The Golden-Haired Princess’s Challenge

“What, are the knights of Olomouc naught but a pack of craven curs?”

When the knights offered no response, Noren lifted her chin, a mocking smirk playing on her lips.

“You! You vile harlot—” A bearded palace knight slammed his fist onto the table, springing to his feet.

“Silence!” Sir Kovan rebuked the bearded palace knight. “Sit down, Claude! Where is your knightly honor? Do you truly mean to draw steel against a lady?”

“Hmph!” The bearded palace knight snorted twin plumes of air from his nostrils like an enraged boar, then grudgingly resumed his seat. Crossing his legs and folding his arms, he cast several venomous glares in Noren’s direction.

Sir Kovan offered Noren a placating smile, his amiable expression reminiscent of a kindly uncle from next door. He spoke in a softened tone: “Miss Noren, there must be some misunderstanding. I believe you indeed employed this maidservant this morning, but you were unaware of her whereabouts after she attended to you, correct?”

Sir Kovan, ever considerate, had thoughtfully laid out an escape for Noren, a path she needed only to deign to tread.

He desperately wished to prevent a simple murder from escalating into a conflict between nobles. Such disputes were notoriously difficult to control; even a count found it challenging to intervene forcefully, let alone a mere knight who held no title beyond his knighthood, neither baron nor mayor.

“No, I am quite informed,” Noren declared, kicking aside the metaphorical step Sir Kovan had offered. “I, Noren, daughter of Knight Svein, vouch for the maidservant Yasha in the name of my father. If anyone dares to accuse Yasha of being the orchestrator of Ryan’s death, then let us settle it in a duel before God!”

‘Svein?’ A nerve twitched in Sir Kovan’s temple. He stroked his beard, musing, ‘That name… it sounds so familiar…’

“This…” Sir Kovan hesitated, a slight frown creasing his brow. To declare the young maidservant innocent directly, thereby admitting his own misjudgment, would severely tarnish his reputation and authority in such public view. Yet, to accuse her of Ryan’s murder would inevitably ignite a conflict between Olomouc Castle and the Golden-haired Princess.

‘Why could this woman not have come forward sooner to testify!’ Sir Kovan’s heart seethed with vexation. ‘Why must she wait until public sentiment has reached a fever pitch!’

Sir Kovan remained indecisive, his fingernails digging lines into the wooden armrest of his throne. His prolonged silence cast a heavy pall over the hall, plunging it into a profound hush. All eyes were fixed upon him, every soul eagerly awaiting the military commander’s verdict.

Observing Sir Kovan’s hesitation, Noren resolved to fan the flames further. After all, knights were notoriously crude and volatile; a few well-chosen words would suffice to provoke them.

The golden-haired Noren slowly drew her treasured sword from its scabbard, the distinct whisper of steel against leather echoing through the hall. All eyes were drawn to the sound of the blade emerging, and Sir Kovan, too, furrowed his brow, wondering what new theatrics this golden-haired princess intended to unleash.

Once the sword was fully drawn, she used its tip to gently lift the chin of the knight who knelt before her, the point resting perilously against the palace knight’s throat.

Had her treasured sword possessed a right-angled tip instead of its curved point—a design requiring immense force to pierce—a mere touch would have been enough to draw blood from the palace knight.

Noren gazed down with disdain at the palace knight kneeling before her. She held nothing but contempt for any knight who would draw a blade against women and children.

The palace knight clenched his fractured right wrist, sweat beading on his pale forehead. Still, he defiantly met Noren’s gaze, his eyes blazing with such fury that he seemed to wish he could devour her whole.

“You harlot, how dare you—” Before the palace knight could complete his utterance, the skin of his throat caved beneath the sword’s pressure, silencing him. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple scraping painfully against the cold steel.

Noren ignored the impotent snarls of the man beneath her blade. She scoffed at the bearded palace knight from before, then declared, “This craven who drew his sword on a mere girl! This fool who cannot even wield a blade steadily! He wouldn’t last a single move against me, a woman who has never even slaughtered a chicken!”

She lifted her chin, a challenging glint in her eyes. “I wonder if this pathetic display is unique to him, or if all the knights of Olomouc are cut from the same sorry cloth?”

“Aaaaargh!” The bearded knight roared in sudden fury, leaping onto the tabletop. He drew his sword, raised it high above his head, and launched himself at Noren with a furious overhead chop.

