Vikramaditya said, “Come at me.”

“Wait—what? You’re saying you’ll train me in these clothes? I’m here in dirty rags, and you don’t give a f*ck about your polished outfit?”

I pointed at myself, then at him.

“Is this what capitalism is?” I lampooned.

Finally, I lowered my knees slightly, put my left leg forward, and kept my right leg in place. My right arm stayed close to my chest while my left extended outward at arm’s length.

I knew very well that unlike me—someone who only learned Taekwondo in safe facilities and never fought with my life on the line—I could never win against a battle veteran like him.

Still, I had to take chances.

I moved slowly toward him, fighting stance tight.

Vikramaditya stood straight with both hands behind his back. He looked like he didn’t care what I did, like he had absolute confidence he would win.

But since I knew him, I understood. He was pressuring me psychologically.

His first move had been made before the battle even started. Of course, this wasn’t something he, a merchant, came up with himself.

He learned it from Him.

Well, his move would’ve worked—if I hadn’t been the one who wrote him. He knew very well that an opponent would feel pressured if their enemy didn’t reveal their cards.

Instead of giving in, I calmly went nearer. Soon I was just five feet away.

That’s when I noticed the difference between us clearly.

He was 6’5. I was just 5’11.

His muscles were mountains. Mine? Rocks at best.

And while I was still thinking about that—

BAM!

A sudden punch hit my abdomen.

Because I wasn’t ready, I was thrown back, slipped, and crashed to the ground.

The impact was bad. But the thing that hurt me the most?

My clothes.

Now they were covered in dirt.

Go to hell, man. Now I’ll have to wash them. And since there’s no washing machine here, I’ll have to scrub them with my own hands.

Calming myself, I stood up despite the stinging pain and took my stance again.

I couldn’t play defensively here. His hits were too powerful for me to withstand.

I closed the distance and launched an inside axe kick.

Blocked—easily—by his left arm.

And as soon as my kick landed, he threw a straight punch toward me. But the moment I realized my kick had been blocked, I quickly pulled my leg back and created distance.

Seeing this, he said, “Even though you look skinny, your kick packs power. And you’re also quick on your feet. If I had to guess—you specialize in a leg-centered fighting style.”

Spot on. As expected of my protagonist.

He continued, “Not all Serpentilers are battle-focused. But I guess you had some training before coming here. This much is enough for evaluation. Now—try punching me.”

Wait, what? He gauged my strength from just this much? That too without any ability or system helping him?

Not like those concepts even exist here.

I closed in again and launched two consecutive kicks with my right leg.

The first was aimed at his knees. The second at his abdomen.

He blocked the knee kick by lifting his leg.

The second kick? Blocked again—this time he caught it with his right arm.

As soon as he held my leg, I twisted my body, using the momentum to strike with my left hand.

Palm open, I aimed a chop at his neck.

With one arm holding my leg and the other prepared to punch me in the abdomen, his hands were occupied.

Unfortunately, my height betrayed me, my chop only landed on his shoulder.

And when it did—it felt like striking solid rock. My palm exploded with pain.

Abandoning the punch, he grabbed my collar with his free hand.

Smiling, he said, “If you had hit me with a punch, it would’ve been more effective. Anyway—don’t hate me for what I’m about to do.”

I stammered, “W-what are you going to do?”

He smiled wider. “Building pain tolerance.”

And then—he slammed me into the ground with full force.

There was no crash sound. Only one thing:

My scream echoing throughout the stronghold.

“AAAHHHHHHHH!”

My back was filled with pain. It felt like an elephant’s baby had just jumped on it.

Not like I’ve experienced that, but hey, what’s wrong with making comparisons?

My elbows were in even worse condition than my back. The pain radiating from them made me feel like they might have fractured.

And the worst part? Compared to other fantasy worlds, here there were no potions that could heal me instantly.

I never knew Vikramaditya was a sadist. Was this a side effect of war? Or just my karma for giving him so many obstacles?

He calmly made me stand up by lifting me from behind with his arms. It felt like he was holding a cat.

He carried me on his back and started walking.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll take you to the medic’s tent. They’ll have a lotion that might help in your recovery.”

Nice. First you break someone’s elbows, then you give them medicine to heal. Truly merciful.

While lampooning him in my mind, I noticed many people staring at us.

