The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 16 - Boys & Girls

Mouths fell open the moment Seraphina stepped into the boys' Weapons Training Hall. Her short, sunlit blonde hair shimmered, and her emerald-green eyes flashed with confidence. The breeches hugged her figure, highlighting her burgeoning curves. But, like all clothes that were not tailored for her, the thick arming jacket was particularly tight around the chest. She could practically feel the weight of every male gaze in the room. Behind her followed Miriam, looking every bit the timid shadow, her eyes darting nervously as if searching for a place to hide while wilting under everyone's stares.

Standing among the boys was Gravens, flanked by Smith and Gascoigne—the other Knights who'd accompanied her to the Academy. They, too, gawked at Seraphina's sudden entrance, though Gravens quickly schooled his expression, his brow furrowed in concern.

The instructor was a woman. Tall, with sharp gold eyes and light brown hair streaked with silver, she exuded a cold, predatory air that was intensified by a jagged scar running across her left cheek. As she looked over Seraphina and Miriam, her lips curved into a faint smile that held neither warmth nor welcome.

"I am Instructor Melisiandre de Vallieres," she said, her tone brisk and unapologetically cool. "This is Weapons class for the boys. The girls' class meets in Hall Two. You appear to be… misplaced."

Seraphina arched a perfect eyebrow. "Yes, well, it would take entirely too long for us to walk all the way there. I was curious to see how you'd teach the boys differently from the girls."

A low chuckle escaped Melisiandre's lips. "There's always one every year. To think that I used to be just like you, once upon a time."

"I am Seraphina de Sariens," the blonde girl continued sweetly, though there was a stubborn gleam in her eyes. "The principal no doubt informed you of my particular circumstances. My three attendants must remain close in most of my classes."

Melisiandre's gold eyes narrowed. "Yes, we're aware. That's why we made a special petition to have Sir Gallant of the Royal Guard assigned to oversee the girls' training, my little lady." She waved a hand dismissively, as if ushering Seraphina and Miriam toward the exit. "You will be perfectly safe there if assassins suddenly storm the Academy. Now, if you please—"

"No," Seraphina cut in, her voice unwavering. "I'd much rather learn from you, Ms. de Vallieres—Adventurer of the Mithril, the Wolf of Glassfire Sea."

The instructor's brow lifted at the mention of her old title, and a husky laugh rumbled from her chest. "That name hasn't been spoken aloud since long before you were a mischievous glint in your parents' eyes. To think, this is the daughter of the 'Red Troll.'"

Seraphina's lips pressed into a thin line at the mention of her father's rather unflattering epithet, but she maintained her composure. The older woman pressed on, her tone turning instructive.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"There's a reason girls have separate first-year classes. In Aranthia, even the poorest peasant boy is taught the basics of martial arts from childhood. Add the sheer physical advantage men possess in size and strength, and it becomes critical that girls develop a different technique. So, yes, the girls' classes are often more intense, because there's more ground to cover. Because we are naturally disadvantaged, in the main, when it comes to physical combat."

Seraphina gave a derisive snort, unconvinced. "I suspect the 'Red Troll's' daughter may not need special treatment."

Melisiandre inspected Seraphina's slender arms and shoulders, her gold eyes missing nothing. "We'll see," she murmured, her mouth quirking in a grin. "I see no real muscle on you, but perhaps you're sturdier than you look. Pick a practice weapon, de Sariens—I'll humor you. The rest of you!" Her voice rose as she addressed the boys. "A hundred swings, as your fathers taught you."

There was a collective groan from the rest of the class.

Seraphina lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated. "And Miriam joins us if I pass whatever silly test you have in mind."

Melisiandre merely shrugged. "So selfless and noble of you. Hurry up, then, before I lose patience."

Ignoring the prickle of unease at the back of her neck, Seraphina strode to the rack of practice weapons. Her eyes roamed over wooden swords, spears, and daggers—none of which seemed dramatic enough for what she planned. Finally, she settled on a very large, stout war club. It was a hefty thing, clearly designed for simple smashing, and usually only practiced with when both combatants were more protected. She had no formal 'Skill' with it—at least in the game's terms—but truly, how different could swinging this club be from a large sword?

She hoisted the large club onto her shoulder and stepped into one of the chalk-drawn circles that marked the sparring area of the wooden floor. All eyes followed her, some with concern, others with amusement. Gravens sidled up to her, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

"Milady Seraphina," he whispered, "is this altogether wise?"

Her temper had already sparked, and she refused to let it fizzle out. "I'll be fine, Gravens," she snapped through clenched teeth.

"Mistress…" Miriam began before shaking her head and shutting her mouth.

Melisiandre exhaled in mocking exasperation. "Well, now I can see the real reason why you are trying to join this class," quipped the instructor teasingly. "Now, if you lovebirds are finished shall we begin?"

The gathered boys, save for her Knights, chuckled lightly among themselves. The woman was infuriating, and Seraphina's blood was truly up now. There would be no backing down, no surrender here.

"Whenever you're ready," Seraphina bit out, cheeks burning as she looked at each of the boys' faces in turns, committing their features to memory.

The young girl's knuckles gripped the handle of the training club, leaving a small indent. "Shouldn't you be wearing some more protective?"

Her teacher laughed. "Don't worry. You won't be touching me today."

Seraphina's temper flared so hotly she could feel her heart thudding in her ears. The war club suddenly felt lighter in her hands. "We'll see."

"That's an… interesting choice," Melisiandre remarked, swishing her twin wooden blades through the air. The edges had been marked in red paint, presumably to show where blows would land in a real fight. "That war club you wield is heavy and slow. Soldiers often favor warhammers or maces for speed and control. But if you think you can handle it—"

"I do," Seraphina replied icily. "This will do for the likes of you."

The instructor's gold eyes glinted, and she settled into a ready stance, one blade lifted, the other angled low. "Very well, girl. Come at me. Let's see exactly what the Red Troll's daughter can do."