Rhianna blinked. "A gift?"
Kayvaan smirked. "I'm your mentor, after all. I can't have my apprentice running around in rags."
Rhianna scoffed. "Rags? This is the best leather armor money can buy in Kronborg."
Kayvaan didn't even dignify that with a response. He simply gestured toward the chest. "Just open it."
Rhianna, now intrigued, lifted the lid. Inside, neatly folded, was a full set of armor, shimmering in a soft cyan hue. As she pulled out each piece, her breath caught. "This… this is exquisite."
The armor was unlike anything she had ever seen. The upper body was covered in elegantly crafted plate, engraved with intricate, almost arcane patterns. The lower portion formed into a skirt of segmented plates, protecting the legs while still allowing movement. Alongside it was a matching set of gauntlets, greaves, and a headband inlaid with silver. Kayvaan watched her reaction, arms still crossed. "It's designed to balance protection, mobility, and presence. The Valkyrie's duty is to recruit warriors, so your appearance matters. You must look strong, inspiring—something both beautiful and untouchable."
Rhianna was already fastening the pieces onto herself. The armor fit perfectly, moving with her body rather than restricting it. She took a few test swings, shifting into combat stances, expecting some stiffness—but there was none. "It's lighter than I expected," she said in awe. "And it moves so well… Sir, this is incredible."
Kayvaan only nodded, pleased. "Armor isn't just about protection," he continued. "A warrior must have presence. Those who see you must think twice before drawing their weapons. The strongest battles are often won before a blade is even drawn."
Rhianna ran a gloved hand over the engravings. "A suit like this must've cost a fortune… and required an incredible craftsman."
Kayvaan smirked. "Not really."
Rhianna scoffed. "Sir, if the knights of Kronborg saw this, they'd kill for a set like it. How did you even get your hands on something this advanced?"
Kayvaan didn't bother explaining. To him, the process had been trivial—the armor was forged from the leftover materials of voidship repairs, shaped and refined by automated machine-forges. Compared to what he could have crafted, this was merely a test piece. But explaining that to someone who still thought steel was the height of craftsmanship would be pointless.
Rhianna, assuming his answer was just him being modest, let the matter drop. Instead, her eyes flickered back toward the chest. "…You said there was more?"
Kayvaan nodded toward the box. "A sword. A different kind than what you're used to."
Excited, Rhianna dove back into the chest. Moments later, she emerged holding a weapon gleaming under the dim torchlight. Then, her expression twisted into something between confusion and disbelief. "Sir… is this what you call a long sword?"
Kayvaan tilted his head slightly. "Yes. Why?"
Rhianna lifted the weapon upright, and the blade nearly reached her height. "This thing is huge!"
Kayvaan smirked. "You'll get used to it."
Rhianna scowled. "Sir, I'm barely taller than this sword!"
Kayvaan chuckled. "And yet, you'll learn to wield it. Strength isn't just about size or muscle—it's about leverage, technique, and knowing how to use your opponent's force against them."
Rhianna huffed, shifting her grip and taking a few experimental swings. Despite her complaints, the sword moved with a surprising grace, its weight evenly balanced. "…It's lighter than it looks," she admitted.
Compared to standard longswords, the weapon in Rhianna's hands was nearly the length of a zanma blade, though far more slender. Unlike the broad, heavy cleaving edge of a traditional executioner's sword, this one bore an almost ethereal elegance—its long hilt decorated with intricate engravings, a cross-shaped golden guard, and a blade that shimmered with silver light. It was a weapon of artistry, almost too refined to be real.
Rhianna turned it in her hands, skepticism creeping into her expression. Was something this delicate truly meant for battle? The blade seemed too thin—could it withstand the force of a brutal clash? Would it hold up against heavier weapons? Or would it snap like glass under pressure?
Kayvaan observed her reaction but remained silent. To him, such concerns were amusing but understandable. This blade was forged using materials centuries ahead of this world's crude metallurgy. It was not enhanced with a monomolecular edge or an energy field, but even so, no smith on this planet could replicate it. "This sword is meant for mounted combat," Kayvaan explained. "Its length is perfect for cutting down enemies from horseback. You don't need to worry about its durability. It is far stronger than you can imagine, and sharper than any blade you've ever wielded."
Rhianna glanced at him doubtfully, but his tone left no room for argument. "Use it well."
"I will, my lord."
"Now that you have the finest armor and the sharpest sword, all you need is a worthy steed. Unfortunately, finding a truly exceptional warhorse takes time. For now, I've arranged for a few decent mounts from Versegain—they should arrive in a few days. Until then, train with your new equipment and get used to its weight and feel."
Rhianna adjusted her grip on the weapon, turning it slightly so the blade caught the dull autumn light. "And after that?"
Kayvaan smirked. "I asked you to be the Valkyrie of the Blue Knights, but I doubt you truly understand what that means. That's fine—there has never been a Valkyrie before, after all. You have no example to follow. I'll take you with me on a journey. You'll see firsthand what your role entails. And along the way, I'll teach you more."
***
The sky was overcast, a light drizzle falling as a cold wind swept across the land. The air smelled of damp earth and wet iron. It was late autumn, and the seasons were beginning to change. Tiberius, leader of the famed Tigerwood Mercenary Company, stood at the front of a massive caravan, his arms folded behind his back. He took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp air, letting the chill sharpen his senses. When he exhaled, it came out as a thin mist.
The caravan stretched along the winding road like a great serpent, a massive column of wagons, traders, and guards marching in tandem. From a tactical standpoint, it was a disaster. If someone struck the head of the caravan while another force cut off the rear, the entire convoy would be trapped. Worse still, if an enemy force struck the middle and split the formation, the entire group would be routed.
But who would dare? This wasn't just any trade convoy—it was a combined effort of three of the largest merchant guilds. They had over five hundred professional guards, bolstered by smaller mercenary groups and independent traders who traveled in their shadow. In total, the caravan boasted nearly three thousand people.
If they counted personal bodyguards and hired muscle, their defensive force exceeded eight hundred. No mere bandit gang would be foolish enough to challenge them. Even the armies of lords thought twice before interfering with such a force. But that was what made it so boring.