Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: 7. The Weight of Proof
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Sabak. Sabak.
Her frame wasn't particularly large compared to others, so her strides weren't wide either.
Even so, Celine was hurrying more than anyone else.
'If you're going to demand proof from me, then prove it yourself this time. Celine.'
Kkaduk.
Brother, even without you saying it, I already...
"...I know."
Leaving Evan behind, Celine stepped out of the training grounds. Her footsteps carried the weight of a firm resolution.
Morning sunlight gently illuminated her silver hair,
but her usually impeccable face was shrouded in deep shadows.
The haughty, cold demeanor she always wore was gone, replaced by the fragile image of a girl on the verge of collapse.
She herself was unaware of it, to that extent.
Her mind was in an unstable state right now.
'Prove it with your actions.'
His final words lingered in her ears.
Just like how she had fled the training grounds without any response.
That casual remark, tossed out indifferently,
had pierced her heart like a dagger.
Sabak. Sabak.
"...I know."
Her steps toward the main building showed no hesitation.
Her resolve was set.
No, from the start, she had no other choice.
To mobilize the reserve forces stationed in the family estate.
And to save the family head and her younger brother, she had to act.
"Young Lady, breakfast..."
"No need."
The head butler she encountered in the corridor spoke politely,
but Celine spat it out without even glancing at him.
Even the seasoned butler involuntarily stepped aside at her unusually menacing aura.
"Y-Young Lady? Is something..."
Even when passing knights called out to her with puzzled expressions, she walked on silently as if she couldn't hear them.
Her mind was filled with only one thought right now.
'I did this to you.'
With every step,
every time she descended the stairs, she had always hesitated and regretted.
Thoughts of Evan and bitter remorse tightened around her heart.
"..."
Kkiiik.
As she descended the stairs into the cold underground corridor, damp and chilly air brushed her cheek.
At the end of the corridor, where lanterns sporadically lit the darkness,
a massive iron door stood firmly shut.
The family head's private armory.
The heart of the Dreadnote Family.
Celine stopped in front of the iron door and placed her hand on the cold handle.
"Ha... haha."
A self-mocking hollow laugh escaped her lips.
What she was about to do violated the family's laws.
It was an act of betrayal against her father, the family head.
Something the usual her would never do.
But.
'Brother is...'
Once again, the old memory that tormented her every day.
Before the bastard label was attached,
back when he was just a kind brother and she a pure little sister.
Her brother wielding a wooden sword, clumsily showing off his swordsmanship as he declared he'd become a knight.
Her younger self clapping, saying he was the coolest in the world.
When had that small happiness started to shatter?
As the gazes around her grew colder and her father's eyes turned icy, brother changed.
The spark left his eyes, and a bottle of liquor replaced the wooden sword in his hand.
She had watched the entire process.
She wanted to reach out every time but couldn't.
No, she didn't.
She thought pitying him meant acknowledging the family's shame.
She believed turning her back and treating him coldly was the right thing as a daughter of Dreadnote.
That it was because she feared the family and her father.
When she realized it was a cowardly excuse to hide her own weakness,
it was already too late.
"It was me... who made you like that."
With those self-deprecating words, a hot tear rolled down her cheek.
Bitter self-loathing and regret wrung her heart.
She knew it herself.
His words asking her to go to the battlefield together.
How absurd they were to him.
Even if she didn't fight directly, it meant standing against the unstoppable momentum of the descending barbarians.
She had already anticipated the journey wouldn't be smooth.
No matter her presence, the family knights wouldn't obediently follow his orders.
Yet Evan had accepted her request.
Brother had changed.
Instead of abandoning his broken self,
he was rising again, swinging his sword alone in the training grounds at dawn when no one noticed.
Even the cynicism and calculated attitude he'd shown her,
looking back now, felt like the thorns of a wounded beast protecting itself.
Then it was her turn to break the family's laws for him.
She thought it was the only atonement she could offer.
Celine wiped her tears and drew a small keyring from her waist with resolute eyes.
A master key she had secretly duplicated from the butler's room out of curiosity long ago.
"I thought I'd never use it in my lifetime..."
Cheolk. Cheolk.
After several tries, the heavy lock clicked open.
Before entering, she took a final deep breath to steel herself, then pushed the massive iron door with both hands.
