Page 47 of Soul Forge

“Sure, Princess.”

“I’m serious. If I turn out to be different from the others, I want you to put as much of yourself into this as I do.” Reiner looked up from her weapon, watching Elda lean forwards and stick out her hand. “If I’m really going to be a wielder, I want to be the best one there is. The only way I can do that is with your help.”

She didn’t falter when the Soul Forge looked down at her palm, then back up at her face and arched an eyebrow. Eventually, he reached out and shook it reluctantly. Elda saw Reiner pause in her polishing, watching the pair of them intently.

“You should start now,” she said gruffly. “Take advantage of the time you have.”

“You mean you’re not going to crush my skull?” Sypher asked, letting go of Elda’s hand to fix the captain with a speculative stare.

“That depends on you,” she shrugged. “But if you really want her to put her all into becoming a wielder, you should utilise every spare moment you have. Train her. Mould her. Make her sweat until her legs tremble. That’s the only way she’ll grow strong.” Reiner cast an assessing eye over the princess. “And it’s the only way you’ll really see what she’s made of.”

The moon overhead was full and bright, illuminating the rocky ground enough that Elda and Sypher could work by its light. Reiner stayed at the entrance to their shelter, keeping a watchful eye on the Soul Forge. Atlas tucked himself up beside her, his big white head resting in her lap.

Elda’s muscles ached with every movement, and they were only on the warmup. She’d already run through the drills Reiner had taught her and learned several new ones that he made her repeat until her shoulders and knees creaked.

The dagger was in her hand, being moulded into an extension of her arm. The moonlight glinted off its blade, reminding her that it wasn’t a training item but a dangerous weapon capable of taking a life.

“A demon comes at you from behind. Show me how you defend yourself,” Sypher instructed, folding his arms across his chest.

Elda pivoted and slashed the dagger diagonally through the air, thrusting out the heel of her palm to break the nose of an imaginary monster. She flipped the weapon so her thumb restedon the end of the hilt, swinging it upwards to cleave a limb from her invisible enemy. With a final thrust, she mimicked stabbing it through an eyeball.

“Again.” She repeated the manoeuvre, adding steps and changing directions depending on what scenario Sypher threw at her. Sweat coated her skin, sticking the wispy hairs that had escaped from her braid to her temples. Her chest heaved, but she kept going until he told her to stop and handed her a waterskin.

“How was that?” she asked between gulps.

“You let your guard down when you move in for the kill,” he explained. “If you leave your kidneys exposed to an arachna, you’re dead. If you forget about protecting your legs around an eroni demon, they’ll strip your calves of flesh in seconds. You can’t ignore what the rest of your body is vulnerable to, even if it seems like your opponent is finished. If their heart is beating, they’re a threat.” He paused, then scowled. “And stop tucking your thumb. If you punch like that, you’ll break a bone.”

She nodded, ignoring the pang of disappointment. “I’ll do better.”

“You’ll have to. You’re fighting me next.”

“That’s hardly fair. I’m exhausted,” she protested.

“Do you think your opponent will care how tired you are when they’re trying to eat your liver?” he asked, reaching into his pack for his tunic and letting his dark armour dissipate. He tugged the material over his head, the pendant hanging around his neck gleaming silver in the moonlight before it was covered.

“You wanted to learn, Princess,” Reiner reminded her. “This is how you learn.”

Elda heard the inflection in her words. The captain wasn’t talking about learning to fight – she was talking about learning what sort of monster Sypher was. The warning set Elda’s anger simmering. She handed the waterskin back to him and nodded.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

When Sypher turned and took her off her feet, twisting her over his hip and flipping her to the hard ground in under a second, she learned that she was decidedlynotready. He hauled her back to her feet to try again. She listened to him explain how to counter the move, what cues to look out for that might help her predict his attacks. And when he attacked again, he twisted, and she flipped.

The next time, he caught the punch she tried to throw, twisted her arm up her back, and forced her onto her knees, laying the flat edge of the dagger against her throat.

“Stop tucking your thumb,” he muttered, helping her back up again. She nodded, listening intently to his next instructions about posture and stance. She was determined to stay on her feet, so she hung on every word.

On the third go, she took the heel of his palm right in the stomach and doubled over, gasping for breath when he dodged the fist she threw at him.

“Stars above, Princess. Stop. Tucking. Your.Thumb,” he scolded. “If you don’t stop, I won’t dodge the next one. It will hurt you.”

“Alright,” she panted, straightening up to listen to him again. Her body ached, her new bruises throbbing. The determination that kept her going was starting to wane, the possibility of besting Sypher fading further away every time she hit the floor.

He taught her how to counter each of his attacks, and each time she failed. The creases in Reiner’s brow deepened the more time went on, her fingertips drumming against the stone beneath her, but she didn’t leap up to threaten Sypher for harming her princess, and for that, Elda was grateful.

She picked up a large bruise over her ribs, a myriad of scrapes on her knees and palms, several sore points along her spine where his knee repeatedly pinned her, and a cut on her chin when she lost her footing and smacked into the rock. Her thumbthrobbed from yet another botched punch – one Sypher had chosen not to dodge, just like he promised.

She spat blood into a clump of coarse grass, shuddering at the metallic taste. Her teeth had cut into her tongue, and the sight of the crimson liquid made her stomach turn. She’d seen her own blood many times, and it never failed to repulse her.

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