10

Before dawn, Julian, determined to avoid a repeat of yesterday’s icy wake-up call, stirred before captain Sigrid could implement her usual disciplinary tactic. He slipped out of bed with practiced stealth, careful not to disturb his sleeping comrades. He then quickly donned his training uniform, the cotton fabric still cool against his skin, and joined the line of dragoons assembling for the early morning run.

He purposefully kept his gaze fixed on the ground ahead, meticulously studying the worn cobblestones beneath his feet. He meticulously avoided any and all eye contact with Dohva, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The mere thought of facing her, of acknowledging the scene he’d stumbled upon the previous night, filled him with a profound sense of shame and discomfort. He couldn’t reconcile the gentle, nurturing woman who’d offered him restorative potions with the passionate figure he’d witnessed in Thaline’s embrace.

Julian fell into step with the dragoons, matching their pace as they began their early morning run. He focused intently on the rhythm of his feet pounding against the cobblestones, deliberately blanking out the turmoil within him. The route took them in a wide circle around the town, past bustling marketplaces and quiet residential streets. They skirted the imposing walls of the Academy of Ad Laera, its towers and spires looming against the pale morning sky. He observed the students already beginning their day, some hurrying to classes, others practicing their magic in the courtyard. A flicker of longing crossed his face – a desire to learn, to understand the arcane arts, but he quickly suppressed it. His path was set, dictated by Thaline’s rigorous training regimen, no thanks to his parents in that regard.

“Fall in!”

Captain Sigrid barked, her voice cutting through the crisp morning air like a whip. She stood ramrod straight, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze sweeping over the assembled dragoons.

“Breakfast will be awarded to those who emerge victorious in this morning’s sparring session. Now pair up and begin!”

A collective murmur rippled through the ranks as the dragoons began to assess each other, sizing up potential opponents. It was clear that Sigrid intended for them to self-organize, adding another layer of pressure to the already tense situation. With ten participants – nine seasoned dragoons and Julian – forming five pairs proved… problematic. One person would inevitably be overpowering the boy. Julian's stomach twisted with dread. He wasn't a skilled fighter, not yet, and the thought of facing any of these women in combat filled him with apprehension. He instinctively shrank back, hoping to blend into the background, to avoid being noticed. But his small stature and obvious discomfort made him stand out all the more.

Julian, steeling his nerves, took a hesitant step forward. He scanned the assembled dragoons, quickly dismissing several as being far too intimidating. His gaze landed on Sergeant Alicia Von'Maar. Her height was manageable, her build athletic but not overly imposing, and her sky-blue eyes held a calmness that, to Julian, seemed less threatening than the steely glares of the others. He pointed a trembling finger in her direction.

“I want to spar with her.”

Julian declared, his voice barely a whisper but carrying enough conviction to draw attention. All eyes turned to Alicia, and then back to Julian, a mixture of surprise and amusement flickering across their faces. Alicia herself raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on her lips. She was known for her patience and methodical approach to combat, a stark contrast to the more aggressive styles of some of her colleagues. Perhaps that’s what drew Julian to her – a subconscious hope for a less brutal encounter.

Alicia flicked her long golden braid over her shoulder, the movement graceful and fluid. A low, wistful sigh escaped her lips as she turned her gaze fully upon Julian, her sky-blue eyes assessing him with a cool, professional detachment. She lowered her spear, resting it easily against her shoulder.

“Sergeant Alicia Von'Maar, at your service.”

She said, her voice a melodious alto. A small, polite smile touched her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Though I suspect ‘service’ will be a rather one-sided affair this morning, young Julian. Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to practice with one of the training dummies? They tend to be… less critical of mistakes.”

She paused, her blue gaze sweeping over his slight frame.

“But a challenge is a challenge. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

The sparring match began, and it was, as Alicia had subtly predicted, remarkably one-sided. Julian, despite his initial courage, was quickly overwhelmed by Alicia's superior skill and experience. He attempted a few clumsy strikes, mimicking the forms his own mother had drilled into him, but they were easily deflected by Alicia’s spear. Her movements were precise and economical, each parry and thrust executed with effortless grace.

