In a distant land, far to the north, lay the Almany Kingdom—a nation known to outsiders as the Kingdom of War, ruled by a battle-hungry tyrant.

  Despite its fearsome reputation, the kingdom was surprisingly peaceful. Soldiers patrolled the streets in great numbers, yet life carried on undisturbed. The roads were well-maintained, and the buildings, though austere, stood in orderly rows. The air buzzed with the sounds of daily life—merchants calling out their wares, blacksmiths hammering away, and townsfolk moving about their business.

  Inside a building designated as a training center for recruits, a young girl, no older than twelve, wandered through the halls, humming a cheerful tune.

  She wore an army uniform, its dark fabric crisp and well-fitted despite her small frame, as if it had been tailored specifically for her. Her medium blonde hair was neatly tied up in a ponytail, swaying slightly with each movement. Her big blue eyes, wide and striking, seemed to take in everything with an air of curiosity and confidence. Though her presence seemed out of place in such a strict military setting, she moved with assurance, unbothered by the world around her.

  She walked into an empty classroom and sat down, pulling out a book on basic soldiering. Flipping it open, she scanned the pages with keen interest.

  “Oh ho~ so this is the new guidebook they’re using to train recruits. I see, I see~,” she mused, her tone playful as she nodded to herself.

  Moments later, recruits began filing into the classroom. Each time a new recruit entered, their eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the young girl sitting among them.

  None of them approached her, assuming she must be the daughter of a high-ranking officer. Not wanting to risk trouble, they chose to keep their distance, exchanging silent glances but saying nothing.

  As the start of class drew near, the recruits began to wonder where their instructor was. His absence so close to the scheduled time made them suspect he might be the easygoing type.

  While waiting, they chatted and whispered among themselves. Some speculated that the young girl might be the instructor’s daughter, joking that today must be “bring your child to work day.” Laughter rippled through the room, but no one dared to ask her directly.

  As the clock struck 8 a.m., the girl closed her book and stood up. Every recruit in the room turned to look at her, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

  Without hesitation, she walked to the front of the classroom and stood behind the instructor’s desk.

  "Good morning, recruits! I’ll be your substitute instructor for today!" she announced with a cheerful smile.

  Silence filled the room. The recruits exchanged baffled glances, unsure how to react.

  "Ah—oops! I forgot my rank patch, kahaha" the girl said casually. She reached into her pocket, pulled out an insignia patch, and stuck it onto her uniform.

  With a confident grin, she straightened her posture and declared, "I am your instructor, Major Tatjana!"

  The room remained silent for a moment—then, suddenly, a recruit burst out laughing. The rest quickly followed, their chuckles filling the air.

  "You? An instructor? Where’s your daddy?" one of them sneered.

  Tatjana’s smile didn’t waver. "Yes, I am! And since I’m your instructor, I could punish you for insubordination right now—for disrupting my class." Her tone was sweet, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

  "Is this a prank?" another recruit asked, raising his hand.

  "Nope, not a prank. I’m completely serious," Tatjana replied. She tapped her chin thoughtfully before her eyes lit up with an idea.

  "Hmm… how about a little test?" she suggested. "Let’s have a shooting match. If you can beat me, I’ll make you a lieutenant on the spot. But if you lose… you’ll be stuck on guard duty for an entire month."

  "Sure, I’ll play along until the real instructor gets here," the recruit said with a smirk.

  Tatjana tilted her head. "What’s your name?"

  "Recruit Wulfram," he replied confidently.

  Tatjana scanned the room. "Anyone else want to join in?"

  The other recruits exchanged glances but remained silent. No one else dared to take up the challenge.

  "Alright then, let’s head outside," Tatjana said. Without hesitation, she led the group to the shooting range, conveniently located near the classroom.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Once there, she picked up a crossbow and handed it to Wulfram. "Here, you can go first. I’ll even give you two shots," she said, holding up two fingers.

  Wulfram chuckled. "Heh, don’t be a sore loser later. I’m a damn good shot."

  He took the loaded crossbow, aimed carefully, and fired. The first bolt struck the target’s shoulder. Reloading quickly, he fired again—this time, the bolt hit the target’s head.

  The recruits murmured among themselves, impressed by the headshot.

  "Not bad, huh?" Wulfram boasted, grinning.

  Tatjana, unfazed, simply shrugged. "Hmm… average, I guess." She casually loaded the crossbow and took aim.

  With a sharp twang, her first shot flew straight into Wulfram’s initial arrow, shattering it into splinters. The recruits gasped in astonishment.

  Before the cheers could settle, she reloaded and fired again. This time, her bolt struck Wulfram’s second arrow—the one lodged in the target’s head—splintering it just like the first.

  The entire class erupted in cheers, voices rising in praise of Tatjana’s marksmanship. Wulfram, stunned, could only stare at the shattered remains of his once-impressive shots.

  "It’s pretty obvious the score is 2-0 now, isn’t it?" Tatjana said with a bright smile. "After all, your arrows aren’t even on the target anymore. Kahaha!"

  Wulfram’s face turned red. "Y-Y-You cheater!" he sputtered.

  Tatjana tilted her head, placing a finger on her chin with an exaggeratedly innocent expression. "Hmmm? How exactly did I cheat?"

  "I refuse to accept this farce!" Wulfram protested, clenching his fists.

