SAV 12

Chapter 12

Isabel kept having the same dream.

She cut, stabbed, slashed—again and again and again.

She had done it plenty in real life, yet even in her dreams, she never grew tired of it.

Her opponents came at her endlessly, and instead of fear, Isabel felt exhilaration.

If this moment—swinging her sword—could last forever, she thought she could bear living after all.
That’s when she woke up.

‘…I was right to quit being a nun.’

A woman who found meaning in life by cutting people down—a nun? There was nothing more absurd.

But that didn’t mean she’d awakened as some pleasure-driven murderer.
She had merely picked up the sword again, prepared to die, and her enemies happened to be the ones who perished.

Stepping over their deaths, Isabel survived—as a swordswoman.

Now that she had fully rediscovered who she was, Isabel tried to move—only to groan in pain as if her body were being ripped apart.

“Ugh…”
“Ah! Sister!”

Julia, who had been knitting something by the bedside, brightened instantly and rushed over. Her eyes sparkled differently from before.

“Even if you’re awake, please stay lying down! You were so exhausted you fainted!”

Still unable to calm her excitement, Julia eagerly recounted everything that had happened during the night.

All the attackers had been taken care of. Their leader and a few survivors were locked in the dungeon and would soon spill everything.

And Isabel, as one of the greatest contributors to the victory, had been given the best room in the castle.

“Isn’t it amazing? His Highness Lionel said this room was originally made by the former lord for his wife before the prince bought this castle!”

Julia glanced around the room with nostalgic eyes before giggling toward Isabel.

“You didn’t really think you’d have to stay in that western tower forever, did you?”

Isabel had asked not to be within Lionel’s reach—but some things couldn’t be helped.

As she wriggled under the blanket, wondering if she’d have to stay in this room from now on, Isabel suddenly realized she wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Lifting the blanket, she looked down. Julia quickly explained,

“I had no choice! You were covered in blood, so I had to take your clothes off and clean you!”
“…It’s fine. His Highness didn’t see me, right?”
“What?! Of course not! That would never happen!”
“Then that’s good enough.”

Brushing it off lightly, Isabel noticed Julia glancing at the bare shoulder exposed above the blanket. A faint scar from childhood still remained there.

Seeing Julia’s look, Isabel expected her to sigh and say something like ‘What a waste of beauty.’

But instead, Julia murmured in awe,

“Seeing you, Sister… I can understand why you’re so strong.”

Just as a butterfly can soar with wings larger than its body because its form is made perfectly for flight—
so too was Isabel’s body, lean from convent life but shaped by swordsmanship and horseback training, naturally built for strength and grace.

Julia vividly remembered Isabel dancing with a sword, her movements both lethal and beautiful.

“Were you, by any chance…”

Julia almost asked if Isabel had once been a knight—but quickly shut her mouth.
She knew too well how deep the woman’s pain ran.

The excitement in her tone faded, and Julia swiftly changed the subject.

“…That’s not what I meant. Sister, I actually have a proposal.”
“A proposal?”
“Yes! How about we keep His Highness waiting for just two more days? Pretend you’re still unconscious.”

The suggestion was outrageous.

A maid proposing they hide Isabel’s recovery from a prince—reckless didn’t even begin to describe it.

But Julia stood tall, defiant.

“You told me not to hand you over even if you fainted, didn’t you? And aren’t things awkward between you and His Highness?”
“Well…”

Isabel faltered, unable to answer.

She had been ready to die with Lionel—but instead, she had picked up her sword again because of his voice.

‘In the end, I saved both him and myself…’

Honestly, she had no idea how to face him now.

So she’d thought of avoiding him for a while—but Julia went even bolder.

“I want to support you, Sister! Wholeheartedly!”
“Julia… you could get into serious trouble.”
“Would I be doing this for no reason? Do you know what His Highness said when he ordered me to tell him the moment you woke up?”

Julia spread her arms dramatically.

“He said he wanted you to give a sermon. Same time, same place.”
“A… sermon?”
“As if nothing had ever happened! Can you believe that? Isn’t that too much?”

Though Julia was fuming, Isabel didn’t share her outrage.

Rather than irritation, she felt… oddly amused.

‘Just like I don’t know how to deal with him… he must feel the same.’

If this was Lionel’s way of covering his confusion—pretending nothing had happened—it wasn’t entirely incomprehensible.

“Sister? Why are you smiling?”
“Oh… it’s nothing.”

After brushing it off, Isabel thought for a moment, then made up her mind on how to respond to his invitation.

“Julia, can I ask you a favor?”
“Of course! Anything!”

She didn’t necessarily plan to reject Lionel’s proposal—but she wanted to understand his true intentions first.

Two days passed since the attack.