Kkiiiiiik.
The long-sealed door opened with a chilling friction sound.
From the gap flowed dust-scented air and a sharp, honed chill.
The armory interior was impeccably maintained, far beyond the outside.
Dozens of swords, spears, and axes lined the walls.
Even to her, an outsider to cold weapons, they were visibly extraordinary.
Each one was surely a masterpiece forged by the finest artisans of the era.
But Celine's gaze fixed on only one place.
At the deepest part of the armory, on a velvet-covered pedestal, stood a single sword proudly.
A black scabbard with a faint blue glow on the obsidian blade.
No ornate decorations, but the overwhelming pressure emanating from the sword itself dominated all other weapons.
'Nightfrost, was it...?'
A distant memory surfaced: her father, Count Dreadnote, holding her hand and showing it to her when she was very young.
The sword bearing the legend of the founding family head slaying a barbarian great chieftain and crafting it from the fangs of his mount.
A treasured sword that only the family head could possess, a symbol of the house.
Now kept stored rather than used in battle.
Celine approached the pedestal without hesitation and carefully lifted the cold, heavy treasured sword with both hands.
A chilling sensation transmitted from her palms straight to her heart.
When the sword left the pedestal and entered her arms,
its weight was burdensome for her slender arms, but she gritted her teeth and endured.
'...Prove it. Your desperation.'
There could be no surer proof than this.
She hugged the sword to her chest and quietly left the armory.
+ + +
Chwaaak!
Drenched in sweat, I poured another bucket of water over my head.
As the cold stream ran from head to toe, the boiling heat subsided a bit.
"She should be coming soon."
I shook off my wet hair roughly and glanced at the training ground entrance.
Having anticipated her resolve, I was certain she wouldn't return empty-handed.
But I didn't know exactly when, so
I couldn't just wait idly.
I resumed my interrupted training.
Instead of the broken wooden sword, I picked up a suitable stick from the ground and repeated the sword forms engraved in the Black King's memories.
Simply put, imprinting the sensation of body and sword becoming one into instinct.
[My lord. Do you plan to keep waiting?]
Borin's low voice came from the shadows.
"Of course."
[But that wench earlier... my apologies. Given your sister's demeanor, it seems unlikely she'll return.]
"She might seem that way on the surface."
I chuckled.
To Borin, it probably looked like a prideful noble lady had been insulted and left.
"Don't worry. She'll come."
Borin said no more at my confident reply.
With my sweat cooled, as I bent to pick up the discarded stick to continue,
sabak. sabak.
Footsteps sounded again at the training ground entrance.
Heavy yet cautious steps, as if carrying a burden.
"Haa..."
I stopped my motion and turned toward the entrance.
There stood Celine.
In her arms, struggling, was a sword in a black scabbard nearly as large as her body.
Her slender arms trembled under the weight, her pale face beaded with cold sweat.
Yet her eyes didn't waver in the slightest.
She staggered forward resolutely to me.
And with her last strength, she set the sword down at my feet.
Kung.
A heavy thud kicked up dust.
"I... brought it."
She gasped.
Her voice was exhausted, but laced with relief at having accomplished it.
"The answer... you wanted, Brother."
I silently looked down at the sword on the ground.
Obsidian scabbard, emblazoned with the Dreadnote family crest.
No need to draw it; the cold, sharp aura pricking my skin told me.
'Nightfrost.'
The Dreadnote Family's treasured sword.
In the original story, after the family head died, Heron Dreadnote, left alone to block the invasion, used it once in his final battle against Imir—a symbol of the house.
I could barely imagine the resolve it took her to bring this,
the risks she took.
Considering her personality that valued laws and rules, it must have been far from easy.
I slowly bent down and picked up the sword.
The substantial weight and cold grip felt satisfying.
"Good work."
I lifted the sword lightly with one hand and said to her.
Unlike its appearance, it was much heavier than expected, but within my calculations.
Celine's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the sight.
"Now it's time for me to keep my promise."
I passed by her toward the outside of the training grounds.
"Get ready. We leave before sunset."
"...Where are we going?"
"Where else? The place you want."
I stopped and turned back to her with a grin.
"Gotta go hunting. Catch those rabid mongrels."