chapter 05
“That’s impossible…”
A dazed murmur escaped someone’s lips—no one could tell whose voice it was.
It had all happened in a blink. A single exchange of blows. Hedon’s sword, drawn first, and the borrowed blade in Eatrice’s hand had clashed once.
But in that single moment, Hedon had helplessly lost his grip on his weapon.
‘He went for a flashy move without solid fundamentals—it actually made it easier for me.’
Hedon’s stance was unstable, and in his haste, his balance was off.
Eatrice swiftly redirected Hedon’s center of gravity with her blade, using his strength against him. Hedon’s flamboyant move might have looked impressive, but it had left a glaring opening.
‘Classic sign of undertraining.’
Eatrice clicked her tongue inwardly.
Hedon stared blankly between the sword now lying on the floor and Eatrice, his face a storm of disbelief, rage, and humiliation.
Eatrice, in contrast, was calm and composed as if nothing had happened. Not a single tear on her dress.
“The young Lord of Bellanel studied swordsmanship for three whole years…”
“But that young lady—has she even held a sword before?”
Whispers spread among the onlookers in shocked amazement. A petite, young lady had not only dodged the attack of a fencing academy applicant but done so despite it being a surprise attack.
Even the notoriously unreadable mage of the Tower, Louis Eurean, stood with parted lips, unable to take his eyes off Eatrice.
‘As I thought, my wrist can’t handle this body’s limits yet.’
Eatrice rotated her wrist, gauging the weight of the blade that was large for her small frame.
‘Still, that’s something I can train over time.’
Seeing that her opponent had lost the will to fight, Eatrice finally spoke.
“Thank you for lending me your sword.”
When she returned the blade to its original owner, the noble—whose name no one had caught—nodded dumbly, forgetting entirely that he had lent the weapon under pressure.
“Well then, brother, I’ll see you later.”
Hedon trembled uncontrollably with a shame he couldn’t contain. Eatrice met his eyes and curled only one corner of her lips into a smile.
That was the end of their peaceful family charade—shattered by her own hand.
“I have no excuse. Even with ten mouths, I couldn’t explain myself. I’m truly sorry, Your Grace.”
The elderly butler, Mel, bowed his head and did not lift it.
“……”
But the only reply was a silence heavy as death.
“This is all my failure in supervision.”
The head maid stepped forward from the row of trembling servants and bowed deeply.
“……”
The Duke of Bellanel, Kaidel, hadn’t spoken a word since stepping into the hallway where the broken vase lay.
‘We’re in real trouble. At this rate, half of us—including me—will be dismissed.’
Mel was well aware. This was not a matter that could be overlooked.
He stole a glance at the sunset bleeding through the towering glass windows. Perhaps this sorrowful orange glow would be the last sky he’d ever see from this mansion.
‘He could start shouting at any moment now.’
But instead, the Duke stood silently in front of the shattered vase—for several minutes now. The oppressive stillness was suffocating.
‘That vase was one Lady Isobel treasured during her lifetime.’
Mel knew this too. There were remnants of the late Lady Isobel scattered throughout the mansion. The master bedroom at the top, a few paintings… and this broken vase was one of them.
Realizing again how grave the situation was, Mel squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.
At that moment, the Duke, who had stood as still as a statue, finally moved.
‘Don’t tell me… he’s going to shoot someone?’
As the Duke reached into his inner coat pocket, Mel and the other servants gasped and held their breath.
“Your Grace, please—not murder!”
Mel, who had once seen the Duke on the battlefield, panicked. But what the Duke pulled out was a pair of white gloves.
“Ah.”
Mel quickly closed his gaping mouth as the Duke shot him a brief glance.
Once both gloves were on, the Duke knelt down. No one could guess his intent. In the midst of the confusion, he picked up a piece of the shattered vase.
Sunset light poured through the windows, casting the hallway in a lonely amber hue.
The blue of the Duke’s eyes reflected wordlessly in the broken shard as he stared down at it.
Then, he began to carefully wrap the pieces in a handkerchief.
Mel was speechless.
One piece, then another. The other servants stood frozen in place as the Duke began collecting the fragments himself.
Only Mel, who had served the Duke for many years, stepped forward silently to help.
“…Your Grace, it’s broken beyond recognition. Even if we tried to piece it back together…”
Mel offered a grim assessment, trying to read the Duke’s feelings. Only after gathering all the fragments did the Duke finally speak.
“Mel.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
What came next was exactly what Mel had feared.
“Find out—immediately—who broke the vase.”
It was uncomfortable.
Louis’s gaze hadn’t left Eatrice’s face since they left Yuri’s room. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it was impossible.
“Why are you still following me?”
She sighed deeply and met his eyes. Louis smiled brightly, as if delighted to finally be acknowledged.
“Is that… not allowed?”
His tone had subtly shifted into polite formality. Eatrice eyed his unreadable expression and gave a flat response.
