……
“Are you hiding alone and crying again? Ileil.”
The wooden door let out a creaky sound from years of disrepair, and dim yellow light seeped into the narrow storage room through the crack. The boy curled up in the corner jerked his head up, tears glistening with an amber hue under the kerosene lamp’s glow. He hurriedly wiped his face with his sleeve, the rough fabric scraping his cheeks raw.
His father’s tall figure cast a warm shadow at the door. Ileil smelled the familiar scent of pine tobacco mixed with the metallic tang of weapon maintenance oil—the smell his father always carried when returning from the blacksmith’s shop. Those calloused hands gently closed the door, shutting out the winter night’s cold wind.
“What happened? Can you tell me?”
After glimpsing the man’s familiar face, Ileil’s tears fell like broken strings of beads. After staring blankly for a while, he threw himself into the man’s arms:
“I dreamed you died… Father.”
“I dreamed our hometown was invaded by enemies, and you died in that duel…”
Ileil choked out:
“But now this nightmare is over. You’re still alive, those guys haven’t come knocking… Mom and my little brothers and sisters are all still here. You can still teach me swordsmanship like before…”
“—You’re the strongest warrior, you absolutely won’t lose to him… right…?”
“…” The man silently stroked Ileil’s messy hair without answering him. The boy couldn’t say anything coherent anymore, leaning against his father’s chest and sobbing heartbrokenly.
Ileil cried for a long time.
As if venting all the pain accumulated over the years.
The man extended his rough hand, wiping the tears from Ileil’s face. Then he loosened his tight embrace around the boy and uttered heavy words:
“Go back, Ileil.”
Ileil opened her eyes again, and the surroundings were no longer the enclosed dark room, but a battlefield filled with gunpowder smoke and blood.
“Fa…ther…?”
The voice from her throat was no longer a tender boy’s, but had become a woman’s.
Ileil’s vision was blurred by tears; she only saw her father’s resolute face covered in bloodstains, his sturdy body riddled with several shocking deep wounds.
“The path you’re walking is repeating my tragedy—”
The man’s golden eyes were full of apology, and he said word by word:
“Ileil… you were not born into this world to bear my pain.”
The wind on the battlefield carried the bloody scent into her nostrils. In the distance came the sound of clashing metal, each collision making her temples throb.
She looked at her trembling hands—that pair of palms that should belong to a boy, covered in sword calluses, now showing the delicate knuckles characteristic of a woman under the moonlight. The short sword gripped tightly between her fingers reflected a strange face: silver-white long hair, the bewitching countenance of a witch.
“Go home, your mother has always been worried about you. Your brother and sister, Ino and Ilis, they all are.”
Ileil’s fingertips dug deeply into her palms, blood dripping along her fingers onto the scorched earth. She watched her father drag his broken body toward the depths of the battlefield, each step leaving dark red traces on the sand.
“Don’t leave me… Father… please….”
Ileil’s voice was hoarsely unrecognizable; she desperately tried to chase after her father’s back, but couldn’t move her leaden legs no matter what.
If Isende disappeared from the girl’s sight like this, it might leave her with an ending that still held hope.
But standing at the end of the road was Ileil’s nightmare for the past eight years—”Black Edge” Gro de Morant.
Gro’s figure emerged from the mountain of corpses and sea of blood. With a smile on his lips, he dragged his bloodstained long sword slowly toward her father, the sword tip drawing a winding red mark on the black soil.
“Stop—Gro!!!”
……
……
Ileil jerked her eyes open, cold sweat soaking her linen shirt.
“Was it a dream…..?”
Outside the window, the faint light of dawn had just climbed onto the sill, bringing a bit of brightness to the room.
Ileil stared at the cracks in the ceiling, her breathing gradually steadying. Her fingers brushed her eye corners, touching wetness. She paused, then forcefully wiped away the tear traces. Over the past eight years, she had long learned to lock weakness in corners unknown to others. But today’s dream was exceptionally clear; her father’s bloodied face seemed to still sway before her eyes.
“Good morning, Miss Ileil….” A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts. “Um…. are you awake?”
Lily’s voice came through the door panel; she always spoke so delicately. Ileil took a deep breath and answered briefly:
“I’m awake.”
“Good that you’re awake! I was worried you might not wake up from being too exhausted… Since you’re up, I’ll come in and put the training clothes inside first, okay?”
Ileil sighed, got out of bed, and tied up her long hair scattered over her shoulders: “Come in.”
The wooden door was pushed open a crack, and the cat-eared nun’s amber eyes sparkled in the morning light.
She walked in lightly, holding a neatly folded gray cloak in her arms. “Her Highness is already waiting for you at the training ground.”
