SAV 11

Chapter 11

Yulia had agonized more than a hundred times over whether to follow Isabel or not.

But if she went now, she’d only end up dying with her — and worse, she’d trample on Isabel’s resolve.

Her heart throbbed painfully, torn between the fear of encountering the assailants and the sorrow of watching Isabel march off to her death. Fighting to hold back tears, Yulia headed toward the kitchen.

“Yulia! You’re safe!”
“Mr. Hauser!”

Fortunately, the kitchen was already crowded with servants who had managed to escape.

“So everyone was here!”
“I knew a smart one like you would come here,” said Chef Hauser, letting out a sigh of relief as he praised her.

Yulia looked around. They were all familiar faces. Just knowing that more than twenty of her colleagues were alive eased her heart a little.

“Why are we gathered here?”
“The enemy might be watching the entrance on the other side of the passage, so I sent the fastest kids to scout ahead,” Hauser explained.
“Oh, I see.”

Yulia, who had been thinking only about escaping blindly, let out a small gasp of admiration.

Hauser reassured her that the scouts should be back soon, glancing toward the door.

“The nun you’re in charge of didn’t make it, I suppose. A pity, but it can’t be helped.”
“No, it’s not that… The Sister went to the audience chamber.”
“The audience chamber? Why?”
“Well… she said she was going to die with His Highness…”

She couldn’t quite understand Isabel’s reasons, so her explanation came out clumsy and unsure.

But the moment she spoke, everyone nearby turned toward her in shock.

They asked again and again if she really meant Isabel had gone to the audience chamber. When she nodded, they began to murmur among themselves.

“While we’re hiding here…”
“She was always devout, but even now?”
“Shouldn’t we go and bring her back?”

The remaining servants began to talk about Isabel — how she’d come as the prince’s preacher, how she never asked for much and treated everyone kindly, and how Prince Lionel himself had seemed a little gentler since hearing her sermons.

In the past few weeks, Isabel had become something of a model of piety to everyone in the castle.

And now, that same nun had gone to die with the prince.

The murmuring grew louder.

“If she’s facing death without fear, we can’t just sit here doing nothing!”
“Let’s go too.”
“Yes, let’s! There are more than twenty of us — we can surely help somehow!”
“We can’t let those bastards who killed our comrades take this castle!”
“I already took down one of them earlier — they’re nothing!”

When the attack had first come, all they could think of was fleeing in panic. But this castle was their home, their workplace, and where their friends lived. And now that they were together, courage began to stir.

Chef Hauser was the first to grab a kitchen knife.

“We men will take up arms and go fight. The women should leave once the scouts return.”

It was decided that only the men capable of fighting would go to the audience chamber.

But Yulia couldn’t bring herself to stay behind.

Even though reason told her that escaping was the right thing to do, her mouth spoke of its own accord.

“I’ll go too.”
“No, Yulia.”
“I have to go and look after Sister Isabel.”

It was an absurd excuse, but Yulia insisted stubbornly.

Hauser sighed but, remembering that Yulia was Isabel’s assigned attendant, reluctantly agreed.

“Then stay at the back. If it looks bad, run right away. Got it?”

So fourteen men and Yulia set off toward the audience chamber.

At first, their weapons were pitiful — whatever they could grab. But along the way, they found swords and spears and armed themselves one by one.

Yulia also picked up a langschwert. She didn’t intend to use it; she only brought it in case one of the men needed a spare weapon in the fight.

Once they were more or less armed, they arrived near the audience chamber.

A dark thought flashed through Yulia’s mind.

What if we’re too late?

If the worst had already happened, they would all have to flee — but not everyone would make it out alive.

Yulia trembled at the thought that she had been the one to tell everyone Isabel had gone there — that all this might have begun because of her. If something terrible happened, she didn’t think she could live with the guilt.

She prayed they weren’t too late — and then they arrived.

The sight before her was nothing like what she had imagined.

Did they… already win?

