The next day, before dawn, Gael set out from Sterling Mansion with Altaïr, hurrying toward the Hunter Training Camp in the suburbs.
In her words, taking a carriage to work wasn't appropriate, so they chose to walk.
Altaïr had no issue with that whatsoever. The city roads were easy to travel, and this distance for a Hunter couldn't even count as a warm-up morning jog.
Francesca, contrary to her usual habits, crawled out of bed early, claiming she wanted to come along for the fun. However, she wanted to take a carriage and ended up getting kicked by her mother. Grumbling, she had no choice but to tag along on foot.
Sajji accompanied them as well. His Palico Armor was also of very high quality, so to avoid arousing suspicion among the trainees, he naturally couldn't wear it either.
Gael wasn't meticulous enough to specially prepare a Felyne Acorn set for him, the standard gear for novice Palicoes. He simply took everything off. To a Felyne, going bare-chested wasn't a problem anyway.
As a long-haired breed, Sajji's whole body looked fluffy and plush. Francesca couldn't resist scooping him up. "Ah, a clean little kitty is still the best to hold.
That Pawdrick guy smears maintenance products and all sorts of random greasy ointments into his fur all day long. It looks glossy, but it feels all waxy and sticky to the touch, plus there's this weird smell.
Altaïr, how about we trade cats? You can have that greasy, flirtatious cat."
"..."
Altaïr had long since grown used to Francesca's usual nonsense and simply pretended not to hear.
"Speaking of which, Lord Pawdrick, meow? I haven't seen him at all, meow?" Sajji asked curiously.
Since Pawdrick was Clawdia's elder brother and had once led them to raid a Rathalos nest, Sajji held him in considerable esteem.
"Ah, that guy. Probably in some young lady's bed," Francesca said with a completely indifferent expression. "He loves tricking innocent girls the most, mooching food and lodging by pretending to be a pet cat for a few days, then sneaking off."
Gael, walking ahead, clicked her tongue. She despised freeloading scum like that more than anything.
"His parents and sister are all upright, outstanding Palicoes. How he mutated into such a deadbeat is beyond me. Let me know when he comes back in a couple of days. I'll shave him bald and send him over to Sajyan's place for a grueling reform boot camp.
Or we can just find a family to trade him away to. Save us the eyesore of him loafing around at home all day."
Francesca was just about to say "Deal," when she looked up and met her mother's sidelong glare. She shuddered instantly.
She had the distinct feeling that her mom wasn't just talking about Pawdrick...
When the three people and one Felyne arrived at the Hunter Training Camp, it was already almost daylight.
The moment she stepped through the training camp gate, Lady Gael's entire demeanor shifted. Her face hardened into a stern mask, and she immediately appeared far more severe and proper.
Encountering a few trainees walking along, chatting and laughing, she immediately barked a reprimand: "Look at the time! Still goofing off and giggling around here? Get your butts to the Training Area right now!
If I catch any of you slacking off here again, I'll double your training load!"
The trainees ducked their heads and scurried away with their tails between their legs.
"Wow! So intimidating!" Francesca teased with a giggle.
"What, do you want to run laps too?" Gael clamped one hand around the back of Francesca's neck. "You haven't really been training lately, have you? Want to seize this chance to make up for it?"
"... Oh, I-I've just been busy with other things." Francesca gave her a fawning smile.
Gael tightened her grip, kneading the back of Francesca's neck, which sent the latter into a volley of squeals and yelps.
Paying no mind to the little interaction between mother and daughter, Altaïr gazed out at the sweating crowd on the distant training ground.
"Lady Gael, what are the physical standards for the graduation assessment here at the training camp?" he suddenly asked after watching for a while.
"Blademaster trainees and Gunner trainees are different." Gael released the back of Francesca's neck and rattled off a string of numbers. "For Blademaster trainees, it's a fully geared ten-kilometer cross-country run in forty minutes, bench press..."
After listening, Altaïr nodded, getting a clear picture in his mind.
"How about this, then? I won't show off any flashy moves, but I'll combine a few weapons and focus on demonstrating physical fitness. Different techniques suit different people, but physical fitness is the foundation of everything."
"Good, good! That's perfect! If it can make those brats realize they haven't even gotten the most basic fitness down and put more heart into their usual conditioning, then nothing could be better! Lad, looks like you're quite suited to being an Instructor. Any interest in working under me in the future?" In stark contrast to the various ways she picked on her own daughter, Gael's attitude toward Altaïr was remarkably warm.
