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Chapter 18
Adeline stared silently at Logan instead of replying.
All her efforts to draw a clear line and block the duke’s advances had paid off. He’d tried to subtly pry information from her during lessons, and now, at last, he was showing his hand. Still, to bring up Oderon’s name without any warning— that meant her plans had succeeded better than she’d imagined.
The words she’d waited so long to hear from his mouth had finally come out on their own.
Though Logan Bergen had stepped down as Duke, the man standing before her was still unmistakably a high noble of the North— the head of the prestigious Bergen family, respected throughout the Empire. The fact that he was no longer the reigning Duke mattered little. From all she’d learned, there wasn’t a single noble in the Empire who could afford to ignore his influence.
Not even Oderon.
That was why she had waited— for him to reach the conclusion on his own, to deduce it, to be sure of it.
Finally breaking the silence, Adeline spoke.
“Do I need to answer that?”
Logan shook his head.
“No. I already have my answer.”
There was much implied in those words— and to Adeline, it was a satisfying answer. She set down her untouched teacup and stood, feigning polite discomfort.
“Since the lesson’s over, I’ll be going now.”
“To the training grounds?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“The lesson is finished. That won’t be necessary— please return.”
“I’ll take a look at your sword. As you know, I am the head of the North. You’ve crossed swords with me; you must realize by now I’m several steps above you.”
“I don’t recall ever requesting a lesson in swordsmanship besides statecraft.”
Her tone was deliberately cold, but Logan didn’t so much as blink. In fact, he smirked, as if he’d expected that very response.
“I intend to help your growth. I don’t take no for an answer.”
His forceful insistence made Adeline stiffen her expression— mostly to keep from laughing. She let a small frown crease her brow, and Logan, as if satisfied by that, continued with a smug look.
“You’re overly defensive. Do you still not trust me?”
“Should I?”
“Trust me.”
Without replying, Adeline left the room. She neither said she trusted him nor gave permission to follow, but that alone seemed to please Logan enough. Following her to the training grounds, Logan tossed her a wooden sword as though he were truly her fencing instructor.
An unscheduled lesson had begun.
Adeline tucked the wooden sword under her arm, tightened the laces of her loose boots, and rolled up her sleeves. Once she took her stance and gripped the sword, Logan’s eyes glimmered with amusement.
“Good posture. No need for formalities— come at me.”
“Straightforward. I like that.”
The moment she saw his relaxed demeanor, Adeline sprang forward without warning. Their wooden blades clashed with a sharp crack.
Even from that brief struggle, she could tell— he was holding back. He wasn’t using his full strength. She had never expected to overpower him anyway, but once their swords met, a competitive spark flared in her chest. She refused to be pushed back, the tension in the blades creaking audibly.
He was an opponent she could never defeat with a child’s body— but that didn’t matter. It had been so long since she’d crossed swords without fear of losing her head.
Adeline redirected his blade and spun to absorb the impact. Logan feinted a retreat, then struck diagonally toward her shoulder— a clean, precise blow. Blocking it was another matter entirely. Even a wooden sword could shatter bone if struck properly. Her twisted posture made defending awkward.
But broken bones? That was nothing. She’d once taken a warhammer to the ribs from an Askernas knight and lived. Compared to that, a wooden blade was nothing to fear.
She raised her weapon and parried head-on, knocking Logan’s sword aside. Logan’s palm tingled from the vibration, and his eyes gleamed. The move she’d used— a parry that disarms by manipulating the opponent’s wrist and elbow— was something even trained knights rarely mastered.
“Are you still refusing to tell me who taught you?”
“Find out yourself.”
Her careless reply came as she lunged again, driving her blade downward. As their swords met once more, old memories surged to the surface.
The more she swung, the clearer her past life became— the battlefields, the frontlines, the endless days as a hollow, puppet ruler.
Her life as an emperor had been full of disappointment: politics steeped in disgust, a life marred by unwanted wars. Yet not everything about her past was bitter. Amid the tragedy, there had been small joys— the birth of Princess Bliss, watching her grow, the vows of loyalty from countless followers who upheld her throne. Those moments were her pride and glory.
But one by one, those loyal to her had died. Even her young daughter had passed away. The sky seemed to collapse, the light drained from the world. There were no stars, no wind— only a suffocating stillness.
Still, she endured. As Emperor of Teraaden, she could not fall. Leaving her daughter’s grave behind, she threw herself into governance— reforming laws, cutting taxes to ease the commoners’ burdens.
Nothing went as planned, yet she honed her political cunning amid corruption and deceit. She redirected the love she’d once given her daughter into the Empire itself. For a time, that even brought her small victories.
Then, the long civil war in Askernas ended— and war came to Teraaden.
The news arrived swiftly: northern territories were falling one by one. The capital was in uproar, the economy frozen.
Askernas demanded territorial concessions outright— absurdly so. Diplomacy failed again and again.
The war that followed was horrific beyond words. More soldiers died from disease than in battle. Some surrendered without even resisting, too cold and hungry to fight. No one knew if their comrades would survive the next day.
