SN Chapter 13

Rosaline went beyond appearing gentle on the outside and tough within—she seemed thoroughly soft to outward observation. When lower knights she'd been grouped with said unpleasant things, she silently let it pass. When they played strange tricks or picked fights, she never even considered reporting them to a superior. Though promoted now, she remained unchanged. She showed no intention of using rank to crush others. Other senior knights would have punished such remarks long ago and more, but she merely stared. Her sharp eyes looked somewhat threatening, but the man knew better. Rosaline had always looked like that.

Nestor of Seacrag. The blonde man was the second son of Count Seacrag. He'd become a probationary knight of the White Night Order at the same time as Rosaline—bound together as peers. In Nestor's view, Rosaline was a typical lady knight who made up for insufficient swordsmanship with her head. Tactics could be handled by placing a decent strategist nearby, and what mattered for knights was swordsmanship skill, wasn't it? Nestor compared her to himself at every turn, filling his self-esteem thereby.

But from the day Rosaline was promoted to lower knight first, his pride crumpled like paper. Nestor was also promoted to lower knight soon after, but whether it was one day or two, he couldn't tolerate her being ahead of him.

And now she'd been promoted all the way to senior knight. It was a moment when the judgment of the knight-captain he admired seemed questionable. Watching His Highness the Prince personally conduct her appointment ceremony, flames surged in his gut. Ridiculing her every trivial action with lower knights who shared his antipathy toward Rosaline—even that had grown old after a day or two.

When he'd begun to think he was making himself look ridiculous instead, Nestor witnessed it: Rosaline continuously repeating basic swordsmanship forms that children from knight families did at age eight. And her movements were several times slower than they should be. How could she possibly be that sloppy! Her skill was simply laughable. With only that level of ability, she got promoted to senior knight?

Nestor laughed. No senior knight lost to lower knights. Among the senior knights there were no women, and all were battle-hardened warriors. It wasn't a position some woman with a merely clever head could enter. Nestor decided he needed to make her understand that difference through direct physical experience.

"Since we once entrusted our backs to each other—that's a connection—why don't you teach me a lesson, Dame Rosaline?"

Rosaline watched the lower knights behind Nestor barely swallow their laughter. What had Kallix said to do in this situation? In this case...

'Still, occasionally there are fools blinded by jealousy who don't know their place.'

In this situation...

'They'll definitely make an issue of your weak swordsmanship.'

Words that had come from Kallix's mouth after their fifth sparring match. Kallix had been kneeling on the training ground floor, huff-huff, breathing in ragged gasps. Rosaline's sword rested against the left side of his neck, emanating a cold gleam. Kallix laughed emptily several times as if absurd, then made a mischievous expression toward her.

'Sword match or hand-to-hand—give them whatever they want.'

Rosaline recalled several keywords. Give them whatever they want. And what else had he said?

'So they can never climb back up again.'

Ah, right. 'So they can never climb back up again.'

Rosaline nodded. Nestor shivered as sudden cold washed over him.

Watching Rosaline nod, Nestor raised one corner of his mouth in a smile. They say newborn pups don't fear tigers—did becoming a senior knight make her think her swordsmanship naturally improved along with it?

"Let's do this formally with witnesses present. We can't know what might happen during the match, can we?"

"Understood."

"Sir Claude, Sir Bastian. If you would."

Two of the knights standing behind Nestor stepped forward. No hidden weapons, comprehensive match of swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. Continues until one person declares surrender. No responsibility to each other for whatever happens during the match. The two unfamiliar knights recited the match conditions to Rosaline.

With two lower knights as witnesses, the match between Rosaline and Nestor was prepared. By the time Rosaline finished retying her disheveled hair, people had begun gathering at the training ground one by one. They seemed to have come for practice and had their attention caught by the unexpected scene. Seeing the confrontation with witnesses like a duel, they all watched with evident pleasure. Rosaline, the senior knight of rumor. And Nestor of Seacrag, a lower knight but one whose sword skill was said to be considerable. The outcome seemed obvious.

Whether the rumor spread in that short time, the training ground was surrounded by probationary and lower knights alike. Senior knights were scattered among them as well. Nestor smiled inwardly. Things were flowing exactly as he'd intended. The more people watching, the easier to drag Rosaline down.

