Warrior Training System

"I never said I knew their
," Brigid replied casually—right as she started pulling items out of her space ring.
Cassian’s brain stalled.
A cleaver.
A bone saw.
A skinner’s hook.
Something that looked suspiciously like it belonged in a torture museum.
He completely missed her words at first, too busy staring at the pile she was assembling like she was preparing a joyful little arts-and-crafts session.
It took him a full three seconds to recover. "Hold on—wait. You
know who the spies are?" he asked, the realization finally catching up.
Meanwhile, his shock only grew.Because looking at the way she handled those blades—with way too much affection—Cassian had a sudden, hollowed-out thought:
’Yep. This maniac is definitely worthy of being artistic butcher’s grand disciple.’
Brigid lifted one of the saws, inspecting the teeth with almost tender affection.
Cassian held up both hands. "Hey—sharpen them all you want. Maintain them, polish them, sing to them for all I care. But the only thing you’re cutting tonight is the air."
Brigid paused mid-inspection. "Air?"
"Yeah," Cassian said. "Because that’s how many limbs you’re chopping if you give me zero information—zero times. Nothing. Nada."
She blinked, unimpressed. "You really think I need information to chop your arms? That wasn’t part of the deal."
Cassian pointed at her. "Brigid, listen. No intel, no dismembering. That’s the rule."
Brigid clicked her tongue. "Always ruining the fun..." She picked up the cleaver and flicked it experimentally, making a
sound as it sliced the air far too cleanly. "See? Even the air is enjoying this."
Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. Fantastic. I’m glad at least the atmosphere is having a good time."
She smiled sweetly. "Want me to demonstrate how sharp it is?"
"No."
"Just a tiny cut?"
"No."
"On the tip of your finger?"
"No."
"Your hair?"
"No."
Brigid huffed, setting the cleaver down with exaggerated disappointment. "You’re boring."
"And you’re terrifying," Cassian countered.
She smirked. "Thank you."
He sighed. "Brigid, for the love of the gods, just tell me what you
know."
Brigid crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. A slow, wicked smile tugged at her lips.
"Oh,
," she said lightly. "I don’t know their exact identities. But I can tell you this much—there are only two that matter. The rest are just their puppets."
Cassian straightened, attention sharpening.
"One of them is true-blood Karmen," she continued, tapping her finger on her book as if she were listing grocery items. "The other? Someone higher up—very close to the earl’s daughter. Someone with access to the army’s inner workings."
Cassian went quiet, thoughts spinning. He’d suspected someone from the Karmen family, but hearing it confirmed like this sent a small chill through him. And someone high-ranked in the army leaking movements and weak points... that explained far too much.
But one part still made no sense.
He looked back at her, brow furrowed. "And what exactly do you mean by ’puppets’?"
"Well, a
isn’t exactly a spy," Brigid said, twirling a small bone-saw in her fingers like it was a quill pen. "Think of them as... accessories. Higher-ups who got seduced by money, power, promises—whatever. They don’t gather intel themselves, they just take orders and make convenient scapegoats when things go wrong."
Before Cassian could process that, she grabbed his arm with both hands and tugged."Anyway—hold still. I want a clean cut right at the shoulder joint. Lie down there—" she pointed at the bed like she was giving instructions for a massage instead of amputation.
Cassian blinked at her, still half-stuck on the spy information. "Wait—
? That’s all the intel you’re giving me?"
Brigid tilted her head, saw raised, all innocent smile.
Cassian threw his free arm up. "That information is
worth getting both my arms chopped off five times!" he snapped, sounding very much like a man who suddenly realized he’d made a bad bargain.
Brigid just patted his bicep, totally unfazed. "Well... good thing I’m only cutting one at a time then."
Cassian groaned but finally pushed himself up from the chair. "Fine, fine," he muttered, dragging himself to the bed like a man being marched to an execution. He flopped onto his back, spread his left arm out dramatically, and said, "Alright. Make it quick. I need this thing back by tomorrow—as I am going back to earldom."
Brigid raised a brow. "Quick? Do I look like some amateur butcher to you?"
"You
pulled out a cleaver," Cassian deadpanned.
"Yes," she said proudly, "a
cleaver."
She knelt beside the bed, turning his arm this way and that like she was evaluating a cut of meat at a market. "You’re going to stay still. I need to slice through the joint perfectly. Muscle, tendon, artery—everything separated cleanly. If I rush it, it’ll grow back crooked and then I’ll have to cut it again. And
you’ll complain."
Cassian blinked. "I haven’t even complained yet."
"Your face is complaining," she said flatly.
Cassian stared at her tools, then at her expression, then sighed. "Just... get on with it. Before I start having second thoughts."
Brigid hummed cheerfully, reaching for a bone saw. "You know," she said, "most people, I’d knock out first. But you don’t feel pain, so this is much more convenient. For me."
Cassian’s eye twitched. "For
"Of course. Do you think knocking out someone as stupidly strong as you is easy?"
"Brigid."
"Hmm?"
"Start sawing before I walk out with both arms."
She grinned, lining up the blade on his shoulder like a surgeon preparing an incision."Hold still," she said. "This is the fun part."
Cassian stared at the ceiling."...I swear if you start humming—"
Brigid started humming.
She murmured a spell under her breath, fingers glowing faintly as she traced a line around his shoulder. A thin shimmer wrapped around the whole arm — a containment spell, tight and precise. Cassian watched it with mild suspicion, like someone staring at a pot that might explode.
Brigid didn’t wait. With clinical focus, she slid the blade across his skin in a clean, perfect circle. No hesitation, no theatrical flourish — just a smooth cut that opened him up like she was unwrapping a present.
The skin peeled back neatly, exposing muscle fibers beneath. They glistened under the lantern light, but not a single drop of blood spilled — her spell held everything in place like a sealed jar.
Cassian blinked."Well... that’s convenient," he muttered. "At least my tent won’t look like a crime scene."
Brigid was humming some cheerful little tune as she worked, but the moment the skin started knitting itself back together — slowly, stubbornly sealing up the neat incision she’d made — her humming died instantly.
Her face twitched."Hey— stop that. Stop with the healing!"
Cassian raised a brow. "You’re yelling at my body now?"
"Yes, because it’s being
," she snapped, pressing her fingers on the edge of the cut as if scolding it like a misbehaving child. "I
opened this— don’t you dare close it again! I’m working here!"
The skin continued its slow, natural attempt to reattach, ignoring her.
Brigid let out a noise halfway between a growl and frustrated whine."I swear, your regeneration is the most disrespectful thing I’ve ever seen."
Cassian sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Imagine being scolded because you heal too well..."
She shot him a glare. "Oh, don’t pretend you’re the victim. Hold still. I need to re-cut this part before it seals, and if you move, I’m chopping off the wrong thing."
Cassian smirked. "You say that like it isn’t exactly what you want."
Brigid didn’t deny it — just tightened her grip on his shoulder with unsettling enthusiasm.
"Now hush," she muttered, lifting the blade again. "Let me work before your stupid body ruins my art."
Her tone was pure irritation, but her eyes gleamed with excitement again — like a painter frustrated by a canvas that kept erasing itself.
Cassian muttered under his breath, "This is absolutely the dumbest thing I’ve agreed to all week..."
Brigid didn’t look up."And you agreed to be my slave-by-duel champion last week," she reminded him sweetly.
"Exactly," Cassian said. "That’s why I’m concerned."