The Sword That Protects
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Isabelle wasn’t sure whether the heavy pounding came from Rood’s heart or her own. The sound filled the narrow corridor like war drums.
“You pathetic scraps of garbage,” Rood drawled, voice almost bored. “No guts to actually fight, yet you still earn your meals doing this?”
He was provoking them on purpose. The longer the fight dragged on, the worse it became for the assassins. Telling them that outright was clearly a terrible idea.
Rood. What are you trying to accomplish by taunting them like this? Shouldn’t we wait for reinforcements?
Pete was still delayed, busy interrogating Wendy in the basement. Isabelle’s mind raced.
This was planned.
The moment the poisoning failed, they had sent professional killers. The precision, the timing—exploiting the single gap when even Pete was occupied—showed a frightening level of meticulousness.
“With your level of skill, you call this assassination? Could you even kill a single ant? I’ll give you a chance. Run on home and spend the rest of your lives worshipping your precious ant overlords.”
Rood’s relentless taunting finally snapped their patience. All three assassins charged him at once.
One moved to pin his sword. Another stabbed through the opening, aiming solely for Isabelle, who was still cradled in Rood’s arms. The third came from behind.
Clang! Clang!
With subtle twists of his wrist, Rood deflected both strikes.
“Rood, behind you!” Isabelle cried.
Without hesitation, he drove his blade into the gap beneath his armpit.
“Guhk!”
The moment their coordinated rear attack failed, the two assassins in front reached for something inside their clothes. Rood slipped between them like a shadow and spun.
Two heads hit the floor with wet thuds.
He glanced at the small pouches still clutched in their severed hands.
They were going to use poison even at this range. Definitely professionals.
His fingertips had been tingling for a while now. The aftereffects of the earlier poisoning still lingered.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart was beating faster than before. Rood kept checking on Isabelle, still held protectively against his chest. She felt his gaze and looked up.
When she saw the tremor in his green eyes, the realization hit her.
He was trying to protect me.
If he hadn’t provoked the assassins and had simply waited for help, he might have been able to hold all of them off. But purely passive defense would have left openings. And those openings would have been aimed at her, the one he was shielding with his own body.
Rushing them first might have worked, but that would have meant abandoning his goal of protecting her.
In battle, his judgment is better than mine.
Then a voice rang out.
“Enough. Only the final measure remains.”
At their leader’s words, every assassin blocking the doorway surged forward. Rood gripped his sword tighter—this was what he had been waiting for—but his eyes widened.
They discarded their daggers and pulled out pouches of poison powder.
Self-destruction!
Rood didn’t hesitate. He hurled himself toward the glass window behind him.
The shattering crash echoed as he and Isabelle plummeted through the air.
“Kyaaaaah!”
Isabelle screamed. Rood released his sword and used that hand to cradle the back of her head.
The building was only two stories, but its scale made the drop lethal. He twisted midair, positioning his back toward the ground.
About here.
He remembered the garden layout he had studied earlier and aimed for a cluster of tall shrubs.
Crack! Crunch!
Broken branches stabbed and tore at his back and shoulders, but the pain was bearable. Then came the impact.
Thud!
The landing knocked the breath from his lungs. “Khrr…”
He immediately checked on Isabelle. Her eyes were squeezed shut, body trembling.
“Please get up. You must escape alone.”
“I will not! Rood, you must come with me! Get up!”
“I’ve been trying. It doesn’t seem to be working.”
From above came the clamor of battle. Pete and the royal guards must have arrived.
“You have to go. They’re cornered now—they’ll jump down and scatter the poison.”
“But…”
“Get the hell out of here!” Rood roared.
Isabelle lowered her head, wiped her tears, and stood. “Fine! I’m going!”
She ran toward the garden. Only then did a faint smile touch Rood’s lips.
I’m screwed too, huh.
He staggered to his feet, breath ragged. Every joint in his body screamed. Several ribs were definitely broken. Still, he retrieved the sword he had dropped.
“We’re jumping too!”
Six assassins leaped from above. Rood timed his swing perfectly, slashing upward in a wide arc.
“Graaagh!”
One assassin’s torso separated from his legs and hit the ground twitching. Three others were too stunned by the fall to rise. The remaining two used their comrades’ bodies as cushions and scrambled up.
“Not so fast.”
Shuk!
Rood severed one’s neck and turned to the last, but the man slipped past him.
“Where is Lady Isabelle!”
Rood turned at the shout. Pete appeared at the main gate, covered in blood. Without a word, Rood pointed in the direction Isabelle had fled. Pete sprinted after her.
The fight upstairs seemed to be ending as well. Rood tried to stand using his sword for support, but his legs refused to obey. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, yet he could not fall here.
Slash! Stab!
He swung desperately at another assassin leaping from the window.
“You walking corpse!”
The assassins used the bodies on the ground as landing pads and charged him. The coordinated assault from five directions was no easy task, even for Rood.
“Die, you monster!”
A voice came from a direction he hadn’t expected.
I missed one?
Rood sensed death approaching and loosened his grip on the sword for a moment.
No. I can’t end it like this.
He had to protect her. He refused to repeat the mistake he had made with Dale.
Yet the moment he realized the only person he needed to protect right now was himself, a bitter laugh escaped him.