Among the black-clad attackers, only about twenty were still standing — and even from a distance, it was clear they were panicking. The royal guards surged forward like a storm, cutting them down.

And standing near the door, side by side, were none other than Prince Lionel and Sister Isabel.

“A sword?”

Isabel was holding a langschwert — a weapon far too heavy and cumbersome, yet it somehow looked right in her hands.

Then, three assailants who had slipped through the chaos charged toward them.

Just before Yulia could scream, Lionel and Isabel moved at the same time.

As if prearranged, the two split in opposite directions, each taking one opponent. Their blades moved in perfect rhythm — and within mere seconds, their foes fell.

The last attacker froze in panic, his comrades already dead before his eyes. Two blades crossed toward him simultaneously — and he fell too.

“That’s… really the Sister, isn’t it…?”

Someone muttered in disbelief.

Isabel wasn’t using a light one-handed sword but a heavy two-handed langschwert, swinging it with her whole body. For those who had known her as a quiet nun, the sight was nothing short of shocking.

Yulia could only stare, mesmerized.

She knew nothing about swordsmanship, yet Isabel’s movements were breathtaking — fierce, fluid, and beautiful.

Almost without thinking, Yulia tried swinging her own sword. Her wrist nearly snapped from the weight. It was unbelievable that Isabel could move like that.

“Let’s go in too!”

Sensing that the tide had turned, the servants shouted and rushed into the chamber.

The already outnumbered attackers fell into despair. It didn’t take long before every last one was cut down.

Soon, the screams ceased — replaced by loud cheers.

“Your courage deserves praise,” said Prince Lionel, standing among them.

They had arrived late, but their bravery in taking up arms against death itself would soon become a story told throughout the land.

While Lionel stood before them promising rewards and expressing his gratitude, Isabel approached Yulia.

“Yulia? Why didn’t you run away?”
“The men said they were going to fight, so I just followed.”
“Just followed?”
“Yes, just because.”

Even Yulia herself couldn’t explain why she’d come. Isabel blinked in surprise, then chuckled softly.

Smiling, Isabel glanced down at the sword in her hand — then let it drop to the floor with a dull clang, as if she no longer had the strength to hold it.

“That’s a relief… Since others will take care of things here, I think I’ll go rest for a bit.”
“What?”
“Oh, and… I have a favor to ask.”

With a complicated look, Isabel cast a sidelong glance at Lionel and whispered,

“Don’t hand me over to His Highness.”

What on earth did that mean?

Yulia had seen her fight beside Lionel — she was certain he would shower Isabel with praise.

And now she wanted Yulia to stop that?

“How am I supposed to stop His Highness?”
“Just tell him I don’t want to leave the west tower.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. Just like that.”

Yulia could tell she was half-joking — but the other half, the part that was serious, was deeply troubling.

Seeing Yulia’s hesitation, Isabel smiled faintly.

“There’s no need to overdo it.”

With that, she suddenly dropped to her knees and collapsed sideways.

“Wha— Sister Isabel? Sister!”

Panicking, Yulia rushed to check her condition. If she’d been struck by a blade, she needed treatment immediately.

As Yulia frantically felt over Isabel’s bloodstained robes, others noticed the commotion and came running.

“What happened? Is the Sister hurt?!”
“Everyone, back off!”

At Yulia’s sharp yell, the men quickly stepped back — all except Lionel, who remained standing over them, watching.

“She’s not dead, is she?”
“Your Highness, do you want her to be dead?”
“…Jumping to conclusions — that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Go ahead, guess this time too.”

A single word of concern would have been enough. What kind of man is this?

Yulia bit back the retort that rose to her lips.

Carefully, she checked Isabel again — her robes weren’t torn, her breathing was steady. Yulia sighed in relief.

“Then I’ll take her to the west tower. That was… Sister Isabel’s last wish—”
“What? Last wish?”
“Not last wish— I mean— um…”

Yulia floundered at her slip of the tongue, but Lionel’s expression — one of shock and panic — was so priceless that she almost wanted to wake Isabel just to show her.