Chapter 4: The Training Grounds
POV: Adam
Two days of anticipation had stretched Adam's nerves to the breaking point. He'd wandered Cintra's market, buying supplies he didn't need and examining dried meat with the focus of a man trying very hard not to think about the decision he'd made.
She'll come. She has to come. The System wouldn't have offered the mission if—
"Teach me."
The voice cut through his inspection of questionably preserved fish like a sword through silk. No preamble, no greeting, just pure Ciri confidence delivered with the force of royal command.
Adam didn't turn around immediately. Instead, he picked up another strip of what the vendor optimistically called 'meat' and held it to the light, watching how it bent without breaking.
"Teach you what?" he asked, his voice carrying the studied indifference of someone who'd expected this conversation. "How to dramatically interrupt people's shopping?"
"That thing you did. With the air."
Now he turned, finding Ciri standing with her arms crossed, chin raised in challenge. She'd traded her dress for practical clothes—leather breeches, linen shirt, boots suitable for actual movement. The change was striking. Where the princess had been all formal posture and royal bearing, this version of Ciri looked ready to fight the world with her bare hands.
She's serious about this.
"Ah." Adam set down the meat-like substance and faced her fully. "The magic tricks. What makes you think I'd teach you those?"
"Because you're the only person in this entire castle who doesn't treat me like I'm made of spun glass," Ciri shot back, her green eyes flashing with familiar frustration. "Everyone else wants to keep me safe. You want to see what I can do."
Perceptive. Dangerous trait in a world where survival often depends on not asking the right questions.
Adam studied her face, noting the set of her jaw, the way her hands had unconsciously fallen into fighting position. This wasn't idle curiosity or royal whim. This was desperation wearing the mask of determination.
She knows. Maybe not consciously, but some part of her knows that something's coming. Something she'll need to be ready for.
"Here's the deal," Adam said, leaning against the market stall's wooden frame. "I'll train WITH you—not teach you my weird magic—and in exchange, you stop treating your actual trainers like they're the enemy."
Ciri's eyes narrowed. "That's it? No demands for gold? No requests for favors? No attempts to curry favor with the royal family?"
"That's it. I get a workout partner, you get someone who won't go easy on you because you're royalty. Win-win."
The silence stretched between them, filled with the sounds of the market—haggling voices, squeaking cart wheels, the distant clang of the castle's smithy. Ciri's expression cycled through suspicion, confusion, and something that might have been hope.
Finally, a fierce grin spread across her face. "You're going to regret offering that."
"Oh, I'm counting on it."
[Mission Progress: "The Princess's Training Partner" - 1/10 Training Sessions Complete]
The castle's training grounds occupied a courtyard surrounded by high stone walls, complete with archery targets, practice dummies, and weapon racks that spoke of serious martial tradition. Late afternoon sun slanted through the space, casting long shadows that would complicate footwork and depth perception.
Perfect. Real fights don't happen in ideal conditions.
Ciri emerged from the armory carrying a practice sword—blunted steel with enough weight to hurt but not enough to kill. Her movements were fluid, practiced, speaking of years of training that had built muscle memory into her bones.
Adam came armed with nothing but confidence and a growing understanding of how air could be convinced to misbehave.
"No sword?" Ciri asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't need one." Adam rolled his shoulders, working out the tension that had built during their walk from the market. "Real fights aren't always between people carrying identical weapons."
"Fair point." Ciri fell into a guard position that looked textbook perfect—weight balanced, sword positioned to threaten and defend simultaneously. "Ready?"
No such thing as ready. Only varying degrees of screwed.
Adam nodded.
Ciri moved like lightning given form, her practice sword cutting through the air in a high diagonal strike that would have taken his head off if the blade had been sharp and his reflexes slower.
He triggered Air Gust without conscious thought, the power flowing through him as naturally as breathing. The invisible force caught him mid-dodge, boosting his speed just enough to turn a near-miss into a clean escape.
Ciri's blade whistled through empty air, her momentum carrying her past where he'd been standing. She recovered quickly—faster than he'd expected—spinning to face him with her guard already reformed.
"Interesting," she said, and there was no frustration in her voice. Just calculation. "Do that again."