  Tatjana’s smile didn’t waver. "Well, as a soldier of Almany, you’re bound by your word." She clasped her hands behind her back and beamed at him. "That means one full month of guard duty—just as promised."

  "There’s no witness!" Wulfram argued, desperation creeping into his voice.

  Tatjana tilted her head. "Hmm? Your classmates are witnesses," she said, glancing at the other recruits.

  But the room remained silent. The recruits averted their gazes, unwilling to get involved. Uncertainty hung in the air—was Tatjana just a child playing pretend, or was she truly serious? None of them knew what to do, so they chose to stay quiet, unsure whether to challenge her or acknowledge her authority.

  "This never happened!" Wulfram declared stubbornly.

  "I am a witness."

  A firm voice cut through the tension.

  All heads turned toward the source, and upon recognizing the figure, the recruits instantly straightened, standing at attention and saluting. Even Wulfram stiffened, his face paling.

  "S-Sir," he stammered, confused as to why he was here.

  The man who had just stepped forward was none other than General Bradford Graf von Kralj—the second-in-command of the Almany Kingdom. He had neatly pulled-back black hair, streaked with faint traces of silver, and a neatly groomed mustache—trimmed close to his lip with sharp, defined edges, conveying an air of precision and discipline. His face, lined with the marks of experience, revealed his age without diminishing the sharpness of his presence. Despite being around fifty years old, he remained remarkably fit, his broad shoulders and upright posture exuding the disciplined strength of a seasoned warrior. His piercing gaze swept across the recruits, silencing any lingering whispers with sheer authority.

  "If you’re a soldier of Almany, you should honor your word," Bradford said, his sharp gaze locking onto Wulfram. "A loss is a loss. If you can’t accept it, then you have no place in this army."

  Wulfram swallowed hard. "Y-Yes, sir," he muttered, unable to argue further.

  "Go sign the extra duty sheet," Bradford ordered. Then, shifting his attention to the rest of the recruits, he added, "The rest of you—back to class."

  Without hesitation, the recruits hurried back to the classroom, none daring to protest.

  Back in the classroom, the instructor who was originally assigned to teach during Tatjana’s timeslot returned, finding all the recruits in their seats.

  “Instructor Arminius, was that girl General Bradford’s daughter?” one of the recruits asked.

  “No, she is not,” Arminius replied, making his way to the instructor’s desk and placing his teaching materials down.

  “She is, however, a Major—if that’s what you’re trying to confirm.”

  The classroom erupted into murmurs of confusion and astonishment. How could someone so young hold such a high rank? The recruits knew that the new Fuhrer ruled by meritocracy, meaning ranks were earned, not handed down. If that girl had become a Major at such a young age, her talent must be nothing short of extraordinary.

  "Sir, just how young is Major Tatjana?" one of the recruits finally asked.

  Arminius furrowed his brow and rubbed his temple before turning the question back on them. "How old do you think she is?"

  The recruits exchanged glances before throwing out guesses ranging from ten to fourteen years old.

  "Don't be fooled by her appearance," Arminius said, his tone firm. "She’s far older than you think."

  The recruits blinked in surprise, confusion written all over their faces. "Then how old is she, exactly?" someone pressed.

  Arminius let out a sigh. "If you're that curious, why don't you ask her yourself?"

  More murmurs spread throughout the room. Some were skeptical, others even more curious than before.

  "Wulfram, looks like your dream of becoming the youngest Colonel is still alive after all," one recruit teased.

  "Shut up, Helmar," Wulfram snapped, his embarrassment obvious. He had overstepped his boundaries and made a fool of himself in front of everyone.

  "Settle down," Arminius interjected, his tone firm. "I’m about to start the lesson."

  With that, he began teaching, and the recruits quickly refocused on their training.

  At the shooting range, after the recruits had left, Tatjana cheerfully recounted the events to Bradford, clearly enjoying herself.

  "Did you see the look on their faces? I always love watching these proud kids challenge me—only to end up losing. Kahaha!" Tatjana laughed, thoroughly enjoying the recruits' reactions.

  "I do not concern myself with these trivial affairs," Bradford said flatly.

  "Still as stiff as ever! Kahaha!" Tatjana chuckled. "Anyway, you sure are back fast. How did the war in the Mountains of Flowers and Fruits go?"

  Bradford silently reached for his halberd, the weapon gleaming under the light. "I won. That so-called Monkey King underestimated my weapon, Possum, and that cost him the battle."

  Tatjana grinned. "Hah! Serves him right for underestimating Almany’s might."

  Bradford nodded, then added, "I've already informed the class instructor to return and resume the lesson. More importantly, we need to discuss the aftermath of the war in the Mountains of Flowers and Fruits."

  Tatjana stretched lazily. "Alright, alright. Let’s head to my office then, Bradford."

  They made their way to the Fuhrer’s office. The moment they stepped inside, Tatjana’s body began to shift and grow, her youthful frame stretching into that of a full-grown woman. Her uniform expanded with her, the fabric enchanted to fit her true form seamlessly.

  Now standing before him was not the childlike instructor, but the supreme leader of Almany—the Fuhrer, Irmina Reltisa.

  Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back, no longer tied up in a ponytail, but flowing freely with an air of regal authority. As she seated herself behind her desk, she rested her chin on one hand, her once playful demeanor now hardened into one of cold command.

  "Now," Reltisa said, her piercing gaze fixed on Bradford. "How did it go, have you killed the Monkey King?"