Julian stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding a swift jab that would have surely connected with his chest. He tried to maintain a defensive stance, but his small frame lacked the strength and stability to withstand Alicia’s relentless attacks. She didn’t press her advantage aggressively, instead opting for a controlled, almost pedagogical approach. Each block, each parry, was a lesson in technique, a demonstration of proper form. But lessons were little comfort when they were accompanied by bruises and a rapidly dwindling sense of self-preservation.

With each glancing blow, each expertly deflected strike, Julian stubbornly pushed himself back to his feet. He ignored the stinging pain in his arms and legs, the burning sensation in his chest, and continued to meet Alicia's attacks with a determined, if futile, resistance. He wasn't fighting to win, it seemed, but simply to 'continue'. To endure. To prove something, even if he didn't know what.

His persistence, however misguided, began to draw attention. A low murmur rippled through the watching dragoons, gradually escalating into a chorus of jeers and surprisingly, cheers.

“Look at the runt go!”

One of them shouted, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“A real sadist, that one!”

Another called out, earning a chorus of laughter.

“Taking a beating like it’s a reward!”

The taunts were playful, but laced with a grudging respect for Julian's sheer tenacity. He was an anomaly, a tiny figure refusing to be broken by the sheer weight of his disadvantage. Even Captain Sigrid’s usually stoic face betrayed a flicker of amusement.

The nickname stuck instantly. As Julian once again rose to his feet, wincing slightly as he adjusted his stance, a unified shout erupted from the assembled dragoons.

"Sadist Runt! Sadist Runt! Sadist Runt!"

The chant reverberated through the training grounds, a mocking yet strangely affectionate acknowledgment of his unusual resilience. Even Alicia allowed a genuine smile to grace her lips, a hint of admiration in her eyes. It seemed Julian had unintentionally earned a reputation, and a rather peculiar one at that. The name 'Sadist Runt' was now his, at least amongst the ranks of the Royal Dragoons...

~

The sparring session finally concluded with Alicia disarming Julian with a swift, decisive maneuver. He landed awkwardly on the soft training mat, winded and bruised, but not defeated. He sat there for a moment, catching his breath, the echoes of 'Sadist Runt' still ringing in his ears. To his surprise, Alicia didn’t immediately return to the ranks. Instead, she retrieved her own breakfast – a hearty portion of grains and dried meat – and set about modifying it. She scooped a generous helping of plain white rice into a smaller bowl and carefully poured a stream of Dohva’s sweetened milk over it, creating a creamy, comforting rice porridge.

“Eat.”

Alicia said, her voice softening considerably. She extended the bowl towards Julian, her expression unreadable. It wasn’t a command, but a gentle urging, a gesture of unexpected kindness. As she offered the porridge, she paused, her hand hovering over his head for a moment before lightly, almost hesitantly, passing it through his short, stubbled white hair. It was a fleeting touch, barely there, but it sent a surprising warmth through Julian. It felt… maternal, a stark contrast to the rigorous discipline he usually received from Thaline and captain Sigrid. The gesture, combined with the offering of food, spoke volumes about Alicia’s character – a hidden layer of compassion beneath her Dragoon exterior. The other dragoons, witnessing the exchange, fell silent, their earlier taunts replaced by curious observation.

Julian stared at the bowl of rice porridge, then up at Alicia, his green eyes wide with surprise. He hadn’t expected this. Not after being thoroughly trounced, and certainly not after being dubbed 'Sadist Runt'. He slowly reached out and accepted the bowl, his small fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. The sweet scent of the milk filled his nostrils, a welcome contrast to the metallic tang of blood and sweat. He took a tentative spoonful, the creamy texture soothing his sore throat. It 'was' good. Really good. Dohva’s milk always had a unique, restorative quality to it, a subtle magic that seemed to mend not just his body, but his spirit as well. On that note though, the visage of Dohva's huge knockers filled his mind once more.

Julian devoured the rice porridge with a surprising speed, his earlier exhaustion seemingly forgotten. Each spoonful disappeared quickly, a testament to both his hunger and the comforting nature of the meal. He didn't bother with polite manners, simply focusing on replenishing his depleted energy. It wasn't a gluttonous consumption, but rather a focused, almost **** need to refuel. When the bowl was finally empty, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to Alicia, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He offered a soft, mumbled.

