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The Young Lady's swordsmanship was technically proficient, but her forms were calibrated for the ballroom and the tournament circle—elegant, rhythmic, and utterly lacking in "street-level" practicality.
Against the chaotic swarm of Goblins, her Soft Silver Sword was a mismatch. It was a high-end magic catalyst, slender and flexible, built for precision rather than the brutal torque needed to deflect a rusted cleaver. She had to rely on her raw agility, weaving through the "runts" like a dancer avoiding a collision on a crowded dance floor. She had no time to chant 'Lightning,' and with only three slots of mana per day, she couldn't afford a missed payload.
Kael stood back, his Calculating Survivor mind monitoring the encounter. He didn't intervene, but his presence was a biological anchor for the girl. She knew he wouldn't let a "system error" like a Goblin actually touch her, but she also knew that if he had to step in, her dreams of being an Adventurer would be permanently archived.
Eventually, the armor and the training won. A fully equipped swordsman vs. a dozen naked Goblins is a math problem that always favors the human, provided they don't panic. The Young Lady pierced the heart of the final creature and dropped to one knee, her stamina redlining.
"I did it..." she panted, her eyes searching Kael's for a "five-star" review.
"It was so-so," Kael said, though he secretly gave her a passing grade. For a first "live-fire" exercise, she hadn't flinched.
"Hmph." She turned away, but the curl of her lips betrayed her. Even a perfunctory compliment from the Northland Knight was worth more than a dozen noble proposals.
The caravan leader approached, presenting a heavy coin purse. In this world, a life saved wasn't a favor—it was a transaction. Kael accepted the Eddies with a nod. Even if he didn't need the money, breaking the social "contract" of the Adventurer system would only cause friction later.
"Do what you want with the carcasses," Kael told the leader. Ogre hides could be tanned into magic-resistant leather, and their bones were a hot commodity for both weaponsmiths and "miracle cure" peddlers. In an era where high-tier monsters were rare, five dead Ogres were a windfall.
Kael turned his attention to a thin man among the guards. "You have the Tracking skill, don't you?"
The man—a Thief class—stepped forward, his eyes shining with motivation. "I do, Sir Knight."
"Find the nest. Ogres on this territory are a security breach I need to patch."
As they set out to follow the tracks, the Young Lady insisted on joining. Kael agreed, mostly to save his own stomach. If she stayed behind unhappy, she'd insist on cooking him "Starry Gazey Pie"—a traditional English horror that Kael considered an insult to biological life.
The Thief led them to a coniferous forest where the Ogres had dug a burrow under a slope. "Several adults inside," the Thief reported after a Detection check.
"Step back," Kael ordered. "We're doing this with technical efficiency."
Kael had the Young Lady use her family heirloom sword to chop dry branches. If her father, the Earl, saw the legendary blade being used as a hatchet, he'd have a heart attack, but Kael didn't care. Once a pile was formed at the cave mouth, he had the girl use her mental focus to ignite it.
"Why the smoke?" she asked, her face becoming smudged with soot.
"Ogre nests are biochemical hazards," Kael said, remembering a previous "speedrun" through one. "The stench is a debuff that lasts three days. We flush them out or we lose our appetite for a week."
As the thick smoke funneled in, the roars began. A juvenile Ogre rushed out, only to be met by the Young Lady's rapier through its eye socket. Before she could celebrate, three adult females—smaller but more feral—charged.
Kael stepped in, pulling the girl behind him.
"Flame Breathing, Fifth Form: Flame Tiger!"
His Blood Qi detonated into a scorching sword-arc. The vortex of fire didn't just cut; it evaporated the targets. In a heartbeat, the clearing was silent, save for the crackling of the fire.
"Is it zeroed?" the Young Lady asked, covering her nose.
"Wait for the smoke to clear," Kael replied. He wasn't interested in the "treasure" she hoped for. These Ogres were new spawns; they hadn't had time to accumulate "loot."
"If you want to go in and check for gold, be my guest," Kael teased. "But I hope you like the smell of Ogre dung and rotting horse meat."
She looked at her polished silver armor and shook her head. "I... I think this sword is enough treasure for one day."
As the caravan returned to the Northland town to settle their affairs at the Temple and the Guild, Kael prepared to head in a different direction.
"Going to that Witch's hut again?" the Young Lady asked, her tone turning sharp with jealousy.
"My Magic Scrolls are empty," Kael lied with the ease of a veteran politician. "I'm just picking up a refill."
"Then I'm coming."
"No. You and she have a 'compatibility error.' Last time you met, you almost leveled a city block. Go home, report to your father, and maybe I'll take you out for the next mission."
The promise of a future "adventure" was the only thing that could make her leave. Kael watched her go, then turned his horse toward the outskirts. He had work to do, and it didn't involve noble etiquette.
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