Training, I was told, would involve swords. Fire. Sweat. The clash of steel echoing through canyons and possibly a dramatic montage.

  Instead, I am in a garden.

  Not just any garden. garden.

  A sacred place of peas, pansies, and personal humiliation. There is a sign at the gate that reads “Please don’t step on the thyme. It’s shy.”

  “This,” I said dryly, “is not training. This is landscaping.”

  Ren smiled as he handed me a trowel. A trowel. I am a deathblade of unimaginable arcane depth. I once took down a sky fortress in under twelve minutes. Now I’m being used to dig holes for daffodils.

  “We need to enrich our bond with the earth,” Ren said, adjusting his sunhat. “The system says it boosts Nature Empathy if we do it gently.”

  Gently. If I had tear ducts, I would be weeping blood.

  Ren began humming as he planted herbs. Lavender, basil, sage. He murmured encouragement to each leaf like a mother hen auditioning for a musical. I, meanwhile, was handed over to trim roses.

  Yes. Trim. Roses.

  I wasn’t even used like a sword. He just poked the thorns away with my hilt and whispered “good job” every time a petal didn’t fall off in fear. At one point, he leaned in and said, “I think they like you.”

  “They fear me,” I corrected.

  “No,” he said. “They feel safe.”

  I buzzed so violently a nearby caterpillar passed out.

  The system pinged, popping a new message that would make me dread my reality.

  [New Skill Gained: Nature Empathy I – Gain insight into plant feelings. +1 Herb Handling. +10% Growth Bonus when Whispering Encouragement.]

  I would like to formally file a complaint.

  By Midday, it got even worse, the goat joined us. That stupid little Goat!!. The Horned Harbinger. She emerged from behind the compost bin like a war general returning from exile. She was wearing a lettuce leaf as a cape and had a twig shoved behind her ear like a quill. Strapped to her back—gods help me—was a satchel made from an old sock, filled with

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Ren beamed. “Look! She’s bringing rations.”

  “She’s preparing for a siege,” I hissed.

  Mimi trotted between garden beds like she was inspecting troops. She headbutted the scarecrow. Twice. Then she stood on the watering can and bleated loudly, as though delivering orders to an invisible infantry.

  Ren, somehow, took this as a sign of progress. “I think she wants to help.”

  She does not want to help. She wants to And I, cursed weapon of doom, am now apparently the second-most dangerous entity in this household!!

  While Ren was transplanting mint, a group of adventurers walked by the edge of the field. They had spotted us. More specifically, they spotted in his sunhat. Holding me. Whispering to carrots.

  They whispered to each other. Then one of them said, “Hey! Aren’t you that Compassion Knight?”

  Ren stood and waved. “Yes! We’re doing soil-based training today!!”

  The adventurers stared at us, One of them—muscles for brains, abs for personality—snorted. “You calltraining?”

  I would have said so if I was not offended by that sack of protein.

  Ren blinked. “Yes. Would you like to join?”

  “Pfft. We’re training against ogres, not orchids.”

  I began humming, the sound rising in pitch and power, buzzing through the air like a swarm of irritated hornets with musical ambitions. It was loud. It was menacing. It was the kind of hum that curdles milk and sours bravado.

  The goat advanced. Mimi, the undisputed tactician of the cabbage realm, sprang onto a nearby fence post with the elegance of a seasoned general and the menace of a disgruntled librarian. Her gaze locked on the adventurers with such focused disdain that the bard dropped his lute and mumbled something about early retirement.

  The muscle-man scoffed, arms crossed over muscles too dumb to be useful. “What are you gonna do? Throw flowers at us?”

  In that moment, the sky shifted. Clouds slid in like gossip at a tea party. The breeze stilled as if afraid to interrupt. Even the thyme shivered slightly, its tiny leaves trembling in leafy anticipation.

  Ren stepped forward with the kind of quiet certainty usually reserved for saints and stubborn farmers. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t flustered. He was calm. Composed. And, somehow, more terrifying than the troll from last week.

  He lifted me slowly, not as a threat but as something more profound—a gentle promise, wrapped in sunlight and steel.

  “I only fight when I have to,” he said, voice as soft as moss and twice as steady. “But if you insult my garden again, I will .”

  Hearing the promise in his voice, the adventurers fled.

  Who is this guy?! How can those dumb adventurers be sacred of a half-assed threat!!?

  [Trait Gained: Verdant Valor – +3 Presence When Defending Peaceful Spaces]

  [Reputation Increased: Nature's Ally – +2 Relations with Nearby Dryads]

  That night, Ren gave the roses one final pat and whispered goodnight to the chamomile. Mimi sharpened a stick by the fire as I sat on my embroidered pillow and tried not to weep internally.

  I am a blade of vengeance. I should not have a Growth Bonus.

  And yet... I watched them. My gardener. My goat and My doom.

  And for the first time since being reborn, I wondered if perhaps this was a battlefield too.

  [Next Time: Mimi Declares War on a Garden Gnome. I’m Dragged Into It.]