Chapter: 9
At that shout, everyone froze.
No one could properly understand why the prince, in a desperate moment, had told the distant nun to take up a sword and die.
Isabelle was no different.
Amid the chaos of confusion, curiosity, and astonishment, Isabelle stared intently at Lionel.
Rationally, she could not make sense of him.
“You saw that I’m disabled, didn’t you?”
Even that had been something Lionel had made her confirm.
“Why?”
Even asking absentmindedly, there was no answer.
But Isabelle’s instincts, which had been failing to find a reason while dodging sword strikes, found an answer in Lionel’s voice and cheered.
Even if she took up a sword, this situation probably wouldn’t change much.
But if she was destined to die anyway, dying with a sword in her hands… might actually be not so bad.
Resolved, Isabelle stepped back slightly and looked around. Among the corpses, weapons were scattered.
A long two-handed sword caught her eye.
“This is…”
In Isabelle’s homeland of Kalia, “sword” usually meant a one-handed épée. It was common sense that when a weapon required two hands, one would use an axe or polearm, not a sword.
Having grown up in such a culture and learned épée fencing, Isabelle had never even imagined holding a two-handed sword from the Aleban Empire.
“And yet…”
Isabelle couldn’t take her eyes off the unfamiliar Empire two-handed sword.
Rational thought warned her that, in such a dangerous situation, wielding an unfamiliar Empire-style sword was madness, but the instincts of a swordswoman buried under ashes suppressed reason and drew her toward the sword.
Slowly, Isabelle bent down and picked up the two-handed sword.
“If I use this, maybe I can land at least one strike.”
Not knowing how to hold it properly with both hands, she gripped the long handle this way and that, testing it.
“Hey. You’re holding that backwards.”
“Ah, thank you…”
“And why are your hands like that? Good grief. What the hell?”
Only then did the attacker seem to notice her missing fingers and became baffled.
But Isabelle ignored it and focused on the new weapon.
The Empire’s two-handed sword was long and heavy, but well-balanced. Since she could use both hands, controlling the tip and channeling her full body strength into the sword was a bit easier.
Her sense that she could do it grew stronger.
Even without instruction, Isabelle’s innate talent for the sword sensed how to wield the weapon in her hands.
“The sword’s center of gravity is near the hilt, so I can generate rotational power with my whole body and shift my feet quickly…”
Imagining various scenarios, Isabelle closed her eyes and observed herself.
A swordswoman had to distinguish between what was possible and impossible; a misjudgment could lead to defeat and death.
The nerves and muscles unused for so long were in chaos. She hadn’t even eaten properly in the past few days.
“Ha…”
But the instinct recognizing that she could die as a swordswoman burned more intensely than ever.
Slowly opening her eyes, Isabelle raised the two-handed sword.
Swish—
The horizontal swing of the sword cut a fairly straight, sharp path. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough for her to fight one last time as a swordswoman.
“Thank you for waiting.”
“Waiting? For what?”
“Weren’t you going to kill me?”
“Crazy nun… Now you want to fight me with that?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Calmly replying, Isabelle pointed her sword.
The attacker, Andrich, was incredulous.
“She used to be a Knights’ Order swordswoman, and it looks like her fingers were cut off… and now she’s lost her mind too.”
As a former mercenary, Andrich made his own assumptions about Isabelle’s past and sneered.
A female swordswoman without fingers posed no threat.
If the little finger was cut off, a swordswoman’s life ended. She would lose the ability to control the blade and maintain tension.
Sure, one might grip and swing with sheer strength, but even a farmer could do that.
Hence, two of the most notorious ways to disable a swordswoman were breaking the knees or cutting the little finger.
“And that sword looks unfamiliar too.”
It was amusing that she, an expert in one-handed weapons like a rapier, didn’t even know how to hold a langschwert.
Swinging it might give slightly more killing power than a one-handed sword, but without strength and skill, switching weapons was useless, like a child holding a good sword.
Moreover, without a little finger, even two-handed sword technique was ruined.
“Good grief…”
Andrich sighed and approached Isabelle. Until now, he seemed to have been avoiding her using his past skills, but if they truly clashed, he was confident he could crush her with one strike.
Unaware of the fate approaching, Isabelle simply stood, pointing the langschwert toward him.
As Andrich spun his katzbalger arrogantly toward her, he suddenly felt a chilling sensation.
“What the…?”
The woman who moments ago couldn’t even hold a sword properly now radiated sharpness.