Even in that hopelessness— even when she, as Emperor, had to cross swords with the enemy herself— moments of clarity struck her.
That feeling of becoming one with her blade.
It had begun as necessity, but she’d come to enjoy swordsmanship and magic. Before long, she earned the title of Empress of the Battlefield. Yet even that fame couldn’t overcome one insurmountable wall—
Emperor Hirkan of Askernas.
Crossing swords with Logan now, Adeline naturally recalled him— that man who stood like an unscalable mountain, ruler of every land beyond Bergen.
Perhaps because it had been so long since she’d fought a real duel, memories of Hirkan came flooding back. The day of the great war— her sword shattered, her magic drained, defeat inevitable.
The fragments of her broken blade, his indifferent gaze— the overwhelming dread she’d felt still haunted her. Gravely wounded, she’d been carried off the field by her knights. When she awoke, three days had passed.
She had slain dozens— knights, soldiers— yet in the end, it was she who had lost.
Her defeat had been inevitable. The soldiers of Askernas, inspired by their transcendent emperor, fought with divine zeal.
And Hirkan’s prowess… exceeded imagination. The Askernas’ praise was no exaggeration. Even Teros, Teraaden’s famed “Strongest Spear,” could not compare.
Perhaps Teros had realized it early— he always avoided the fields where Hirkan fought. She hadn’t blamed him then. She’d only wanted him safe. As Empress, she should have been willing to sacrifice him for victory— but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to become a widow.
It was a foolish wish.
While Teros held back, Hirkan swept through the frontlines like a calamity incarnate. He was less a ruler than a living weapon. So many knights had fallen to his blade. No matter how desperately she fought to kill him, her sword never reached.
No strategy worked. Her knights brought nothing but defeat. The nobles sabotaged her from within, crippling supplies and reinforcements. Loyalty alone wasn’t enough.
Eventually, the war reached the capital, and she met her end.
She’d lost— as a ruler, as a woman unloved, as a mother unable to protect her child.
As the recollection faded, the image of Hirkan overlapped with Logan’s face. Judging by skill alone, Logan outclassed even her former royal guards many times over. At her current strength, victory was impossible.
She’d trained relentlessly for months, forcing her frail body and gathering magic bit by bit. Her muscles trembled after every session. But she didn’t despair. Despair? That was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Her stamina was still poor, her mana reserves meager— but she could feel her growth each day. If she kept going, opportunity would come. True defeat only came with death. As long as she lived, she could rise again.
Adeline’s heart pounded. She gripped her wooden sword tighter. This life had to be different. To avoid death, she had to fight as if her life depended on it— because it did.
Her years on the battlefield had been good for something, after all. The betrayals of Grand Duke Oderon, Teros, and Isidore had forced her awakening.
Even though she was losing in both power and speed, she wanted to fight more— much more. The rush of riding into war came vividly alive again.
Adeline felt exhilarated, but Logan’s expression darkened. Clenching his teeth, he deflected her sharp, precise strikes.
“Your swordsmanship— it’s all battlefield technique. Did someone spar with you before?”
“Not no one,” she said lightly.
Dodging his thrust toward her chest, she pivoted low, aiming for his legs. Logan kicked the ground, flinging dirt to obscure her view, but she didn’t flinch.
Such tricks were common in war. When you lacked weapons, you used dirt. Bracing with her palm, she twisted and slipped behind him, ready to strike his exposed back.
But Logan wasn’t so easily fooled. He channeled mana through his body, hardening it. Her wooden sword struck with a crack and shattered. Forced to retreat, Adeline scowled as Logan boasted,
“This— is mana. It enhances strength and fortifies the body.”
She could tell he was showing off— playing the proud grandfather entertaining a child. To use mana in a sparring match just as she was getting into it… irritating. She’d been saving her own mana, but it was nothing compared to his. With a flat tone, she replied,
“I can use it too.”
“Can you shield your body purely with mana?”
“Soon, I will.”
Logan laughed heartily.
“Ha! You sound just like that boy.”
“That boy?”
“On my way from the North to the capital, I uncovered a slave caravan. Capturing them wasn’t hard, but there were many prisoners. I arranged for most to return home, but a few orphans had nowhere to go. One of them showed great talent with a sword. I’ve been teaching him recently.”
Adeline listened with mild disinterest. For someone to catch Logan Bergen’s eye, their talent had to be extraordinary. But she’d seen plenty of “geniuses” before— especially in Clionas. It wasn’t worth much concern. Wiping sweat and dust from her chin, she said,
“So, you already have a disciple.”
“Not yet— but I’m considering it. He has promise. Hmm… bringing him to the palace for a match against you wouldn’t be bad. A good training partner, I think. Normally, duels are best between people of similar build and strength. Of course, sparring with a battle-hardened veteran like me is rare, but still— a duel is…”
His smug rambling was almost childish— completely different from his serious demeanor during lessons in statecraft. Truly, he was a swordsman through and through. Adeline only half-listened, nodding vaguely.
“As you wish.”
Her words made Logan beam with rare satisfaction as he left the palace.
And the next day—
a boy, led by Logan himself, entered the Astia Palace.
His name was Hirkan.
