, Emma tilted her wrist and used the pommel of her rapier to smack his attack aside.
The strike bounced harmlessly off with a small crack of wood on metal.
Before Julian could recover, he saw the thin tip of the rapier darting toward his right shoulder.
Panicking, he twisted, barely avoiding getting poked, and swung his left stick wildly in retaliation.
Then he felt it.
A sudden weight on his foot.
He looked down — too late.
Emma had stepped on him.
"It's my win," she said sweetly. "Now fall!"
She released his foot with a light shove, and Julian stumbled forward, losing all balance.
He barely managed to toss the sticks aside before he hit the ground face-first.
The impact sent a sharp sting through his jaw and chest, and he lay there for a second, stunned and humiliated.
Groaning, he rolled over and rubbed his chin.
For a second, he wanted to snap at her — frustration, embarrassment, and aching pride all rising at once.
But he bit it down.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm.
He climbed back to his feet, dusting himself off with slow, careful movements.
He could still feel the sting in his hands and face — but the worst injury was definitely to his pride.
"Good fight," Julian said, raising his right hand despite the scratches and bruises from the fall.
"Yes, good fight," Emma echoed, sheathing her rapier with a smooth motion.
"Now go back to Dr. Azel. Tell him I sent you," she added, flashing him a teasing smile.
"As for the reward... we'll talk about that later."
"Sure," Julian said, trying to maintain face.
"But I'll skip the doctor. See you later."
He bent down, picking up the two battered sticks he had used during the match.
As he walked away, Julian felt the sting of humiliation settle deeper inside him.
He knew he had gotten ahead of himself — challenging Emma without even basic training — but deep down, he was more frustrated by the cold reality of it.
He hadn't even landed a single hit.
If he had been fighting a real enemy out there, beyond the safety of the walls, he would already be dead.
He wandered farther into the enclave, just far enough to escape the lingering eyes of those who had watched him get humbled.
The enclave itself wasn't very large — maybe twenty meters across at best — but it was bustling with life.
Simple houses dotted the area, built from salvaged metal, wood, and stone. They were rough, functional, and home to those who had carved out survival here.
Julian spotted a bench near one of the houses and was about to sit when a voice called out behind him.
"Seems my daughter gave you a good beating."
Julian turned to find a man approaching — tall, broad-shouldered, with wavy hair and piercing green eyes.
There was no mistaking him.
It had to be Harris Blake.
The founder of the enclave.
The man who had survived for decades when so many others had fallen.
"I hope you don't take it too hard," Harris said, his voice carrying a rough kindness.
"You just need a bit of work. I'm sure you'll land a hit next time."
He smiled faintly, though there was a glint of something sharper behind it.
"Although..." Harris added, his voice dropping a little lower.
"If you ever do land a blow on her, you'll be facing not just me — but everyone who holds her dear, kid."
Julian swallowed nervously, but managed a laugh.
"No need to worry then, sir," he said, sitting down on the bench and rubbing his sore shoulder.
"I'm pretty sure it'll take me more than a year just to land a decent blow."
Harris chuckled, pulling up a seat nearby, clearly ready to talk a little more.
Julian straightened up, suddenly aware that this might be one of the most important conversations he'd have since arriving.