“Fine. Let’s see who dies.”
Rood unleashed a storm of wild slashes at the assassins closing in. His blade carved through their bodies like paper. When he turned, the last survivor stood shaking, covered in blood, still clutching his sword.
“H-how… this is im—”
“Should’ve maintained your weapon properly!”
Rood’s sword split the terrified man vertically.
Hoo… is it over?
As the heat of battle faded, unbearable pain crashed over him. Each breath felt like an arrow in his side. His back burned as if on fire. He tried to turn toward the direction Isabelle had run, but his heavy body refused to move.
Rood clasped his hands together and prayed.
Please let her be safe.
It was the first time since Dale’s death that his hands had come together in prayer.
“Huk! Haaah!”
If I had known this would happen, I would have exercised at least a little.
Isabelle regretted her sedentary lifestyle. Regret wouldn’t create time for training now, but she hated her own helplessness. Would she have to live forever with a body that didn’t match her age? Even if she exercised, her condition would never truly improve.
She carried one great restriction, after all.
“Ouch!”
Pain flared in her ankle and she fell. It seemed she had twisted it slightly during the earlier fall.
Is Rood all right?
He had used the shrubs to cushion their landing, but he must have suffered serious injuries. If he couldn’t move, the assassins would kill him as easily as reaching for a cookie while lying down.
“Haa… found you.”
At the chilling voice, Isabelle spun around. An assassin in a black mask radiated killing intent.
“It’s over!”
The assassin drew a throwing dagger—then froze.
Crack.
The sound of a neck snapping came from behind him. Pete had arrived. He rushed to Isabelle and quickly examined her. Other than a slightly swollen ankle, she was unharmed.
“My lady, I failed to protect you. I am deeply sorry.”
“It’s all right, Pete. But Rood—!”
“Yes. The other guards should have finished cleaning up by now. Please do not worry.”
Though Pete spoke calmly, neither of them could know the true situation. Rood’s injuries were severe enough that any ordinary person would have been unable to move. Carrying Isabelle on his back, Pete returned to the mansion, praying that Rood would survive.
At least I didn’t die.
When Rood opened his eyes, the sharp smell of medicine made him squeeze them shut again. He was lying face-down. Moving was difficult, but he rolled his eyes to examine his surroundings.
Smoke-like vapor rose from his back. Turning his head slightly, he saw dozens of long, thin needles sticking out of him like a hedgehog. Beneath them, a thick paste of crushed herbs had been applied, and the burning herbs produced the smoke.
What the hell is this?
The unfamiliar sight left him genuinely bewildered.
“Ah, you’re awake. This is an Eastern therapy, so please be at ease.”
Rood turned the other way. A middle-aged man with a magnificent mustache and a robust build stood there.
“What is this situation?”
“With your body already poisoned, suffering this much trauma should have killed you. It seems my medical skills are truly exceptional, hoho.”
The man kept chattering. Irritation rising, Rood buried his face in the pillow while still lying prone.
“Lady Isabelle ordered me to save you no matter what. She said you saved her life twice.”
The man gave Rood a deep, respectful bow.
“Thank you. Since you are the benefactor of the Voenac family, you are also my great benefactor.”
“Enough of that. How often does this kind of thing happen in the Voenac household?”
The doctor answered, “This is the first time assassins have attacked in force. Individual attempts happen three or four times a month.”
Three to four times a month. But never on this scale. Rood fell into thought.
“This might be presumptuous, but the royal guards seem largely incompetent.”
The doctor laughed heartily. “Well, they may not impress you, but they are quite capable in their own right.”
“If the group that allowed assassins to infiltrate is considered capable, then scarecrows that can’t chase away birds must be elite soldiers.”
“Hoho! A fair hit. Ah, I am late in introducing myself. I am Moneck, the Voenac family’s personal physician.”
Rood turned his head and stared openly at Moneck. For a doctor, the man’s body was packed with solid muscle.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Ah, I suppose I am rather handsome, aren’t I?”
“That’s not it.”
Moneck laughed loudly again at Rood’s blunt response.
Knock, knock.
“May I enter?”
“Yes! Physician Moneck greets the acting head of the Voenac family!”
Moneck’s entire demeanor changed. He stood with perfect military discipline as he addressed Isabelle.
“Rood, thank you. Thanks to you, I still draw breath. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. More or less.”
“I have postponed your transfer for a week. Taking care of your body and healing completely must come first, don’t you think?”
“I will receive treatment, but the transfer is unnecessary.”
Isabelle tilted her head at his words. “Why is that?”
After everything that had happened, Rood had made up his mind. With such lax security and guards who couldn’t even assess situations properly, Isabelle would surely be assassinated soon.
“I will do it.”
“Do what? Surely you don’t mean…”
Rood answered without the slightest hesitation.
“I will become your guard knight. Not the sword that cuts, but the sword that protects.”
The man who had lived as a blade meant only for killing had decided. He would live as a blade that protected, like Dale. Rather than killing a hundred enemies, he would become a sword that saved the one behind him.
After long consideration, Isabelle answered.
“N-no! I forbid Rood from becoming a guard knight!”
Rood immediately felt his blood pressure spike.