"Thank you."

His voice barely audible above the sounds of the training grounds. It wasn't a particularly eloquent expression of gratitude, but it was sincere. He looked up at Alicia, his green eyes shining with a mixture of exhaustion and newfound respect.

Alicia nodded, her expression softening slightly at Julian’s mumbled thanks. She gestured towards a nearby building with a practical wave of her hand.

“Good. Then go and clean yourself up. You smell like a battlefield. The showers are down that way. Don’t dawdle, though. Training resumes shortly.”

She paused, adding with a hint of amusement.

“And try not to get lost. The plumbing in this place is… temperamental, to say the least.”

She turned her attention back to her own breakfast, leaving Julian to make his way towards the bathing facilities, a small, grateful smile playing on his lips. The offer of a warm shower was a luxury he hadn’t anticipated, a small act of kindness that went a long way. He hurried off, eager to wash away the grime and bruises of his disastrous sparring match, and perhaps, to collect his thoughts as well.

Julian quickly returned to the squad room, his bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. He located his designated trunk – a sturdy, iron-bound chest tucked neatly beneath his assigned bunk – and retrieved a neatly folded set of clothes and a thick, fluffy towel. The garments were simple, practical: a fresh tunic and trousers. They weren’t luxurious, but they were clean and dry, a welcome change from the sweat-soaked and dirt-stained attire he'd been wearing all morning. Clutching the bundle in his arms, he headed towards the bathhouse, carefully following Alicia's directions. The building itself was a large, stone structure, radiating warmth and the faint scent of soap and steam. The sound of splashing water and muffled voices echoed from within. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the potential awkwardness of sharing the bathhouse with anyone else.

The bathhouse interior was steamy and crowded, filled with the chatter of the dragoons. Julian quickly found a designated basket for soiled clothing and deposited his worn tunic and trousers inside, his cheeks already warming with a blush. He began to undress, moving as quickly and silently as possible, hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself. However, his attempts at discretion were immediately thwarted. As soon as his bare feet touched the warm stone floor, a large hand clamped down on his arm. He looked up to find Private Dohva, her bovine eyes filled with a maternal concern, standing before him. Without a word, she steered him towards a small stool positioned near a series of wash basins.

“You’re still so small.”

She murmured, her voice a low rumble.

“You need help.”

Before Julian could protest, Dohva had already grabbed a bar of fragrant soap and a washcloth.

Dohva continued to scrub Julian with efficient, practiced movements, her large hands surprisingly gentle despite their size. She worked quickly, lathering his small body with fragrant soap, rinsing him thoroughly, and paying particular attention to the scrapes and bruises he’d sustained during the sparring match. Julian, meanwhile, was locked in a silent internal battle.

‘Keep it together man!’

He screamed at himself, desperately trying to compartmentalize the flood of embarrassing thoughts. The images of Dohva and Thaline’s intimate encounter, combined with the unsettlingly maternal attention he was currently receiving, were overwhelming. It felt… wrong. He clenched his fists, focusing on his breathing, attempting to block out the sensations and the intrusive memories. He stared fixedly at the tiled floor, refusing to meet Dohva’s gaze. His internal turmoil was abruptly shattered by a booming voice across the bathhouse.

“Aye, it’s the Sadist Runt! Come to join us after that beat down?”

Private Mina Elloné’s voice cut through the steam, laced with amusement and a hint of mockery. Julian’s head shot up, his face burning with shame. He hadn’t even realized he was being observed. Mina Elloné was an imposing figure, even amongst the already physically imposing dragoons. Standing at nearly six feet tall, her lithe, muscular body was adorned with bronze patches of scales, and a powerful, whip-like tail flicked rhythmically behind her. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a tight braid, revealing the sharp angles of her lizard-like face and her piercing ice-blue eyes. A forked tongue flicked out briefly as she smirked, assessing Julian with undisguised curiosity.

"He looks ready to suck at his new mamma's teat again. Why don't you let him, Dohva?"

Mina chortled.