In the castle’s office, Lionel received the report he’d been waiting for.

“You’re saying the name Countess Meringen came out of his mouth?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And Duke Biesenstein?”
“We tried to lead him to it, but after a bout of delirium, all he kept saying was the Countess’s name.”

The attackers’ leader, Filkruk, had been thrown into the hands of furious torturers. Two days was impressive endurance for a man like him.

But the name he finally spat out was unexpected.

‘Adelheit von Meringen… So you’ve sided with them too, have you?’

After the First Prince’s death, Countess Meringen had remained neutral—or so Lionel thought.
He never imagined she would join the princess’s faction and strike so aggressively.

The Countess, known for her sharp mind, had become dangerously formidable once she decided to play dirty.

She had allied with the Duke, drained the castle’s troops, gathered mercenaries, trained them, and even planted traitors within the fortress to open the gates.

The fact that Lionel had been blindsided proved how meticulous she’d been.

‘Do I need to make a move of my own…?’

Instead of indulging in useless rage, Lionel calmly began to plan.
If he wanted to take down the Countess along with her allies, he had to think carefully.

But all he had now was a tortured mercenary’s testimony.
Using that alone as justification would only invite retaliation from the princess’s faction.

With a war already raging beyond the borders, he needed a more solid reason to act.

“I should start by cutting off the fingers that keep meddling…”

As he muttered coldly, Lionel suddenly stopped.

Realizing why, he sighed and rephrased.

“First, investigate everything about the Countess’s troops, estates, and businesses. Spare no men or money.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll begin at once.”

After the aide left, Lionel tossed aside the remaining documents.

He had nearly died and barely survived.
This was the time to focus all his mind on retaliation—yet, maddeningly, one woman’s face kept appearing in his thoughts.

For a man who lived by necessity and cruelty, any other emotion was an impurity.
Lionel scowled and reached again for the papers—

Knock, knock.

“Your Highness. Maid Julia. May I enter?”
“Come in.”

The only reason a maid dared knock directly on his office door was because Lionel had permitted it.

But this time, Julia merely ushered another maid inside and quietly withdrew.

The remaining maid looked… familiar.

“…What kind of trick is this?”

Dressed in a maid’s uniform, Isabel lowered her gaze.

“I’m no longer a nun. So while I stay in this castle, I thought I should at least serve as a maid.”
“I don’t recall ordering that.”
“I volunteered to help, Your Highness. The household could use more hands.”

What on earth was this woman thinking?

She had said she’d quit being a nun—but didn’t she realize that identity was her strongest protection?

Now, not only had she discarded that shield, she had come forward as a mere servant.

Her attitude tempted Lionel sorely.

“You’re not a nun or a maid… Are you perhaps a witch?”
“…What did you just say?”
“No. That was careless of me.”

Lionel hastily retracted his words.

Good thing no one else had heard—accusing a woman of witchcraft could be deadly serious.

A chill settled over the office.

“For now… kneel.”

Isabel hesitated but obeyed quietly.

As she knelt before him, Lionel wavered.

He had prepared something for her—yet now he wanted to throw it away and forget the whole idea.

‘If she’s no longer a nun… then her fate is mine to decide.’

As long as she remained within imperial lands, she couldn’t refuse his orders without that holy protection.

‘If I bought a mansion deep in the northern territories and had her manage it…’

He could fabricate any pretext he wanted. Whatever he desired—he could give it to her or take it away.
Lionel wanted to hold her firmly in his grasp and learn everything about her.

Why she hadn’t fled, why she had obeyed his call to take up the sword, and what those turquoise eyes—shining with will—had truly been looking at.

He needed to know everything.

‘At this rate… I might truly…’

He nearly let a dark impulse take control—but stopped himself with a quiet sigh.

He still remembered vividly the hatred in Isabel’s eyes.

As a prince, he’d faced others’ hatred countless times—but hers was something else entirely.
And it was not something he wished to see again.

After some thought, Lionel decided to show action and proof instead of empty words.

He took out a sealed document and stood before her.

“Take this.”

Still kneeling, Isabel accepted it and blinked at the ornate imperial-style paper.

Lionel explained in a solemn tone.

“This is the document confirming that the territory of Belfonne will be ceded to the Mineth Church. My seal isn’t on it yet.”
“…What? I don’t understand.”
“It means that—if you agree to one condition—I’ll donate the land where the Chardonnay Convent stands to the Church.”
“One… condition? What kind of condition?”

Tension ran through her voice.

This was the same man who had once ordered her to take her own life; who knew what he would demand now?

Lionel hesitated until the last second—but stayed true to his decision, refusing to give in to impulse.

“You must continue being a nun.”

Isabel narrowed her eyes, staring straight at Lionel.