Rumors and Swords

The next morning, the birds chirping outside my window roused me earlier than usual.

Despite the bewildering late-night visit from the prince and Elinor’s rather peculiar shoe-fitting service, I had slept surprisingly soundly.

Perhaps it was because I had finally asserted my dominance over the private domain of the library, a psychological sense of security that allowed me to relax considerably.

“Young Lady, it is time to rise.”

Anna pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Today, her movements were considerably lighter than usual.

Yet, as she brushed my hair, I caught a glimpse of her hesitant expression in the mirror.

“Speak your mind.”

I stated blandly, gazing at my own expressionless face in the reflection.

“Yes… um, Young Lady,”

Anna lowered her voice, as if confiding a monumental secret.

“The kitchen staff have been gossiping this morning… about how Prince Alexis emerged from the library last night, utterly pale and unsteady on his feet, as if… as if he had suffered an immense psychological shock.”

My fingers, fastening a collar button, paused almost imperceptibly.

“Oh? And so?”

“Everyone is speculating…”

Anna swallowed hard.

“They’re wondering if His Highness attempted to exercise royal prerogative upon you in that sort of place, only to be… severely disciplined by you in some noble yet utterly ruthless manner.”

“…”

A profound sense of helplessness washed over me.

The imaginative prowess of these people was truly formidable.

Still, this could be considered a fortunate coincidence.

While in reality, his oxygen deprivation was due to my magical pressure, to outsiders,

the conclusion that ‘the Duke’s daughter suppressed the Prince in the library’ wasn’t entirely incorrect.

“Boring rumors,”

I finished adjusting the last button, my tone flat.

“Let them talk. In any case, no one will dare to approach that place carelessly anymore.”

“Yes! Your prestige is unparalleled!”

Admiration gleamed in Anna’s eyes.

Carrying this unwanted aura of prestige, I stepped into the S-class classroom once more.

The air in the classroom seemed to freeze the moment I appeared.

It wasn’t merely awe, but rather an impenetrable sense of mystery that permeated the space.

Every gaze in the room shifted between me and Alexis, who sat in the front row.

Alexis had arrived unusually early today.

He sat ramrod straight, a book spread open before him, yet the page remained unturned for a prolonged period.

As I passed by him, he neither looked up to greet me as usual, nor did he display the same discomposure as the previous night.

However, I could sense that his breathing rhythm had faltered for a beat.

He turned his head slightly, his cerulean eyes not meeting mine directly, but instead resting on the hem of my skirt.

That gaze was somber and suppressed, imbued with a near-obsessive desire for inquiry born from an inability to comprehend.

It was akin to a scholar grappling with an insoluble enigma, tormented yet unable to avert their gaze from the puzzle.

Ignoring his scrutiny, I walked directly to the back row and took my seat.

Ella immediately swiveled around like a sunflower, about to speak, but was silenced by my gaze.

I glanced towards the corner of the classroom.

It was empty.

Beatrix Eisen, the woman who considered punctuality paramount to a knight’s honor, was late today?

No, it was more than mere tardiness.

Morning study concluded, the first lesson began, and even when the lunch bell chimed, that seat remained vacant.

‘…Did something happen with that manuscript?’

A wave of concern washed over me.

After all, it was a conjectured completion of a fragmented sword technique. What if the theory was flawed, or if her practice went awry…

Though reason dictated I should not meddle, the thought that it was a book I had personally lent out ignited a sense of responsibility as its proprietor, which ultimately prevailed.

During lunch, I politely declined Ella’s invitation and, armed with a sandwich, made my way alone to the Second Training Ground.

That area was usually deserted, serving as Beatrix’s exclusive practice ground.

Before I even drew near, I heard a dull, exceptionally rhythmic whooshing sound.

“Hah!… Hmph… Hah!”

Rounding the corner of the wall, my gaze pierced through the wire fence, revealing the silver-haired figure.

Beatrix was not in the state of qi deviation I had imagined.

However, her condition was far more concerning than that.

The scorching midday sun beat down mercilessly on the training ground, yet she seemed utterly oblivious to it.

She had shed her outer garment, clad only in a thin training vest that revealed the taut, muscular lines of her arms and shoulders.

Sweat.

Profuse perspiration had completely soaked her vest, clinging tightly to her body and outlining the deep furrow of her spine.

Her silver hair, slick with sweat, clung to her cheeks and neck, flinging a spray of glistening droplets with each swing of her sword.

She was not employing battle qi, nor was she utilizing any flashy sword techniques.

She was simply repeating a single motion.

Swing the sword, retrieve the sword.

Swing again, retrieve again.

With every swing, her gaze instinctively flickered towards a clean white cloth placed at her feet…

Upon it lay the manuscript I had given her, spread open.

She was mimicking, she was correcting.

She was meticulously breaking down the theories from the book, piece by piece, then using them as a framework to reshape her muscle memory.