Dohva’s scrubbing slowed, her expression darkening with a flash of annoyance. She didn’t respond to Mina’s provocative comment, but her grip on Julian’s arm tightened slightly. A muscle ticked in her jaw. Julian felt his face flush even hotter, mortification washing over him in waves. He wanted to disappear, to melt into the tiled floor and cease to exist. He avoided eye contact with both women, focusing on a particularly interesting crack in the wall. Mina’s laughter echoed through the bathhouse, bouncing off the stone walls and amplifying his humiliation. The comment was cruel, deliberately designed to embarrass him, and it was working. He could feel the weight of the other dragoons’ gazes, and the stifled giggles that followed Mina’s outburst.

Dohva, seemingly deciding to ignore Mina’s taunt, efficiently poured a cascade of warm water over Julian’s head, rinsing away the remaining soap and suds. The water streamed down his face, momentarily blinding him and offering a small reprieve from the intense scrutiny.

“There.”

She said, her voice firm but not unkind.

“Clean enough. Now, go join the others. The hot spring will help soothe your muscles.”

She gave him a gentle nudge towards the larger pool, a steaming expanse of water where several of the other dragoons were already relaxing, chatting and laughing. The steam rising from the pool obscured their faces somewhat, but Julian could make out glimpses of limbs and torsos as he cautiously approached. He hesitated at the edge, acutely aware of his small stature and his lingering embarrassment. Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself into the warm, soothing water.

The heat of the water enveloped Julian, easing the ache in his muscles, but doing little to quell the burning in his cheeks. He sank lower, submerging himself up to his chin, hoping to disappear from view. His gaze, however, was anything but discreet. His green eyes darted around the pool, involuntarily drawn to the… prominent features of the women around him. The bathhouse was a display of female physicality he’d never witnessed before. Breasts of all shapes and sizes bobbed and swayed with the gentle movement of the water, a mesmerizing and overwhelming sight. He tried to focus on the steam, on the intricate patterns of the tiled walls, on anything but the ample curves surrounding him. But his eyes kept drifting back, drawn by an irresistible, if mortifying, curiosity. He pressed his hands against his face, attempting to hide the telltale flush that spread even further.

Just as Julian thought he might be able to regain some semblance of composure, a large, warm weight settled beside him. He instinctively glanced up to find Dohva settling into the water, her massive frame dwarfing his small one. Without a word, and with a knowing glint in her bovine eyes, she gently but firmly pulled his flushed face into the soft expanse of her breasts. The scent of her milk and warm skin enveloped him, a strangely comforting but also deeply unsettling sensation. He was pressed against her, shielded from view, but also acutely aware of the intimate contact. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the soft warmth of her skin against his cheek. It was a strange, confusing mix of maternal comfort and… something else entirely. He remained frozen, unsure whether to push away or simply succumb to the unexpected embrace.

The sensation was too much. Julian’s head swam, a dizzying vortex of heat, embarrassment, and confusion threatening to overwhelm him. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, of succumbing to the overwhelming sensory overload. Without a word, without even a glance at Dohva, he scrambled to his feet, the water sloshing around him. He turned and fled, his small legs pumping furiously as he made a hasty exit from the bathhouse. He didn't stop until he was within the changing room, gripping a fresh towel tightly around his waist and trying to regain his breath.

A sudden surge of mana rippled through the air, accompanied by the distinct sound of rapidly beating wings. Julian, still struggling to catch his breath, looked up to see a small butterfly, its wings shimmering with every color imaginable, phasing 'through' the stone wall. It circled his head once, twice, as if searching for something, then hovered directly above him. Beneath the butterfly, a hazy image began to materialize, glowing with an ethereal light. It resolved into a translucent projection of Eira, looking remarkably solid despite her spectral form. Beside her stood another fairy, older and wiser-looking, offering a thumbs-up.

“Is this how the spell works? Hmm...”

Eira mused, tilting her head as she examined the projection. Her voice, though faint, was clear and carried a subtle echo.

“You did it perfect, even if you started the message early.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face.

“You could start over—wa-wait!”

The older fairy’s image began to glitch, distorting into a static blur. The connection wavered, and the glowing light surrounding Eira flickered erratically.

