Chapter 3: The Princess, the Sword, and the Refund Policy

The royal training courtyard looked like a place where men went to become legends or die before breakfast.

It sprawled behind the western wing of the palace in a rectangle of pale sand bordered by white stone colonnades and clipped hedges shaped like rampant lions. Weapon racks gleamed beneath striped awnings. Archery targets stood in neat rows like condemned criminals awaiting judgment. In one corner, armored knights battered one another with blunted polearms hard enough to make Milo’s ribs ache in sympathy from twenty paces away.

The air smelled of oiled leather, hot metal, crushed grass, and the faintly sweet perfume drifting from the palace gardens. Morning sunlight poured over the golden rooftops and caught on spear tips until the whole courtyard glittered like an aggressively expensive loading screen.

Milo Park stood in the middle of it wearing borrowed training clothes that did not fit him and a breastplate that fit him even less.

The breastplate had been polished to a mirror shine. Unfortunately, that meant Milo could see himself in it every time he looked down: messy black hair, dark circles under his eyes, expression of a man who had just realized the tutorial could not be skipped.

“Raise your arm,” said Princess Celestia.

Milo raised the wrong arm.

Celestia closed her eyes. Just for a moment. It was the kind of eye-closing one did when asking the gods for patience and receiving a busy signal.

“Your sword arm,” she said.

“Right. Of course.” Milo switched arms, then paused with his elbow bent awkwardly. “Quick question. Is sword arm, like, dominant hand, or is there a sacred hero tradition where it’s whichever arm glows during destiny moments?”

A young squire behind the princess coughed into his fist. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Celestia’s gaze flicked toward him, and the squire instantly became fascinated by a bucket.

“The sword arm,” the princess said, “is the arm with which you hold the sword.”

“Great. So we’re using practical definitions. Love that.”

She handed him a wooden practice sword.

Milo’s wrist dipped under the weight.

It was not even a real sword. It was wood, rounded at the edges, the kind of thing a responsible kingdom gave to small children before allowing them to swing sharpened metal at straw men. Yet it landed in Milo’s hand with the moral weight of a court summons.

Celestia noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Princess Celestia Veyr Solenne, first daughter of the Kingdom of Aurelia, had the kind of face painters probably fought duels over. Silver-blond hair braided beneath a circlet of white gold. Eyes the blue of winter skies. A posture so straight it made nearby flagpoles look undisciplined. She wore light training armor instead of a gown, lacquered white and trimmed in blue, with a slim sword resting at her hip like it belonged there more than some people belonged in their own bodies.

She had spent most of the previous evening watching Milo like he was a suspicious patch note.

To be fair, Milo had not helped his case.

He had been summoned as the Chosen Hero, failed to understand the summoning language until installing an app, accidentally negotiated for “positive local reviews” from three priests, a guard captain, and one palace laundress, then asked whether the Demon Lord had an email address for asynchronous conflict resolution.

Now the kingdom wanted to know whether its legendary champion could fight.

Milo had a very strong suspicion the answer was “only in comments sections.”

“Show me your stance,” Celestia said.

Milo had watched enough fantasy anime to know this was where people widened their feet and looked determined.

He widened his feet.

Too much.

The borrowed greaves pinched his calves. His balance wobbled. The wooden sword drifted somewhere between pointing at the princess and apologizing to the ground.

Celestia’s expression did not change, which somehow made it worse.

“Have you held a blade before?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Her brows rose a fraction.

“In a museum gift shop,” Milo admitted. “It was foam. There was also a wizard hat.”

The squire made another strangled sound.

Celestia turned slowly.

The squire dropped the bucket.

It clanged across the stones, startling a line of knights who looked over. One of them whispered something to another. By the weapon racks, Captain Ruln, the square-jawed guard captain who had given Milo a grudging four-star review for “politeness under divine malfunction,” folded his arms and sighed.

Great. Audience participation.

Milo leaned closer to Celestia and lowered his voice. “Listen, if this is a public evaluation, I should disclose I’m still in beta.”

“You are the Hero of Prophecy.”

“That sounds like a version number someone shipped too early.”

Her mouth tightened.

It was not quite a smile. It was the ghost of a smile that had been arrested at the border.