Her movements were not swift; in fact, they were somewhat sluggish.

Yet, I could discern that this was a manifestation of extreme muscle fatigue.

Her wrist trembled faintly, but her eyes shone with an alarming intensity, focused as if the entire world consisted solely of the book and the sword in her grasp.

I stood in the shadows, observing her in silence for a while.

That profound concentration, that pure pursuit of mastery, resonated with me, a mere bookworm, in an inexplicable way.

I stepped out.

“…Your stance is off.”

I spoke, striving for an objective, dispassionate tone.

Beatrix, poised to unleash her next strike, stiffened instantly.

She spun around abruptly, stumbling slightly from the momentum, her sword nearly slipping from her grasp.

“Li… Lilliana?!”

She stared at me in shock, as if witnessing an apparition.

Immediately, a flush of panic spread across her face.

She instinctively tried to conceal her disheveled, sweat-soaked, and utterly discomfited appearance, yet with both hands gripping her sword, she had nowhere to place them.

“You… why would you come to such a dirty place…”

She stammered, her breaths short and labored.

I approached her, the air thick with the warm, pungent scent of sweat.

It wasn’t unpleasant.

It was the aroma of life force burning brightly.

“I came to check on my book.”

I lied, my gaze falling upon the manuscript on the ground.

“And incidentally, to see if the borrower had broken themselves from reading it.”

My eyes moved upwards, settling on her wrist.

From the prolonged, high-intensity sword practice, it was already extensively swollen and red, veins bulging, still twitching uncontrollably.

“Your hand.”

Beatrix froze for a moment, but the instinct to obey within her made her dutifully extend her hand the instant our eyes met.

It was a hand marred by calluses and fresh injuries.

I sighed, then removed the lace glove from my left hand.

Then, I extended my own perpetually pale fingertips, which rarely saw sunlight, and gently placed them on her swollen, feverish wrist, over her pulse point.

“Hiss…”

Beatrix sharply drew in a breath, her body trembling violently as if struck by an electric current.

For her body, currently burning like a furnace, my comparatively low body temperature was the ultimate stimulant.

The stark contrast of cool fingertips pressing against scorching skin sent shivers down her scalp.

She felt that small patch of skin almost melt, the coolness instantly coursing through her bloodstream, creating a sensation of near-exhausted release in her previously taut nerves.

“Overly tense muscles.”

I paid no mind to her trembling, diagnosing her with the detached precision of a meticulous physician.

“Your pulse is too rapid. Have you rested at all since yesterday?”

Beatrix lowered her gaze, unable to meet my eyes.

Her throat worked, producing a voice that was severely hoarse.

“…No. I became… engrossed in the book.”

“Are you an idiot?”

I withdrew my hand.

As the cool sensation vanished, a profound sense of loss unexpectedly welled up within Beatrix.

She instinctively yearned to chase that coolness, yet her rationality forced her to halt her movements abruptly.

“Books are meant to be read, not to be used for self-torture.”

I retrieved a pristine white handkerchief from my pocket – one Elinor had used to clean my shoes last night, which I had, of course, already washed.

After a moment’s consideration, I handed it to her.

“Wipe your sweat. Then, go back and rest.”

Gazing into her bloodshot golden eyes, I softened my tone slightly, shedding some of its usual chill.

“The contents of that book cannot be mastered in a single day. If you wish to fully grasp it… then first learn to control your own body.”

Beatrix took the handkerchief.

It carried the faint scent of tuberose, and also…

Lilliana’s body warmth.

She clutched the fabric tightly, savoring its soft texture.

The young lady before her clearly looked as though she found the place dirty and disorderly, eager to depart quickly.

Yet, she had deliberately walked over, touched her sweat-drenched self, and even… left this behind.

“…Yes.”

Beatrix lowered her head, pressing the handkerchief against her scorching forehead.

It concealed her expression, and also the light in her eyes that was undergoing a qualitative transformation.

“I will rest.”

Her voice was muffled, yet it conveyed an unprecedented docility.

“To… be able to study this book for a longer time.”

“That would be for the best.”

I nodded, pleased by her willingness to heed my advice.

“Then, don’t be late for your afternoon classes.”

With that, I turned and departed from the place filled with heat and perspiration.

I hadn’t walked far before I couldn’t resist glancing back.

The silver-haired figure still stood rooted to the spot, clutching the white handkerchief tightly in her hand as if it were a lifeline, watching my retreating form without moving.

That gaze…

How to describe it? It was somewhat akin to a tamed lone wolf.

‘…Strange.’

‘Was she truly that moved by reading the book?’

I shook my head, finding myself somewhat unable to comprehend the thought processes of these martial enthusiasts.

However, as long as she didn’t train herself into ruin, it was fine.

After all, if that manuscript were to get stained with blood, cleaning it would be quite troublesome.