“Ho! What a temper!” Noren exclaimed, a flicker of surprise crossing her features, as a phrase in a foreign tongue unexpectedly slipped from her lips.

As the bearded knight erupted in his sudden assault, Noren’s eyes flashed with an almost electric intensity. Neural currents surged through her, and her vision transformed, everything around her sinking into a viscous swamp, slowing to an agonizing crawl.

‘Indeed, knights are suited only for mounted charges; their foot combat is vastly inferior to that of the Norsemen.’ In her altered perception, the bearded knight hung suspended and motionless in the air. Even clad in his chainmail, several vital areas remained exposed.

Particularly vulnerable were his armpits beneath the chainmail sleeves and his side. A single upward diagonal thrust from her blade into his flank would easily pierce his liver.

‘No, I’ll spare his life. With his weight and momentum from that leap, his kinetic energy is too great; a direct stab would likely bend my sword.’

Her mind racing, Noren swiftly decided how to handle the bearded palace knight.

Releasing her grip on the sword, she lunged forward, her right elbow raised, her body dropping into a low bow stance.

‘Heart-Striking Elbow!’

“Ha!” Noren let out an involuntary, sharp cry. Her hardened elbow slammed into the tightly woven chainmail, the force penetrating both mail and padding to strike directly at the center of his chest, the *Danzhong* acupoint. Simultaneously, a tremendous recoil emanated from her elbow, yet it failed to disrupt her stance in the slightest; the entire impact dissipated harmlessly through her stable, grounded legs.

“Boom!” The knight’s figure shot backward with terrifying speed, shattering the long wooden table and pinning the court physician, Monk Paine, firmly beneath him.

The monstrous crash of the body against the wooden table reverberated through the very souls of all present. They stood dumbfounded, utterly bereft of speech.

They had fully expected the golden-haired woman to flee in terror before the bearded knight’s might. Instead, to their utter astonishment, she had not even drawn her sword, dispatching a burly, prime-aged knight with her bare hands!

‘How was this even possible!?’

A deathly silence descended upon the great hall, every person standing frozen, as though their very souls had fled their bodies. But soon, a pained wail shattered the fragile peace.

“Ugh ugh ugh aah!” Monk Paine, pinned immobile beneath the bearded palace knight, felt his body go numb. Only his mouth and eyes retained any capacity for movement.

“Quick! Quickly! Help them!” Sir Kovan, truly deserving of his appointment as military commander by Count Otta “the Handsome,” proved himself the most composed among the palace knights. He was the first to shake off the profound shock, swiftly barking orders for those nearby to render aid.

Several palace knights, fumbling in their haste, managed to lift the two stacked bodies. After clearing away the shattered remnants of the wooden table, they laid both men side by side upon the floor.

Blood welled from the bearded knight’s mouth and nose, while Court Physician Paine continued to wail loudly.

Observing that Court Physician Paine still possessed the strength to wail, the knights promptly disregarded him. Their gazes, grim and solemn, instead fixed upon the bearded Claude, who lay spitting blood from his mouth and nose, his groans barely audible.

Working together, the knights stripped Claude of his chainmail and clothing, leaving him clad only in his undergarments. To their astonishment, they discovered a massive indentation in his chest—a concave crater easily eight inches in diameter.

A single, chilling thought resonated through the minds of the palace knights: ‘Claude will not survive this!’

The golden-haired Noren, the unwitting architect of this devastation, spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. It had merely been an elbow strike; she had truly not anticipated such overwhelming force.

She recalled how, during a skirmish with a mother bear, her blows had merely provoked a roar of pain. Why, then, was the effect so drastically different on this knight? What had become of the ‘terrifying upright ape’ she expected?

“Alas,” Noren sighed with an exaggerated flourish, “the knights of Olomouc are truly so frail~”

She should have realized it long ago: striking a person was always thus. The recipient, armored and braced, needed only to endure the blow. The giver, however, bore a far greater burden of consideration. Paramount among these thoughts was how *not* to kill the target, and judging by the current state of affairs…

Noren cast another glance at the bearded knight, who had, by her estimation, just vomited at least another half-liter of blood. Given the unfolding scene, the bearded knight ought to be reflecting on his own shortcomings, pondering whether he had truly trained diligently throughout the years, seriously dedicated himself to fitness, or meticulously ensured the quality of his armor.

‘It was merely a heart-striking elbow. How much force could it possibly have contained?’

‘One mustn’t make false accusations!’