Meet Grandma Death
Caelus had survived a dog attack, royal judgment, and the bone-deep despair of discovering his bedsheets had more holes than his resume.
He’d awoken that morning thinking…
Maybe today won’t suck completely. Maybe I’ll eat bread that isn’t three weeks old. Maybe I won’t be emotionally sucker-punched by reality again.
He was wrong.
So, so wrong.
Because five minutes into his tragic little morning walk, he almost died.
Again.
Not from assassins. Not from monsters. Not from nobles.
No.
From a tiny, homicidal grandma with the reflexes of a caffeinated mongoose.
“YAH!!”
CLANG!
A rusted gardening hoe whistled past his face like karma on a bender. Caelus yelped, flailed, and tripped backward into a bush with all the grace of a drunk possum.
“WHAT THE–?!”
Standing above him like Death’s more aggressive cousin was a hunched old woman in a woven sunhat held together by twine, secrets, and centuries of rage.
“I thought you were a trespassin’ peasant rat,” she said, squinting over spectacles older than time. “Or worse. A noble brat. Same thing, really.”
Caelus stared at her. Dirt in his mouth. Dignity in another zip code.
“I live here!” he croaked.
She peered closer. Her gaze narrowed.
“…Trash Prince?”
He winced. “Please don’t call me that. I’m sensitive.”
“Oh good,” she said brightly. “It is you.”
Then she hit him with a broom.
WHAP!
“WHY?!” he screeched.
“Reflex,” she replied serenely, already turning to water a rose bush like this was normal Tuesday behavior.
Her name was Madam Griselda, but everyone called her Grandma Death, usually while hiding behind furniture.
She was the palace gardener.
And also—allegedly—a retired imperial assassin who once killed a man with a butter knife, interrogated a duke using only knitting needles, and snapped a war criminal’s neck with a watering can.
No one knew why she was allowed near plants, let alone people, but the roses flourished and the stabbings had decreased, so…
Caelus now sat next to her on a rock that smelled like moss and despair, still dazed from being broomed into the next dimension.
“You got hands like pudding,” Griselda muttered, squeezing his fingers like a disapproving blacksmith. “Soft. Useless. Never held a trowel, have ya?”
“I’ve held emotions, if that counts,” he said, voice deadpan.
She slapped a trowel into his palm. “Ten rows. Dig.”
Caelus blinked. “…Why?”
“You wanna live, don’t you?”
“Debatable.”
She grunted. “Start diggin’, Princess Soggyhands.”
The trowel stared into his soul.
[New Quest Acquired: “Dig or Die”]
> Objective: Survive Gardening Training with Grandma Death
> Reward: +1 Strength. Emotional scars. Possibly herbal tea.
> Bonus: Skill Unlocked – Dirt Fu: Lv. 0.5
He dug.
Badly.
Ten minutes in, his arms felt like overcooked spaghetti, his lower back was trying to sue him, and he was 95% sure he’d just unearthed the ancient skeleton of a cursed squirrel.
Griselda snorted. “You swing a trowel like a weasel with arthritis.”
“Excuse you, I was a New Yorker,” Caelus snapped. “My entire fitness routine was mental breakdowns and overpriced cardio memberships I never used.”
“Tragic,” she said, unimpressed. Then she grabbed his wrist.
Her grip could crush bones and dreams.
“Your balance is ass. Fix your stance.”
She kicked his legs apart like an angry sensei.
“Now punch.”
“This is gardening!!”
“War is just aggressive landscaping, child.”
[New Skill Gained: “Assassin Gardening – Lv. 1”]
> Can now identify 3 edible herbs and 5 weapons disguised as garden tools.
> +3% dodge chance while surrounded by foliage.
Two hours later, Caelus was covered in sweat, mud, and something that may have been gopher blood.
He had sidestepped a thrown trowel, learned how to block with a compost bag, and screamed internally enough to qualify as a haunted house.
Griselda handed him a steaming cup of… something.
“What’s this?” he asked warily.
“Chamomile. And beetle shells. Builds character.”
He took a sip.
Immediately gagged. “It tastes like boiled trauma.”
“You’ll live,” she said, patting his back hard enough to dislocate something.
[Stamina +1]
> Your insides cry, but your heart endures. Sort of.
He wiped his mouth. “So... you really used to be an assassin?”
Griselda chuckled. “Back in the day. Before the knees gave out and I found inner peace through tulips.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“The Emperor said I was scaring people. Also, I killed his cousin by accident. He got better, mostly.”
Caelus squinted. “Do you… miss it?”
She gave a faint, nostalgic smile. “I miss the clarity of purpose. The satisfaction of a clean hit. But gardening’s not so different. Strategic. Quiet. Bloodless. Usually.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got potential, boy. You flinch with style.”
“I flinch because I have trauma.” Well, this body is. The Jayden in me just don’t give a fu—
“Same thing.”
By sunset, Caelus limped back toward his sad little house-thing (he refused to call it a manor until the roof stopped leaking like betrayal).
His arms were noodles. His brain was soup. But…
He felt good?
Not strong, exactly. Nevertheless… capable adjacent.
He glanced down at his dirt-crusted hands. New blisters. Faint bruises. No emotional progress, but hey—baby steps.
And his stats?
[LEVEL 2 REACHED]
> STR: 4
> AGI: 3
> VIT: 3
> Emotional Stability: …loading
[Congratulations. You’re still weak. But now you have gardening trauma. Yay.]
He snorted. “I hate you, System.”
From the garden, he saw Griselda karate-chopping a gopher mid-air.
She waved.
With a shovel.
He waved back. Unsure if it was affection or a threat.
“…Okay,” Caelus muttered. “Maybe Grandma Death isn’t all nightmares.”
