🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 7
No matter how much one tries to ignore it, an exceptional talent never dulls.
The moment her hand gripped the sword, her entire body remembered what it meant to be a swordswoman.
But Isabel soon realized—once again—that she had no choice but to lock that talent away in a prison.
She didn’t even bother to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Bitterness and resentment welled up inside her amidst the unbearable pain.
Glaring at Lionel, Isabel asked,
“Was this your goal?”
“My goal?”
“You saved me and brought me here just to see me in this pitiful state, didn’t you?”
For a brief moment, conflict flickered across Lionel’s face.
In the end, he chose honesty over lies.
“Yes. That was true… at first.”
“Then Your Highness has won. I have denied God, so I am no longer a nun. I’m unfit to preach, and I have no desire to become anything else.”
As if there was nothing more to say, Isabel firmly pulled off her veil.
Now that she had cast away the last piece of her identity as a nun, nothing remained.
Realizing that, Isabel let out a hollow laugh.
“Then since you’ve seen all there is to see—go ahead and kill me.”
“Looking at you now, you don’t even seem worth killing.”
“Ahaha. Then perhaps I should give you a reason to find me worth killing?”
Isabel’s eyes burned with venom as she stared him down. It seemed she was ready to insult the royal family itself if it meant provoking him into ending her life.
But Lionel didn’t even allow her that.
“Have you forgotten the convent when you renounced your vows?”
At that, Isabel’s laughter froze.
The kind sisters of the Chardonnay Convent… Isabel could not abandon them.
She remembered, with painful clarity, that she had long ago lost even the freedom to die. Powerless, she sank to the floor.
“Yulia. Come in.”
The maid who had been waiting outside entered upon his command. Even when she saw Isabel collapsed on the floor, Yulia’s composure didn’t waver.
“Take her to the west tower.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Yulia gently helped Isabel to her feet. Isabel moved like a lifeless doll under her touch.
* * *
Reports from Lionel’s followers—coming from battlefields and across the Empire—were piling up in the study at Fort Otkirchen.
As Lionel went through them, he felt a slight unease.
“The Duke of Wiesenstein deployed additional troops?”
The Duke of Wiesenstein, Princess Laura’s staunchest supporter, was known to be a cautious man.
Lionel and his advisors had assumed the Duke would remain inactive through the winter, gathering strength instead.
And yet, the Duke had aggressively pushed troops into the frontlines. Lionel spent a long time analyzing the reports, piecing together fragments of information.
He was still lost in that invisible battlefield of strategy when a royal guard knocked on his office door.
“Your Highness, the maid Yulia requests an audience.”
“Send her in.”
There was only one person Yulia was currently in charge of.
She entered with quick, measured steps and bowed.
“Your Highness, I have a report and a request regarding Sister Isabel.”
Lionel recalled the report he’d received earlier—since the day Isabel had been placed in a solitary room in the west tower, she hadn’t eaten or drunk a thing.
Knowing that ascetics could endure fasting for a long time, Lionel hadn’t ordered direct interference. Instead, he allowed Yulia to manage Isabel and simply observed.
It had now been four days.
“Is she still refusing to eat?”
“That is what I came to report, Your Highness. I managed to get her to eat breakfast this morning.”
“How did you manage that?”
He was genuinely curious how she had persuaded that stubborn woman.
Lowering her voice cautiously, Yulia replied,
“If I may speak frankly, Your Highness—someone like her cannot be forced. Even if you try to shove soup into her mouth, she’ll only spit it out.”
“And so?”
Seeing Lionel’s genuine interest, Yulia thought it would have been better if he had shown such concern earlier.
“I told her that if she refused to eat, I would fast with her. I stayed by her side the entire day and night. In the morning, she finally gave in.”
“……”
“She seems to have given up on fasting altogether now. You need not worry.”
Lionel wasn’t a fool.
He simply could not have imagined using such an approach as a prince.
Still, the maid had handled the matter well, and he ought to commend her for it. Yet, the word ‘worry’ she had used grated on him slightly.
He almost rebuked her for presuming to read a royal’s thoughts—but then reconsidered.
This maid was quite perceptive.
With a long sigh, he gestured lazily with his hand.
“And your request?”
“May I bring some books to Sister Isabel?”
