Crushing the Jealous Rival
In true romance fantasy fashion, my final item on the itinerary was to seek out Kalia and offer her my thanks. When you got right down to it, it was because of her that I'd made it here in one piece.
The moment I stepped down from the carriage, I asked the butler who had come out to greet us about Kalia's whereabouts, with Khan guiding me. The butler directed us to the Knight Commander's office—a place I rarely had reason to visit. Since I didn't know the way well, I followed Khan's lead as we set off.
Khan and I walked down the corridor in silence. Then, just as I spotted Kalia in the distance and my heart lifted with joy, ready to call out a greeting—
"Well, well, if it isn't Squire Kalia."
A shrill, tinkling voice shattered the quiet of the hallway. The sharp cry mercilessly tore through the silence.
At the end of the corridor where the voice came from, a group of women in uniforms had Kalia cornered, strutting about with smug arrogance.
"What are your orders, young master? Just say the word, and I'll drag those insolent wenches out of here in no time."
Khan, unable to hold back any longer, murmured his suggestion low in my ear. His eyes burned with the intent to haul the women out right then and there.
But I lightly raised a hand to stop him. Even as rage boiled up to the pit of my stomach, I watched coldly to see how far this woman would cross the line.
She's not doing this for the first time... It's because it's Kalia. There's got to be a fundamental way to resolve this...
She was the knight whose arm had been broken saving my life. And now, standing there unable to properly hold her injured arm, Kalia faced the woman's sneering mockery, as if the bitch had already won.
Watching the woman's agitated gestures contrast with Kalia's impassive profile, I felt something inside me settle into an icy calm.
Khan, standing beside me, seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation too; he fell silent, observing intently.
Just earlier that day, after meeting Mary and sharing stories about Ron—honoring his memory—my mood had lightened considerably. On the way back from sharing the grief of losing someone dear, my mind had been filled with thoughts of how best to thank Kalia for getting hurt while protecting me.
But now, that mood had plummeted back to rock bottom, all because of this noisy shrew's screeching.
"......"
I pressed my lips into a tight line. The warm memories I'd just shared with Mary and the lingering sorrow for Ron felt tainted by this woman.
The first bit of warmth I've felt in this damn romance fantasy...
I couldn't stand by any longer and let her dismiss Kalia's devotion as incompetence or use my well-being as a tool for her own social climbing with that flippant mouth of hers. And at this point, there was no need to hold back anymore.
I lowered the hand that had restrained Khan and reached for a handkerchief. But I had given mine to Mary earlier when she was crying, so I had nothing on me. I extended my hand to Khan beside me, borrowing his instead.
He handed it over without a word, as if he already knew exactly what I intended to do. Then, in a low whisper:
"No need to return it."
His words implied the handkerchief would soon be discarded after wiping away something filthy.
I gave a small nod in acknowledgment and stepped out from the dark shadows of the corridor that had concealed me, my footsteps deliberate.
My shoe heels struck the marble floor with a dull, rhythmic thud. With each step, Rona's voice grew quieter by degrees.
"That's quite the gracious statement."
I cut into their conversation with a voice as cold as the depths. My words said it was gracious, but my eyes and expression said otherwise.
Right, daughter of Count Scott...
Thanks to having to pretend to have amnesia and endure the home tutor's forced cram sessions, I'd dredged the painful memory to recall her name.
Whether she lacked situational awareness or her arrogance from the count's name blinded her, I couldn't tell. My voice upon appearing must have carried a chill, yet she failed to register the odd dissonance.
She even seemed delighted, as if I were there to take her side, her thin lips parting for some fake platitude.
"Who—oh! Young Master Kasian! This incompetent—"
Her hand, pointing accusingly at Kalia, froze mid-air. As my gaze reached it, Rona finally seemed to catch on. Her friends trembled in fear too.
I didn't know what my face looked like, but even the swaggering Rona, mid-insult, clamped her mouth shut without finishing her sentence.
The light chatter that had filled the corridor vanished, leaving only a silence so thick no one dared breathe.
I was the one who broke it.
"I had no idea you had the discernment to judge who was fit to be my guard knight. Where does that confidence come from, eyeing my side without my permission?"
I felt no need to treat Rona Scott with noble courtesy—or even basic human decency—anymore.
At my words, all color drained from Rona's face.
"Th-that's..."
She stammered, unable to form a coherent response. The shrill voice from before was gone without a trace; her thin lips quivered pathetically.
As my gaze traveled slowly from her pointing finger up to lock onto her eyes, she froze like a small beast before a massive predator. Her friends behind her, their earlier leisure evaporated, bowed their heads and held their breath.
"Cat got your tongue?"
I prompted her, clutching the borrowed handkerchief.
"Didn't you just call her an 'incompetent' knight? The one who saved my life and broke her arm in the process. I'm curious about your standards."
My quiet question sliced into Rona's pride sharper than any whip.
She finally seemed to realize things weren't going her way.
I pressed on relentlessly.
"Didn't you claim to be superior to Kalia? But this... you look leagues behind her."
I deliberately kept invoking Kalia's name to provoke her. Even with just the snippet of conversation I'd overheard, the ugly emotion in Rona's eyes was plain as day.
She harbored a deep inferiority complex toward Kalia. Whether it was Kalia's talent as a knight, or the trust I placed in her—whatever it was, Rona was primed to flip out at the mere sight of Kalia's shadow.
The solution was simple: elevate the very person Rona most wanted to tear down.
"Talent, skill, character—by my eyes, you don't even reach the tip of Kalia's toe."
My words stabbed into Rona's heart like a blade. Each time "Kalia" passed my lips, her face twitched in spasms.
The moment I voiced the reality she'd desperately denied, her pride crumbled into ruins.
I toyed with the handkerchief still, glaring icily at Rona as tears of humiliation welled in her eyes.
It was obvious. Given her behavior, I could imagine the low-grade venom she'd spewed at Kalia every time they crossed paths.
Whether out of pride or grievance, Rona's lips kept flapping even as her eyes glistened with tears.
I'd borrowed the handkerchief from Khan with this in mind, but if she sincerely apologized now, I was prepared to let her off with just being chased away—no public humiliation.
But my barbs had hit too precisely. Instead of begging forgiveness, she clung to her pathetic pride.
And truthfully, deep down, I hoped she wouldn't apologize.
Her crude, vulgar outburst defiled the quiet corridor.
"Did I do something wrong?! That bitch is the one blinding you, Young Master Kasian! Tricking everyone with that body of hers. How else could such an incompetent slut become your guard knight?!"
Before Rona's scream-laced tirade could fully end, the air in the corridor froze solid.
A chilling metallic ring echoed from Khan's sword sheath beside me, and the women behind her stifled screams as they backed away.
Not even a bitter laugh escaped me.
'Tricking with that body'?
Recalling Kalia's crushed arm for saving me, her knight's uniform splattered in blood, something inside me finally snapped.
I checked Kalia's expression first, but she showed no reaction. As if she were used to it.
For some reason, that pissed me off even more.
"......"
Without a word, I clenched the borrowed handkerchief in my fist and took a step forward—right up to Rona.
She huffed in outrage but trembled with fear as I closed in.
I stared at her lips like they were filthy sludge and murmured low.
"Is that dirty mouth of yours insulting my judgment... or challenging my house? If you can't prove otherwise, I'll ask your father, Count Scott, myself."
The white handkerchief in my hand filled Rona's vision.
She hadn't yet realized this was the death knell for her social life—or perhaps her entire family's downfall.
Perfect for making an example.
To show what happens when you touch my people.
I flung the handkerchief at Rona.