Chapter 364. Vocal Intimidation Is Not a Scientifically Rigorous Forging Technique

Ellie settled onto the low stone bench at the yard’s edge, her legs swinging idly as she watched Kaela work. The sunlight caught the sweat on Kaela’s skin, making her appear almost molten as she moved.

Ellie didn’t speak at first; she simply observed, her expression softening into something deeply fond, almost reverent.

"You know," she finally started, her voice carrying over the rhythmic thwack of Kaela’s strikes, "watching you like this... it makes me think about how different this feels from everything we saw at the Academy."

Kaela didn’t stop immediately, finishing a deliberate sequence before lowering her guard to listen.

"Back there," Ellie continued, tilting her head thoughtfully, "you were always performing."

"Even when you were showing off your skill, there was this layer of... I don’t know, expectation?"

"You were performing competence. It was as if you were embodying the role of the ’skilled noblewoman’ just as much as you were embodying the role of the fighter."

"But this? This feels different. Like there’s no audience anymore. Like you’re not performing anything at all."

The observation struck a nerve, piercing through Kaela’s usual armor of deflection. She stood frozen for a moment, her chest heaving as she drew in ragged breaths.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the distant sounds of the palace waking up.

"That’s a surprisingly perceptive thing to say, Ellie," Kaela said quietly, her voice stripped of its usual bravado.

"I have my moments," Ellie said with a small, knowing grin.

Kaela wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, staring down at her own knuckles. "You have more moments than you give yourself credit for."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "But yes. That’s exactly it."

"God, it’s terrifyingly accurate... I don’t think I’ve ever truly done anything without a performance attached to it."

"Even during sparring at the Academy, even when I was winning, some part of my brain was always watching from the sidelines, calculating how it looked, wondering if I was maintaining the dignity of a princess who could fight, or if I was being too aggressive, or too weak."

She clenched her fist, feeling the raw ache in her bones. "Out here, right now, with you two watching and Instructor Wade breathing down my neck... I’m not thinking about the crown."

"I’m not thinking about my reputation either..."

"I’m not even thinking about myself. I’m just... hitting things!"

"And for the first time in my life, that’s enough."

"That sounds nice," Ellie said softly, her voice laced with genuine envy. "To just be."

"It is," Kaela agreed, a fierce light igniting in her eyes. "It really, genuinely is."

"It’s the first time I feel like I’m not wearing a costume."

Clara, who had been uncharacteristically quiet while her quill danced across the parchment, glanced up briefly. Her eyes were sharp behind her scholarly detachment.

"For the record," Clara interrupted, her tone clinical but not unkind, "I intend to conduct a series of formal interviews with you regarding this psychological and physical transition once Grock’s equipment arrives."

"I suspect a comparative analysis of your combat metrics before and after will prove genuinely valuable for understanding combat style development on a broader, more academic level."

Kaela rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "So, let me get this straight."

"You’re not just my friend; you’re also my biographer."

"You’re going to turn my personal breakthrough into a goddamn academic case study, aren’t you?"

"Only a small one," Clara said, already returning to her notes with an entirely unrepentant shrug. "Every revolutionary shift in human capability deserves proper documentation."

Kaela let out a long exhale, shaking her head as she moved back into her fighting stance. "Fair enough."

"I suppose I owe you that much, Clara, for putting up with my competitive nonsense and my endless dramatic outbursts for this long."

"If I’m going to be a specimen, I might as well be a well-documented one."

The visit stretched into a warm, unhurried afternoon as the golden light of the sun began its slow descent across the training yard.

The earlier tension, which had coiled like a spring due to Kaela’s restless energy, began to unwind, replaced by something softer and more human.

Ellie and Clara didn’t simply stand as spectators; they eventually joined in on some of the lighter drills, Ellie attempting clumsy but enthusiastic footwork while Clara made pathetic attempts at proper hand positioning, though she spent more time correcting her own posture than actually striking anything.

By the time the shadows grew long and purple across the stone floor, the three of them were collapsed on the bench, their shared exhaustion manifesting as genuine laughter.

They were deep in the throes of debating one of Clara’s increasingly absurd, pseudo-scientific theories regarding the exact metallurgical composition Grock would need to employ to reinforce equipment capable of withstanding Kaela’s new, devastating force.

"Honestly, Clara, your calculations are impressive, but you’re overthinking the alchemy of it all," Kaela offered, leaning back on her elbows with a weary grin.

She cleared her throat, lowering her pitch to a gravelly, thunderous growl in a rough approximation of Grock’s legendary gruffness. "’Oi! You worthless hunk o’ slag! Either hold the shape or I’ll melt you down into a spoon!’"

"That’s his real methodology... He simply uses whatever metal is lying around and yells at it until it cooperates."

Clara let out a startled laugh, pushing her hair back from her face.

"That is—" she gasped between giggles, "that is not a scientifically rigorous explanation, Kaela!"

"You cannot substitute vocal intimidation for proper carbon-to-iron ratios!"

"Grock isn’t a scientifically rigorous man, Clara," Kaela countered, her eyes bright with amusement. "He’s a wonderfully talented, deeply stubborn dwarf who believes that intimidation is a legitimate forging technique."

"He yells at swords until they behave properly, and frankly, I respect it immensely."

"It’s honest work."

"I think I’d actually like to meet him someday," Ellie said, her voice dreamy as she stared up at the sky. "He sounds like a genuinely interesting person."

"Someone who doesn’t care about palace politics or which fork to use at dinner."

"Oh, he absolutely is," Kaela agreed, her expression softening with genuine affection. "Terrifying at first, though."

"If you don’t know him, you’ll think he’s about to challenge you to a duel to the death just for breathing too loudly near his anvil."

"But then you realize... underneath all that shouting and the soot and the swearing, he just genuinely loves his craft more than almost anything else in the world."

"His passion is so loud it drowns out the anger."

"Once you see that, he becomes considerably less terrifying and considerably more endearing."

The conversation drifted effortlessly from there, flowing like water between them. They traded stories—some old, some half-formed theories about the future—and shared moments of vulnerability that neither would have permitted earlier in the day.

The fading afternoon light painted everything in hues of amber and rose, casting a peaceful glow over the yard that seemed to bless their rare moment of uncomplicated companionship.

By the time Ellie and Clara finally stood to make their way back toward the main palace to freshen up before dinner, the change in Kaela was unmistakable. The restless, caged animal that had been pacing the yard that morning was gone.

In its place was someone who felt grounded, connected, and strangely at peace. As she watched them walk away, Kaela felt the accumulated warmth of the day’s small, genuine connections settling comfortably alongside her earlier breakthrough.

She wasn’t just finding her power; she was finding her people.