Ellizabeth

Ellizabeth’s knee hit my chin like those busses and trucks that usually start isenkai stories in Japanese fiction, on Earth. I passed out for who knows how long, and was brough back to life by Verenice, the house healer. Either her or one of her two apprentices always watched our daily practice, and not for their entertainment.

As soon as they managed to put me on me feet again, Sheva offered me the wooden sword again, so we could continue the practice.

Was finally clear to me why her employed didn’t minded having me in the house as her apprentice, eating, sleeping and being dressed for “free”. The noble lassie Ellizabeth was not just under my mentor’s protection. My mentor was her mentor too, in the Path of Cold-Iron.

Having someone to practice with, other than Sheva herself, was beneficial to her development in the art.

If not beneficial to her development in the art, it must have been pleasant as fuck!!

Because she was clearly far ahead in the path, and our practical exercises consisted in her beathing the living cheat out of me. And waiting for the healers to work their magic on me, so we could go merrily back to the beating part.

How I may describe the young laide Elizabeth Redstone ? I I already told you she is a girl, ten years old. She is officially human, a hand higher than me. Blue eyes, head matching the crimson stone in her family shield. It would be a egg shaped red stone hold by a yellow and on a grey background.

I say “officially” human because I have been collecting evidence to support the theory that she is somehow half dozen orc warriors in disguise. More or less like my fiancée mixes her nine hydra heads into one single human face and mind, I presume.

Is not just her thirsty for blood, inhuman ferocity, strength and endurance what suggests me the orc hypothesis. Her facial expression and tone of voice when she is talking to anyone who doesn’t happen to be Sheva, her parents or her grandfather, is even more distinctive of that harsh sense of superiority I have learned to associate with orcs when I was part of that caravan running from some of them in the mountains where I grew up.

If we assume I am the ten years boy that was actually born in this world. What is true, factual, just not the entire true. Yes, I am perfectly in my right to feel attracted for that hydrophobic rascal. She is spoiled, arrogant and entitled, but also a very beautiful girl, considering her age. Of course, the 10 years old me from Earth would die under torture before admit that out loud. For good reason, because I would have assumed such and admission could only be used against me, in humiliating ways. And, I would be right.

Children are cruel.

Now, if we assume I am the now 62 years old personality that has lived 52 years on Earth and then another 10 in this world. Would be even more shameful for me to admit any attraction for a 10 years old human girl. For a different reason. On the other hand, I can in that case more easily admit two things about Miss Elizabeth. Yes, one is that she is an objectively beautiful girl, abstracted her personality.

The other, more important and a bit less obvious, is that I get her. That behaviour, it make sense once you pay attention to the context around her. Is a mechanism of defence that works, if you want to understand it in those terms. I could think about alternative strategies that would be less unpleasant for me, and probably for other servants in the house, but I cannot be sure if any of those alternatives would work from Elizabeth’s point of view.

Her most important reference in life is her grandfather, and he talks down to everybody, as if existing in the same room where he is was a personal offence too extreme to admit a plead for forgiveness. He is the one and only power in this family, everything that happens here is a derivation from his will, directly or indirectly.

Elizabeth’s father had 5 elder brothers, who died, and one young one who is still alive. Also four sisters but those are all married by now and would not count to purposes of succession anyway. Only one son can inherit the family legacy, fortune and position. The natural choice is the oldest son, but the head of the family could choose the youngest or even a son-in-law. Ultimately, the Marquese of Redstone must make his decision with the best interest of he nation in mind. Not the happiness of his descendants.

For what I could see so far, after two and a half weeks in this house, Elizabeth’s father is a weakling. Honest enough man, not stupid, but his personality lacks the cutting edge necessary to rule a noble family in this nation. His younger brother has that in full, and then some. What means Elizabeth’s father has a sword hanging over his head. He will die a little before or a little after of the current head of the family. Everybody in the house knows that, Elizabeth included.

When that happen, Elizabeth’s mother became a lose end, and she herself has to choose between leave the house with empty hands or accept whatever husband her uncle chooses for her.

As I mentioned, there are many different ways for a person to deal with this situation. Most 10 years old, boys or girls, would completely ignore all that I just told you and react emotionally. That would end with then falling in whatever trap the adults set for them.

Another important detail I must mention about the little pack of orcs is that she is a genius.

That’s objective description, not praise. You know by now that people in this world are tested for their capacity to do a simple spell when they reach 12. Noble children with private tutors may get there by 10 or as young as 9. She mastered her first spell little before she reach 7: the flame spell. Now she can make two level 2 spells: fireball and ghost-push, she got the necessary understanding to mix them, and she is learning the stone-ball spell. I am sure she has some basic spells mastered as well.

The preference for offensive combat-spells is obvious and natural in the circumstances.