“I’ll get there as soon as possible.”
Ileil nodded while fastening the leather straps of her wrist guards. When she picked up the wooden sword for training, Lily suddenly let out an “Eh”:
“Miss Ileil, your eyes are so red… Did you not rest well?”
“……Just got some sand in my eyes.”
The silver-haired girl replied faintly.
…….
On the training ground where the morning dew hadn’t dried yet, Prinshitt had been waiting for a while. She stood in the center of the sand with both hands on her sword, the morning breeze brushing her high ponytail, making her silver-gray training outfit look particularly sharp. Seeing Ileil approach, the princess slightly lifted her chin.
“Today, I’ll force you to use your second sword.” Prinshitt’s voice was clear like a sword’s ring, her crimson eyes flickering with unyielding fire. The princess’s voice carried certainty. “Last night, I asked my mentor for ways to counter that move of yours.”
“I look forward to your guidance, Your Highness Prinshitt.”
Ileil silently assumed her starting stance. Normally at this time, she would deliberately show flaws to let the princess gain some advantage. But today, after experiencing that overly real dream, the wooden sword in the girl’s hand unconsciously gained a bit more force.
Bang!
The two wooden swords clashed fiercely; in the instant of blade contact, Prinshitt’s arms visibly shook. But she didn’t retreat as usual; instead, she used the recoil to spin, her sword edge drawing a beautiful arc—it was exactly the counterattack technique Dorias excelled at.
“It looks decent enough.” Ileil had to admit. She sidestepped to dodge, the wooden sword dragging a long mark on the sand.
Prinshitt’s lips curved up slightly, but the smile hadn’t reached her eyes when Ileil’s second strike came. This sword was fast and ruthless, carrying a ferocity even she hadn’t noticed. The wooden sword turned into a blurry gray shadow in her hand. Prinshitt blocked hastily, each collision making her arms ache and swell.
“What’s… going on?”
The princess gritted her teeth. After her miserable defeat last week, she got up before dawn every day to practice; to last a few more moves against Ileil, she even had Dorias analyze the flaws in Ileil’s swordsmanship. Yesterday, she could clearly go twenty moves under Ileil’s hand, but now—
Something was off.
Ileil’s blocking force was abnormally strong, shaking Prinshitt back several steps before she steadied herself. The princess panted heavily, suddenly noticing the other’s reddened eye corners—like she hadn’t slept all night, or like…
She had just cried?
“You seem distracted.”
Ileil’s wooden sword suddenly changed direction, precisely striking Prinshitt’s wrist. The princess cried out in pain, and the training sword fell to the ground.
“Pick it up; on the battlefield, no one will give you a chance to catch your breath.” Ileil pointed her sword tip at the ground. “Or is today’s training ending here?”
“How could it end here!” Prinshitt’s face flushed red; she gripped the sword again: “Again!”
“If you’re not convinced… then continue.” Ileil assumed her starting stance and said coldly.
Since Ileil returned from outside last night, the feeling she gave Prinshitt had been off. As Prinshitt bent to pick up the sword, she noticed Ileil’s eyes—those golden pupils that were always calm like a lake, now surging with indescribable complex emotions.
The following clashes were almost cruel. Each of Ileil’s swords targeted weak points: knee bends, elbows, shoulder blades—positions that could disable an opponent without killing. Prinshitt’s breathing grew more rapid, sweat soaking her training outfit.
“……”
When the wooden sword was knocked away for the seventh time, the princess’s voice carried a sob. Her right wrist was swollen high, and her knees were scraped from multiple falls. But Ileil just mechanically repeated: “Pick it up.” And Prinshitt was stubborn; even losing like this, she hadn’t admitted defeat yet.
“Oh no…… What on earth is wrong with Miss Ileil today.”
At the edge of the training ground, Lily and the others watched the morning practice with hearts in their throats. Clearly, yesterday during training, Ileil had been quite measured; why was she so heavy-handed today?
Lily’s cat ears twitched; she recalled yesterday’s argument between the princess and Ileil—could it be that Miss Ileil was retaliating against Her Highness Prinshitt?
Don’t fight anymore!
When Dorias’s figure appeared, he happened to see Ileil’s attack forcing Prinshitt to the edge of the training ground. Ileil’s sword momentum was fierce unlike practice, each slash carrying the killing intent of the battlefield. The princess’s breathing was already ragged, but she still stubbornly raised her sword.
“It’s time to stop, Miss Ileil.” The saint’s voice wasn’t loud, but it made the air tremble.
Ileil’s wooden sword hung in mid-air, the wooden splinters on the blade scraping Prinshitt’s collar.