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Chapter 8
Otkirchen Castle was under attack.
The clashing of weapons, shouts, and the resulting screams echoed through the castle.
“The attack didn’t start from just one point…”
Even just by listening to the chaotic sounds erupting from all directions, Isabel could grasp the general situation of the battlefield.
It was a simultaneous, large-scale surprise assault involving quite a number of troops.
The outer defense had already failed. She didn’t know how many combat soldiers were left inside the castle, but given the situation… it might be impossible to repel them.
Having thought that far, Isabel checked her own state.
Right now, she had nothing but her nun’s habit.
“I’m probably the weakest one in this castle.”
Just then, a desperate voice called out from behind.
“ Sister! You’re here!”
When she turned around, Yulia came running, gasping for breath.
Even though Isabel had told her not to call her “Sister” anymore, Yulia never stopped using the title.
“This is bad! The intruders are killing the guards—!”
“Quiet down, Yulia. Calm yourself.”
“Ah—”
“Take a deep breath and stay focused. Don’t waste your energy now.”
At Isabel’s advice, Yulia nodded and followed her gesture, hiding behind a nearby pillar.
Once Yulia regained some composure, she spoke again.
“We have to escape! I’ll lead you to the stables.”
“No. The stables are probably the first place they seized.”
If there were horses, someone could escape to call for reinforcements—or the attackers could use them to chase fleeing survivors.
So, attacking the stables first to cut off mobility was basic strategy.
Yulia’s face turned pale. Isabel placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“Let’s find a place we can slip out quietly. Can you think of anywhere?”
“T-the storage room connected to the kitchen… I think there’s a passage that leads outside.”
“That could work.”
The kitchen was located along the castle’s outer section, so the likelihood of it being searched was lower.
With that decision made, the two carefully moved through the corridor filled with screams.
The western wing of the castle was usually quiet, allowing them to move more discreetly.
“There’s no one here?”
The moment Yulia said that, her tension slightly easing, dull sounds came from around the corner.
Isabel quickly covered Yulia’s mouth and pulled her back.
Then, two men’s voices were heard.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
“What do you think? I was chasing the prince.”
“Didn’t you hear the signal whistle? They said the prince was found in the audience chamber.”
“Oh… did they?”
The exchange sounded casual, as though the conversation would soon end—
—but then suddenly, a choking sound echoed.
“Y-you… what are you—”
“You filthy worm. Did you think no one noticed you sneaking around, too greedy to keep your hands to yourself?”
“I didn’t—”
“Typical of a vagrant. You can’t change your habits.”
Then came a cruel judgment.
“There’s no place for parasites like you in our great cause.”
A heavy thud followed—something large falling to the floor—and then the sound of retreating footsteps.
After waiting a moment, Isabel peeked around the corner.
A man lay dead on the ground.
“Signal whistle… great cause…”
The words she overheard weren’t something ordinary thugs would use.
But since they weren’t fully disciplined, they didn’t seem like elite troops either—more like hastily grouped and trained soldiers.
Isabel stepped closer, turned the body over, but found no emblem or mark to show allegiance.
While she was assessing the situation, Yulia fidgeted anxiously behind her.
“Sister…! We should go! Please, let’s run!”
Isabel glanced down the corridor where screams still echoed.
Judging by the invaders’ skill and numbers—and by the fact that Lionel had decided to defend the audience chamber himself—the conclusion was clear.
He was likely to die today.
“Sister?”
“…If we follow that hallway, we’ll reach the kitchen, right? Go ahead, Yulia.”
“What? What about you?”
“I’m going to the audience chamber.”
If today was the day the Empire’s prince died, it would be the perfect opportunity to escape.
No one would bother to chase a single runaway nun amid such chaos.
She could flee back to the convent, take everyone with her, and live quietly for decades, far away from war.
But for Isabel, such peace would be hollow—filled only with scars and regret.
“If I have a companion on the road to hell, perhaps it won’t be so lonely.”
Just imagining what she might say to him at the gates of hell gave her a twisted thrill.
Isabel lifted her head with a faint smile.
Seeing that eerie expression, Yulia flinched and shook Isabel’s shoulders in alarm.
“Have you lost your mind?! Why?!”
“I don’t know if I should say this, but… since His Highness the Prince brought me here just to torment me, I suppose I’d like to guide him all the way to the end.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to understand. You’ll be going to heaven anyway, Yulia. So pretend you never heard that.”
But Yulia shook her head, eyes welling up.