Magic means high status in this society. If Elizabeth had a large enough mana pool to became a certified mage one day. Possibly a battle-mage in service of the throne. She would be untouchable. Her mother would be safe, and luck being kind she could even find a way to prevent the premature death of her father. Marry up instead of down, with son of a more important family but also one who was not the heir. This husband would have chance to end up as the Marquise of Redstone.

Fortunately for Elizabeth’s uncle, and unfortunately for her, she barely has enough mana to perform one simple spell a day.

She could never have learned any level 2 spell if wasn’t for the fact that her family can afford extremely expensive crystals that act as extra mana. She also uses a staff that adds extra range, precision and power to her favourite spells (of fire) while reducing the cost of every spell she casts. Usually only certified mages have access to those things, but the influence of her family is enough to bend some laws.

Magic is a dead end for her, because the magic pool each individual has is a constant. Nothing can change it. No matter how fast and efficiently she can learn the theory. That capacity will never be enough to earn her the position of certified mage.

Her grandfather found this Path of Cold-Iron, that makes use the little mana she has in her even harder. However, it is a path to some sort of power. In this part of the world few have heard about this specific path, but martial-doctrines are know and many of them command some respect. They are not as glamorous and institutionalized in the nation as magic is, but if they can speak for themselves in real conditions of war. That carries weight!

The young laide understand that.

She practices with a discipline that would make any mentor proud. The Path ideal disciple are people with an extra reserve of rage, young bodies with a lot of energy, and sharp minds. The results Elizabeth achieved since she became officially a disciple of her bodyguard, two years ago, speak for themselves.

Sheva has been Elizabeth’s bodyguard since the young laide was 2 years old. She gave her some exercises, as games they would play. However, their training only became serious after the situation of Elizabeth’s low mana reserves became evident.

I don’t wish to take sides here. It is not my family, I must force myself to look the conflicts between this people as I would watch a documentary about animal live.

There is no right or wrong here. It is eat or be eaten, every side is playing the best game they know how to play with the cards at their disposal.

I must do the same, of course. My game is to survive those exercises and grow strong. Follow the Path of Cold-Iron, resist the urge to try spells again. For another decade, give or take.

Being apprentice of a martial-doctrine is not terribly bad.

I was given a bed in a room shared by 50 young servants like me. In the second day my mentor decided that would be more practical to move me to her own room, and placed an extra bed there.

What sounds a lot nicer than it is. I am not getting any sleep, and not because I am having fun.

All that training with my father. My mentor praises it, says I am better prepared than she expected. However, from my point of view does not feel like se is telling the truth in that regard. I am being beaten four hours a day, day after day, and hardly ever manage to block one in five blows. Figh back is still beyond my capacity.

I discovered that when a person gets healed too many times in a short period of time, the sensation of having broken bones and internal organs destroyed starts to linger in a cumulative and not at all pleasant way.

I take the armour pieces only for the practice or being spanked with super-human strength and speed. Healed. Spanked again. Dodge, bock, counter-attack, attack, dodge, block. Outside the practice of combat is repetition, and I must wear the heavy pieces of armour. I must wear them all the time, even sleeping.

To be fair, Elizabeth does that as well. Her protective pieces for ankle and arm are of similar quality of those used by our mentor, but more beautiful.

However, Elizabeth goes into de library to study other subjects with other educators, and gets to rest from the pieces of armour for a while. After six or eight hours of Cold-Iron practice.

My time outside the exercises is dedicated to chores defined by my mentor, sometimes helping in the house, sometimes cleaning her armour. There is always something and most the time not light work. I must do all that with those things that in addition of being heavy are explicitly designed to slow down and condensate the mana inside me. While blocking contact between that mana and the external environment.

Sheva is the bodyguard of Elizabeth, that is her duty and she is permanently dedicated to that task above all else.

I do not remember when I walk to my bed. How I managed to reach the room. I don’t remember awaking in the morning either. I barely remember what the room looks like. I usually pass out some moment around sundown and awake at the breakfast table, too tired to speak or think. Every part of my body hurts, all the time, but the pain is not equally intense.

It variates from moment to moment.

Two and a half weeks, 18 days and nights, since I first arrived in this house and had my only opportunity to walk freely in the parts I am allowed to enter, and in the streets surrounding the property.

I am starting to wonder if I will ever get a night of sleep again. That does not involve black-out from exhaustion.

And still, in those rare moments when I feel enough like myself to use the faculty of reason, a small part of me feels happy for being here. Sincerely happy, and grateful. Because, despite all the discomfort and inadequacy I am actually safe here. If the Hydra was telling the truth my mana pool is growing despite the fact that I am not practicing spells.

While, on the other hand, not practicing them makes me indetectable for demon-hunters. Specially when I am also wearing those bracelets and anklets.

I don’t feel any improvement in my physical capacities yet, but Sheva says I am improving extraordinarily well. My father thrusts her, clearly, and she is an honoured and loyal person. All evidences point in that direction.

Except for the constant pain, renewed and intensified every new day.

That goes without saying.