Chapter 12: The Soldier’s Return

The sun had barely risen when the rhythmic sound of hooves echoed along the dirt path leading to their home. Sylvie, still groggy from sleep, peeked out from the small window of their cottage, her breath hitching when she saw the figure riding toward them.

Callan had returned.

Her father's presence was unmistakable—the broad shoulders, the worn yet sturdy armor strapped across his torso, and the imposing sword resting against his saddle. Even from a distance, she could tell he was exhausted, but there was a hardened glint in his eyes, one that spoke of battlefields far beyond the rolling hills of their fief.

The moment he dismounted, her mother rushed out to greet him, relief evident in the way she gripped his arm. Sylas was already bounding down the steps, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with excitement.

But then—her father's face darkened.

"I heard from the gate guards." His voice was low, dangerous. "You were attacked on the way home."

Sylvie felt a chill creep up her spine. Of course, word would have reached him before he even arrived.

Her mother nodded grimly. "Two bandits. We escaped, but—"

"You should not have had to escape in the first place," Callan interrupted, his tone edged with barely restrained anger. His sharp eyes flickered between them. "You were defenseless out there."

Sylvie hesitated. That wasn't entirely true. She had done something.

"We fought back," Sylas said, folding his arms. "Kind of."

Callan's expression hardened. "Sylas, you've trained, but your mother and sister—" He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze lingering on Sylvie longer than usual.

He was studying her.

For most of her life, she had been sickly, fragile, unable to even walk for long periods without feeling drained. But now? She stood before him looking stronger than ever.

His frown eased, and a contemplative look crossed his face.

"Sylas," Callan said, "we'll resume your training today."

Sylas straightened. "Finally."

Then, to everyone's surprise, Callan turned his gaze toward Sylvie.

"You as well."

Sylvie blinked. "Me?"

Her father nodded. "You look healthier than I've ever seen you. The sickness is gone, isn't it?"

Sylvie hesitated before giving a small nod.

"Then there's no reason you shouldn't learn how to defend yourself," Callan said. "A sword may not be your strength, but there are other ways to fight. Strength isn't just about power—it's about knowing how to survive."

Sylvie felt a strange thrill at his words. This world was dangerous, and if she wanted to survive, she needed to take every opportunity she could get.

"I want to learn," she said firmly.

Callan's lips curled into a rare, approving smile. "Good."

The training yard—or rather, the open patch of land behind their home—was where Callan drilled Sylas in swordplay. Wooden dummies were lined up against a worn-down fence, and practice weapons leaned against a makeshift rack.

Callan tossed Sylas a wooden sword, and then, surprisingly, handed Sylvie a shorter training dagger. It was dulled, but still weighted properly.

"First rule," Callan said. "A fight is never fair. If someone stronger than you is attacking, you don't stand your ground—you find a way to turn their strength against them."

Sylvie nodded, gripping the dagger tightly.

Callan motioned for her to attack.

Sylvie hesitated, but then lunged forward, aiming for his torso.

In an instant, her father sidestepped her attack, his large hand catching her wrist with ease.

"Too direct." He loosened his grip and guided her stance. "If you must fight, aim for weak points. The throat, the eyes, the joints—places where even the strongest warrior will falter."

Sylvie adjusted her stance, her mind absorbing the information like a sponge.

After several more attempts, Callan finally nodded in approval. "You learn quickly."

Sylas, watching from the sidelines, smirked. "She doesn't need a dagger anyway. She made this thing that blinds people. It's probably more useful than a sword."

Callan raised an eyebrow. "A tool?"

Sylvie exhaled, pulling the wooden canister of Pepper Mist from her pouch. "It's something I made… for self-defense."

Her father took it from her hands, inspecting the strange mechanism with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. "And this works?"

Before Sylvie could respond, Sylas grabbed the canister. "Watch, you just press—"

A puff of fine powder erupted into the air.

Right into Sylas's face.

A second of silence. Then—

"AAAAAHHH!"

Sylas staggered back, clutching his eyes. "IT HAPPENED AGAIN—WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!"

Callan chuckled, shaking his head as Sylvie sighed. "Well, I guess you got to see it in action"

Sylas glared at her through watery eyes. "I hate that thing."

Callan, however, looked impressed. "You made this yourself?"

Sylvie nodded.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her father's face. Pride? Surprise?

"This is ingenious," he said. "I have never seen anything like it."

Sylvie wasn't sure what reaction she had expected from her father—curiosity, maybe, or mild amusement. But when he looked at her with that smirk, his eyes filled with something close to pride, a strange warmth spread through her chest. It was unfamiliar yet… comforting. She had never had a father before. Not one who looked at her like this, who saw her for who she was and appreciated her. The weight of that realization settled deep inside her. This wasn't just about her invention or what she could do—this was about her. For the first time in her life, she had someone who stood tall, strong, and steadfast, someone who cared about her safety, who took pride in what she accomplished. And in that moment, a part of her that she hadn't even realized was empty felt just a little fuller.

Callan handed back the Pepper Mist with a smirk. "I think I'd like one of these for myself."

Sylvie grinned. "Maybe I'll make you one."

That night, Sylvie sat on her bed, her mind still buzzing from the day's events.

With a thought, she summoned her status.

Name: Sylvie

Age: 8

Class: Unawakened

Attributes:

• Strength: 2 (↑1 from training with Callan)

• Intelligence: 7

• Agility: 2 (↑1 from running and combat training)

• Mana: 10

• Dexterity: 10

Aspect:

• [Tinkerer's Blessing] (A unique talent that grants insight into mechanisms, structures, and their weaknesses. Allows the creation of inventions beyond this world. Enhancement and repair through magic.)

Skills:

• Running (Proficiency: 3/10)

• Washing (Proficiency: 2/10)

• Carving (Proficiency: 1/10)

• Observation (Proficiency: 1/10)

• Tinkerer's Blessing (Proficiency: 8/10) (Enhanced ability to analyze and create mechanisms. Additional proficiency gained from inventing a tool previously unknown to this world.)

• Combat Basics (Proficiency: 1/10) (Fundamental self-defense techniques, including footwork, balance, and evasion.

With this, she's beginning to shape her path in this new world!