Chapter 12

“…I did tell you to try sparring.”

Marquis Ludwig pressed his forehead and shook his head.

“I’m ashamed.”

Nigel, leaning against the bed in the ward, lowered his head as if feeling guilty.

The bandages wrapped around her limbs rustled.

She must still have the energy to move, even injured like that.

Well, earlier she even tried to get off the bed to show respect in that state.

Thankfully, the Marquis stopped her in a panic.

“Left arm fractured, right arm tendons severed. Leg muscles torn, and some internal organs crushed. Ah, the shoulder blade is also cracked. The cuts are too many to count.”

Nigel lowered his head.

After finishing his words, the Marquis looked at me, closed his eyes, and sighed.

I must look pitiful, like a mummy.

“This one is quite…”

The Marquis’s fingertips twitched.

Feeling frustrated and wanting to smoke, huh? I get that feeling.

I’m feeling the same way right now.

Still, he couldn’t possibly light up in the ward, so the Marquis gave up.

The smoke from magic herbs sharpens the senses, so smoking in front of a patient is practically torture.

“Your jaw and left arm are cracked, your left shoulder is half gone, and half your ear is missing. Your pierced leg had its bone crushed and artery torn. If the military priest’s healing had been a few minutes late, you would have lost your life. Did you know that?”

I was really in a ridiculous state.

If this weren’t fantasy, I’d be dead.

“Why on earth did you fight to this extent? Drawing real swords in a simple sparring match. Is Sir Nigel your sworn enemy?”

The Marquis raised his voice.

It must be absurd to see your conversation partner, who was fine just a moment ago, turn into a near-corpse in an hour.

You want to know why? Don’t ask me. I don’t know either.

Why did Nigel come at me like he wanted to kill me in the first place?

Aiming relentlessly at my vitals—my solar plexus, neck, thigh, and head.

I might have misspoken a bit, but trying to kill me over it is a bit much.

That’s something only those barbarians from Ka`har would do.

I wanted to say I didn’t know, but the bandages wrapped around my head kept my mouth shut.

“I… was the one who suggested using real swords to Hasalleur, Marquis.”

Seeing my condition, Nigel began to explain the details.

Right. It’s your doing, so you should explain.

Why did you half-slaughter me? Go ahead, explain.

“Sir Nigel, was it you? But why?”

“I heard that warriors from Ka`har fight as if their lives depend on it, even in sparring, as a sign of respect.”

Marquis Ludwig’s expression twisted strangely.

“Who spread such nonsense?”

“I read it in a book called ‘Understanding Foreign Tribes Outside the Empire.’ Was it… incorrect information?”

“Even if Ka`har is violent, they don’t try to kill each other in sparring.”

Nigel’s face turned pale.

Marquis Ludwig raised his head and let out a deep sigh.

“They say the most dangerous person is the one who’s only read one book…”

Wait, what?

So, this whole mess happened because of some nonsense written in a random book?

Are you kidding me?

A sense of futility clawed at my chest, and I unconsciously clenched my fists.

My body, soaked in painkillers, ached pointlessly.

It was so unfair it was almost resentful.

“…I’m ashamed. I sincerely apologize, Hasalleur. This is entirely my fault.”

Nigel bowed deeply toward me in apology.

Blood seeped through the bandages from his excessive movement.

I struggled to suppress the rising hostility toward Nigel.

Calm down.

It’s not right to hold a grudge against Nigel.

It was an incident born of ignorance and misunderstanding, so blaming him would be harsh.

In a way, Nigel is also a victim.

I don’t know who wrote that piece of trash, but it’s all that guy’s fault.

If I ever meet him, I’ll make sure he feels this pain.

Since I couldn’t speak, I just shook my head.

At least my neck still moves.

“However—”

“That’s enough, Sir Nigel. Your injuries are severe, so try not to move too much.”

Marquis Ludwig firmly cut off Nigel and turned back to me.

“To begin with, your responsibility is not small either. Even if Sir Nigel handed you a real sword with nonsense, if you had corrected him, this could have ended without bloodshed.”

The Marquis scolded me.

He’s right, but how was I supposed to correct that?

At least Nigel read a book; I’ve never even heard details about Ka`har’s culture.

“Remember this. If you’ve decided to live within the Empire’s borders, it would be wise not to try to prove your reputation.”

Was that advice or a threat? It was hard to tell.

Probably both.

This is frustrating.

The Marquis wouldn’t believe that Or-han’s Daughter didn’t know about Ka`har’s culture, so there’s no way to explain this.

Not that I can speak right now anyway.

I have no mouth. So I can’t explain!

“…Let’s leave the blame game here. For now, focus on recovering. The maids will bring you recovery potions daily. In three days, you should be able to move around somewhat.”

Recovery potions? You mean potions.

But those won’t work well on me, right?

Nigel cautiously opened his mouth.

