⚔️Serberia

— Ideally, brave knights should protect you from sharp steel and scorching magic, shielding you with their bodies from arrows and sword strikes, but such knights are not always available, so learning to defend yourself is undoubtedly an excellent idea. Go ahead.

"...but in Baldr, there's only the disabled Virgil and, in a way, the old man Gungnir," Alessia thought, finishing the thought her mentor had started. — "Ah, Cecilia, it's been almost a decade, and you still live in Airisufir."
Nowadays, men need protection themselves. Whether it's Veserod, with his shovel-like beard, or the strange Anders, he's clearly not the type to shield an embrasure with his chest. Anselm, who was beaten by a woman in a tournament... One might think that he was the only one smart and gallant enough to lose on purpose, but after the forest, that doesn't seem so likely anymore. Only Renold Ilva seems to have been positively influenced by a woman.
"Nowadays, you can only rely on yourself," the old, repeatedly spoken words echoed in her memory.

Skill: staff
Training – that's what a certain type of people, people like Gungnir, call torture on a voluntary-compulsory basis.
— Hit! Hit harder, you fool! The movement starts from the feet! Put your body into it! — Gungnir yells.
— I'm trying, sir Baron. — It had only been about twenty minutes, but Alessia's hands were already covered in bloody calluses, and it took great effort just to hold the damned stick. And she would gladly leave, but who would let her?
— You're not trying! You're not even holding the stance! I showed you the stance! The end of the staff at the level of the opponent's chin! Come on!
— Like this?
— Keep your back straight! Maybe you've lost weight to the point of being skeletal, but I don't believe this stick weighs more than you. Now hit! Again! I still haven't seen a single hit!

Three hours later, Alessia stared blankly into the mirror with the single thought – what's wrong with those women who subject themselves to this seriously and voluntarily. Alessia looked sadly at the bruised calluses and broken fingernail. "That's how it is... and I thought my hands would get rough from work," she tapped her thin, white fingers on the smooth surface of the dressing table. "I should be playing the piano with hands like these, not waving a stick like a man. The Baron could at least show some understanding, he's become so callous, so savage in his Baldr. In this village – it's no wonder. Why am I even here, and what is this place doing to me?..."
Still, it was better than letting some dendroids disfigure her face... or begging in the streets of Clematis. The February day, infamously short, still showed no signs of ending. Alessia, having put herself in a decent appearance, ran her fingers through her hair for the umpteenth time, but couldn't think of anything better than simply letting her hair down. One day, civilization will reach here, and a hair salon will open here, but she is unlikely to live to see it. For now, she needs to spend the rest of the day usefully, and Alessia goes to Armin to find out about his task.