It was hard to find a flaw in her stance. Though he had decided to smash her with strength, Andrich felt uneasy.
“Even disabled, she’s skilled.”
Andrich had fought Knights’ Order swordswomen as a mercenary.
They were difficult opponents with disciplined skill and endless determination.
This nun, at least in will, was worthy of the Knights’ Order. Andrich decided to kill her thoroughly.
Isabelle opened her eyes wide.
“Here it comes.”
Facing Andrich’s powerful diagonal slash, she stared straight at it.
Her instincts, sharp and alert, surged through her whole body, moving her.
She lifted her right arm to angle the sword and twisted her foot to the side.
The strike fell onto the well-prepared defense, only to be deflected perfectly to the side.
Clang—
Anticipating a follow-up, Isabelle stepped back and swung the sword horizontally.
“Ugh!”
Andrich, charging forward with fists, was startled as the sword flew toward his right head, ducking to avoid it. Seizing the moment, Isabelle shifted her stance and twisted her body.
The sword, seemingly pulled back, suddenly lunged at Andrich’s left shoulder.
Her sweeping cuts and sudden thrusts resembled Kalia’s épée techniques.
“Damn it… what is this?!”
Flustered by the continuous attack, Andrich stepped back. Isabelle, meanwhile, paused to catch her breath and adjusted her grip.
One-handed and two-handed swords were completely different weapons. Everything—from techniques to footwork and body movement—was different.
Yet Isabelle improvised, bridging the gap. Though it was her first time holding a two-handed sword, the target points for a killing weapon remained the same.
Strike the wrist to disable, the legs to stop escape, the neck to kill.
Isabelle possessed the talent to implement these principles most lethally.
Feeling the flow of her dormant talent, she remembered how long it had been since she’d felt this.
“Since that day…”
She had never faced anyone in combat after losing her little finger. Her attempts at rehabilitation were all done alone.
Now, facing a man who came to kill her, every nerve was alert, and a focus she could never achieve alone gathered within her.
If she didn’t trust herself, she would die instantly.
This clear reality erased all distractions.
Isabelle, who had previously feared even holding a sword out of weakness and despair, now felt exhilaration in a fight for her life.
“Ugh!”
Andrich tried to overpower her with brute force. But whenever their swords clashed, Isabelle’s counter came one beat faster. When he tried to defend and counterattack, she slipped away as if anticipating it, eluding him entirely.
“Damn it!”
While Andrich shouted in fury and shock, Isabelle kept reflecting and adjusting her movements.
“Put more strength in my left hand… Since I can’t overwhelm with skill or force, I have to create openings.”
Her impromptu techniques were brilliant but shallow. Using a two-handed sword, she could barely deliver lethal strikes, but couldn’t dominate. Her missing fingers drastically limited her ability.
She felt her limits but did not lose focus.
Using Kalia swordswomen’s quick footwork, she disrupted the flow of battle and precisely struck at unpredictable timings.
Andrich felt chills run down his spine.
“Am I just a training dummy for her?”
She evaded or deflected every attack, and whenever he thought he could predict her, she instantly changed stance.
He could not keep up. It felt as if she were reading his mind.
Realizing he could not let her get accustomed, Andrich charged, prepared to cut.
“Ugh!”
Like an enraged bear, he struck with his right arm, but Isabelle’s sword twisted into his strike. Already bracing herself, Andrich endured the pain, extending his other hand to grab Isabelle’s neck.
“Got you! This—ugh—”
Confident in victory, Andrich felt a sudden searing pain in his chest, gulping back his breath. His grip weakened.
Eventually, Andrich released Isabelle and lowered his head. A dagger was embedded near his heart.
“Crazy… Already…”
“Cough, well done.”
With those words, Andrich collapsed.
One swordswoman died, one lived.
Dozens had watched, but only silence filled the room.
Recalling the moment she stabbed and slashed Andrich, Isabelle struggled to calm the surging thrill.
“I won…”
After losing her little finger, Isabelle had given up all hope of wielding a sword again.
Yet now, she felt as if she had pierced her own fate alongside the man she had just killed.
“I was going to die anyway.”
Why had God given her the talent to cut people, and then taken her finger?
The question lingered in her mind unanswered.
But instead of seeking the answer alone, Isabelle decided to find those who could become the path to it.
“…I’ll probably die along the way.”
She looked at the remaining attackers in the audience chamber. Some were already pointing swords at her.
She didn’t know how many more she could face, but even if she died, she felt she could do so without regret.
That premonition guided Isabelle into the audience chamber.
