Chapter 18

Isabelle became a candidate knight of His Highness’s Knightly Order.

But at Otkirchen Castle she was still the prince’s preacher. Lionel, as if to remind her of that fact, summoned Isabelle to the audience chamber first thing in the morning.

“It’s actually more comfortable that you call me like this without fuss,” she thought.

She had discussed many things with Lionel as his preacher, and once she’d even snapped and quit everything. Still, over the past few days Isabelle had begun to want to talk with Lionel again.

Lionel was still cold and curt, but in the end he was the one who had given Isabelle a second chance at life.

Why he had told a lowly nun to take up a sword she still did not know; even if she asked he would hardly explain. But she felt that if she kept talking with him, even a little might be revealed.

When Isabelle entered the audience chamber, Lionel dismissed the others.

“Let’s briefly continue yesterday’s conversation.”

He opened the topic lightly and leaned forward.

“Belated congratulations. You performed beyond my expectations.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“The sight of the arrogant knights of the Order being stunned like that is not something you see every day. I enjoyed the show.”

Instead of narrowing her eyes, Isabelle looked at him with a calm expression.

She often felt that Lionel deliberately spoke in a skewed way.

At first she thought he did it simply to insult people and draw out their true colors, but her current feeling was a little different.

Lionel seemed to avoid doing anything that would win a person’s favor.

Wanting to know more, she watched him closely. Lionel then asked a question.

“Do you think you can master the Empire’s swordsmanship perfectly within two months?”

It was an absurd timeframe, but Isabelle had only one possible answer.

“It’s a rare opportunity; I’ll do my best.”

“I didn’t ask whether you’d do your best. I asked if you can do it.”

No matter how much Isabelle knew Lionel was being deliberate, hearing that still made her throat tighten.

So she decided to give him the reaction he wanted.

“Then shouldn’t we define exactly what ‘perfect swordsmanship’ means? If I become a better swordsman than Sir Christian, would that count as having mastered the sword perfectly?”

“You don’t lose a word. Have you already taken everything I planned to give?”

“N-no, Your Highness…”

He had been a ruler who even granted land to a nun to fairly recognize her achievements, but he was also someone who could change on a whim.

When Isabelle quickly hid her displeasure, Lionel watched her amusement flicker across his face.

“No need to force yourself to change your attitude. I intend to keep my promise regardless of how you behave.”

“…I am honored.”

She answered while glancing around, and Lionel, instead of teasing her further, paused and then asked,

“If I keep my end of the bargain, what will you do two months from now?”

Soon Isabelle would become the sovereign of the Belfonne Church Territory and a pilgrim knight. Once that happened she couldn’t stay imprisoned in the castle forever.

This was the moment to ask whether he would let her go.

‘But…’

Isabelle clamped her mouth shut. She slowly reviewed everything that had happened so far.

She had come to this castle almost by force, and it hadn’t been peaceful. As someone from Kalia, staying longer would only be dangerous; it made sense to hold onto what she’d gained and keep her distance.

Yet Isabelle felt she still had a role to play here.

‘Besides, even if I say I’m leaving, he’ll probably never let me go.’

She had no desire to be loyal to him. But she had a small amount of trust — the sense that if she stayed and followed him for a while, she at least wouldn’t be betrayed outright.

Having decided her stance, she spoke in a measured voice.

“The favors Your Highness granted me are more than enough. Besides swordsmanship, there are many things I must learn. For the time being I will fulfill my role as a retainer of the castle.”

“…By ‘for the time being,’ how long do you mean?”

“Do you need an answer right now?”

“No, no.”

Lionel waved his hand as if he wouldn’t press further and nodded.

“Then I’ll ask one more thing. As a castle retainer, if I order you to cut down my enemies, would you do it?”

She had already slain ten mercenaries, but this question was not easy to answer.

After a moment’s thought, Isabelle spoke carefully.

“…I cannot promise to attack Kalia’s people.”

“Understandable. Noted.”

It was common for lords of the same country to go to war, and a knight’s allegiance to a particular liege mattered more than anything. For the second prince of the Aleban Empire, it would be hard to find a nobler liege.

But to turn a sword against Kalia would require a willingness to give up everything.

Her identity as a Kalian would become a chain around her ankles, and the disgrace would be so great that the baronial House of Pienne would never forgive her.

The very thought of possibly having to fight her father or brothers took Isabelle’s breath away.

Lionel understood her position well enough not to demand the impossible.

“I’ve heard what you have to say. I won’t interfere with you for the time being. Do what you wish.”

“Thank you. Then I will continue to meet Your Highness in the mornings as your preacher and receive sword instruction in the afternoons.”

When she answered what she planned to do, Lionel did not speak at length.

“So be it. This conversation is over.”