“Yes.”
“Ah, harsh. That hurts, you know.”
It was laughable. A sly Eurean family mage claiming to be emotionally wounded?
Eatrice’s face twisted in disbelief.
But Louis dramatically clutched his chest and bowed his head with mock sorrow, even pouting like a kitten.
“If you have nothing else to say, I’ll be going.”
Eatrice, watching his silky hair flutter like cherry blossoms, was about to leave when—
“Lady Bellanel.”
Louis called out to her.
For a moment, Eatrice didn’t realize he meant her. She looked around, briefly thinking Adrian had called her name.
“I did mean you, Lady Eatrice Bellanel.”
Louis smiled gently when Eatrice hesitated. All traces of his previous mischief were gone.
Eatrice stared blankly at the boy smiling at her. His hair was pink, like cherry blossoms, and his eyes were golden.
Not midnight-black hair. Not deep, violet eyes like the ones that had once consumed the night.
‘Right. There’s no way Prince Adrian would be here.’
He would be living in the Imperial Palace by now, with no memory of her or the life before her return.
But hearing herself addressed by her family name again made her freeze.
‘The only one who ever called me that… was Prince Adrian.’
She closed her eyes. Her heart involuntarily returned to the day it had all begun—the day she was first called by her family name.
The day she became his knight.
She had first met him during a monster subjugation mission in the north. At twenty, she had been deployed as a low-ranking knight.
Magic was essential for both knights and mages—but it could also be dangerous. The northern region had high magical density, blanketed by gray clouds that blocked sunlight even at midday.
It was rare for a noblewoman with no divine or magical power to be deployed to such a place.
But Eatrice had gone without hesitation—because Hedon ordered her to.
‘I want you to keep an eye on Prince Adrian in the subjugation force. Can you do that?’
Adrian was the First Prince, but he had already been pushed out of the struggle for power.
Even with the title of Northern Commander, being sent there was effectively exile for a royal.
But Hedon, allied with the Second Prince, remained cautious. He ordered Eatrice to become Adrian’s knight and spy on him.
That was all she had known—then.
‘I didn’t realize at the time… that Hedon and Muriel hoped I’d die out there and never return.’
The brutal days she had endured there were still vivid in her mind.
Screeeech!
How many more monsters had she slain? Another charged in, and Eatrice split it down the middle in one fluid motion.
Slash! Blood sprayed from the creature’s sundered body and splashed onto her face. Eatrice blinked the blood away from her lashes with an unreadable expression.
Other knights might have burned the monsters with sword aura—but for a knight without holy or magical power, that wasn’t an option.
She had to move faster than anyone, take greater risks, just to bring them down. Even if it meant being covered in gore.
“There she is again, soaked in blood…”
“I was excited to share a tent with a girl, but ugh—who cares if she’s a woman, looking like that?”
Fellow knights—no, fellow members of the subjugation force—whispered slander as they passed. The insults that rained down with every step were now routine.
But sharing a tent was another matter. She was exhausted after fighting all day but avoided going in—unable to relax with their glares.
Instead, she wandered to a quiet cliff outside camp and sat on the cold stone.
‘I feel numb.’
Was it from fatigue? Or from the despair of fighting endlessly without recognition? She couldn’t tell.
She bit her dry lips and stared into the fading sunset.
For two years, she had lived with the stench of burning beasts and strangers’ blood on her skin.
Her mind was as worn as her body. Even the letters from Muriel—small comforts filled with greetings and encouragement—had stopped arriving two months ago.
‘I hope nothing’s happened…’
As worry for her cousins crept in—
“Sir Bellanel.”
A soft voice called out nearby.
Eatrice froze, about to close her eyes without realizing the call was for her.
She quickly turned her head. A tall man in a commander’s uniform stood bathed in crimson twilight.
The northern sun was faint, and the backlight made it hard to see his face clearly. Eatrice squinted.
“…Did you just call me?”
“Is there another Bellanel here besides you?”
The man shrugged, silhouetted against the dying sun. On his left shoulder gleamed the golden crest of the royal family.
It was Adrian Blaine Roanest—the First Prince.
“Knight Eatrice Bellanel, reporting to Your Highness.”
Eatrice belatedly dropped to one knee and bowed her head.
Rumor had it that despite his graceful appearance, the First Prince was cruel. It was said that no knight had lasted as his direct subordinate because none could withstand his temperament.
Whether the rumors were true or not, a chill seemed to radiate from him.
‘I can’t offend him now.’
Especially since she was supposed to be watching him. She couldn’t risk ruining Hedon’s plan through her own mistake. That thought brought a stab of unease.
“I failed to realize you were addressing me. Please forgive my tardiness.”
Expecting a scolding, Eatrice bowed and apologized reflexively, as she had so often done with Hedon.
But what Adrian said next was completely unexpected.
