Dawnguard Keep.
The first morning light streamed through the window, falling upon the single room where Rosie stayed.
She sat up in bed, stretched languidly, swung her legs out of bed, and washed her face with cold water from a basin.
Slipping on her gambeson, she buckled her belt, hung her meteoric iron sword, pushed open the door, and walked out.
People were already moving about the castle corridors, occasionally casting curious glances her way.
But Rosie paid them no mind. She walked down the long corridor, descended the stairs, and entered the castle hall.
In the hall, dozens of Dawnguard members sat at long tables with food trays. Some were eating porridge with their heads down, while others conversed in hushed tones.
The aroma of freshly baked bread and oatmeal porridge drifted through the air.
Rosie walked over to an empty seat and sat down. Resting her elbows on the table, she asked in a lazy tone, “Which three is it today?”
“We're the three who were drawn today.”
Two men and a woman walked over to her side.
Rosie glanced up. The two men were burly fellows, clearly the type who spent their lives wielding swords and blades.
The third was a woman in her late twenties. She wasn't particularly tall, but her posture was solid and her back was arrow-straight.
Rosie reached out and tapped the table twice.
The three understood instantly. Each fished out five gold coins from their pockets and placed them on the table one by one.
The gold coins clinked softly against the wooden surface.
An unvarnished smile immediately spread across Rosie's face.
Sweeping the fifteen gold coins into her palm, she hefted their weight before slipping them into her belt pouch.
“Stand straight. I'm going to begin the healing.”
The three immediately stood in a straight line, waiting for the God-favored's divine magic to descend.
Quite a few eyes in the hall turned toward them.
Over the past few days, this healing routine had become a regular morning event in Dawnguard Keep.
Yet, every time it began, people would still put down their food to watch.
Rosie took a breath and recited the incantation.
“O shining Holy Light! Answer my call and bestow your power upon me!”
“Holy Light!”
A golden radiance enveloped the first burly man.
As the light flowed over his body, his tense expression instantly relaxed.
“Holy Light!”
A second golden light enveloped the second man.
“Holy Light!”
The third golden light fell upon the woman.
The three golden lights spread through the hall like waves of warm light.
The nearby Dawnguard members watched the three bathed in golden light, their faces filled with unvarnished envy.
After a moment, the golden light faded.
The first man rotated his shoulder and swung his right arm in a circle. “My old injuries are healed!”
The second man pressed his chest and took two deep breaths, a look of pure joy on his face. “Mine too.”
The woman looked up, pleasantly surprised. “...I've recovered as well.”
The three looked at each other, then turned to Rosie together and said earnestly, “Thank you, Miss Rosie.”
Rosie waved her hand. “Don't mention it. I just love helping others.”
Helping others and charging for healing weren't mutually exclusive—at least, that was how she saw it.
And the reason these people could receive Rosie's healing was all thanks to Vera's personal testimony.
Vera was the first to personally experience the Holy Light restoring her vitality. She had only mentioned it once in the Keep, but the news quickly snowballed.
Although there was a Temple of Light on Dawnguard Island, the clerics there could only heal ordinary external wounds. They had no good solutions for "deeper issues" like severe vitality depletion or chronic internal injuries.
A cleric charged a whole gold coin just to treat a minor surface wound, whereas Rosie's Holy Light, which could restore lost vitality, only cost five.
Five gold coins was an astronomical sum for a commoner, but it was nothing to the Dawnguard.
Those who could enter Dawnguard Keep were either children of nobles, exceptionally skilled individuals, or at the very least, sons of wealthy merchants like Henry.
To them, their health was far more valuable than gold.
Thus, starting from the third day, her morning healing schedule was fully booked.
Because Rosie could only cast the spell three times a day and there were too many people, they ultimately decided to draw lots to determine who would receive healing each day to prevent any unrest.
Three people a day, five gold coins each.
Her current income from just a few minutes of work was more than she used to earn in a whole year of hard labor back at the docks.
With the healing done, Rosie enjoyed a simple breakfast in the castle hall: a bowl of oatmeal, two slices of toasted bread, and a piece of cheese.
After eating, she stood up and headed to the training grounds.
The Keep's training grounds were located on the east side of the castle, a wide, open area enclosed by high walls.
The morning sun shone diagonally over the eastern wall, casting long shadows across the gravel-covered ground.
On a wooden rack in the corner lay blunt practice swords and wooden shields, their surfaces dull in the morning light.
Rosie walked over to a corner of the training grounds and stopped in front of a practice dummy.
She adjusted her breathing and began to throw wild, unpolished punches.
Each strike landed with solid force against the old burlap wrapping the dummy, producing a dull, rhythmic thud, thud.
【Unarmed +1】
Upon receiving the prompt, Rosie stopped, shook out her wrists, and exhaled a breath of white mist.
Just then, a rapid patter of footsteps echoed from the entrance of the training grounds.
Panting heavily, Henry ran through the gates of the training grounds, leading dozens of young boys and girls behind him.