“I’m not that good of a person, Sister…”
“What are you saying? Just think about what you did—feeding me even a single spoonful of soup—”
“That’s because I knew if I starved with you, you’d stop fasting! I used that against you!”
Yulia clung to Isabel’s arm, insisting on her own guilt.
“And do you know why I volunteered to be your caretaker? Because you’re quiet and don’t order me around! It was easy for me!”
Even as she said it, Isabel knew Yulia had cared for her in every way.
There was no reason for a castle maid to take such good care of a nun.
Yulia was, at her core, a kind person.
She simply didn’t realize it—because her standards for goodness were too high.
Isabel wanted to comfort her, but there was something more urgent to say first.
“If you really think you’ve been using me… then I have one favor to ask.”
“A favor?”
“This time, don’t follow me.”
If Yulia insisted on following her to the audience chamber, even to death, Isabel would hesitate again.
So she took Yulia’s own words as reason to act first.
Yulia froze, her face stiff. Isabel spoke gently, almost pleadingly.
“I’ll never find a better place to die than now. But you’re different, Yulia.”
“Please, stop saying things like that, Sister…”
“Go, Yulia.”
Her firm tone left no room for argument.
After a moment’s hesitation, Yulia finally turned and left toward the kitchen.
Isabel watched her go, waiting until she completely disappeared before slowly bending down.
“Just in case.”
She found a dagger on the corpse of the fallen man and tucked it into her robe before heading toward the castle’s center.
The closer she got to the audience chamber, the thicker the stench of blood became—and the more bodies she saw.
Some were attackers, some guards, but most were unarmed servants.
“I’ve set foot in hell itself.”
Murmuring bitterly, Isabel kept walking.
At last, she reached the entrance of the audience chamber, where the shattered doors revealed the chaos within.
“Seven royal guards… and more than forty attackers?”
It was a hopeless disparity—especially since the guards, caught off guard, were only armed with swords and no armor.
The attackers, confident of victory, weren’t even rushing in; they were mocking Lionel.
Their leader spoke leisurely.
“Lionel Ortega. It’s time you paid the price.”
Lionel replied coldly.
“Who sent you? Kallia? Or my brother?”
“Who knows? Maybe Liberde or Britellia. You can think it over.”
“I do have plenty of enemies. I’ll have to tidy things up soon.”
The attackers burst out laughing.
“You really don’t understand your situation, do you? You think you’ll get out alive?”
When their leader raised his hand, the men flanking the sides began closing in slowly.
The final battle was about to begin.
Wanting to witness it up close, Isabel stepped closer to the doorway.
But watching from afar wasn’t as easy as she thought.
The royal guards noticed her standing by the entrance—and following their gaze, the attackers noticed her too.
“What the—? A nun?”
“If you survived, you should’ve run! Why crawl in here? You got a death wish?”
The men, already blood-crazed, grinned like beasts.
Isabel met their feral gazes without flinching.
One of them turned toward her, spinning his sword lazily as he approached.
“Come to pray for the prince, have you? Hey, Sister—if you don’t want to end up lying beside those corpses, get lost while I’m being nice.”
“…”
“I said get lost! Are you deaf?”
When Isabel didn’t move, the man scowled and strode closer, angered by her silence.
“On second thought, maybe you’re too pretty to kill… but if I don’t, the boss will kill me instead. I’ve warned you enough, so no regrets.”
Without hesitation, he swung his sword.
To a man who’d already slaughtered dozens of innocents, killing one more nun meant nothing.
Clang!
But Isabel sidestepped gracefully, letting the blade pass by.
The sword struck the door’s metal ornament with a sharp ring.
The man didn’t pause—he thrust again.
Isabel evaded easily once more, stepping aside with surprising composure.
Now, it wasn’t only the man who was startled—Isabel herself was confused.
“Why am I dodging?”
Because she wanted to live?
Because she wanted to see Lionel die before she did?
Because she didn’t want to die by a sword like this?
Many answers came to mind, but none felt right.
As she pondered that, she avoided several more attacks.
The man pulled back, adjusted his stance, and asked in surprise,
“You’ve been trained with a sword… are you from the Order of Knights?”
The Knightly Order—root of all knighthood—was known for producing highly skilled warriors.
Isabel shook her head.
The man frowned, about to question her further—
—and then a shout rang out.
“Isabel! Take up a sword!”
Startled, she turned toward the far end of the chamber.
Lionel stood there, eyes burning with an intensity she’d never seen before.
“Die with your sword in hand!”
She didn’t understand why those words—“die”—sounded so much like an order to live.
