Another week passed, and the hellish routine began anew.

Life in this new world has been a relentless nightmare, a daily grind of suffering rather than the charming tea parties, pretty dresses, and dashing men I once imagined. Instead, I'm surrounded by the overpowering stench of sweat and muscles. Urgh! I swear, men must find it thrilling to torture themselves through exercise! Oh gods—Buddha, Allah, or anyone who might be listening—please, let me go back to my world. I promise I’ll never wish for an isekai adventure again! I’ll even promise not to binge-watch any more anime!

In the midst of my desperate prayer, my coach appeared beside me, his face set in grim determination.

“What are you doing? Run.”

‘Oh, fantastic! I hope you trip on your own sweat, Orc Monster Jerk!’ I thought bitterly, but I laced up and started running anyway.

“I told you to take your shirt off. It’ll help you breathe better.” My coach was like a relentless shadow, effortlessly keeping pace with me while I struggled.

‘Yeah, right. And next you’ll want me to dance a jig in a tutu!’

“No, thanks,” I replied coolly, sprinting faster and desperately hoping to escape both my discomfort and his irritating advice.

‘I really want to rip this chest bind off! I feel like I’m suffocating. Oh, my poor twins, I’m so sorry for hiding you, but we’ve got to survive this hell!’

After what felt like an eternity of running—36 laps to be exact—my legs were quaking like jelly. Maybe coming back from being sick wasn’t the best idea. Forget about returning home; at this rate, I’ll end up as a permanent resident of the Crippled and Sweaty Club!

After a brief respite, we were subjected to the agony of sword swinging. The sword felt so heavy, it was like trying to lift my 16-inch laptop after a week of fasting.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I groaned, dramatically dropping the sword. My arms were covered in scratches and calluses.

‘That’s it. I’m done. At least if I die, I won’t have to endure any more of this medieval gym class!’

“All of you are weak. At this rate, you’ll end up dead in the war.” The coach’s words felt like a direct stab to my already bruised ego.

“Why… why do we have to go to war anyway? We’re historians, not warriors!” I protested, my frustration boiling over.

“It’s His Highness’s order. Are you saying you’re disobeying his command?”

‘His Highness this, His Highness that. I bet he’s lounging on his throne, sipping wine and chuckling at how we’re the ones doing all the heavy lifting!’

“From what I recall, His Highness ordered us to be trained for self-defense, not to become warriors. If we’re going to wield weapons, shouldn’t we have a choice in what we use? You’re built like a tank, but we’re more like... well, not tanks. If you’re using a sword, why shouldn’t we get to choose weapons suited to our own abilities? We’re historians, after all.”

“Are you suggesting you’ll study your opponent before striking?” The coach snickered, clearly mocking me. “Your brain isn’t needed in war, little man.”

‘This jerk!’

"If brains aren’t needed, then why are we wasting time learning strategy?” I snapped back, with all the charm of a caffeinated squirrel.

“What did you say?!”

“T…Tuk, maybe you should stop…” Leon interjected nervously, sensing the brewing storm.

“No! These muscleheads need to know their training is all wrong for us!”

“Then what do you suggest?” The coach’s challenge was cut short by the arrival of the prince, who looked like a god among mere mortals.

Before I could answer, the prince—looking every bit the divine deity without a drop of sweat on him—strolled onto the scene. The coaches all knelt in reverence, leaving me standing defiantly.

“I apologize for this unsightly event, Your Highness,” the coach stammered, grabbing my head to forcefully bow.

“It’s fine; I’d actually like to hear our historian’s suggestions,” the prince said with an amused smile.

I nearly kissed the ground when the coach smacked me on the back of the head to prompt a response. I glared at him, knowing he wouldn’t dare touch me while the prince was present.

I’m so fed up with all of them! But seeing the prince and generals in their bloody gear made me realize they might not be in a hurry to kill me. Sure, I might’ve said “let me die” earlier, but I’d really prefer to die painlessly—sorry for the dramatic outburst! Can you blame me when Death himself seems to be eyeing me? They seem to enjoy torturing people more than just ending things quickly. So, I guess I have to come up with some weapon ideas—mostly because I want to stay alive and avoid being the next victim in their twisted game of war.

“Different weapons suit different skills and preferences. For instance, polearms are great for keeping cavalry at bay, while hand weapons like sai or kunai are better for smaller builds. These swords we’re using are too heavy for us. We should be allowed to choose weapons that fit our physique and skill set.”

“Interesting,” the prince said with an amused smile, as if he were thoroughly enjoying my little rebellion.

‘Here’s hoping this doesn’t end with me getting tossed into a dungeon!’

“It seems I have a very talented little lark here. Did you hear that, generals?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The generals exchanged glances, but quickly nodded, probably hoping to avoid any more of my bright ideas.

“Your Highness, are you truly allowing them to use weapons that are not even available?” One of the coaches dared to question, but the prince gave him a look that could freeze lava.

‘Serves you right!’

“Pierce, assist the historian to our Weaponsmith.”

A shadowy figure appeared beside the prince, moving with ninja-like stealth. It was cool but terrifying. How many of these shadowy warriors does the prince have? Are they holding auditions for a ninja troupe?