She lunged forward, this time with a thrust aimed at his center mass. Adam sidestepped, but she'd anticipated the movement, redirecting her blade in a horizontal slash that forced him to lean back far enough to strain his spine.
She learns fast. Too fast.
"In a real fight, there's no referee," Adam said, circling to her left. "Fight like you mean it."
"I am fighting like I mean it," Ciri replied, but even as she spoke, Adam could see her adapting. Her next attack came lower, harder to dodge, followed immediately by a second strike that nearly caught his ribs.
Time to stop being defensive.
Adam waited for her next thrust, then used Air Gust to blast a cloud of dust from the training ground's packed earth directly into her face. Ciri stumbled, blinking furiously, and Adam closed the distance.
For a moment, he thought he had her. Then her elbow caught him in the solar plexus with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs.
Note to self: royal training includes dirty fighting.
They separated, both breathing hard, both grinning like idiots.
"Better," Adam wheezed, rubbing his chest where her elbow had connected. "Much better."
The session continued for another hour, neither of them managing a decisive victory. Ciri's formal technique clashed against Adam's improvised tactics, creating a chaotic dance that was part sparring match, part physics experiment, and part controlled disaster.
By the time exhaustion forced them to stop, both were covered in dust and sweat, and Adam's MP had dropped to nearly empty from repeated use of his air abilities.
[Experience Gained: 50 XP (training)]
[Airbending Usage: +10 XP]
[Current Airbending Progress: 110/200 to Level 2]
[Relationship +10]
Current Points: 25/50
Status: Acquaintance → Friend
They collapsed on a stone bench at the courtyard's edge, sharing water from a pitcher that some thoughtful servant had left nearby. The silence between them was comfortable now, the tension of their first meeting replaced by the camaraderie of shared effort.
"You fight weird," Ciri said eventually.
"You fight like someone trained you to fight other people who fight exactly like you," Adam replied. "Which is fine, until you meet someone who doesn't."
"Is that why you keep winning?"
Adam turned to look at her, noting the thoughtful expression on her face. "I'm not winning. We're both learning. That's the point."
And maybe, just maybe, what you learn here will keep you alive when the real fighting starts.
Movement caught his attention—a figure watching from one of the castle's upper balconies. A man with graying hair and the bearing of someone used to command, his expression unreadable at this distance.
Eist Tuirseach. Ciri's step-grandfather, if I remember the family tree correctly.
The man said something to a guard standing beside him, then disappeared back into the castle's interior. But Adam had caught the slight smile on his face before he left.
"That boy's got spirit. And he's not afraid of her. Good."
The words echoed in Adam's memory, pulled from episodes watched in his previous life. Approval from the right people could be valuable. Approval from the wrong people could be deadly.
Hope I chose correctly.
"Tomorrow?" Ciri asked, standing and stretching muscles that would be sore by evening.
"Tomorrow," Adam agreed. "Same time?"
"Same time."
She walked away, her practice sword balanced over her shoulder, moving with the confidence of someone who'd found exactly what she'd been looking for.
Adam remained on the bench, watching the sun sink toward the castle walls and painting the training ground in shades of gold and red. The day's heat was fading, replaced by the cool promise of evening.
[Current Status]
Level: 2
XP: 325/360 (to Level 3)
HP: 110/110
MP: 45/130 (exhausted)
Days until Nilfgaardian invasion: 31
Ciri relationship: Friend (25/50)
Thirty-one days until everything went to hell. One princess who was learning to fight like her life depended on it, because it would.
And one rat killer who was discovering that changing the future might be more complicated than he'd thought.
I'm playing with fire. Getting close to her means I can't run when Nilfgaard comes. But maybe... maybe I can change things.
The thought settled into his bones like a promise or a curse. Tomorrow, more training. More XP grinding. More time before everything burned.
He'd use every second.
The castle's evening bells chimed the hour, their bronze voices echoing off stone walls that had stood for centuries and would fall in just over a month.
Unless he could find a way to stop it.
Tomorrow, he thought, standing and heading back toward the Golden Sturgeon. Tomorrow, we see how much stronger we can get.
The stars were beginning to appear overhead, cold and distant and utterly indifferent to the small dramas playing out below.
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