Scarlett's Shattered Pride
The incident where the Southern lady, Scarlett Chernel, suffered a crushing defeat against Bellak during theology class quickly spread throughout the entire Rofan Academy.
For the Southern nobles—especially the Chernel family, who prided themselves as the sword of the South—it was an unparalleled humiliation, a disgrace that absolutely had to be washed away.
And the one who stepped forward for revenge was none other than Bellak's younger sister, the lady of the Chernel ducal house, Scarlett.
The very next day after the clash with Bellak, despite the thick sheets of rain pouring down, a girl with her red hair tied up stood in the center of the training grounds, glaring at me with eyes burning like fire.
Scarlett Chernel. Most players chose Tia Everett as their route, so they tended to like Scarlett, who was her close friend. But for me, who always played as Yuria Crescent, it was different.
Just as Scarlett played the role of the villainess tormenting Yuria when playing Tia's route, from Yuria's perspective, Scarlett was nothing more than one of the antagonists who bullied her.
So if I ranked the original heroines by personal affection, Scarlett would undoubtedly be dead last.
Having only seen her torment Yuria in the game countless times, there was no reason for me to feel any fondness toward her.
But one thing was certain: her swordsmanship was not to be underestimated.
Even if she was destined to suffer the same fate as Bellak just a few minutes from now.
“Harteon! As the sword of the South, I formally challenge you to a duel!”
Her shout pierced through the sound of the rain, echoing across the training grounds. Southern nobles, Northern nobles, and even those from neutral families all gathered as spectators.
For the North and South, it was a clear clash of pride. To the other freshmen, it was simply an entertaining spectacle.
Just like yesterday, I picked up a wooden sword and walked to the center of the training grounds.
“Here to avenge Bellak?”
“It's not because of that idiot! It's to crush your arrogance for insulting the swordsmanship of the South and shattering the Chernel blade!”
Like her brother, Scarlett drew her real sword. Unlike him, she was a genius who had already stepped over the threshold toward Sword Master.
But there was no need to fear her at all.
“Fine. I'll end it in three exchanges.”
“...What? Are you looking down on me?”
Scarlett's brow furrowed. It felt unfair to compare her to Bellak, but as expected of siblings, her reaction mirrored his expression perfectly.
Her face twisted in rage, Scarlett kicked off the ground and charged at me.
First exchange.
Her sword sliced through the rain, plummeting vertically toward me. The aura coating the blade was immensely heavy—a simple yet devastating strike.
But I didn't dodge. Instead, I raised my wooden sword horizontally and met her charging real sword head-on.
A heavy thud assaulted my eardrums as the shockwave swept through the training grounds, scattering the rain in all directions.
For the first time, shock filled her eyes, which had been clouded with anger and arrogance.
She, who stood at the cusp of Sword Master, had put everything into that downward slash—yet it was perfectly blocked, and my wooden sword hadn't budged an inch.
Second exchange.
I deflected her sword, sending it sliding toward the ground. As Scarlett's balance wavered, I thrust the hilt of my wooden sword sharply into her chest.
“Ugh!”
She barely blocked my attack with her sword's hilt, but the recoil forced her back five or six steps.
Her wrist, which had taken the blow on the hilt, trembled faintly.
“One more to go.”
“What kind of monstrous strength...!”
Sensing the crisis, Scarlett began channeling her aura to maximum output. A ferocious sword energy erupted from her blade like an explosion.
Her all-out strike hurtled toward me.
Third exchange.
Like Scarlett, I summoned my purple Fighting Spirit and unleashed a slow but weighty, oppressive strike.
Our auras clashed just like before, as if space itself screamed—but Scarlett's red sword energy began to be devoured by my purple one.
Finally, like a candle flame before a gale, her aura flickered out pathetically. My wooden sword slammed into the flat of her blade.
Scarlett cried out in pain and lost her grip. Her real sword spun through the air before embedding itself in the muddy ground slick with rainwater.
Just like her dignity as a swordswoman and her family's honor sinking into the filth, Scarlett collapsed to her knees in the mud, overwhelmed by humiliation.
Even the watching crowd fell silent in shock at the scene, as rain streamed down Scarlett's face like tears.
I brushed back my wet hair and approached her.
Scarlett looked up at me with empty eyes filled with humiliation, fear, and futility.
“Scarlett Chernel, not a bad sword. But you're too swayed by your emotions.”
I leaned down and whispered in her ear.
“Next time we cross blades, I hope you're stronger.”
Leaving Scarlett to collapse fully into the mud as her strength gave out, I turned and left the training grounds without a backward glance.
Right after the duel, I returned to my dorm room. Feeling sticky from the rain-soaked hair and clothes, I headed straight to the bathroom to wash up.
After drying my hair and changing into loungewear, just as I was about to pour some of the high-end wine provided by the academy for the heir of a grand ducal house—
Knock knock.
For the first time since possessing this game, the knock of my first visitor rang out.
And with a swordsman's keen senses alone, I instantly knew who it was.
“Come in.”
At my words, my first guest—the one whose pride as the South's sword I had shattered—opened the door and entered. Scarlett.
