Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

The ’point’ of the sword was shaped like a soft, gentle semi-circle. The hilt had been wrapped in padded, imported silk to prevent any abrasive friction against her palms.

It weighed absolutely nothing. If she hit someone with it, it would cause less damage than a stiff breeze.

”It’s perfect, Sir Boris,” Seraphina said solemnly, taking the tiny, ridiculous balsa-wood stick in her hand. ”I feel very lethal.”

”A masterpiece of modern weaponry,” Gallahan nodded approvingly. ”Now, Captain Pyros, instruct her in the katas.”

Pyros stepped forward, clearing his throat, his chest puffing out. ”Alright, Lady Seraphina! Combat stances are the foundation of all magical channeling! We will begin with the primary offensive posture: The Tiger’s Wrath!”

Seraphina gripped her tiny, silk-wrapped balsa sword, looking up at him expectantly.

”The Tiger’s Wrath requires absolute intimidation!” Pyros instructed, demonstrating the move. He dropped into a wide, powerful crouch, his muscles bulging, thrusting his hands forward with a terrifying, aggressive roar that echoed off the volcanic rock. ”Show me your battle cry! Strike fear into the hearts of your enemies!”

Seraphina stared at him.

She looked at her tiny wooden stick. She looked at her gray linen tunic.

’He wants me to roar,’ she thought, a wicked, hilarious realization dawning on her. ’They are literally begging for it. I am going to destroy these men.’

Seraphina dropped her balsa sword. She didn’t drop into a wide, powerful crouch.

She stood perfectly straight. She raised her two tiny hands, curling her fingers into small, non-threatening little ’paws’ near her cheeks. She crinkled her nose, widened her dark eyes to maximum, devastatingly cute capacity, and let out a soft, high-pitched, incredibly adorable sound.

”Rawr,” Seraphina squeaked.

The impact was catastrophic.

It was as if a high-yield emotional explosive had just detonated in the center of the Crucible.

Captain Pyros, the hardened, terrifying Chief Instructor of the Southern Legions, let out a strangled, breathless gasp.

He staggered backward, clutching his chest right over his heart as if he had actually been stabbed.

”Critical hit!” Sir Gallahan wailed, dramatically falling to his knees in the ash, clutching his own face. ”The sheer, unadulterated ferocity! It’s blinding! I am blinded by the cuteness!”

”Healers!” Sir Boris bellowed into the empty arena, his single eye wide with panic, pointing at Pyros who was currently leaning against a weapon rack for physical support. ”I need a medic! The Captain’s heart has stopped! The Tiger’s Wrath was too effective! She has slain him with a single syllable!”

”Look at her little paws,” Sir Lucas whispered, his scarred face completely devoid of all assassin-like dignity, furiously scribbling something into a small leather notebook he had procured from nowhere. ”I am documenting this posture. We must integrate this into the Bastion’s psychological warfare curriculum. Enemy morale would shatter instantly!”

Seraphina dropped her hands, picking her balsa sword back up, struggling to keep a straight face as the four deadly warriors actively melted down over a fake roar.

”Was my stance correct, Captain Pyros?” Seraphina asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

”F-Flawless,” Pyros wheezed, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, his amber eyes shining with pure worship. ”The enemies of the North will simply surrender, My Lady. They will lay down their arms and offer you candy. You have mastered the offensive!”

The rest of the ’combat katas’ devolved rapidly into an extended, organized, militarily sanctioned photoshoot.

When Pyros asked for the ”Crane’s Evasion,” Seraphina simply stood on one leg and tilted her head. The knights applauded for five uninterrupted minutes, praising her ’unparalleled balance and aerodynamic aesthetic.’

When asked for the ”Serpent’s Strike,” she did a tiny, slow-motion spin, holding her wooden sword out. Gallahan declared it a ’masterpiece of kinetic misdirection,’ claiming that any assassin attempting to track her movements would become instantly dizzy and fall over.

It was not a training session. It was more like a different version of an idol meet-and-greet, and Seraphina was the undisputed, undisputed star of the show.

But as the afternoon wore on, the heat of the Crucible finally began to seep through the cooling ice-crystals Boris had placed around her. Seraphina wiped a genuine bead of sweat from her forehead, letting out a small, tired sigh.

The vigilant radar of the Vanguard picked up on the sigh instantly.

”The Sovereign is fatiguing!” Lucas barked, slamming his notebook shut. ”The ambient heat is overwhelming her core temperature! We must transition to the final phase immediately! Visual mana-stimulation!”

”Visual mana-stimulation” was not a real magical training technique. It was something Sir Gallahan had invented on the spot to justify throwing an illegal party in the middle of a military installation.

”To truly grasp the flow of mana, the Lady must observe it in its purest, most joyous form,” Gallahan declared grandly, turning to Captain Pyros. ”Captain! Rally your instructors! We must provide the Sovereign with an atmospheric display of elemental encouragement!”

Pyros didn’t hesitate. The man who normally despised the waste of magical energy immediately pulled a brass whistle from his belt and blew a sharp, piercing note.

From the upper tiers of the amphitheater, a dozen elite, high-tier Fire Mages of the Obsidian Gate emerged.

They had been secretly watching the entire training session from the shadows, captivated by the tiny, dark-haired girl who had completely broken their terrifying Chief Instructor.

They practically scrambled down the stone steps, forming a wide, respectful semi-circle around Seraphina.

”Mages of Valen!” Pyros roared, pointing to the ceiling of the Crucible. ”Ignite your cores! Provide the Lady with a spectacle worthy of her stamina!”

The twelve Fire Mages, men and women who possessed the power to incinerate entire battalions, raised their staves and hands. They didn’t cast fireballs or summon magma hounds.

They channeled their immense, destructive power into the finest, delicate, microscopic threads of pure, colorful light.

FWOOSH!

The gloomy, ash-filled air of the arena was instantly transformed into a dazzling, breathtaking kaleidoscope of color.

Instead of angry, searing crimson flames, the mages projected soft, glowing beams of neon pink, bright azure, and shimmering gold.