SN Chapter 9

Rosaline had not despaired when she hit her limits. She had trained longer than anyone, studied harder than anyone. She had honed her strengths and refused to look away from her weaknesses. Even those who had quietly dismissed her as a woman knight gradually revised their view when they saw how hard she worked.

When news of her promotion to senior knight arrived, Raymond had celebrated as if it were his own achievement. Her effort—her heart—wasn't wasted. He'd been so elated he'd tried to kiss the vice-captain on the mouth when the vice-captain delivered the news, and received a solid punch for his trouble.

So he could not let it end here.

What Rosaline had wanted. What she had fought to protect. Even if she had forgotten it now, it had not ceased to exist. He could not let her miss a chance that had come at such great cost. Raymond accepted the sword she offered him.

He grasped the blade upright. The broad flat of the bastard sword half-covered his face. Rosaline watched his every movement in silence.

"You can barely hold a sword properly right now... what do you plan to accomplish by returning to the Order, Rosaline?"

"Even so—"

"Even so?"

"I have to go."

"Why?"

Raymond angled the sword sideways. Through the sharp edge, he could see Rosaline's eyes shining.

"To protect the master of the White Night."

Raymond grinned. She claimed to have lost her memories, yet she remembered the thing that mattered most. That was so like her. Rosaline had always possessed an extraordinary ability to grasp what was essential—in any situation, under any conditions. He simply hadn't anticipated it would manifest like this.

He laughed and stepped sharply back, putting distance between them. Kallix, reading the intention, moved aside as well.

"Watch carefully, Rosaline. Memorize this. You need to remember."

Raymond closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with his first movement. He was nearly as tall as Kallix—conspicuously so—but he moved with remarkable speed. Precise, fluid, water finding its course. The foundational forms of Illavénian imperial swordsmanship. Rosaline tracked his every movement with keen attention. Watch carefully. You need to remember. She took his words literally. She did not blink. Her green eyes snapped left and right following his movements. The concentration was almost frightening.

Thrust, slash, block. The blade's point arced toward the sky, then cut the air, then skimmed the ground. Wind rose wherever the sword passed. The blade's edge was vivid even from a considerable distance.

"Hoo."

Raymond stopped, returning the sword to rest before his face as he had begun. By the time the seriousness had eased from his expression and something like a smile returned, Rosaline could blink her stiff eyes again.

"Done! Even knowing just this much is half the battle. Actually, you've always used your head more than your body anyway, so the rest we can take step by step—"

"One more time."

"Hm?"

Rosaline frowned. The expression said everything: why are you making me say this twice.

"One more time."

Raymond went Ah— oh? Uh, sure, okay, and fumbled into his second demonstration, slightly thrown. He found himself thinking of childhood, when he'd first learned the sword. Hundreds of repetitions a day. It had felt tedious to the point of misery, exhausting and endless—but looking back now, even that was fond memory.

He was smiling to himself somewhere around the midpoint of his second run-through when it ended.

"One more time."

"...I'm... not sure why I'm feeling vaguely anxious right now, Rosaline..."

Raymond was forced to hear one more time, one more time, one more time without end, until that painful childhood memory was once again present tense. His sword moved for hours without stopping. Until night arrived and moonlight caught the blade—glinting, glinting—and silvered it.

"I'm going to charge you... I'm billing you for sword instruction!"

"Go ahead. Kallix has money."

"Damn it! That's true!"

"..."

Kallix watched their exchange with an expression that had given up expecting sense from this conversation some time ago. Raymond was sprawled across the sofa in a boneless heap, still panting. His uniform—fastened all the way to the collar when he'd arrived—had all its buttons undone save two. The old Rosaline would have had words for him about the state of it.

"You’ve done enough for today, Sir Raymond. Won't you stay for dinner?"

Raymond waved a hand. He seemed to lack the energy for words.

"I should be heading back soon, actually. Hoo. I appreciate the offer, but my schedule is packed. Although—will any of today's effort actually count for something? She didn't move her own body at all. She only watched."

Kallix's mouth curved.

"My sister has a very good memory."

"Then thank heaven for that. Oh—the investiture ceremony is in two weeks. Please, by then... could you do something about Rosaline's... manner of speaking..."