Sweat drenched his buzz cut, glistening in the sunlight. His cheeks were flushed, and his chest heaved violently.
“Boss Rosie, we've completed all of today's basic training!”
The youths behind him dispersed in small groups, their faces a mixture of sweat and exhaustion.
The routine Rosie had assigned was simple: one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, and finally, a ten-kilometer run.
It didn't sound like much, but for these teenagers, still having the strength to walk into the training grounds after completing the entire set showed they already had a decent foundation.
And the reason these youths were using this training method was entirely because of young Henry.
On their way to Dawnguard Keep, the group of four had run into a band of poorly equipped bandits. Without a word, Rosie had charged in and dominated the field, quickly leaving the bandits crying for their mothers and scattering in a panic.
Seeing how heroic Rosie was, Henry had immediately pestered her to take him on as an apprentice.
Rosie had refused without hesitation.
She herself was only getting by thanks to her cheat-like Adventure Guide.
But Henry's persistence was clearly inherited from his merchant father. He pestered her the entire journey until, thoroughly worn down, Rosie finally taught him the One-Punch Style training method.
Since training was impossible on the road, Henry began practicing in earnest once they arrived at Dawnguard Keep.
For the first few days, even Henry, who had a foundation in swordsmanship, was completely exhausted after each session.
But as time passed, he gradually adapted, and he noticed a significant increase in his stamina.
The instructors at Dawnguard Keep noticed his progress as well.
Consequently, Rosie, who wasn't even a member of the Dawnguard, somehow became a temporary instructor.
She figured that since she was freeloading at Dawnguard Keep anyway, and since ordering people around under the guise of instruction was quite amusing—especially since many of them were noble children—she had casually agreed.
Rosie scanned the youths scattered across the training grounds. Seeing they had recovered slightly, she called out, “Fall in!”
The youths scrambled to form several rows.
Rosie stood before them, her gaze sweeping from left to right. “Alright, from today onward, you will learn my self-created style.”
She walked up to the wooden dummy and said with a straight face, “This style is called Xingyi Quan. The 'Xingyi' means 'form and intent'—in other words, don't get bogged down by form; as long as you win, anything goes.”
Then she began her demonstration.
Eye pokes, throat chops, and groin kicks—the movements were executed in one fluid motion.
She finished her sequence, returned to her stance, patted the burlap dust from her hands, and turned to face the crowd.
“This is the foundation of Xingyi Quan. How well you apply it depends on your own comprehension.”
The recruits had a wide variety of expressions.
The faces of some noble-born youths already showed unvarnished shock and discomfort.
The young girls standing at the back of the queue were equally dumbfounded.
A few others, however, had expressions that said, Oh, so you can do that.
“What are you standing around for? Start practicing. Pair up and spar,” Rosie commanded.
The recruits looked at one another. We're starting to spar already?
A burly, square-headed youth in the ranks took a step forward.
“Instructor Rosie, I believe these moves are highly inelegant. They bring shame upon our honor.”
Rosie clicked her tongue, her gaze landing on the youth's face. “Honor? Who are you fighting? Vampires. Insidious, cunning monsters. Understand?”
She paused, her eyes sweeping over each young face. “Once you're dead, what honor is there to speak of?”
The youth stiffened his neck, his voice remaining firm: “But my father taught me that we must uphold our noble honor at all times.”
Rosie stared at him for a few moments, then smiled.
“Fine!” she said. “If you can beat me, you don't have to practice this. How about that?”
The youth's eyes lit up. He took a step forward and said loudly, “It's a deal!”
He had confidence in himself.
The opponent didn't look much older than him and wasn't as physically imposing. Meanwhile, he had undergone rigorous training since childhood; his swordsmanship, horsemanship, and physical conditioning made him a standout even among the new recruits.
Rosie stood her ground without moving, one hand on her hip while she gestured with the other. “Come on.”
The youth took a deep breath and charged forward.
A few seconds later, there was a new addition to the ground, clutching his groin as tears and snot streamed down his face.
This was Rosie holding back; otherwise, he would have had to move into the girls' dormitory.
Rosie pulled back her foot and looked up. “Anyone else?”
The training grounds were dead silent.
Even the instructors and Dawnguard members watching from the sidelines felt a sudden chill in their crotches.
Rosie stepped back to the front of the formation, clasping her hands behind her back. “Begin training now. Henry, drag this 'warrior' to the side.”
“Understood, Boss.”
Henry ran out from the ranks, bent down to help the groaning youth, and half-guided, half-dragged him to the side of the training grounds to sit down.
Rosie looked at the remaining recruits. “Remember, when facing an enemy, you must strike not only fast, but ruthlessly. Understand?”
“Understood...” came the weak reply.
She raised her voice. “Louder! Understand?”
“Understood!” This time, it was much more coordinated.
“Crying during training keeps you from bleeding on the battlefield!”
Rosie shouted as she paced back and forth, looking every bit like a master educator.
“Now, treat your opponent like a vampire, and hit them hard!”
Instantly, the training grounds filled with a chorus of wails and howls.
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