THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The sky glowed with a golden hue, casting its reflection across the sea of tall, dried grass swaying in every direction as the evening breeze whispered through the plains.

SWOOSH

—

a rusted great sword cut through the air with a heavy swing, its wielder gripping the hilt with a fierce determination. Noelle scowled as the blade fell. "No, it wasn't like that!" she muttered angrily, scolding herself for yet another imperfect swing.

Her fingers tightened around the worn leather handle of the sword, her knuckles white with frustration. She could still picture the adventurers in her mind—the way they moved with effortless grace, their attacks precise and lethal. Noelle had spent countless days accompanying them, not as a fighter but as a potter, earning her meager coins for menial labour. But all the while, she had watched. Observed. Studied. Every motion, every stance, every skill was burned into her memory.

Their techniques were flawless, but more than that, they possessed something she longed for—strength, purpose. She wanted to wield that same power, to fight the monsters that terrorized the lands. But that kind of training cost money, more than she could ever hope to afford. So, she decided to teach herself, mimicking the adventurers with the only possession she had left of her mother: the old, rusted great sword she now swung with trembling hands.

Her mother had once been an adventurer, too—a woman of fierce strength who had braved the harsh world until the day it took her life, leaving Noelle to fend for herself. Noelle's grip tightened, her thoughts bitter as memories flooded her. The coldness of the world had never felt more real than when she was left alone, a child with no one but herself to rely on.

The sword came down again, heavier this time, the strain of fatigue beginning to show in her movements. She had been training for days, pushing herself beyond her limits, refusing to stop even as her body cried out for rest. Her stomach growled, the hollow ache of hunger gnawing at her insides. It had been two days since she had eaten anything substantial—only stale bread bought with the few coins she'd earned from her last job.

But even the pain couldn't stop her. She raised the great sword once more, her breath ragged, her muscles screaming in protest. The setting sun cast long shadows across the field, and yet she persisted, swinging again and again, determined to learn—determined to become strong.

As the blade descended with another heavy swoosh, Noelle's heart burned with the fierce resolve that one day, she too would stand on par with those adventurers, not just as an observer, but as a warrior worthy of her own story.

Noelle swung her great sword for the hundredth time, each movement slower and heavier than the last. Her muscles screamed in protest, her body drenched in sweat as it dripped down and stained the dry, cracked ground beneath her feet. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her vision blurred with exhaustion. With the last bit of strength she could muster, she stabbed the sword into the earth, leaning heavily on it as if it were the only thing holding her up. Her crimson eyes, half-lidded with fatigue, burned with a fire that refused to die.

Despite the strain, a small, defiant grin tugged at the corners of her lips. Her mind drifted back to just a few days ago when her life had changed in the most unexpected of ways. She had been wandering the streets, the same as always, scraping by to survive. Out of nowhere, a group of mages had appeared before her, their robes gleaming with the insignia of high rank. They handed her a parchment, their faces expressionless, and before she could ask why, they disappeared just as quickly as they had come.

Confused, she had stood there, staring at the piece of paper in her hands, wondering what it could mean. Nobles and mages never paid attention to people like her, a street rat struggling to survive. In her mind, they were all the same—dirty, arrogant bastards who looked down on commoners with disdain.

Shrugging it off at the time, she had taken the parchment to the guild receptionist, the same woman who had served her countless times. Noelle still remembered the shock that had crossed the receptionist's face as she read the contents. "I can't believe it, Noelle!" she had exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief. "You have noble's blood... and not just any noble—you're of the De Gor bloodline!"

The words had been like a slap in the face, something Noelle could barely process. The De Gors? Her? She had never known her father, and her mother had died long ago, leaving her to grow up without any knowledge of her heritage. Yet, here she was, told she was chosen to participate in the prestigious coming-of-age ceremony, a rite that would allow her to claim her role and gain the strength she had longed for.

The thought alone reignited the fire in her tired limbs. Noelle gripped her sword tightly again, her knuckles white with determination. This was her chance—her opportunity to escape the life she had been shackled to and become something more. She would seize this opportunity with both hands, no matter how difficult the path ahead might be.

With a grunt, she pushed herself off the sword, her legs wobbling but refusing to give in. Her exhaustion was immense, but her will was stronger. She would become stronger, no matter the cost.

Noelle's eyes fluttered open, the world around her slowly coming into focus. Her head throbbed, and for a moment, she couldn't remember where she was. A dim crimson light filled the space, casting strange shadows on the rough walls around her. It took her a second to adjust to the eerie glow, but once her vision settled, she groaned and used her rusted great sword to push herself off the ground. Her arms trembled from exhaustion, but she forced herself to stand, wobbling slightly as she got to her feet.

As she glanced around, her surroundings became clearer. She was in a small cave, the jagged stone walls curling inward like a protective cocoon. A faint draft brushed against her skin, hinting that the entrance was nearby. Her gaze drifted to the corner, where she saw another figure—a girl, about her age, wearing quality mage armour, far more expensive than anything Noelle had ever seen. The girl was slumped against the wall, fast asleep, her chest rising and falling steadily.

Noelle furrowed her brow, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing she recalled was the battle with the crowned monster, its terrifying strength overwhelming her as its blows knocked her out cold. She instinctively gripped her great sword tighter, the rusted metal feeling familiar and comforting in her hands. But how had she ended up here? And who was that girl?

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she strained her eyes, scanning the small cave for any other signs of life. That's when she noticed someone sitting near the entrance of the cave. The figure sat cross-legged, perfectly still, in what appeared to be a meditative position. The dim light made it hard to see his features, but she could make out his strong frame and the expensive combat vest.

Noelle took a few cautious steps toward him, her curiosity piqued. As she moved closer, she studied the figure's posture, the calm yet commanding presence that radiated from him. He had to be a noble—everything about him screamed it. Only someone of noble birth would have that kind of confidence and air around him.

Suddenly, the man spoke, his voice calm yet carrying a weight of authority. "You should get some rest if you haven't recovered yet."

Noelle froze, realizing that he had sensed her presence without even turning to look. She narrowed her eyes, gripping her sword a little tighter as she felt a surge of cold fury rises within her. "Why?" she asked, her voice sharp and biting.

David, still seated, raised a brow in confusion. "Why what?"

"Why did you save me?" Noelle spat, her grip on the sword tightening until her knuckles turned white. "A noble, saving a commoner? What's the angle?"

David turned his head slightly, giving her a brief glance before rising to his feet in one fluid motion. His eyes met hers, dark and predatory, yet unreadable. He didn't seem offended by her tone, if anything, he looked amused. "The weak have no right to complain," he replied simply, his voice cold as steel. "I saved you because I chose to. Nothing more, nothing less."

Without another word, David stepped outside the cave, leaving Noelle standing there, shocked and unsure how to respond. Her mind raced as she tried to process his words. He didn't look down on her, didn't mock her for being a commoner. His tone was distant, almost indifferent, but there was no trace of the usual noble arrogance she had grown used to.

"Who is this guy?" Noelle muttered to herself, her eyes following him as he disappeared into the night. Her heart still pounded in her chest, not from fear, but from the strange, unfamiliar respect she felt toward him. David was different—dangerously so.