“I will take my leave.”

Isabelle rose carefully and left the audience chamber.

That day Lionel’s manner was still stiff, but the strangely aggressive edge seemed slightly lessened than before.

Halfway down the corridor she glanced back toward the audience chamber. But there was nothing to be said, and Lionel was not someone who could be allowed to waste time as he pleased.

She had no choice but to head back to her room.

When the winter sun stood highest and offered the smallest warmth, Isabelle and Christian met in the training yard in the courtyard. It was their first meeting since sparring yesterday.

Now that he was to be her teacher it felt a bit awkward at first, but Christian was a very affable man.

“Sister. Before we start, shake my hand.”

“…Shake hands?”

“Yes.”

Being too friendly could be a problem.

Isabelle felt a little embarrassed and Christian smiled lightly.

“Come, just squeeze it.”

“Are you testing my grip strength?”

“Exactly. So squeeze as if you intend to break my hand.”

Isabelle had had strong hands since childhood. With training added, her grip far exceeded that of an ordinary woman.

But the loss of fingers came back as a sharp sense of incompleteness when she put strength into her hand. She forced herself to ignore that and tightened her grip.

After holding on for quite a while, Christian nodded slightly.

“Your arms are thin, but at this rate you’re better than Fritz. As for your fingers…there’s nothing I can do about that.”

As Christian assessed her practical condition, he suddenly squeezed her hand hard and swung it to the side. Isabelle was pulled off-balance but planted her legs and lowered her stance, preventing herself from falling.

Startled by the sudden action, Isabelle tried to pull her hand free, but Christian wouldn’t let go and spoke while holding on.

“Your reaction is solid… but you’re too light. At this rate you’ll be weak in grappling.”

“Stop… that—”

“What did you say?”

“Let go.”

When she had felled the mercenaries, she had thought the primal fear had disappeared, but it crept back now, wrapping around her.

If she had had a dagger at her body, Isabelle would not have hesitated to swing it at Christian.

But with nothing in hand and her grip held, she had very few options and felt psychologically shrunken; she couldn’t bring herself to try anything.

Seeing her stiffen, Christian laughed.

“Do you know why I set the period at two months?”

“…Can’t you just let go and tell me?”

“If I didn’t set the time short, I don’t think Your Highness Lionel would agree. I wanted to try teaching you no matter what.”

Isabelle forced away her fear and looked up at Christian. He was definitely not an ordinary man.

“Why did you take up the sword, Sister? Because it’s close to death? To avenge someone? Because you’re belligerent? Because you’re naturally arrogant?”

Muttering as if trying to draw something out into the open, Christian then looked at her with certainty.

“Whatever it is, I think you’re a prodigy. So let’s try training that deals with pain and ascetic hardship.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, so please let go.”

“Then let’s begin with the first lesson. There’s an appropriate technique for situations like this.”

Suddenly instruction began. Isabelle focused immediately on his words.

Christian pointed with his finger to the right side around his ribs.

“Strike here with your left fist.”

“Strike?”

“Not a light tap. From below upward, thrust in deeply as if stabbing.”

It is extremely difficult to bring a strong adult man down with bare hands.

That was why she always preferred weapons, and without one she lost confidence.

But Christian took her hand again and moved her.

“If a heart pierced by a blade kills, there are also organs that can take a lethal blow at the spot I’m showing. In plain clothing there’s no padding there, so with your height and arm reach you can realistically target it. So strike with intent.”

He seemed excited at the thought of teaching, but the woman receiving the instruction had a hard glare on her face.

Her irritation was rising, not fear.

From the beginning she’d been annoyed; now his behavior had crossed into rudeness and verged on madness. She didn’t understand what he meant or why he behaved this way.

But if he wanted to be struck that badly, she would oblige.

‘I’m not doing it the way you said.’

Isabelle pulled back slightly, curled her left hand into a fist, and drew it to her waist. Christian watched with eyes full of expectation.

She waited a moment. As the loquacious Christian opened his mouth to say something and exhaled, she sprang like lightning, drove off the ground, and slammed her left knee into the spot Christian had indicated.

Thud.

She felt something land solidly; the hand that had held her went limp.

“Ugh…”

With a sound of breath caught, Christian collapsed where he stood.

Isabelle knelt, startled, and checked his condition. She feared she had killed him, but thankfully he writhed in pain and was alive.

For being done without a weapon, the result was surprisingly powerful.

As she pondered the motion that had caused it, Christian spoke in a dying voice, half-laughing.

“I told you to use your fist…”

“You told me to hit with intent.”

“A true prodigy you are…”

Even writhing in pain, Christian wore a satisfied smile. The fanatic look on his face frightened Isabelle so much that she couldn’t bear to look at him directly.