"..."

"The ceremony for the newly appointed senior knights will be conducted personally by His Highness the Second Prince. When he announces I hereby appoint Dame Rosaline of Redwheel as senior knight—the response of yeah, sure is something we'd want to avoid, wouldn't it? My spine goes cold just imagining it."

Kallix shuddered, as if in full agreement. Two weeks. Only two weeks remained to learn swordsmanship and etiquette. Raymond mentioned he'd managed to come only by carving time out of a punishing schedule—they would likely meet next at the palace. He told Rosaline as much.

"Yeah, sure," Rosaline replied.

Both spines went cold again.

Raymond was seen off by the siblings and soon departed the estate. Rosaline collected the rapier hanging from her wall and came back down to the training ground. Even after Kallix and the maids told her it was dinnertime, she settled at the center of the training ground, eyes closed, and did not move.

Beyond her closed eyes, a man in a white uniform appeared. He swept brown hair from his face as he moved the sword. Finding the center of the body, guarding every direction—fluid but strong. He moved endlessly before her. She held his image for a long time. She could see the muscles shifting under the fabric of his uniform. Sweat dripped down through his hair. The phantom of his blade cutting through the air passed through her again and again.

Rosaline drew her own sword. Different in form and weight from his bastard sword. She moved without hesitation. Kallix stood quiet and watched.

Thanks to the hours Raymond had spent demonstrating, she had retained the sequence and shape of the movements with clarity. But she was still rough. She had never held a sword before; the grip alone was a disaster. That, perhaps, was to be expected.

Yet with each pass of the blade, the form began to refine itself by small degrees.

Her frame was markedly different from his, and following him directly presented obvious limitations. After a few passes she seemed to understand this—perhaps come to know it through some instinct surfacing from the repetition itself. She did not blindly imitate his movements. But she understood precisely what those movements were for. Cutting. Thrusting. Blocking. Attacking. Defending. Keeping the center of the body anchored.

She found herself within Raymond's movements. Her own frame. The strength this body currently held. The length of this blade. Everything accounted for—a rational and extraordinarily clever adaptation. Within a few hours, she was moving like someone who had spent years with a sword.

As Raymond had ended his demonstration, she raised the blade before her face. White moonlight fell behind Rosaline, her eyes closed. Her dark, cascading hair swept around her and dissolved into the night sky.

The Holy Empire of Illavénia—nation of Idelabheim, who had driven out Kreyan Tithanion, god of darkness, and brought light into the world. Its size was worthy of the reputation spread to every corner of the continent. The white palace, blazing with brilliance almost painful to behold, stretched wide and high and so vast that even straining one's eyes, the end of it could not be seen.

Rosaline observed the beautiful row of castles through the carriage window.

White. Many.

These tall structures, built to a consistent regularity, were of a very different character from the forests she had lived in. Quiet, still, and beautiful—this place tended toward the [dislike] end of a [like / dislike] scale. Her instincts stirred uneasily.

Kallix, who had always been at her side, was not with her. Rosaline alone had departed for the capital, Tigaard. He had obligations as acting count; he had to remain and watch over Redwheel Territory. What remained of him was only the memory of his relentless warnings and the weight of a gaze caked thick with worry.

'No, you can't. You mustn't do that. That's not allowed. This is even more not allowed. That one will genuinely cause catastrophe if you try it, no.'

What on earth does he have so many forbidden things for.

'Humans were a species that voluntarily purchased hardship.'

"Rosaline!"

The carriage traveled some distance even after passing through the palace gates. She had barely stepped out when Raymond came running toward her from the distance, stopping in front of her still breathing hard.

"It has been some time, Sir Raymond. I trust you have been well."

"...You can be informal with me, Rosaline."

Raymond caught sight of something in her appearance—evidence of someone's considerable effort. He nearly came close to tears.

Raymond helped unload her luggage from the carriage. The trainee knights under his command carried her things to the dormitory. A clean, large building. She hadn't received the official investiture yet, but her promotion to senior knight had already moved her to a wider, finer room, he explained. There was not much luggage to fill all that space. A few white uniforms, several swords, everyday clothing and personal items. When she tossed everything in at random, Raymond took it back out and arranged it properly.