"It's a shame Isis isn't here. If she were the one demonstrating, the effect would be amazing."
"Isis? No, no, you're actually more suitable," Gael said, waving her hand. "Isis, with that height of hers, the length of her arms and legs, that raw muscular power... she's practically got the words 'extraordinary talent' etched on her forehead. If she did the demonstration, it would only make people think, wow, this girl's a genius, and they'd overlook the element of effort. Your physical qualities are more balanced. Your build counts as big among your peers, but it's unremarkable among Hunters, which makes it easier for recruits to see you as an 'ordinary person' like them. That way they'll realize this is the kind of result you can achieve through effort."
"Alright, I underst–"
Before Altaïr could finish his response, Lady Gael let out a thunderous roar. "Hey! Over there! Are you trying to die, still lying around here?! Do you know everyone else has been training for ages already?!"
Gael stormed over in a rage. Altaïr and Francesca exchanged a glance and hurriedly followed.
Only then did Altaïr notice a slender girl, her eyes ringed with dark circles, lying sprawled out on her back under a tree beside the path. A kick from Gael finally got her to sit up, sluggishly.
"Instructor..." the girl spoke feebly. "I got up at four in the morning to train. I was done with my training load before I came here to lie down..."
"Really?" Gael skeptically kneaded the girl's arms and legs.
Judging by the temperature of her muscles and the way blood had flushed her limbs, the girl was not lying.
Gael's tone softened a bit, but still carried a note of rebuke. "What the hell is wrong with you? When to rest, when to eat, when to train; it's all specifically arranged, alright? Who told you to change your daily schedule without permission?!"
The girl sighed. "I also don't like crowding in with so many people. All that laughing and joking, it's annoyingly loud."
Gael snapped her hand across the back of the girl's head in a slap. "People who can justify being antisocial with such righteous conviction are a rare sight indeed." "Get up already. Lying down after training does your body more harm than good!"
"I'm only lying down for a little while. As soon as I get some strength back, I'll go train with my weapon." The girl rubbed the back of her head, muttering. "My weapon isn't suited for training while others are resting or during general knowledge classes, so I adjusted my schedule."
Just then, Altaïr and Francesca also walked over.
"Ah, I remember you," Francesca said, looking at the lethargic girl with some surprise.
Before she could finish, the girl looked back and replied, "Ah, I don't remember you. Who are you?"
Francesca: "..."
It was only when he got closer that Altaïr noticed the marks on the girl's face weren't actually dark circles under her eyes.
It was just that her lower lashes were very long, and combined with her deep-set eyes, it gave the impression of dark circles so pronounced they looked like smudged smoky eye makeup.
Having been so bluntly rebuffed, Francesca felt a little stifled. But, well versed in the art of communication, she knew perfectly well that dealing with this type required making an even stronger impression, or else you'd be dragged along by their shifting, mud-like pace.
So, rather than hurriedly trying to help Lambert remember who she was, she turned to Altaïr and said: "Lambert. She arrived at the training camp at the end of April the year before last.
Seems she decided to become a Hunter after watching Isis fight in the Arena. I should have mentioned her to you before."
Francesca's memory was exceptional, and Altaïr's was none too shabby either. He nodded. "Rings a bell. They said her parents were musicians, right?"
"Senior Isis?" The girl, who had until now looked completely listless, lifted her eyes. "Ah, I think I remember a little now. You're that... that one utterly unenthusiastic person who was with Senior Isis."
"What do you mean 'utterly unenthusiastic person'?!" This was the first time Francesca had ever heard herself described that way, and for a moment her composure cracked.
The girl named Lambert seemed to have no interest in further conversation with her and shifted her gaze to Altaïr.
Suddenly, her eyes went wide. Combined with the deep shadows of her eye sockets, her excessively pale skin, and her thin cheeks, the effect was inexplicably frightening.
Then, the corners of her mouth stretched wide, making her expression look even more horrifying.
"Your voice... it's different. There's a vengeful spirit clinging to you!"
"Whack!"
"Ow! That hurts–"
Gael withdrew the fist she had brought down on the girl's head. "What kind of nonsense are you spouting?"
(Translated by yourtl.app)