“Um, Marquis. Hasalleur possesses the Blessing of Anti-Magic. It’s strong enough to even react to translation magic.”

“Anti-Magic?”

The Marquis narrowed his eyes in dismay.

Anti-Magic is a power that rejects all magic affecting the body and mind.

Since the healing effects of recovery potions are also a type of magic, they have almost no effect on those with Anti-Magic.

“So you had it after all. But to think it’s already manifested…”

The Marquis stroked his beard while muttering.

What. What’s so obvious about it?

Does Or-han have some kind of anti-magic resistance? Is anti-magic a hereditary trait?

“If that’s the case, then there’s no other way. I’ll send a military priest every day instead of a recovery potion. It shouldn’t make much of a difference.”

If they do that, recovery shouldn’t be a problem.

The healing blessings that priests perform are borrowed from a portion of divine power.

It’s not magic but a miracle.

That’s why a priest’s blessing isn’t affected by anti-magic.

It’s a power that rejects impure magic and only accepts holy miracles.

This is also why anti-magic is considered a form of divine blessing.

“…It’s almost midnight. I’ll take my leave now. Sir Nigel, you should get some proper rest.”

“As you command.”

“It’s not an order though…”

Marquis Ludwig left the room with a wry smile.

—

After the Marquis left, the room fell into a gloomy silence.

Nigel stayed quiet for a long time.

Well, even if he spoke to me, I wouldn’t respond, so there’s no point in saying anything.

“Once again, I apologize, Princess Ha-shal-leur. I have no words to offer.”

Guess not.

I turned my head to look at her.

Perhaps because the Marquis had stopped her earlier, she didn’t bow in apology, but her brown eyes were filled with guilt.

Seeing her so remorseful makes it hard to say anything.

Thinking about it, she’s also been seriously hurt.

I let go of the lingering hostility in my heart.

Yeah. There’s no sin in what was done unknowingly.

So I’m not a sinner either.

—

– Do you really think so?

Don’t bring it up. I didn’t do anything wrong.

I shook my head again.

Nigel clenched his mouth, seemingly unable to accept it, but he didn’t bring it up again.

It seems he finally acknowledged that my stance wouldn’t change.

“…Thank you for your mercy.”

Nigel whispered with a trembling voice, leaning back on the bed and closing his eyes.

—

The room fell quiet again.

Was it because I forgave Nigel?

Unlike the heavy silence from before, it was now a calm and peaceful quiet, like a snowy night sky.

—

Since there was nothing else to do but think, I recalled the battle with her.

It was a painful memory, but it was necessary.

In this world, to live a safe and peaceful life, you need the strength to fight and win.

—

The memories before I let my instincts take over were clear, but the memories after were fragmented.

I recalled the flow of Nigel’s sword and carefully thought about how to recreate it.

Imperial swordsmanship, was it? Is that really the name of the swordsmanship?

It’s such a bland and unoriginal name.

Come to think of it, when I moved on instinct, I followed that swordsmanship once.

How was that even possible? Did the original Ha-shal-leur know Imperial swordsmanship?

It’s a question I can’t answer no matter how much I think about it.

I pushed the question to the back of my mind and continued to replay the memories.

In this situation, move the arm like this, twist the wrist outward…

Place the legs here and shift the upper body this way…

The movements with the spear were hard to recall and too bizarre to be of much help.

—

Then I recalled the movements my instincts had shown me.

A beast-like, fierce, and violent fighting style.

A storm of slashes, pushing strength, speed, and reflexes to their limits.

Even the cunning to exploit the opponent’s weaknesses after they got used to the attacks.

It was a fully developed martial art, just different in direction from Nigel’s swordsmanship.

I felt ashamed and pathetic for blindly swinging my sword relying only on Ha-shal-leur’s physical abilities.

But honestly, the battle cries were ridiculous.

“Kyaaaah! Graaaaah! Kaaaaaah!”

Is that even a human battle cry? It’s more like the roar of a wild beast.

And in the middle, there was even growling?

The original Ha-shal-leur didn’t make sounds like that.

Is this a side effect of completely surrendering to my instincts?

—

Looking back now, it really was a dangerous thing to do.

The deeper I sank into my instincts, the more my rationality faded, and I lost my judgment.

Every time I got hurt, the beast-like ferocity surged even more, driving me forward without end, resulting in this mess.

Especially that last impulse was really dangerous.

Even with my leg bone crushed and arteries torn, I still wanted to keep fighting.

I turned my head to look at the silver gauntlet on the shelf next to the bed.

Yeah. If I had given in to the impulse and kept fighting, I would’ve died soon enough.

Even with the Ice Blade equipped, it wouldn’t have healed my already severe injuries.

—

I stared blankly at the ceiling, endlessly replaying the battle in my mind.

My exhausted body whispered that it was time to sleep.

My consciousness gradually sank into dreams.

—

But, if I had kept fighting with that on, who would’ve won in the end?

– Heh.

I heard a laugh.

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