This was embarrassing. What kind of protagonist was I?

In other novels, protagonists might be getting harems. Me? I was getting a piggyback ride from a man in his thirties.

Not like I’m a fan of harems, but still.

I hope the editor doesn’t turn this into BL. Vikramaditya already has a wife and children.

The medic’s tent was nothing like a modern hospital.

Noise, chaos, shouting everywhere.

Doctors scrambled for herbs, assistants ran carrying instruments, relatives cried and begged for loved ones to be saved.

Sandalwood and rose fragrance clung to the air. They used natural essence to mask the blood and rot. It worked—barely.

I thought I had high tolerance after seeing a whole village of corpses. But here? Just seeing a man’s stomach being stitched back together made me want to puke.

I still can’t get used to this.

Vikramaditya dropped me outside and went in alone. He came back shortly with a small white bottle, clearly not disturbing anyone because he already knew where to find it.

“Apply this before sleeping at night,” he said. “It’ll sting, but don’t worry—the effect is worth it.”

I nodded and pocketed it.

By evening, Vikramaditya suggested, “Why don’t we go to a restaurant? My treat, for injuring you.”

Tempting. But I shook my head.

“I’d love a proper meal, but more than that I’d love proper clothes.”

Food I could get at the kitchen as a worker. Clothes? Not so easy.

“Fair,” he said. “But don’t expect anything fancy. The meal I was offering would’ve cost forty points at most, so your clothes must be the same value.”

Spoken like a true merchant.

We entered the shopping tent, and I was floored.

Suits, vests, gowns, oversized T-shirts, baggy pants—the works. A mix of modern and old styles.

But reality slapped me: I only had forty points.

Underwear costs ten points each. I needed at least two. That was twenty gone.

And pants? Not a single pair under twenty points.

So I was left with one option: shorts.

Blue shorts. The same kind I wore before coming here.

Maybe they’d help me get back to my world. Who knows? Shorts-based teleportation—sounds hilarious, but it might work.

I bought them, glaring at Vikramaditya’s neat white shirt and brown vest. At least I should’ve dirtied his outfit in sparring.

He paid the shopkeeper and said, “Good, you weren’t swayed by appearances. I purposely brought you to the best clothes shop.”

This b*tch. If we’d gone anywhere else, maybe I could’ve bought proper pants.

“From tomorrow,” he continued, “your schedule is set. Kitchen until noon, then two hours of training with me, then dinner, then lessons with Aditi.”

Wait—you’re not my father. Why the hell are you setting my schedule?

What type of protagonist am I, getting babysat by a thirty-something merchant?

I suddenly heard a thought: A laughing, weak, mocking protagonist.

I laughed it off, letting his work out schedule fly in one ear and out the other.

Soon, he dropped me at the kitchen and we parted ways.

Maybe because of the morning’s incident, he was worried someone might mess with me.

Thanks for the consideration… or not.

I grabbed a plate and saw today’s menu. Bread. And ketchup.

What the heck!!

Who eats raw bread with ketchup?!

Still, without complaint, I took two pieces and some ketchup, then went to a secluded corner.

As soon as I bent my arm to take the first bite, sharp pain stabbed through me.

It hurt so much I put the bread back on the plate.

So I just sat there, staring at my food.

And while staring, a thought struck me: in most novels, when the protagonist gets hurt, the female lead feeds him.

Where was my heroine?!

Instead, a voice asked, “Shall I help you?”

My heart leapt. Heroine?!

But no. It was the pale man who guided me this morning.

Why? Just why? Don’t tell me you’re seriously writing a BL.

I don’t want a harem, you already know that. Just give me a single female, I’d be happy with her.

Still, refusing would’ve been rude. And since I couldn’t eat by myself, I had no choice but to accept his help.

He sat down calmly, tore the bread into pieces, dipped them in ketchup, and fed me with a spoon.

The atmosphere was awkward, so I broke the silence. “May I know your name, sir?”

“It’s Vanford Drep,” he replied. “I’ve been helping in the kitchen for many years.”

I answered humbly, “I’m Ash Tennisson. You might’ve heard of me because of the commotion earlier. I’ll be under your care.”

To that, he said, “I haven’t heard such a positive response in years.”

Curious, I asked, “Why?”