“Something’s interfering with the transmission!”

The older fairy exclaimed, her voice laced with urgency. Then, with a final burst of static, the images fractured and dissolved, the butterfly vanishing along with them, leaving Julian standing alone in the changing room, a lingering scent of wildflowers in the air. The abruptness of the message’s end left him disoriented and confused.

Almost before Julian could process the first strange encounter, another butterfly materialized, flitting through the wall with the same ethereal grace. This time, only Eira’s image appeared, projected as a shimmering hologram. Her small form radiated annoyance, and her tongue darted out as she pointed directly at Julian, though she wasn’t physically present within the projection. A sly smirk played on her lips, quickly morphing into a frustrated huff.

“To make this message quick-”

Eira shouted, her voice echoing slightly within the projection.

“-you have some real nerve showing yourself off 'here'!”

Her smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl as she glared at him.

“Oh come on Eira, I want to say hello—”

A different voice, older and more soothing, began, but Eira cut her off with a sharp gesture.

“See what I’m dealing with now?”

She snapped, rolling her eyes. The older fairy sighed audibly, shaking her head. Julian could only stare, dumbfounded, at the miniature fury projected before him. He hadn't expected a scolding, let alone one delivered through a magical butterfly and holographic projection. The entire situation felt surreal, bordering on absurd.

Eira’s holographic form bristled with irritation, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“These girls are hounding me, young and old. Geez, I don’t get what’s so impressive about 'you' at all.”

She grumbled, her voice laced with exasperation. Her eyes, usually bright and playful, now narrowed as they scanned Julian from head to toe, a critical and assessing gaze that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. It felt like she was stripping him bare with her stare. A moment of silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint hum of the projection. Then, barely a whisper, she murmured.

“Pervert.”

The word, though quiet, was sharp and carried a sting. Her lips curled into a mischievous, yet judgmental, smirk.

Eira’s expression softened, though the mischievous glint remained in her eyes.

“Anyways.”

She said, her tone shifting to something more playful.

“I’ll send you another message later. Enjoy the smell of my flowers, and hope none of the ladies there get jealous.”

She stuck her tongue out in a teasing gesture, a final flourish before the projection began to fade. Just as the image flickered, the older fairy suddenly appeared, waving enthusiastically at Julian.

“Hi cutie!”

She chirped, her voice bright and cheerful. Before Julian could even react, the hologram dissolved completely, leaving him once again in the quiet solitude of the changing room, the lingering scent of wildflowers a ghostly reminder of the bizarre exchange.

Julian stood there for a moment, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear the lingering images from his mind. The whole encounter with Eira had been so sudden, so strange, and frankly, so bewildering that he felt utterly disoriented. He let out a low, incoherent grumble, a sound that was half frustration, half confusion. Without another thought, he dropped the damp towel to the floor and quickly began to dress, fumbling with the buttons of his uniform. He wanted to get out of there, away from the lingering scent of flowers and the echoes of Eira’s teasing accusations. The sooner he could put some distance between himself and the bathhouse, the better.

Julian pushed open the heavy wooden door of the bathhouse, stepping out into the crisp morning air. He moved with a weary slump, his small frame radiating exhaustion. Every muscle ached, and his skin was a patchwork of blossoming bruises, a testament to Sergeant Alicia’s rigorous training. It felt absurd that it wasn’t even mid-morning yet, and he was already feeling this battered.

Before he could fully escape into his own thoughts, a hand, cool and firm, settled lightly on the back of his neck. Julian tensed instantly, his muscles coiling in anticipation. He knew that touch. He didn’t need to turn around to recognize the composed, yet authoritative, voice of his aunt, Thaline.

“Come.”

She said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“You’ll begin practicing your mana-cultivation every day after warm-ups and mock battles.”

Her fingers gently massaged the tense muscles at the base of his skull, a small gesture of care amidst the strict discipline. Julian could feel her assessing him, gauging his physical state and likely already planning the next day’s training regimen.

