I thought I was alone for this job.
But apparently I wasn't.
As soon as I left my temporary assigned room with heart full of determination, I met a maid just outside of my room and I was taken here.
A traning ground that knight of Northern Duke uses.
...And I wasn't alone.
Around me 25 to 30 people, similar to my age, maybe, one or two years older were gathered here.
...And the moment I saw them, I knew I wasn't the only one who'd been sent here.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
Each person in the training ground wore a variation of a uniform similar to mine—dark, sturdy, cold-weather gear stamped with subtle insignias of minor noble houses or military banners. Some had swords at their hips, others carried spell pouches or wore gloves thick with enchantment threads.
And all of them?
They looked… wary.
Determined.
On edge.
Like they knew exactly where they were and exactly who they'd be meeting soon.
I wasn't special.
I wasn't "the one."
I was part of a group.
A batch.
The moment that clicked, everything changed.
Because this wasn't just a job posting.
This was an evaluation.
A selection.
A test.
"…Shit," I muttered under my breath, instinctively straightening my coat.
I glanced around, trying to measure the others.
Some were whispering among themselves. Others stood apart, like lone wolves. A tall girl with short silver hair and a greatsword strapped to her back was doing pushups in the snow like it was nothing. A pale boy leaned on a staff, eyes glowing faintly with a mana signature I couldn't read. One girl had a hawk on her arm. A real hawk.
I swallowed.
And then there was me.
Julies Evans. No real swordsmanship. Barely any magic. The only thing I had going for me was my knowledge of the game and the fact I hadn't pissed myself yet.
I folded my arms to hide my nerves. The cold bit at my fingers anyway. I tried not to shiver too visibly.
A loud whistle cut through the air, sharp and shrill.
Everyone turned.
A man in a long black coat walked across the field with the kind of presence that said shut up and listen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair pulled back and sharp amber eyes that scanned the group like he was measuring coffins.
He stopped in front of us and spoke in a voice that could probably silence a battlefield.
"You're all here to serve Lady Alice Draken."
No pleasantries. No introductions.
Only a truth dropped like a guillotine.
"Not all of you will be chosen. Most of you will be dismissed. Some of you will be reassigned. A few of you may leave in pieces."
A few people stiffened. One girl actually took a step back. The boy with the staff cracked his knuckles, as if he'd been expecting worse.
The man continued. "You are not here to make friends. You are here to survive. Lady Draken does not tolerate incompetence. She does not need loyalty. She needs utility."
He let the words settle, then finally introduced himself.
"I am Commander Amon Veil. Head of internal security and personal knight to the young lady. You will address me as 'Sir.' If you cannot follow that instruction, leave now."
No one moved.
Of course no one did.
This was the North. You didn't come here unless you had no other choice or a death wish.
He eyed the crowd and continued.
"Your first evaluation will begin in one month."
Wait, what?
Why a month?
Why gave so much time for prapertion?
"In exactly one month, you will duel against this knight of the family. And only those who beat him in dule will be accepted as attendant of young Lady."
At his words, one male young knight stepped forward. His body was full in armour, even his face.
So, I couldn't see his face aside from those red eyes of his.
His age was similar to mine? At least it seems so.
Most of the group stared at him, trying to gauge his strength—trying to guess if he was beatable. But all I could see were those eyes.
Red.
Not the glowing, demonic kind. Just… red. Like garnet glass. Cold. Sharp.
Unblinking.
He didn't move like a kid. He didn't stand like a recruit. His posture was too perfect. Too practiced. His hands rested on the hilt of his sword—not nervously, but like he was bored. Like he'd already fought this battle in his head and won.
I hated him immediately.
"This is your opponent," Commander Veil said, voice slicing through the silence. "You may challenge him anytime before the deadline. One-on-one duels only. No teamwork. No ambushes. You win, you stay. You lose, you pack your things."
A murmur rippled through the group. Some in disbelief. Some excited.
But me?
I wanted to scream.
A duel?
I could barely swing a sword without spraining something. My greatest weapon right now was sarcasm and mild genre awareness.
"Excuse me, Sir," someone spoke up—brave soul. A dark-haired girl with a smooth accent and the confident poise of someone raised with etiquette lessons and dueling tutors. "What happens if we don't challenge him? Or if we wait until the last day?"
Commander Veil looked at her like she'd just asked whether the sky was optional.
"You'll be deemed unworthy by default. No second chances. No exceptions."
That shut everyone up.
One month. I had one month to figure out how to beat someone who was clearly trained to kill things for breakfast.
Or at least, to make sure I didn't die when I inevitably lost.
Because make no mistake—unless I found a loophole, I was going to lose.
Badly.
The crowd started to disperse, slowly, as the announcement settled in and the stakes burned into everyone's spine. Some broke off into little groups. Others wandered toward the armory or the training dummies lined up along the snowy edge of the field.
The armored boy with red eyes hadn't moved once. Not even to blink.
I didn't realize I was still staring until he tilted his head—just a fraction.
Right at me.
I flinched.
Not visibly, I hoped.
He didn't say anything. Just turned away like I wasn't worth the extra second.
Which, to be fair, maybe I wasn't.
Yet.
I blew out a slow breath, trying to push the rising panic back down.
Alright. Think.
Julies Evans doesn't exist in the game. That meant I had a clean slate. No expectations. No allegiances. Just a name and a face.
And knowledge.
I knew Alice's routes. I knew her enemies. Her alliances. Her losses.
That was my advantage.
Alive, barely functional, and standing in the middle of a frozen war camp filled with teenage sociopaths.
But alive.
I could work with that.
I glanced up at the system window still lingering faintly in my periphery.
> [Main Story Quest: Meet 'Alice Draken'.]
> [Progress: 0%]
I still had that mission.
The duel was one thing.
But the real goal?
Was her.
Alice.
Somehow, I had to meet her. Impress her. Not die.
And maybe, if I was lucky, change her story.
Or at least survive being part of it.