He continued, “Because of the war, most men—and even some women—were sent to the battlefield. I stayed here in the kitchen. People have mocked me for years, calling me a coward.”

“But aren’t there other men working here too? Why only you?” I asked.

“They mostly joined because of injuries or battlefield trauma,” he explained. “I chose this voluntarily.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “Well… aren’t you the strongest though?”

He froze, astonished. The piece of bread he was about to feed me ended up shoved into my mouth, making me choke.

He hurriedly grabbed water, rubbed my back, and asked, “How?”

Just one word, but behind it was disbelief, maybe even hope.

I continued, “Soldiers fight and come back with scars. But you—you heal their scars with your food. They win the war outside, but you win their hearts inside. You heal what they can’t. None of you are lesser. None of you are greater.”

Vanford stared at me, dumbfounded.

Maybe because he was passionate enough to endure such criticism, I could say these words to him.

Or maybe because I’m not as capable as him, it was easy for me to say.

Our conversation continued as he fed me.

Surprisingly, I found out Vanford was the vice chef here.

By the end, my plate was clean, my stomach was full, and though the food was plain, I managed to swallow it thanks to having a talking partner.

At last, I had made a co-worker friend.

Soon after, I left with my paper bag.

On the way to my tent, stars lit the sky. No moon, but enough light.

Families ironed clothes, chatted, and worked by lanterns. Normal life, almost.

Until I passed a tent and heard… moaning.

Loud. Like, everyone-can-hear-you loud.

Seriously, aren’t you embarrassed?

Then again, maybe the s*x drive skyrockets after war.

As I was thinking this, fear crept in. Why hadn’t Grisha or Hela come to pick me up today?

What if someone killed me here?

What type of protagonist am I? Shaking in fear while someone nearby is busy doing the big bang.

“Stand where you are,” a sweet voice said behind me.

I froze, sweat dripping. Slowly, I turned.

And saw her.

A girl in a white bouffant and blue leggings. The face felt like the moon itself was on earth, black hair fluttering in the wind, crimson red eyes.

My fear vanished instantly.

She walked toward me, every step making my heart pound.

Not because I was in love. But because I knew who she was.

She smiled faintly. “How can you forget you had a lesson with me today?”

Wait. Lessons? From today?

Moaning erupted again from the tent beside us.

She quipped, “I guess since there’s no phone here, you started listening live? Just don’t trespass in the mood.”

I coughed and said calmly, “It’s just—I’ve been on the sword’s edge since coming here. If someone suddenly yells not to move, of course I’ll be scared.”

Can’t let my respect turn to dust.

She smiled. “Let’s go to the ground . That spot will calm your nerves.”

While walking, she introduced herself properly. “I’m Aditi Valentina. A Serpentiler, like you. But when I was teleported here, they weren’t so hostile.”

She glanced at my paper bag. “What’s in there?”

I almost blurted “underwear,” but caught myself. “…Clothes.”

She nodded and asked about my experiences. I explained everything—except the Author part.

We reached an open field. Simple grass, a cold breeze.

In a world drenched in blood, it felt like paradise.

She watched me. “Refreshing, right?”

I nodded and sat. She joined me, gazing at the clouds.

I hummed softly. She hummed along. For a moment, my fatigue vanished.

Then she said, “Alright, let’s go over history, my student.”

Back to reality.

Before starting, she tilted her head. “You’ve been avoiding looking at me. Is there a problem? Or don’t tell me it’s love at first sight. If it is—I’ll humbly decline. I don’t believe in that. Love takes time.”

Wow. Rejected without even proposing. New record set.

I replied honestly, “It’s just… I still can’t believe I’m here. I can’t comprehend how this happened, or why. And yeah—I also believe love only happens when people spend time together.”

I couldn’t tell her the real reason.

Out of habit, when nervous, I blurted: “Tun tun tun tudududu.”

She blinked. “What was that?”

“One of the best remedies for nervousness,” I said with a straight face.

Her look screamed are you serious? but she let it slide.

And so, the history lesson began.

Other protagonists get academy arcs. I? one-on-one mentoring. 

If I'm the protagonist then readers might not know the lore. So this might be the correct chance for them to know about what was happening and how this world operates.

If they are general readers then they might want to know how the power system works or about world building.

So here goes the lore drop by none other than Aditi Valentina.....