Julian offered no resistance, no complaint. He simply remained silent, allowing Thaline to lead him by the hand – or rather, by the back of his neck – across the training grounds. His gaze remained fixed forward, carefully observing his surroundings but avoiding direct eye contact with anyone. They walked towards a circular foundation of polished white marble, deliberately positioned across from the bustling sparring area. It was an isolated spot, designed to be a crucible for mental fortitude. The constant activity surrounding it, the shouts of the dragoons, the clash of steel, all served as distractions, forcing anyone who attempted to meditate there to focus with exceptional intensity. It was a place of rigorous self-discipline, and Julian knew, with a sinking feeling, that Thaline hadn’t brought him there for a leisurely stroll.

Without a word, Thaline exerted a gentle but firm pressure, guiding Julian down to his knees on the cool marble. It wasn't a rough shove, but a decisive movement that left no room for protest.

“Cultivate your mana here every day after the morning laps and sparring.”

She instructed, her voice clear and unwavering.

“You’ll be given rice water to drink to keep you filled until dinner time.”

She didn’t bother with explanations or encouragement, simply stating the new routine as a matter of fact. With a final, assessing glance, she dropped a water skin filled with the milky liquid at his side. The skin thudded softly against the marble, the only sound breaking the ambient noise of the training grounds. Then, without another word or gesture, she turned and walked away, leaving Julian alone on the exposed foundation, facing the daunting task ahead.

Julian settled into a basic meditation pose, his back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. His gaze lowered, focusing on the glossy surface of the marble beneath him. It was cool and smooth to the touch, a grounding sensation in the midst of his growing anxiety. Cultivating his mana… it was a concept he’d heard mentioned before but never fully understood. A blankness met his first efforts. He didn't even know where to begin. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to quiet the rising internal panic. His fingers twitched slightly and he exhaled a heavy breath.

He closed his eyes, attempting to block out the sounds of the sparring dragoons, the distant chatter, the rustling of leaves. It was a futile effort. The noises seemed to amplify within the silence of his own mind.

'Focus.'

He silently urged himself, mimicking the stern tone he often heard from Thaline. He tried to recall any lessons on mana cultivation from his past life as an avid manga collector but none of the methods seemed right for him. Perhaps imaging his actual mana as something visible would make more sense?

“Visualize… visualize…”

Julian repeated the word like a mantra, a **** attempt to unlock something within himself. He focused all his mental energy on the task, pushing aside the doubts and the distractions. He imagined a swirling energy within his core, a vibrant, unseen **** that powered his magical abilities. And then, something extraordinary began to happen. A faint, emerald glow began to emanate from his small form, starting as a subtle shimmer around his fingertips and toes. Gradually, the light intensified, spreading across his body like a gentle wave. Soon, Julian was enveloped in a soothing green aura, a visible manifestation of his burgeoning mana. It wasn’t a harsh, blinding light, but a soft, ethereal glow that pulsed with a gentle rhythm, illuminating the marble foundation around him...

The surge of energy, so captivating and invigorating, was abruptly cut short. A firm voice, laced with concern, sliced through his concentration.

“That is enough.”

Julian’s eyes snapped open, blinking against the sudden shift from inner darkness to the bright morning light. He hadn't even registered anyone approaching.

Beside him, Captain Sigrid knelt, her expression a mixture of concern and approval. She pressed a clean, white handkerchief to his nose, revealing a small trickle of blood. A nosebleed. He hadn’t even realized he’d started one.

“You pushed yourself too hard, little one.”

She said, her voice surprisingly gentle for a seasoned dragoon.

“Mana cultivation is not a race. It requires control, finesse. You were bordering on overexertion.”

She glanced at the vibrant green aura that still flickered around him, though noticeably dimmer now.

“Impressive for a first attempt, though. Very impressive.”

She offered a small, encouraging smile.

“But you need to learn to pace yourself. Understand?”

Julian, momentarily flustered, nodded silently, accepting the handkerchief and pressing it firmly against his nose. The cool cloth offered a small measure of relief, stemming the flow of blood. He glanced at Sigrid, surprised by her unexpected kindness. She was a formidable figure, known for her unwavering discipline and rigorous training methods, yet here she was, offering him gentle guidance and a reassuring smile. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before - and it gave him an odd sense of butterflies in the tummy.