“I look forward to seeing the results.” The prince said with a flourish before striding away, leaving me to face the chaos.

‘Why did he even show up if he’s just going to make things worse?’ I muttered to myself.

Our training regimen was updated based on my suggestions. Just as I thought I’d caught a break, my workload skyrocketed. From interviewing historians about their weapon preferences to consulting with the weaponsmith, my schedule was packed tighter than a can of sardines.

“You’re quite knowledgeable about weapons. This design style never occurred to me before; no wonder His Highness assigned you one of his special warriors.” the weaponsmith said, gesturing to a well-built man standing like a statue outside the door.

‘No, I just copied what I saw in an RPG game…’

“Special warrior?” I asked, intrigued and slightly alarmed.

“Special warriors with the mark of great apes are directly commanded by the prince. They’re rumored to have extraordinary traits—strong sense of smell, exceptional vision, or hearing. They excel in tracking and assassinating. Seeing one now, I guess they’re not that different from the battalion.”

I suddenly felt a pang of anxiety. Hearing about these so-called secret warriors made me uneasy. What if they could smell my fear? Or worse, my blood? Wait... did I run into them during my period?!

‘One thing after another. I’m seriously going to lose my mind!’

My daily routine was a never-ending cycle of hell: early morning grueling training, translating ancient scrolls, and discussing weapons. I even had to assess a general’s warriors, despite my reluctance.

And so, I found myself facing yet another level of hell—no, a death ground.

“Is this what warriors do during training?!” My jaw dropped as I witnessed the madness: bloody matches, warriors lifting stones while doing push-ups, and others climbing mountains with boulders on their backs, while yet another group dodged arrows and swords while hanging upside down.

“That’s right. Welcome to the Northern Warrior Ground,” the general announced proudly.

‘So our coach wasn’t exaggerating when he said we were only doing basics?!’

“To those who have issues with their weapons and wish to change them, speak with our historian here. His Highness has granted us permission to use his expertise to enhance your skills. Make sure to discuss everything with this little man, understood warriors?”

“YES, SIR!!!” The ground shook with their unified shout, like a small earthquake.

“I’m going to… What?!” I stammered, bewildered, as the general patted me on the shoulder with a force that felt like it could dislocate bones.

‘The hell! I’m supposed to what with all these people?!’

Surrounded by towering warriors, I felt like a mouse in a lion’s den. Or maybe a mouse in a lion’s den full of angry, sweaty lions.

“W…well, where should we start?” I managed to ask with a shaky smile, trying not to faint from sheer terror.

And so began the next chapter of my hellish adventure. Seriously, can we just skip to the part where I get a break? Please, someone hit fast-forward. I silently prayed.

The warriors appreciated my input—at least, that's what I told myself to stay sane. But little did I know, agreeing to help was like opening a Pandora’s box of never-ending tasks. Days blurred into weeks as my schedule became tighter than a drum, with each day more exhausting than the last. By the third week, I was completely overworked that the mere thought of dragging myself to my room felt like trying to scale a mountain without a rope. Instead, I collapsed in the historian's office, finding unexpected comfort in the cool stone floor and the flickering candlelight. My brilliant plan to ease our grueling training had backfired so spectacularly that I was now the one suffering. 

‘Talk about an unfortunate series of unluckiness—I said the prince should be the one to cry a river, but it looks like he played an Uno reverse card on me instead.’

Even though things didn’t go as planned, my suggestions actually made the training better, and surprisingly, I got chummy with some of the warriors. They weren’t the brightest, so prying out details about the prince’s secret warriors was like taking candy from a baby. I posed as their number-one fan, gushing about their combat skills while they happily spilled the beans.

From what I learned, I confirmed these secret warriors were the real deal. Their numbers were still a mystery, but their tracking abilities were the stuff of legends. One warrior bragged that a secret operative could sniff out a target from a mile away. Another claimed one of them could climb trees like a monkey on caffeine. I even met one of these shadowy figures—tall, imposing, and mysterious, though I couldn’t figure out his abilities. The fact that one of these guys was watching me only made me more nervous.

‘Great, just what I needed—more problems. Is he onto me? Does he suspect I’m not who I say I am? How many months have I been here now? I’ve lost track!’

Determined to keep a low profile, I buried myself in the historian's office, not so much to translate the scrolls but to avoid any unwanted attention. While pretending to work, I secretly analyzed the scrolls, searching for anything that would help me crack their secrets.

“There’s something I’m missing,” I muttered, glaring at the translated sentences as if I could intimidate them into giving up their secrets. “There must be a way to figure out the order of these scrolls. What am I overlooking?” I paced around, studying every tiny detail.

Since we weren’t allowed to touch or remove the scrolls, my only option was to observe them like a hawk. As I circled them for the hundredth time, something finally caught my eye. My heart skipped a beat. A pattern in the strip cuts along the edges—how had I missed this before?

My breath quickened as the pieces fell into place. “I’m starting to get scare of myself now,” I whispered, both thrilled and freaked out.

 The key to unlocking the scrolls’ sequence was in those strip cuts! This discovery was both exhilarating and terrifying, confirming that the puzzle I was unraveling was way more important than I’d thought.