Then suddenly…
A voice screamed from behind the hedge.
“THE TOMATOES ARE MOVING AGAIN! SHE’S TRAINING THEM IN FORMATION!”
Caelus stopped walking.
Stared at the sky.
And sighed.
“Never mind.”
>> New Mentor Unlocked: Griselda the Reaper Gardener
>> Mandatory Training Schedule: Daily. Brutal. No refunds.
>> Perk Gained: Assassin’s Green Thumb – +5% evasion near plants. Can intimidate vegetables.
[Let the trauma bonding begin.]
The Trash Prince woke up sore in places he didn’t know had nerve endings.
His knees screamed. His elbows whimpered. His spine whispered death threats.
He rolled off his straw mattress and immediately regretted existing.
“Ughhhhhh,” he groaned into the floor. “Why am I alive?”
[Status: You are alive because Grandma Death willed it so.]
[Daily Training Quest: “Dig or Die, Part II – Electric Hoe-galoo” has begun.]
[Reward: +1 STR, +1 Constitution, +1 Traumatized Respect from Griselda.]
Caelus dragged himself to the garden like a dying jellyfish with taxes to pay.
Griselda was already there. Meditating upside-down on a rake handle.
“You’re late,” she said without looking.
“I’m dying,” Caelus croaked.
She landed with a thump. “Then you’re warmed up. Perfect.”
PHASE 1: ENDURANCE TRAINING (Also Known As: Run, Bitch, Run)
“Today we run laps around the manor,” Griselda announced.
“That doesn’t sound so ba—”
“While carrying these cabbages. In your mouth.”
“WHAT?!”
“You’re a prince. Learn to suffer with elegance.”
[New Objective: Run 10 laps while balancing cabbage. Do not drop the cabbage.]
[Bonus Objective: Do not vomit. Got it?]
Caelus ran.
He tripped over a gopher. He swallowed a bug. A chicken bit his ankle.
By lap three, his legs moved like uncooked noodles. By lap seven, he was hallucinating imperial tax forms and his mother’s disappointed sigh.
By lap ten, he was crying.
“I DID IT,” he sobbed, cabbage falling out of his mouth.
Dammit this body!
Too weak!
Griselda clapped slowly. “You only threw up twice. Good work.”
>> Endurance +1
>> You have evolved from “wet lettuce” to “lightly wilted spinach”. Progress!
>> Good job! Gambare!
SHUT UP SYSTEM!
PHASE 2: STRENGTH TRAINING (a.k.a. “Lift or Get Whacked”)
Griselda led him to a wheelbarrow full of suspiciously heavy rocks.
“Lift this.”
“…Why?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll throw one at you.”
“Fair.”
>> New Skill Acquired: “Farmboy Gains – Lv. 1”
>> You may now lift things heavier than your fragile ego.
Caelus lifted.
He screamed.
He dropped it.
The rock rolled over his foot.
He screamed again.
“Hmm,” Griselda muttered. “Needs work.”
>> HP -2
>> Dignity -12
>> Gain: Slightly Buffed Forearms. Still Laughable.
PHASE 3: COMBAT TRAINING (a.k.a. “Mortal Kombat: Garden Edition”)
“You need to learn how to fight,” said Griselda, brandishing a watering can like a battleaxe. “In case someone tries to assassinate you again.”
“…I’d rather be stabbed than spar with Grandma Death.”
“You are being stabbed. Emotionally. Now dodge!”
WHAP!
The can hit him in the face.
WHUMP!
A rake clipped his shin.
ZING!
A tomato struck his forehead with the force of divine punishment.
“I THOUGHT THIS WAS TRAINING, NOT WAR!”
“War is training, child!”
[New Passive: “Pain Response – Lv. 2”]
> You now flinch strategically instead of dramatically.
> +10% chance to dodge flying vegetables.
Caelus rolled under a shovel swing, backflipped (accidentally), and caught a rogue carrot midair.
He blinked. “Did I just…?”
“You improved,” Griselda grinned. “Barely.”
[AGI +1]
[You now have the reflexes of a panicked cat. It’s an improvement.]
TRAINING MONTAGE MODE: ON (Cue 80s power ballad in the background)
— Caelus punching hay bales until they exploded (from termites).
— Caelus doing one push-up, screaming, collapsing, then being sat on by a chicken.
— Caelus meditating under a waterfall that was probably just bad plumbing.
— Griselda yelling “Breathe through your trauma!” while throwing turnips at his head.
RESULTS: DAY 12 OF TRAINING
[Level Up!]
[LEVEL 5 ACHIEVED]
> STR: 7
> AGI: 6
> VIT: 6
> DEX: 4
> WIS: 3 (Because you still make dumb choices.)
[New Skill Unlocked: “Granny-Fu – Lv. 1”]
>> You now instinctively dodge attacks from anyone over the age of 70.
>> +10% evasion vs old ladies.
>> +50% PTSD if holding a gardening tool.
Caelus lay face-up in the grass, covered in sweat, soil, and what might’ve been goat drool.
“I’m gonna die,” he whispered.
“You were going to die anyway,” Griselda said cheerfully. “Now you’ll just die stronger.”
She handed him a beetle cookie.
He stared at it with the eyes of a man who’d seen his own funeral.
“Thanks…?”
“You’ve earned it, Sproutling.”
He munched the nightmare snack.
It crunched like regret.
But something in him had changed.
Slightly less pathetic.
Slightly more durable.
And maybe, just maybe, ready for whatever flaming political nonsense the palace would hurl next.
[You have survived another day.]
[Grandma Death approves. Slightly.]
[Next Quest: Survive court tea party without flipping a table.]
Caelus groaned.
“Can I go back to fighting tomatoes?”