“The prophecy states that a chosen champion from beyond the Veil will carry the light of foreign stars and bring an end to the Demon Lord’s reign.”

“Okay,” Milo said. “But does it specifically say I do that with a sword?”

Celestia drew her blade.

It made a clean, whispering sound that seemed to silence the courtyard. Sunlight ran along its edge, cold and beautiful.

“In Aurelia,” she said, “we test heroes with steel.”

“Technically that one’s steel and mine is tree.”

“Then you have an advantage. Trees are very resilient.”

“That feels like princess sarcasm.”

“Begin.”

She moved.

Milo had expected a dramatic lunge, maybe something he could track, maybe a polite princess-speed demonstration for beginners. Instead, Celestia blurred across the sand with a hiss of boots and struck his wooden sword so precisely that the impact buzzed through his hand, up his arm, and into his teeth.

His sword flew out of his grip.

It spun once, twice, then landed in the sand behind him.

The entire courtyard became very quiet.

Milo looked at his empty hand.

Then at Celestia.

Then at his empty hand again.

“I think the tree betrayed me,” he said.

Someone laughed.

This time it was not the squire.

It was one of the knights near the archery range, a broad woman with copper hair cropped short under her helm. She caught herself too late and coughed loudly. Captain Ruln’s jaw flexed.

Celestia lowered her sword. “Pick it up.”

Milo did.

Sand stuck to his palms. The wooden hilt felt damp now, or maybe his hands were sweating enough to qualify as weather.

A flicker appeared at the edge of his vision.

Interdimensional App Store
Combat Proficiency Evaluation detected.
Current rating: Unarmed Office Civilian.
Recommended downloads:
• Basic Swordsmanship — 500 ★
• Heroic Blade Aura — 12,000 ★
• Apologize Convincingly — Installed

Milo stared.

Five hundred stars?

He had seven.

Seven stars, earned through the humiliating labor of explaining to palace servants that he was not a demon, not a spirit, and not responsible for the goddess vanishing mid-summon like a customer closing a support chat.

He had spent two stars on Instant Translation because not being able to understand anyone had seemed like a bigger problem than future sword incompetence. Now he wondered if dying incomprehensibly might have been more dignified.

“Hero?” Celestia said.

Milo blinked the translucent blue screen away. “Sorry. Just got an ad.”

“An ad?”

“A divine suggestion.”

“For what?”

“Basic Swordsmanship.”

Her eyes sharpened. “You can summon skills?”

“Apparently.”

“Then do so.”

“Small issue.”

“What issue?”

“The economy.”

Celestia stared at him.

Milo gestured vaguely with the practice sword. “My heroic power runs on customer satisfaction. I don’t have enough positive reviews to afford not embarrassing myself.”

“You require reviews,” Celestia said slowly, “to learn how to swing a sword.”

“Five-star reviews, ideally.”

“From whom?”

“Locals.”

She looked around the courtyard.

Every squire, knight, guard, and servant suddenly found something else to inspect.

Milo raised a hand. “If anyone is enjoying the experience so far, please consider—”

“No,” Celestia said.

“Fair.”

She sheathed her sword with a click. “We proceed manually.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It is how all warriors begin.”

“All warriors need better onboarding.”

Celestia stepped behind him. The faint scent of steel polish and rosewater followed her. Before Milo could fully prepare himself to be judged from another angle, she tapped his boots with the side of her scabbard.

“Narrower.”

He shuffled his feet.

“Not that narrow.”

He adjusted.

“Bend your knees.”

“Like this?”

“Less like a frightened goat.”

“That feedback is vivid but not actionable.”

Her gloved hand pressed between his shoulder blades, straightening his spine. “Weight centered. Grip with your last two fingers. Do not strangle the hilt.”

“But what if the hilt deserves it?”

“Hero.”

“Right. Centered. Calm. Not strangling.”

She circled in front of him, studying his posture with the pitiless focus of someone examining a cracked foundation.

For one ridiculous second, Milo felt thirteen again, being corrected by his piano teacher while his mother watched from the doorway holding a bag of tangerines. Then a knight shouted, steel clashed somewhere nearby, and the smell of horse drifted from the stables beyond the wall. Elarion reasserted itself with all the subtlety of a fantasy novel throwing a dragon through a window.

