Deep in the dead of night, long after the palace had plunged into a heavy silence, Prince Lucier crept through the shadowy corridors and slipped unnoticed into Isla's bedchamber.
A malicious, twisted smirk played on his lips as he carefully unclasped her pristine, royal-forged practice blade and seamlessly replaced it with a brittle, heavily rusted piece of scrap metal.
'This absolutely guarantees her humiliation tomorrow,' he thought darkly, stepping back into the shadows.
'When her blade shatters in front of everyone, or better yet, if I am paired against her, I can finally draw blood and scar that arrogant face of hers.'
Returning to his own lavish quarters, Lucier collapsed onto his soft mattress, drifting into a peaceful, deeply satisfying sleep fueled entirely by vicious fantasies of Isla's lifelong dream shattering into a million pieces.
The following morning, bright sunlight streamed aggressively through the silk curtains, waking Isla far later than she had intended.
'Oh no, I am going to be so incredibly late on the very first day!' she panicked internally, throwing off her heavy blankets.
Foregoing her morning breakfast entirely, she hastily dressed, grabbed the sheathed sword resting by her chamber door without sparing a single second to draw the blade and inspect it, and sprinted breathlessly to the waiting royal carriage.
Upon arriving at the bustling academy courtyard, Isla noticed that every noble student was proudly unsheathing and showing off their gleaming weapons—but Dorian was absolutely nowhere to be seen.
A cold, terrifying knot of anxiety immediately twisted in her stomach.
'Did the snake venom return? Is he terribly sick again? Did those nobles bully him out of the academy?' she worried frantically.
Her desperate gaze swept the vast grounds until she finally spotted him. He was sitting completely alone on a cold stone bench in the secluded botanical garden, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped in profound, crushing misery.
Isla dashed over to him, her breath hitching.
"Dorian! Why are you sitting all alone out here? Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes, Isla... I am perfectly fine," Dorian replied, his voice painfully hollow, tight, and thick with unshed tears.
"Then why do you look so incredibly devastated? And where on earth is your sword?"
Isla pressed, dropping down to sit right beside him.
"You know today is our first official day of training! The teacher explicitly commanded every single student to bring their own blade. Where is yours?"
Dorian stared blankly down at his rough, calloused hands. "I... I don't have one, Isla."
"What do you mean you don't have one?"
"My family can barely afford a single loaf of bread to survive the week," Dorian confessed, his voice violently breaking as a heavy, bitter tear slipped down his cheek and splashed onto his knuckles.
"We were only able to step foot in this academy because of the King's merciful decree offering free tuition.
Since I lost my cleaning job to attend these classes, my father has been breaking his back working double shifts in the village just to keep a leaky roof over our heads.
I had to beg, borrow, and scrape just to find used textbooks.
How could I ever look my exhausted, starving father in the eye and demand he buy me an expensive metal sword? I... I desperately want to learn to be a swordsman too, I really do, but... it is just a stupid, impossible dream for a commoner like me."
Seeing his gentle heart shatter completely broke Isla's own.
But instead of offering him useless pity, she quickly masked her deep sorrow with a bright, wildly excited grin.
"Is that really all you are crying over?
Dorian, it's totally fine!" she beamed, waving her hand dismissively. "I actually have a spare sword! Just wait right here on this bench and do not move a single inch. Give me two minutes, I will be right back!"
Without waiting for his confused reply, Isla sprinted down the hall and ducked into a vacant, locked classroom. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, steadying breath and began weaving her small hands in intricate, circular motions.
She drew deep from the heavy well of her hidden magic, forcing the arcane energy to solidify, literally forging a magnificent, perfectly balanced blade from thin air.
However, her reincarnated adult soul was still trapped in the fragile, biologically undeveloped body of a child.
Channeling such an immense, concentrated amount of pure magic instantly drained her physical stamina, leaving her gasping for air, her vision momentarily blurring as a wave of intense dizziness washed over her.
Despite the overwhelming weakness making her small legs tremble, a triumphant, beautiful smile graced her pale lips.
'Now Dorian can chase his dream, too,' she thought proudly, leaning heavily against a desk for a moment to catch her breath.
