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Chapter 14
The Spike
“Artorius.”
“Why do you call me? No—rather, why do you keep saying my name and then pausing?”
“Well… because I don’t dislike the way it makes you curious about what I’m going to say.”
He ran a large hand down his face.
“…Fine. So what is it?”
“Nothing much. I just thought we could have a late snack.”
Anastasia stood up, threw on a light robe, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.
“…Me as well? I told you this morning—I can’t eat in this state. I don’t even need to.”
“Then just watch my back.”
From a drawer beside the wardrobe, Anastasia pulled out a small dagger hanging from a leather strap.
Artorius, knowing from experience where noble ladies usually strapped their defensive daggers, quickly turned his body away.
The dagger and sheath disappeared beneath her skirt. Anastasia secured it tightly to her thigh, then extended her hand to him.
“Won’t you escort me?”
“Inside the room…?”
“Artorius. There’s no place more dangerous to me than this house.”
Her deep blue eyes looked up at him, darker than ever.
“…Are you sure you’ll be alright, Anastasia?”
He asked in a low voice, brows furrowed beneath his helmet.
Because of the noise outside the door.
“Well, it doesn’t matter.”
Her room was on the fourth floor—the very top of the annex. She shrugged lightly and flicked her fingers.
The loud hammering on the door suddenly faded, as if it had been pushed far away.
“You’re quite skilled at crafting and manipulating spells.”
“Well… I’m living my life for the second time. Though I suppose you are as well.”
“So I’ll ask again. Are you really alright? Once the door is nailed shut, it won’t be easy to leave.”
“Ah, it’s fine. Really. In fact, it’ll make it easier to mess with them.”
Artorius tilted his head.
“Easier to mess with them?”
“Well… they probably don’t actually think a few nails in a door can stop me.”
That was true.
With his strength alone, he could tear the door off. He could probably even punch a new passage through the wall.
“…That’s true.”
“And once they nail the door shut, it’ll become inconvenient for them too.”
“How so?”
“Like this.”
With his escort, Anastasia walked lightly to the door.
Then she knocked.
Artorius watched with interest at the strange sight—her knocking on her own door.
“…My lady?”
Of course.
The maids outside responded. Anastasia’s lips curved into a small smile.
“I’m thirsty. Could you bring me some tea and milk?”
A brief silence followed.
They were probably counting how many nails they had driven in.
They would now have to remove them all and hammer them back in again.
“…Could you please wait a moment?”
Anastasia couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into quiet laughter. Artorius did as well—though no sound escaped him.
Still, she could tell he was laughing.
It felt… oddly pleasant.
Like sharing a moment with someone whose face never changed.
“Of course. Take your time.”
Soon, hurried footsteps retreated down the hallway. Anastasia glanced at Artorius as if to say see?, then returned to sit on the bed.
“See? They’ll run to father instead of the dining hall. Then they’ll come back saying, ‘His Grace orders…’ and so on.”
“Amusing.”
Her small head nodded, golden hair swaying like molten gold.
“It is. No matter what they do, they’ll never escape my grasp.”
She flicked her fingers.
Hundreds of glowing golden osmanthus petals flowed from her fingertips, forming a large cross before shaping into a longsword in her hand.
“So. You said you’d teach me how to use a sword.”
Artorius shrugged and stood.
“I believe you said you use a dagger in your left hand. Yet somehow, you’re holding that in your right.”
Anastasia pouted and narrowed her eyes.
“You might as well point out that it’s a longsword, not a dagger.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Why?”
“Because this is already amusing enough.”
He rose from the armchair—the largest one in her room.
“…I think that chair’s sunk in a bit, Artorius.”
“That doesn’t mean I should sit on the floor.”
He strode toward her, drawing his sword lightly.
“Using a longsword begins with four basic stances: the Ox, the Roof, the Plow, and the Fool.”
“…Say that again?”
He demonstrated each stance as he repeated them.
“The Ox, the Roof, the Plow, and the Fool.”
“The Ox, the Roof, the Plow, the Fool.”
“Good. Now, let’s start with the Ox stance.”
Twenty minutes later, Anastasia deeply regretted asking him to teach her swordsmanship.
Artorius was obsessively precise, like he had a protractor embedded in his eyes.
Ten more minutes passed.
Her sleepwear was soaked with sweat.
And eventually, she gave up entirely.
“I have a serious question, Artorius.”
“What is it?”
“Is it really necessary to measure exactly how many inches my right hand is tilted relative to my nose?”
“Of course.”
Then Artorius demonstrated a series of cuts and thrusts—fast, fluid, and powerful.
Even Anastasia, a novice, was impressed.
It wasn’t elegant—it was efficient. Every motion flowed into the next with controlled speed.
