Chapter 4: Thornfell's Gates

When someone goes to Cindraline Mountain, the first thing they'll see is the Thornfell's large gates surrounding the estate. Although it is a property owned by a baroness, the design of the estate was grand, and something a passerby would doubt if the owner is really just a lower-ranking noble. 

But Lady Thornfell is not just a normal noblewoman; she was a military commander before and was acknowledged by the imperial family. Underneath that, she was also a famous entrepreneur and businesswoman in the underground society, or simply called the black market.

When you enter the Thornfell estate, you'll be met with the training yard, where a lot of the purchased slaves are being trained for the basics of swordsmanship, combat skills, and sensory training. There are located chambers here as well for the new trainees.

Once you pass the basic training, you'll be led deeper into the manor, the second gate leading to the second part of the estate. This is where the real training begins. They will be honed with the necessary skills to become a proper knight of Thornfell. Their skills will be honed depending on which attributes they do their best. Whether as a mage, fighter, swordsman, and so on. This is where their basic education starts as well for those who hadn't had an opportunity to learn before. Like writing and reading for future interactions. 

The last part of the estate, which is the third gate, is where the lady of the house resides. Her staffs and the high-ranking knights. No one is allowed here if you're not an official knight yet or if you don't have permission directly from the lady.

Seraphina stood among the other trainees in the muddy courtyard, her worn boots sinking into the slush of melting frost. The air smelled of steel and damp moss. They were finally being escorted through the estate's second gates, where the real training—and danger—began.

Although she was late to arrive at the estate, her continuous improvements, and her last duel with Sir Decruix, she was immediately included in the list of those who passed and can proceed to the second gate.

Instructor Rythe barked a command, slamming his staff against the cobblestones. "Eyes forward. If you stumble now, you might as well crawl back to the auction block."

The estate's interior was cold and silent. Stone hallways stretched into darkness, lit only by flickering torches. Servants in gray uniforms flitted past like ghosts, never daring to meet a trainee's eyes.

Their sleeping quarters were located in the East Wing—a long corridor lined with cramped stone cells. Each contained a narrow cot, a rust-stained basin, and nothing more.

Seraphina stepped into hers without protest. Her gaze swept over the shallow scratches on the wall, a series of tallied lines etched by the cell's previous occupant. She ran her fingers across them. Thirty-seven days.

She didn't wonder what happened on the thirty-eighth.

Days passed in a blur of training and orders.

Seraphina adapted quickly. She learned how to fall without breaking bones, how to listen for footsteps in darkness, and how to mask fear with stillness. Her instructors noticed. They began assigning her harder drills and longer watches.

But trust was never given, only measured.

One evening, after an exhausting sparring session, Seraphina lingered in the training yard, running through the blade forms she'd memorized. Her arms ached, and her breath steamed in the cold night air. She felt eyes on her.

'I suddenly feel chills on my spine, like somebody will come at me any moment from now,' she thought to herself.

She turned sharply. Nothing. Only the shadows of the stone archways and the faint rustle of wind.

Still, she sensed it—someone was watching her.

She didn't know it yet, but hidden beneath one of the overhanging balconies, a stranger in a long black cloak observed her movements.

He had seen many trainees come and go. Most broke. But this girl is different. Being a woman was not a hindrance for her to gain the necessary strength she needed. Just like how she almost beat that old hag in their duel.

"She's really interesting," the man murmured under his breath.

Corven, he had told the Thornfell scouts when he arrived 5 months ago. A traveler seeking employment. A skilled swordsman with a recommendation forged well enough to pass.

But he was none of those things. Not really.

He watched Seraphina for one more moment, then disappeared into the night, like a phantom vanishing from the scene.

And Seraphina, none the wiser, returned to her cell after being creeped out that someone was watching her.

*********

The next day, Seraphina found herself standing before a row of weapons, all lined along a long stone table in the training hall. Swords of various lengths, daggers with jagged edges, curved blades, and iron fans. The instructor, a grizzled man with cold eyes and a brutal gait, gestured to them with a grunt.

"Choose."

It was a test—one of many. Lira (she's also one of the passers) had warned her earlier that the choice of weapon often marked whether someone would be culled. Pick the wrong one, and you'd be marked as a liability.