She staggered slightly as she hurried back out to the garden, proudly presenting the magnificent, magically forged sword to the weeping boy.
Dorian's eyes widened in sheer, reverent awe as his fingers wrapped around the perfect hilt.
His tear-stained face instantly lit up with a blinding, pure joy.
But as he looked up to thank her, his smile faltered; he noticed how she was swaying dangerously on her feet.
"Are you okay, Isla?" Dorian asked, his voice laced with immediate, protective concern.
"You look incredibly pale, and you are trembling."
"I am perfectly fine!" Isla lied smoothly, forcing a bright, energetic laugh to completely hide her magical exhaustion.
"I just ran way too fast to go fetch it from my carriage, so I am a little out of breath.
It is nothing, really!"
Before Dorian could question her rather suspicious excuse further, the teacher's stern, booming voice rang out across the courtyard.
"Isla! Dorian! Bring your swords and fall in line immediately!
The Master from the Snake Kingdom has officially arrived!"
Clutching their weapons tight, both children completely forgot their respective worries and exhaustion, their faces splitting into huge, immensely excited grins as they eagerly ran side-by-side toward the training grounds.
The students hastily arranged themselves into a perfectly straight line across the sun-baked dirt of the training grounds, their young faces flushed with eager anticipation as they greeted the legendary trainer with booming voices and overwhelming enthusiasm.
The master from the Snake Kingdom was an older, deeply weathered man, his posture as rigid and unforgiving as the steel he wielded.
After delivering a curt, highly intimidating introduction, his sharp, predatory eyes began to slowly sweep across the line of young nobles.
He glared at each student with such an intense, calculated scrutiny that it felt as though he were peeling away their fancy titles to brutally judge the raw, unpolished worth of their souls.
Every single student had tightly gripped their hilts, their hearts racing as they fully expected to be taught dazzling sword techniques or combat stances right away.
But to their utter shock, his very first, booming command was a harsh bark ordering them to run laps around the massive, sprawling perimeter of the academy grounds.
'What the actual fuck?'
Isla thought, her brow furrowing in deep, immediate annoyance as she stared at the old man in disbelief.
'We came out here to learn the noble art of swordsmanship, not to participate in some ridiculous, exhausting marathon!'
However, no one dared to voice a single word of complaint against the imposing master's strict, unquestionable orders.
But there was a brutal, punishing twist to his command: they were not allowed to safely sheath their weapons.
Instead, they had to run the grueling distance while firmly carrying the heavy, cumbersome weight of their drawn swords in their hands.
Isla forced her aching legs to move, starting to run alongside her peers.
But the severe, lingering toll of channeling such an immense amount of pure magic to forge Dorian's sword had left her fragile, childish body completely drained of its natural stamina.
Her legs felt like blocks of solid lead, her lungs burned like fire with every shallow breath, and a thick, dizzying fog clouded her mind.
She could barely even manage to walk in a straight line, let alone maintain a steady, grueling jogging pace while carrying a heavy weapon.
She stubbornly pushed her trembling body for a few more agonizing minutes, desperately refusing to give up on her dream. But eventually, the physical exhaustion became too immense.
Her vision violently blackened, and with a soft, helpless gasp, the sword slipped from her fingers as she collapsed heavily onto the unforgiving dirt track, completely unconscious.
Terrified of the master's wrath, the rest of the noble students blindly kept running, ignoring their fallen classmate to save themselves.
But the absolute second Dorian saw Isla's small body hit the ground, he slammed on the brakes.
Abandoning the rigid formation and the strict orders without a single fraction of hesitation,
Dorian threw his newly acquired sword into the dirt and sprinted backward in a state of sheer, unadulterated panic, dropping desperately to his knees beside her motionless form.
From his elevated position at the center of the grounds, the strict, uncompromising trainer watched this entire chaotic sequence of events unfold in total silence.
As a hardened veteran who worshipped absolute discipline, endurance, and unwavering adherence to the rules above all else, his ancient eyes slowly began to burn with a terrifying, blood-red fury at this blatant, highly unacceptable disregard for his direct command.