“…It does look cool.”
He sheathed his sword and leaned it against the wall.
“With a longsword like this, offense and defense happen simultaneously in a single instant.”
He stepped behind her, lifting her arms into proper position.
Holding her small, pale hand on the hilt, he said quietly,
“Step onto my feet, Anastasia.”
“Father never did this for me.”
She joked as she stepped onto his feet.
“This is not a dance.”
“I know.”
He guided her movements like a puppeteer controlling a marionette.
“From the Ox stance, shifting to the opposite side becomes a horizontal cut aimed at the neck.”
Her body moved in clean arcs with his guidance.
“From the Roof to the Fool becomes a powerful downward strike.”
The blade sliced through the air.
“All stances are merely transitional points. You attack by moving between them.”
Only then did Anastasia understand.
“So… if your posture isn’t precise, the transitions fall apart.”
“That’s the first reason.”
“There’s a second?”
He nodded, setting her down.
Then, with a hand infused with dark abyssal power, he crushed her blade back into petals.
“All stances exist to protect yourself while attacking. An incorrect posture means you get hurt.”
He sat back in the chair.
“So…”
She stretched out the word, watching his glowing blue eyes.
“This is all for my sake, right?”
“Yes.”
That made sense.
In a single motion, defense and attack overlapped.
Even a slight error would break that balance.
“Alright.”
Just then—
Knock, knock, knock.
Anastasia stood.
“Ah, did you bring the tea and milk?”
The maid outside hesitated before whispering,
“His Grace… ordered that we are not to bring you even a glass of water…”
As expected.
Anastasia leaned against the door and whispered,
“You there. What’s your name?”
“B-Betty, my lady.”
“Good. Step away from the door. All of you. Preferably far away.”
“…Yes?”
She tapped the nailed door lightly.
“The door is about to explode.”
But then—
A familiar voice came from outside.
“No, sister. You won’t be able to do that. Father expected this, so he sent me here with four knights.”
It was Aslan.
Anastasia narrowed her eyes, amused.
“Aslan. As your older sister, I sincerely advise you—for your own safety…”
She stepped back from the door.
“You should move aside. Otherwise… you saw it, didn’t you?”
“Saw what?”
“The corpses on the way back from the ball.”
A sharp intake of breath came from outside.
Of course.
That would frighten him.
She had seen them too.
And it had steeled her resolve.
“…Sister?”
“I won’t go easy on you just because you’re younger. Even if you’re not yet of age.”
She raised her hand.
“Blowing this door apart and turning you into minced meat mixed with armor scraps doesn’t even require an incantation.”
Metal clattered outside—knights stepping back.
“W-wait!”
“Something to say?”
“F-father won’t let this—”
“You should run.”
She lifted her slippered foot—
And slammed it down.
BOOM—!!!
The door exploded inward like it had been struck by a giant.
Coughing erupted outside. Some knights lay crumpled against the wall.
“I warned you.”
Aslan stood frozen, covered in dust.
“What are you staring at?”
He snapped back to reality.
“D-do you even know what you’ve done…?”
“Of course I do.”
She floated lightly over the debris, brushing the air so the dust parted around her.
Landing in front of him, she said,
“I opened the door. Didn’t I?”
Then—
She kicked his shin.
“Ghk—!”
“Who said you could look down on your older sister like that?”
He tried to stand—but she kicked the other leg too.
“Stop!”
He collapsed.
“Does it hurt?”
“You’re insane!”
“Insane? Maybe I should kick your mouth next so you learn manners.”
She raised her knee toward his face—
“Y-you think you can beat me? You’re so small and weak!”
He grabbed her collar and lifted her.
“…Ugh.”
Her frail body rose easily.
“Let go, Aslan.”
“I won’t—”
But then—
Artorius arrived.
Grabbing Aslan’s wrist with crushing force.
“I’ll warn you.”
He wrapped his other arm around Anastasia’s waist.
“Let go, or I will crush your bones.”
Aslan froze.
“P-please… let me go first so I can release her…”
He even used honorifics in fear.
“You grovel before strength and bully the weak… You are unfit to be called a man.”
Artorius released him.
Aslan stared at his bruised wrist, trembling.
“…I’ll tell father everything.”
Anastasia smirked.
“Go ahead.”
“You don’t understand! This is noble assault—”
“Oh? You’ll go crying, ‘I grabbed my sister and her knight hurt me’?”
Grinding his teeth, Aslan fled.
Anastasia called out,
“Betty?”
“Y-yes, my lady!”
The maid approached, covered in dust.
Anastasia gently blew magical breath over her, clearing it away.
“Th-thank you!”
“If you’re grateful, tell father this.”
“How should I say it?”
Anastasia smiled—
And raised her middle finger.