“Strike downward,” Celestia ordered. “Slowly.”

Milo lifted the sword over his head.

The breastplate pinched under his arms.

He brought the practice blade down.

It wobbled midair like a falling antenna.

Celestia stopped it with two fingers.

Two fingers.

“Again,” she said.

He struck again.

“Again.”

Again.

“Again.”

By the eleventh swing, his shoulders burned. By the nineteenth, sweat ran down the side of his face and into his collar. By the twenty-sixth, the practice sword felt less like wood and more like an ethical burden.

Celestia did not sweat. This seemed personally offensive.

“Your arms are weakening,” she said.

“My arms are filing a complaint.”

“Your shoulders are too tense.”

“They’ve entered negotiations with my spine.”

“Your breathing is irregular.”

“That’s because I’m dying.”

“You are not dying.”

Milo glanced at the translucent screen that flickered faintly whenever he focused inward.

Status
Stamina: 18/42
Condition: Mild Panic, Moderate Sweating, Heroic Potential Disputed

“My user interface disagrees.”

Celestia stepped close, fast enough that Milo almost flinched. Her gaze searched his face.

“You truly see these messages?”

“Yes.”

“From the goddess?”

Milo remembered the summoning chamber: white fire, chanting priests, a woman of impossible radiance appearing above the circle with a frozen smile, then glancing at something only she could see and blurting, Oh no, not this build before dissolving into pixels.

“Maybe from the goddess,” he said. “Maybe from her poorly maintained infrastructure.”

Celestia’s expression turned unreadable.

“What?” Milo asked.

“Nothing.”

“That was not a nothing face. That was a princess-knows-a-forbidden-secret face.”

“Return to stance.”

“Deflection. Very royal.”

She drew her sword again.

Milo shut up.

“Now,” Celestia said, “defend.”

“Defend how?”

“I will attack slowly. You will place your blade between my sword and your body.”

“That is a very direct definition of defense.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Good. Love the clarity.”

She struck.

True to her word, it was slow. Her blade came in a controlled diagonal line toward his shoulder, gleaming bright and obvious.

Milo raised his sword.

Too late.

Celestia stopped an inch from his sleeve.

“Again.”

This time he moved earlier.

Too early. His wooden blade drifted off course, leaving his ribs open.

“Again.”

He blocked, technically, but at such a terrible angle that the impact knocked the wooden sword back into his own helmetless forehead.

“Ow.”

“Again.”

“Princess, I am beginning to suspect you have a limited vocabulary.”

“Again.”

They repeated the drill until Milo’s arms trembled. A small crowd had gathered despite everyone’s best efforts to pretend otherwise. Servants carrying linen slowed at the courtyard edge. Two stable boys peered over a wall. A priest in gold-trimmed robes arrived with a worried expression, saw Milo fail to parry a thrust moving at the speed of a thoughtful snail, and began murmuring what might have been prayers or damage control.

Celestia’s patience frayed one thread at a time.

“You are watching my sword,” she said after another failed block.

Milo lowered his practice blade. “Was I supposed to watch something else?”

“Watch my shoulders. My hips. My feet. The sword is the last part of the attack.”

“In my defense, the sword is the part most likely to stab me.”

“Which is why you must read the motion before it arrives.”

“I’m more of a patch-after-release guy.”

“That explains several things.”

“Rude, but accurate.”

She exhaled through her nose and gestured toward the weapon racks. “Captain Ruln.”

The guard captain approached like a boulder deciding to become a person. His gray beard was cut close to his jaw, and a scar ran through one eyebrow. He had the steady, practical eyes of a man who had seen nobles, monsters, and weather all make bad decisions.

“Your Highness.”

“Fetch a shield.”

Milo perked up. “Oh, shield sounds better.”

Ruln selected a round wooden shield painted with the Aurelia sunburst and carried it over. It was dented from use, iron-banded, and looked heavier than Milo’s entire laptop setup back home.

He took it.

His left arm immediately dropped.

“Ah,” Milo said. “Gravity has a strong opinion.”

Ruln grunted. “Strap it tight.”

