The situation Gro least wanted to see had occurred; he couldn’t even find a suitable opportunity to stop their conflict.
You’ve really picked the wrong opponent, Your Highness.
He really wanted to say that to the princess. He recalled the short sword Ileil thrust at him yesterday; it was indeed fast, ruthless, and accurate enough. If not for his precautions against Ileil, who could match her reaction speed?
“I’m deeply honored, Your Highness.”
Ileil said gravely, a dangerous glint flashing in her golden pupils.
“Go easy; remember to stop at the point.” Gro’s hand pressed on the girl’s shoulder, whispering to Ileil. Ileil nodded slightly, shaking off Gro’s hand.
Ileil had already stepped toward the courtyard center, her shortened skirt hem fluttering with her movements, revealing another short sword strapped to her thigh.
“How do you wish to spar, Your Highness? Do I need to switch to a wooden sword like yours? That might make it fairer for you…”
Prinshitt held her wooden sword across her chest, assuming a standard starting stance.
“No need.”
She gritted her teeth, her deep red pupils fixed on Ileil’s seemingly casual movements:
“Just give it your all.”
“Is that so? Then I’ll follow your command.”
Ileil slightly bent her knees, reverse-gripping the short sword at her side.
In Prinshitt’s view, this posture didn’t resemble orthodox swordsmanship at all, yet it inexplicably gave her a sense of imminent danger.
But she had to exchange a few moves with the mysterious Ileil; Prinshitt urgently wanted to confirm if Ileil’s claim of being a “mercenary” was true—if she was lying, or even if her skills were inferior to her own… she would absolutely ignore others’ objections and first detain this suspicious silver-haired girl.
In Prinshitt’s eyes, this mercenary leader of indeterminate age—”Black Edge” Gro—didn’t seem like a good person either; he and the witch-suspect Ileil were simply birds of a feather.
“Your Highness first.”
The first strike was Prinshitt’s initiative.
The wooden sword cleaved through the air, straight at Ileil’s shoulder. Though not fast, the angle was tricky, clearly a technique taught by Dorias.
Ileil didn’t even move her feet. She merely flipped her wrist lightly; the short sword’s side precisely blocked the wooden sword, metal and wood colliding with a muffled thud. Ileil’s force was much greater than Prinshitt imagined; the strong impact unbalanced her, her body tilting back slightly.
“Too slow.” Ileil’s voice was soft, audible only to them. “And full of openings.”
Faced with Ileil’s provocation, Prinshitt’s pupils contracted sharply. She suddenly changed moves; the wooden sword swept upward from below toward Ileil’s wrist—this was a counter technique Dorias taught her, theoretically catching the opponent off guard.
However, Ileil just flipped her wrist; the short sword’s guard precisely caught the wooden sword’s blade, twisting lightly. Prinshitt only felt a numbness in her palm’s web; the wooden sword flew out of her hand, spinning several times in the air before thudding onto the grass.
The garden fell silent. Several servants looked at the always disadvantaged Prinshitt with complex expressions, hesitating whether to interrupt this spar.
Gro looked at Ileil’s back, sighing helplessly. As he expected, Ileil was too serious, not holding back at all; this fit her usual style.
Prinshitt stared dazedly at her disarmed hand. She looked up; those golden pupils full of disdain and contempt, an indescribable shame surged in the princess’s heart.
“You……!” Prinshitt’s lips trembled, unable to form a complete sentence.
Ileil slowly retracted her short sword, sheathing it back in the thigh garter; she said flatly: “Your Highness, that’s not how you use a sword.”
Prinshitt’s eyes reddened slightly; she abruptly bent to pick up the wooden sword, her voice carrying irrepressible anger: “It’s not over… Again!”
Ileil looked down at her condescendingly, twirling a beautiful sword flower with the short sword in her fingers. “Continue? Your Highness, you couldn’t even take one move from me.”
This sentence completely ignited Prinshitt’s fury. She fiercely got up, picked up the wooden sword, and charged again. This time her attack was fiercer; the wooden sword sliced the air with a sharp whistle.
This strike was barely passable.
Ileil thought so, finally moving her feet. She lightly sidestepped, the short sword’s edge grazing the wooden sword, bringing out a string of fine wood chips. In the instant they passed, Ileil’s sword back precisely struck Prinshitt’s back.
“Uh…!” The princess grunted, staggering forward. But Prinshitt barely steadied herself this time, not falling.
“Wrists stiff, footwork floaty. Your sword is too heavy, Your Highness.” Ileil said expressionlessly. “Now you should believe my identity, right?”
“……”
Prinshitt’s chest heaved violently; sweat dripped drop by drop to the ground. Even after two consecutive defeats, Prinshitt had no intention of admitting defeat; she changed her grip, raising the wooden sword high overhead—this was Dorias’s last taught move, the most powerful but also most stamina-consuming downward slash.
Ileil narrowed her eyes. Just as the wooden sword was about to fall, she suddenly lunged forward, the short sword slashing upward diagonally—
“Stop it, you brat!”
Seeing something wrong, Gro hurriedly tried to halt Ileil’s overly presumptuous action. But when the words came out, it was already too late.
Ileil’s short sword stopped less than an inch from Prinshitt’s throat, while the princess’s wooden sword—its severed tip spun flying out, landing in a distant flowerbed.
Time froze here; Prinshitt vaguely felt the metal chill from her neck. Those golden pupils cold as if without any warmth; at this moment, she clearly recognized the gap between herself and Ileil.
“You lost, Your Highness.”
Looking at the gradually losing will Prinshitt, Ileil lowered her short sword.
Gro sighed helplessly. The single-minded Ileil completely didn’t understand human relations; defeating this princess in the most direct way, now the trouble was big. He wanted to step between them, using words to soothe the princess’s emotions, but Gro soon rejected this idea in his mind—rashly intruding into the grudge between Ileil and Prinshitt would probably make things irreversible.
After all, Gro’s status before the princess was at best a higher-level worker.
…
“Stop at the point, you two.”
What righteous tone, what dignified voice. Gro knew just from the sound it was that famous saint halting them.
“You came at the right time, Dorias.”
Dorias’s figure appeared at the end of the corridor on Prinshitt’s side; even Gro hadn’t noticed when the saint appeared here.
Dorias strode over; his gray-blue eyes scanned back and forth between Ileil and Prinshitt, finally landing on Prinshitt.
“I’m deeply sorry, Your Highness… and Mr. Dorias.” Ileil slowly sheathed her sword, stepping back two paces with a perfunctory bow. “I didn’t grasp the spar’s measure; got carried away for a moment.”
“Ileil is indeed one of the most outstanding warriors in my group.” Gro timely stepped forward to interject, a slick smile on his face:
“This child has been rolling on battlefields since young; inevitably a bit unaware of weight. Hope Your Highness can forgive.”