Seraphina's gaze drifted along the table. She could barely lift a longsword properly yet, and the curved scimitars looked unwieldy in her grip. But her hand stopped at a short blade—not a dagger, but a compact sword, forged for quick, lethal strikes.

She picked it up. It felt…right.

The instructor narrowed his eyes but said nothing. That alone felt like a small victory.

"Pair up," he barked.

Lira moved to her side immediately, but the instructor snapped, "No. She pairs with Valen."

Seraphina stiffened.

Valen was a brute. Broad-shouldered, with a constant sneer and the personality of a spiked mace. He looked pleased by the pairing, tapping his own jagged blade against his palm.

"You're dead, princess," he hissed as they faced off.

She didn't answer. Her fingers tightened on the hilt.

"Oh, unlucky her, she'll be crushed by Valen. He's one of the scariest and most brutal senior trainees here in the entire second gate."

"Her fate is sealed."

"Or maybe not; remember she almost defeated Sir Decruix in the last match?"

"If that rumor is true, it might be a bit exaggerated."

"I heard she cheated first; that's why Sir Decruix used his magic power."

(Seraphina in her mind: Raising her middle finger at Valen.)

(Also, Seraphina in her mind: I didn't cheat you piece of sh!ts!!!! That fair match on my part. If anything else, it's Sir Decruix who cheated last minute!).

The sparring match began with a clash of steel. Valen was faster than she expected, and the first strike knocked her back hard. Her shoulder hit the training post, and a jolt of pain radiated through her ribs.

BOOM!

'Awww... That hurts. My injury from the last duel has not properly healed yet. What da...' She flinched as she was trying to stand up properly.

"Too slow," he sneered.

The world blurred—but something snapped inside her. Like her body was remembering something and moving on its own.

'Woah... Wait... Wait. I feel like... I feel like..'.

As Valen rushed her again, she ducked low, sidestepped, and slashed her blade across his thigh.

SWOOSH! SWISSHH!

He cursed, staggering.

She didn't let up.

The match devolved into something primal—Valen struck with wild power, and Seraphina met him with cold fury. Her strikes were surgical, not strong but precise. When she disarmed him, knocking the blade from his hand with a swift twist, the hall fell silent.

The instructor raised a brow. "Again."

They fought twice more. She won both.

As Valen slumped against the wall, bloodied and swearing, Seraphina stood breathless, blade at her side.

'I feel like the original Seraphina is possessing me every time I fight. Or this body just remembers her past owner's experiences well'.

Lira approached after the session, a crooked smile on her face.

"You're starting to make enemies," she said.

"I already have enough," Seraphina muttered.

Later that evening, as she returned to the barracks, she felt a strange warmth pulsing under her skin. It wasn't fever—it was something else. A subtle, thrumming heat that flared in moments of danger. She remembered it again from earlier in the match—the way her instincts had taken over, how her body had moved on its own.

She sat alone in her corner bunk and pressed her hand to her chest.

"Is this... magic?"

The thought chilled her. In this world, there are magic that was dangerous. It will mark you. And unless you were trained by a sanctioned guild or bloodline, you were a threat.

But knowing the novel, she knows that Seraphina is really adept with magic. She just hadn't tried it before, since she was afraid that she might not control it. Since the novel hasn't properly started yet, she knows that at this time, her powers are not fully awakened yet. 

She didn't give it much thought and decided to put it aside for now. Until the time comes that she needs to focus on it.

'Besides, I'm afraid of the results once it awakens. What if it immediately awakened as dark magic? I don't wanna be burned at a stake like a barbecue'.

That night, the dreams returned, more vivid than ever.

She stood before a throne of bone. A voice echoed around her, low and somewhat like an ancient.

"Do you remember what you are?"

A reflection appeared before her in the void—not Sophia, not Seraphina, but someone else. Silver eyes. Black veins creeping up her throat. A sigil burning across her chest, faint and half-formed.

"You are not theirs to mold."

Seraphina woke with a gasp. The heat in her chest surged, then vanished.

She sat up, breathing hard.

'What was that? '

***********