“Books? Did she ask for something other than the scriptures?”
“No, Your Highness. But rather than sitting idly and losing her mind, I thought it better she have something to keep her thoughts occupied.”
That indirect phrasing was her way of saying Isabel’s mental state was precarious.
Instead of responding to her implication, Lionel asked in a low tone,
“Do you like her? You seem… unusually devoted.”
“I only follow Your Highness’s will.”
“I don’t recall ordering you to keep her alive.”
“You never said so, that’s true.”
“You’re being impertinent.”
“I’ll be careful.”
He couldn’t help but warn her—but that only revealed that Isabel was still on his mind.
Frowning, Lionel looked down at the reports again.
For four days, even while dealing with countless administrative documents, a part of his mind kept circling back to Isabel’s fate.
And he still hadn’t reached a decision.
Pathetic.
When he had first set his sights on the nun, his intent had been pure malice.
Having already resolved to kill countless people, trampling and murdering a pious nun had seemed like just another part of that cruel destiny.
But the more he looked at her face, the more they spoke—the more that malice began to twist into something else.
Her fluent but slightly awkward Imperial speech, the beige hair hidden beneath the black veil, the soft curve of her brows, and those turquoise eyes that seemed to hold the abyss…
He found himself wanting to know more about her.
He was spending more time thinking about Isabel than about whose neck to sever today or what region to conquer tomorrow.
And that stolen time was slowly devouring him from within.
If I meant to kill her, I’d have done it already.
Isabel was sharp, bold, and unafraid to strike if given even a sliver of an opening.
Lionel had admired that defiant spark in her, enough to try peeling away her mask through their clashes. He thought he could keep the balance—play with danger without being burned.
But when he learned about Isabel’s past, something inside him twisted.
His offer to avenge her had been genuine.
“Ha…”
While Lionel was lost in thought, Yulia—who had been waiting silently—spoke up as he sighed.
“Your Highness, if you’re still interested in Sister Isabel… perhaps you could try being a little gentler with her?”
“…What?”
“Will you let the flower wither?”
First a bird, now a flower.
Lionel gave a faint, incredulous laugh. Perhaps now he understood a little why Isabel had once talked back to him.
Yulia’s advice wasn’t without merit, but Lionel shook his head.
“And what would come of treating a nun gently? Should I crush her soul even more thoroughly?”
“……”
Yulia glanced at him sideways, as if to say How can you even say that?
It was the kind of insolence that could cost her her head—but Lionel didn’t punish her.
This time, he had indeed broken Isabel completely—but it had been done in a fit of impulse, without any plan or control.
He couldn’t quite say he didn’t regret it.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. You may go.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. I will continue to report regularly on Sister Isabel’s condition.”
With a polite bow, Yulia left the office. Lionel pressed a hand against his eyes and turned toward the window.
Despite the cold winter, sparrows were fluttering outside.
Those tiny birds were so free—so why were humans not?
The old question circled endlessly in his mind.
* * *
In the darkness, Isabel opened her eyes.
She remembered having some soup for dinner, reading for a bit, and then falling asleep out of sheer boredom.
Left with no duties and almost forgotten, Isabel spent her days sleeping or staring into nothingness. She hadn’t prayed in days.
She still remembered vividly the moment she had entrusted Lionel with her revenge.
At that time, she had been sincere. With that memory in her heart, she could no longer pray.
I’ll go to hell for sure.
After several suicide attempts and her denial of God—there was no forgiveness for such sins.
She didn’t even feel wronged. She simply wondered if her soul’s “fingers” were still properly attached.
As she brooded over such bitter thoughts, she looked out the window at the night sky.
Then—she heard a scream outside.
“Hm?”
It was faint, but her sharp hearing caught it instantly.
Isabel went to the window of the tower room and looked outside.
She couldn’t see anything, but her instincts sensed that something was happening amid the gusting wind.
“What’s going on…”
That old, sharp instinct stirred within her. She quietly stepped outside her room.
She hadn’t been locked in, so the door opened easily when she pushed it.
Cautiously peering down the corridor, Isabel caught the sound of footsteps in the distance.
And then—
“Enemy attack! We’re under attack!”
With a shout, alarm bells rang out in a frenzy.