Nestor watched Rosaline with shining eyes. Disheveled black hair, tall for a woman. Her utterly ordinary appearance—nothing that could be called beautiful—received harsher evaluation due to her sharp eyes. She warmed up with no particular reaction to the commotion around her. Those watching also increased their distance slightly, since getting hit by a breaking blade would be serious.

Rosaline and Nestor drew their swords. The sound of blades scraping scabbards rang across the training ground. Both raised their swords before their faces, then brought the tips together. The contrast was stark—thin, slender sword against large, broad blade. Ching. With that small sound, the match began.

'Quick finish!'

Nestor's sword split the air. Brutal force that seemed likely to shatter her blade rushed toward her sword.

Clang!

The metallic friction rang loudly, then a sword blade flew high into the sky. Following the sword spinning round and round in the air, sunlight flashed and reflected. The sword that had floated high seemed to hover in midair before thunk—it plunged into the training ground floor.

The knights began to murmur. Dropping one's sword was something even probationary knights didn't do. A deeply shameful thing. Nestor's face flushed red. Rosaline was not the one who'd dropped her sword.

Nestor's hand trembled. The hand that had received massive shock in one instant was trembling beyond his control. It felt like he'd struck his sword against a stone wall. What is this? What just happened to me, to her? What did I just do? Nestor rolled his eyes to look at Rosaline. He saw her green eyes and understood the current situation.

"Wh-what is this...!"

Nestor turned his head to look at his witnessing companions. Claude and Bastian's eyes had gone round. At Nestor's blazing gaze, both men shook their heads frantically. No hidden weapons. No tricks. Reading that meaning, Nestor grew even more confused. A flat voice reached the ears of him as he stood there blankly.

"Did you learn that lesson well?"

Nestor's face flushed as if about to burst. He felt the many knights surrounding the training ground stirring. He ground his teeth. She'd gotten lucky and somehow deflected the center of force—was she really that smug about it?

"...A bit more, if you would."

"Understood."

Rosaline nodded, then sheathed her sword.

"?"

She said understood, so why is she sheathing her sword? Nestor's question was soon answered. She'd untied the scabbard at her waist and thrown it far away. While he stood bewildered, Rosaline clenched her fists and took a hand-to-hand combat stance.

Is she saying let's try hand-to-hand combat with me? Has that woman lost her mind? Weight class aside, the difference in strength between women and men was great enough that calling them different species wouldn't be wrong. She, who as a woman had become a knight and should understand that fact more acutely than anyone—her eyes were flashing beyond her fists right now.

In Nestor's view, Rosaline was merely a human considerably smaller and thinner than himself. From that body of hers, something began billowing up. Nestor, who'd experienced war, knew what it was. Pressure. His instincts were genuinely warning him about this woman. The smile from the match's beginning had long since disappeared. Nestor took a hand-to-hand combat stance like her. The knights also gulp-gulp swallowed their saliva at the tension flowing between the two.

Wind blew. A leaf rode the heat-cooling breeze, crossing between the two people. A leaf the same color as Rosaline's eyes.

That was the last scene Nestor remembered.

Due to the incident at the hunting competition, the White Night Order's numbers had drastically decreased. Though they'd hastily held appointment ceremonies to fill the empty positions, considerable time would still be needed to return to normal operation.

Currently, personnel to guard the Second Prince's castle were adequate. The problem was that those with sufficient skill to stand at Second Prince Rikardis's side were not numerous. Previously they'd maintained seamless three-shift protection, but now they were barely managing even the minimum two-shift guard. It was a time requiring rapid growth from those who'd risen to senior knight.

Raymond was reviewing reports of each group's training progress. Vice-Captain Nathan, who'd briefly gone outside, returned with a blank expression and thud—dropped into his seat. Raymond didn't lift his eyes from the documents as he asked.

"Is something wrong, Vice-Captain?"

"Put Dame Rosaline Ester of Redvielle on His Highness the Second Prince's guard detail."

"Whaaat?"

"Put Dame Rosaline Ester of Redvielle on His Highness the Second Prince's guard detail."

"Whaat? No, I'm not asking because I didn't hear you! No, no-no-no-no! What are you suddenly saying? Didn't I tell you that Dame Rosaline's heart is currently very... and her head hurts!"