The captain adjusted the leather bands around Milo’s forearm with efficient tugs. The shield hugged his arm, warm from the sun and smelling faintly of sweat and varnish.

Celestia tapped the shield face. “This is not a wall to hide behind.”

Milo looked at its broad wooden surface. “Respectfully, it seems designed by someone who disagreed.”

“It is a tool. Angled properly, it turns force aside. Held poorly, it breaks your arm.”

“Love that. Very motivating.”

“Raise it.”

He did. Barely.

“Higher.”

He lifted until his shoulder screamed.

“Not over your eyes.”

“But if I can’t see the danger, emotionally, it’s not happening.”

This time Celestia did smile.

It was small and quick and gone almost before Milo registered it, but it changed her face entirely. For a heartbeat she looked less like a carved marble symbol of statehood and more like a girl who had once laughed too loudly in a hallway and been told princesses did not do that.

Then she raised her sword again.

“Block.”

The first strike hit the shield with a hollow thunk that traveled up Milo’s arm and rattled his teeth. He stumbled back.

“Again.”

Thunk.

“Again.”

Thunk.

By the fifth hit, he had discovered an important truth: shields did not prevent pain; they simply redistributed it.

By the ninth, he was making noises unsuitable for prophecy.

By the twelfth, a notification chimed.

New User Behavior Detected
Repeated failed defensive actions.
Would you like to enable Combat Assistance Accessibility Features?
Options: Yes / Later / Stop Hurting Me

Milo nearly dropped the shield. “Oh thank God.”

Celestia froze mid-strike. “What happened?”

“Menu.”

“What menu?”

“Combat assistance.”

“Can it teach you?”

“Maybe.”

He focused on the screen, which hovered over the sand in cheerful blue letters only he could see.

Combat Assistance Accessibility Features
• Incoming Attack Indicators — 50 ★
• Auto-Parry Lite — 300 ★
• Defensive Tutorial Shield — Free Trial
• Pain Reduction Filter — 99 ★

Select feature?

Free trial.

Two words more beautiful than celestial choirs.

Milo mentally selected Defensive Tutorial Shield.

The screen flashed.

Defensive Tutorial Shield downloading…
Please maintain stable posture.
Do not close app.
Do not die.

“Good news,” Milo said. “There’s a free trial.”

Princess Celestia’s eyes narrowed. “What does it do?”

“Based on the name? Tutorializes defensively.”

“That means nothing.”

“I’m from software. Names rarely do.”

The shield on his arm warmed.

At first Milo thought the sun had shifted. Then lines of pale green light crawled across the wood, tracing the dents, circling the iron boss, spilling over the painted sunburst until it looked less like royal equipment and more like a cheap peripheral someone had modded with LED strips.

A bright chime rang in his ear.

Defensive Tutorial Shield — Free Trial Activated
Duration: 00:10:00
Beginner Mode enabled.
Warning: Beginner Mode may alter nearby training environment for optimal learning outcomes.
By continuing, user agrees to the ShieldSafe™ liability waiver and refund policy.

Milo blinked. “Refund policy?”

The sand beneath his boots clicked.

That was the only warning.

A round wooden post erupted from the ground directly behind Celestia.

She spun, sword flashing, and cut it in half before it finished rising.

Both halves bounced across the sand.

The courtyard exploded into motion.

Lines of green light raced outward from Milo’s shield like cracks in glass. Where they touched the ground, wooden barriers popped up. Low hurdles sprang from the sand. Padded dummies inflated with wheezing sounds. A row of waist-high posts shot into place between the weapon racks and the archery targets, each topped with a spinning padded arm.

One knight leapt backward as a bright red circle appeared beneath his boots.

“What in the seven sanctuaries—”

A padded column launched him gently but decisively into a hay cart.

Hay exploded.

The horse attached to the cart stared at him with deep professional disappointment.

Milo’s shield chimed again.

Tutorial Objective 1: Avoid obvious danger zones.
Hint: Red circles indicate upcoming impact.

Red circles bloomed across the courtyard.

“Everyone move!” Celestia shouted.

The command cracked through the chaos with such authority that even Milo tried to obey before understanding where to go.

A red circle appeared under his own feet.

“Oh.”

A translucent arrow flashed to his right.