Chapter 17: The Start (Part 2)

"Wrong!" Whack! Madam Phirya's stick landed on Argider's hand.

"Wrong!" Smack! This time, right to the hips.

"WRONG!" A swift tap to the toes.

Every stumble, every misstep, every accidental swagger was met with Madam Phirya's trusty stick, which seemed to have its own keen sense of propriety.

Argider's walk was adjusted, her manners meticulously refined, and her posture straightened until she embodied the very image of ladylike decorum—or at least that was the plan.

As always, Argider repeatedly fell short of meeting Madam Phirya's exacting expectations.

Whether it was her slumped figure or her awkward, masculine mannerisms, her efforts seemed to be in vain. She wasn't even a man anymore. Figuratively and literally.

On the verge of tears, she flopped onto the floor, arms sprawled out like a starfish of frustration. "Madam Phirya," she wailed, her voice climbing to a whiny pitch. "I'm the emperor! I rule this entire land! You can't treat me like this!"

She was a mosaic of bruises and stinging spots, each a tiny testament to Madam Phirya's so-called "corrections."

"Oh, look who's pulling the emperor card now," Phirya scoffed, raising her stick for one final, oh-so-gentle smack. "A true leader doesn't whine about titles. They earn respect, they don't demand it. So if all you've got is a fancy title to lean on, my dear, you're not exactly setting the world on fire, are you?"

"I hardly ever bring up my title as emperor," Argider protested, sounding more like a sad puppy than a mighty ruler.

"Exactly the problem!" Madam Phirya said with a smirk. "Nobody respects you. You never announce who you are, you don't radiate any imperial confidence, and you show a shocking lack of dignity for someone with, well, a crown. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were just another peasant trying on fancy hats. And trust me, this kind of issue is far more common than you'd think."

By the time Madam Phirya's torturous lessons were finally over, Argider was practically steaming as she stormed through the palace halls.

She hunted everywhere for Esmeralda, but her search turned up nothing—apparently, the empress had gone off for some "fresh air." Fresh air? What a vague and unhelpful response!

'Be ladylike' my foot!" Argider grumbled, practically yanking at her hair in frustration. "How is this supposed to help me with anything? This is all her fault—that wicked woman must have planned this! I don't even want to be a woman!"

But, annoyingly enough, Phirya did have a point. Not that Argider fully understood why she had to master all this delicate ladylike nonsense.

Why couldn't she just act like a man in a woman's body? An emperor should have a bit of swagger anyway! Who cared if she didn't float through hallways or flutter her eyelashes?

Argider marched on, frustration simmering as she made her way through the third floor and saw the training grounds. The sharp clang of metal and grunts of exertion filled the air, drawing her attention.

Down below, a group of knights were locked in fierce sparring, their swords and shields crashing together in a dance that was anything but dainty.

Training weapons lay scattered across the ground, and clouds of dust swirled up with each powerful strike. Some knights fought in pairs, while others focused on beating the daylights out of training dummies, all with intense, unbreakable focus.

A sword! Yes, that was it—the key to royal dignity! After all, plenty of emperors in history had swung a sword with authority and style. Surely, holding one would make her look more powerful and commanding.

Plus, she'd secretly always wanted to try swordplay. Okay, sure, she'd been absolutely terrible at it back when she was a man, but details, details! This time, she was certain she'd look positively heroic… or at least avoid poking herself in the foot.

"See that, Redemption System? Just you watch—I'm going to be the greatest emperor ever! 'Lady,' my foot!" she cackled, thoroughly pleased with herself.

Alvator materialized out of nowhere again, floating in the air like he owned the place, causing the girl to nearly lost her balance at the sudden appearance, her hands flailing. "By the gods, wha-?!"

"Still as jumpy as ever," he purred, clearly enjoying her startled reaction. "And just so you know, you still have Phirya's lessons to get through."

"Could you not keep popping up out of thin air like that? And for once, act like a real guide! You know, maybe guide me somewhere, instead of just lurking around like some cosmic prankster!"

"Stop slacking off and take this mission seriously," the cat admonished, floating lazily in the air with a look of mild disapproval. "You can't keep avoiding your responsibilities."

Argider rolled her eyes, a smug smirk creeping onto her face. "Oh, spare me," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "I fail to see the point of these 'lady lessons. Besides, nowhere in the redemption system does it say I have to turn into a lady! Does it kill Denzelle? Absolutely not! But a sword through his heart? Guaranteed kill... if I can actually do it."

— [New Notification]

— [Sub Task: Complete Lessons & Trainings]

— [By completing the lessons brought upon you, one can finally start to level and update their stage on personality development. Therefore, also strengthening your abilities]

— [Failure will result in punishments and the decrease of your EXP's]

"What were you saying again?"

"H-How? What?..."

With a dramatic huff, Argider reluctantly agreed, though it was clear this was no triumph for her. "Fine," she declared. "But mark my words—sword fighting takes precedence. That's the true priority!"

She went down and marched toward the training grounds.

The air around her was thick with the scent of sweat and sheer willpower as the knights threw themselves into their training with all the enthusiasm of a hungry wolf.

The heat inside their bulky armor must have been unbearable. She couldn't decide if it was bravery or sheer stubbornness that kept them from fainting on the spot. Either way, she was glad to be here than be with madam Phirya.

Argider's eyes locked onto the wooden sword hanging on the stand, practically begging to be taken.

With the grace of a startled squirrel, she reached out, her fingers fumbling like they were trying to pet a particularly prickly cactus.

When her hand finally made contact with the handle, it was more like a gentle suggestion than a confident grasp. Still, she yanked the sword free from its perch, holding it as though it might suddenly turn into a live dragon and bite her.

She knew she was careless. What were the chances of her cutting herself accidentally?

"Well," she muttered to herself, "this can't possibly go wrong."