Whether it was her clothes caked in mud from collapsing on the training grounds or her drenched appearance dripping rainwater from head to toe, nothing about her didn't scream misery.
“...Young Duke.”
The Chernel siblings, representing the rival sword houses of North and South, had always called me just 'Harteon' out of rivalry—but for the first time, her tone held not arrogance or pride, but genuine courtesy.
“It's late. Why are you here? Looking for a rematch?”
“...No.”
Scarlett approached me as I sat and knelt three steps from my feet.
Unlike her earlier collapse in humiliation, this was a knee bent by her own will.
“Take me as your disciple.”
“...What?”
I paused mid-sip from my wine glass, caught off guard. I'd played Yuria's route hundreds of times, but Scarlett had always knelt as an enemy—never of her own accord to the North like this.
“When I heard Bellak lost, I thought that fool just got careless. But after crossing blades with you today, I get it. You're strong. ...And you've already reached a realm I might never touch in my lifetime. No swordsmanship from the South can catch up to yours.”
Her body trembled faintly. But it wasn't from the chill of her wet clothes or fear.
It was the thrill of encountering an overwhelming superior.
“I don't care about my family anymore, or the pride of being the South's sword. I want to get stronger. I want to learn swordsmanship under you.”
For the South's lady to bow her head to the North's grand duke and beg for sword lessons—it was undoubtedly humiliating.
But her resolve to become my disciple burned away all of that.
The instinct of a knight captivated by the strong, craving the strong one's blade.
That was why, in hundreds of game loops, she knelt to me for the first time.
“Begging the North's grand duke to take you as a disciple... Do you know what that means? It's blatant treason against the South.”
I set my wine glass on the table and looked down at her.
Her eyes wavered, but they burned with a mad hunger to grasp even a fragment of that overwhelming power.
“I don't care. My family's swordsmanship—everything in it—was defeated by yours. I want to learn that sword.”
Her will seemed firm, but it wasn't enough.
She bowed before me now, but her roots were in the South.
She'd be branded a traitor by her family and the entire South, her resolve constantly shaken. Or maybe she'd learn from me only to stab me in the back later.
“No, you're not ready yet. You're just begging to be taken as a disciple because you can't accept your first defeat. That's not respect for me as a master—it's just hunger for power. And when that hunger fades, you'll end up pointing your sword at me again.”
“That's not—!”
“Who knows. A master sees a disciple's true nature. And to me, you're still just an arrogant Southern lady.”
I spoke coldly and firmly.
“Go back, Scarlett. Think about it again when that flimsy pride of yours is completely shattered.”
“...Young Duke Harteon!”
Scarlett screamed my name repeatedly, but I didn't respond.
She sobbed for a long while before staggering out.
Scarlett's inner inferiority complex and obsession take root.
Scarlett's desire to earn your recognition grows stronger.
Shocked at being rejected even after kneeling, I collapsed onto the sofa without even changing out of my mud-caked clothes.
At the time I should have been receiving Harteon's tutelage, I was instead watching my idiot brother barge into my room, chugging straight from the bottle and bellowing in rage.
“Fuck, now the other nobles will mock the South! They'll say every Chernel is groveling at that bastard's feet! The name 'Sword of the South' has become a joke!”
Bellak hurled the bottle at the wall and roughly shook my shoulders.
He'd always burned with inferiority toward our eldest brother, the heir—but after losing to Kardel Harteon, it seemed like his berserk button had been permanently pressed.
Why did our family have to produce such a moron?
“Brother, enough. He beat both of us—we have to accept it...”
“Ha, accept? Accept? That bastard wasn't this strong last time I saw him! He must've used some forbidden sorcery! With Demon God Cult bastards infesting the land, it's no surprise the Harteon dogs picked up a dark spell or two in the chaos!”
I almost blurted out, 'That was over five years ago,' but swallowed it down.
Bellak let out a mad laugh and whispered in my ear.
“The imperial family is watching this closely too. They're wary of Harteon having that kind of power. Word is, they're already pulling in the neutral nobles from the shadows. I'm rallying the other Southern nobles around us too.”
The fool's voice dripped with a venomous glee, as if victory was already assured.
“That coward built his strength through dirty tricks anyway—I'll make sure he falls, no matter what it takes! Until that bastard kneels to me!”
His refusal to acknowledge a superior's skill, resorting to any means necessary—it seemed not just cowardly, but pathetic.
At the same time, an image flashed in my mind: Kardel standing like a mountain amid the rain, wrapped in purple aura.
Stupid brother. Harteon is in a realm we can't even touch yet, and all you can think of is dragging him down with petty schemes. If I could just glimpse that realm, I'd use any means necessary.
His cold voice echoed in my ears: You're still just an arrogant Southern lady.
The more he refused to acknowledge me, the more my defiance flared.
An obsessive determination to earn his recognition, no matter what.
If my brother and the South tried to take him down, I'd gladly move to protect him.
Go ahead and rampage all you want. I'll do anything to guard him.
A different kind of madness from Bellak's gleamed in my eyes.
Within Scarlett, a swordsman's pride transforms into 'devotion' toward you.