Ch#89
Spoils of War
Duchess
By Lemon Frog
Episode 89
"Training swords can still pierce flesh!"
If he died in one strike, he'd deny it by saying, 'I never imagined I'd die like this.'
But there was no need to worry.
Clang!
The clash of the two swords rang deafeningly through the training grounds.
Blocked?
Edmund couldn't hide his shock at how easily it was blocked. He'd thought even if Laslo blocked it, he'd stagger back several steps.
Yet Laslo's face remained utterly expressionless after parrying the strike laden with killing intent. Bored? Angry? Mocking? Tense? Impossible to tell.
Of course, there was no time to gauge his intentions.
Laslo swept Edmund's sword aside and charged fiercely.
"Ugh!"
No graceful footwork or elegant sword path—it seemed crude at first glance. Not as fast as Edmund's either.
Yet each strike was chillingly threatening, the direction hard to predict.
No, even if predicted, hard to block.
Paang! Clang! Chaeang!
The sounds of clashing blades rang out noisily.
Laslo advanced steadily toward Edmund, swinging his heavy sword, while Edmund retreated step by step, barely managing to block.
When Laslo paused his assault, Edmund swung wildly in response, but his surprisingly swift and fluid sword was casually parried by Laslo's indifferent one.
"That... Sir Milton's swordsmanship looks cooler..."
.
"Yeah. But he can't break through."
To the untrained eye, it was a strange sight.
Edmund's sword sliced through the air dozens of times in various directions, his feet stamping chaotically before Laslo. Textbook techniques overlaid with flashy skills—a high level of swordsmanship.
In contrast, Laslo seemed half-hearted, yet oddly, Edmund's blade flew exactly where Laslo positioned his sword to meet it.
But to the knights who saw Laslo reading Edmund's attacks perfectly, this was a dizzyingly lopsided spar.
"Wow, impressive."
"Right? Heard Sir Creaser was fearsome on the battlefield, but this..."
"Sigh, what about the vice-captain's pride."
"He challenged first. Thought he was hotshot from knights, eyeing Guard Captain too?"
The onlookers whispered behind their hands, and Edmund couldn't believe the situation.
'Me lose? To this mercenary scum—an elite knight like me?'
Too late, he realized the fallout.
Defeat would mean not just his father, Count Milton, but his patron, Marquis Winblair, wouldn't forgive him.
All the trust and admiration he'd built could crumble.
'Damn it! Why did I accept this?!'
Regret surged, but it was too late to turn back.
He gritted his teeth.
Gathering focus and his remaining strength into his sword.
'Turn it with one final strike!'
Recalling his swordmasters' and knights' praise, he envisioned his dramatic victory.
Then thrust toward Laslo from the opposite direction of his gaze.
Even with sharp dynamic vision, one checks gaze first—unblockable. It had to be.
However.
- 3 -
Kaang!
Laslo deflected it without even looking where Edmund thrust. Unprepared, Edmund lost his grip.
Thud, thud, roll.
Edmund's sword rolled across the ground to a stop, and the onlookers watched breathlessly.
"......Dropping your sword so easily."
".............."
"Speedy swings aren't everything. Put power into your sword only when embedding it in the enemy. No need to waste it otherwise. A slender waist looks good but is a weakness for a knight. Build more strength in your core and lower body."
Laslo sheathed his sword and offered advice.
The surrounding Imperial Guards nodded, absorbing it, but Edmund heard none of it.
'Damn it...! This bastard! Nothing goes right because of him!'
Fury overrode any thought of controlling his expression as he glared, teeth clenched, at Laslo retrieving his distant sword.
To others, it would look quite gallant.
The gruff but caring Guard Captain giving earnest advice and fetching the sword.
However, as he handed the sword to Edmund, Laslo whispered inaudibly to others:
"Polish yourself before desperately trying to drag me down, Sir Milton."
Then stepped back a couple paces and asked calmly:
"Shall we do best of three?"
But Edmund, glaring at Laslo, ground his molars and stormed out of the training grounds.
The onlookers stared in surprise at his retreating figure, but he didn't return.
.
"Hmm, Sir Milton seems deeply offended."
At Laslo's mutter, people finally saw Edmund anew.
"Thought he was polite and courteous—not so."
"Rumors Sir Milton jealous of Sir Creaser."
"Sir Creaser embarrassed. Cared enough to advise, yet leaves without thanks..."
As public opinion finally shifted, Laslo smiled faintly and sheathed his sword.
Edel's past words came to mind.
"Showing only through actions or refusing verbal fights doesn't help much in society's wars."
"Then I join the slander circus everywhere?"
"No need always. But when showing an enemy properly, use their methods if needed for the most fatal wound."
*You're surprisingly scary.*
Then he'd just thought she wasn't naive in society, but today confirmed it.
*Don't mock advice from a battlefield survivor.*
Folding pride against scheming like Edmund yielded results.
Edmund exposed his flaws publicly, Laslo flipped opinion effortlessly.
Once just felt wronged; now, thwarting him Edmund's way was utterly satisfying.
"Long time no see, Marchioness!"
"Come in, Dolores. This is—"
"My daughter Catherine. Catherine, greet her. It's the Winblair Marchioness."
Greetings flowed nonstop at the Winblair Marquisate entrance.
Winblair, lately sparing parties, hosting a small tea drew wives and daughters of allies, arms full of gifts.
- 5 -
Amid them, Angela forced an awkward smile.
Why did Winblair Marchioness invite me? Came unavoidable...
Bliss strictly closer to Emperor faction.
Not all faction-strict invites, but small tea usually friends only.
No friends here—clear faction.
But she gripped her anxiety sharply.
Don't be foolish. Impressing Winblair Marchioness never hurts. Even if pressure tactic.
Grandfather Bliss ordered attend, provided expensive gift.
"Oh, come in, miss. Angela Bliss, right?"
"Honor you remember my name, madam."
"How could I not? Society's praises abound. Ho ho ho!"
Winblair unexpectedly very kind to Angela.
Not just gave seat nearby, but checked comfort often. Attitude revealed other intent.
'Famous wouldn't ignore till now. Must have scheme.'
Angela smiled picture-perfect, waiting for main point.
After warm tea each, amid scattered chatter, Winblair approached.
.
