The True Villainess Niece Prevails
Finally, the day of Liriet and Abel's duel had arrived.
Having completed ten grueling days of training, Liriet turned in a little early to fine-tune her condition.
"Pant. Pant…."
To her left and right, like the Azure Dragon of the East and White Tiger of the West, lay her steadfast friends and comrades.
On her right was the rabbit doll Bell, which she clutched dearly.
On her left was her battle-worn wooden sword.
"Uncle…."
Even in her dreams now, she sought out her uncle, acting spoiled toward him.
Using the rabbit doll as a surrogate for his embrace, she nuzzled her face against it and squeezed with all her might.
It was a scene of pure cuteness violence—the kind that could stop Baal's heart dead if he saw it. Liriet was unconsciously staging the perfect embodiment of the term.
Creak…
Just when the room seemed nothing but peaceful, an uninvited guest slipped in.
Opening the door with utmost stealth to muffle any sound, the intruder crept inside on tiptoe.
Soon, the dim moonlight filtering through the window revealed the figure's face.
It was Abel, Liriet's older brother.
She's sleeping like a log, totally off guard.
Seeing his little sister slumbering so carefree, oblivious to the world's malice, made his blood boil.
How dare a failed product of the Argent family…
Steal the Sword Saint's favor right out from under me.
I should have been the one chosen.
In truth, the Sword Saint himself meant little to him.
What Abel craved was the prestige tied to that title.
Just claiming he'd trained under the man would let him lord it over his peers. The young ladies from other houses would gaze at him with starry eyes.
The mere thought sent shivers of exhilaration through his body.
Even just ten days ago, he'd been dreaming of a bright pink future.
Then this clueless sister had ruined it all.
She must have been secretly hoping for it too. Why else would she accept so eagerly?
Anyone with proper respect—reverence, deference—for her big brother would have declined once and yielded the spot.
Her failure to do so screamed defiance.
Or perhaps it was baseless arrogance, delusions that she was worthy of the Sword Saint's tutelage.
As the Argent family's eldest son and heir, Abel could never tolerate such insolence.
The former was a crime of challenging her brother and future head.
The latter, presumptuous hubris beyond her station.
Either way, as her brother, he had a duty to discipline this deficient girl and set her straight.
I'm too magnanimous for my own good.
Not abandoning even a flawed sister like this, but guiding her to repentance.
Abel marveled at his own boundless tolerance.
Surely, if his mother heard of this, she'd shower him with praise as her exemplary son.
Right—gotta wrap this up quick and get out.
Snapping back to reality, Abel fished something from inside his clothes.
It resembled weathered parchment.
Scrawled across it in nearly illegible script was a magic incantation.
Fragility (2nd Circle)
Drastically reduces an object's durability while preserving its appearance.
A magic scroll—one he'd whined to Kasdia for days until she secretly procured it.
It didn't contain any grand spell.
Scrolls typically held magic no higher than 3rd Circle at most.
And this one's spell, Fragility, was a paltry 2nd Circle at best.
Its effect was straightforward.
Maintain the exterior while slashing the item's structural integrity.
His plan: Apply it to the wooden sword Liriet always carried.
Lots of other options, but this feels right.
He'd originally schemed something more direct, like laxatives in her food, but pivoted here.
The reason was simple.
To give her a proper, unforgettable lesson.
Sabotaging the duel outright would hand him victory on a platter, but it wouldn't instill true fear in her.
So, let the duel proceed—but rig it so her sword shattered before his eyes, dooming her to abject defeat.
And the biggest reason of all?
It's just cooler this way.
He'd been inspired by a novel scene where the hero smashed the villain's sword to bits, basking in the crowd's cheers.
Tomorrow, spectators would flock to watch.
Brandishing identical family-issued wooden swords, he'd crush her through sheer power before them all.
The fantasy alone was thrilling, cathartic.
"Mm…."
"…?!"
Lost in his premature victory high, Abel froze as Liriet stirred awake.
Bzzz.
Startled, he hastily unfurled the scroll and activated the spell.
Purple light seeped into the wooden sword. Confirmed, he bolted from the room.
Only once Abel vanished into the corridor's shadows did another presence emerge.
Shh…
A shadowy figure, camouflaged against the wall, revealed itself.
"Heard the young master and young lady are dueling today?"
"They've sparred plenty. What's the big deal?"
"No, this ain't just practice. Word is, young master Abel…."
The next morning, rumors spread among the staff, drawing them one by one to the training grounds.
Shirking duties was unforgivable for servants.
Yet Kasdia—who'd arrived first and claimed the best seat—overlooked it entirely.
Why squander the chance to parade Liriet's humiliation before everyone?
"We'll begin the duel now. Take your positions on either side."
"Yes."
"Yes!"
Unlike Liriet's faintly tense expression, Abel's voice brimmed with vigor. He grinned smugly as he stepped to the marked line.
"Rules are simple: First to concede defeat loses. If things get excessively violent, I'll intervene and call it. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Their replies overlapped. Oden raised his hand.
"Then… begin!"
Crack!
A sharp impact rang out the instant the signal dropped.
Their wooden swords met in midair before snapping back to starting positions.
"Oh ho, not bad at all, Liriet. Reacting to that?"
He'd thrown a casual test thrust.
Abel's lips curled in a sneer at her unexpectedly sharp response.
His tone dripped with condescension, affirming his superiority.
But Liriet merely extended her sword with calm composure.
Thud! Crack!
"…?!"
Just two thrusts.
Yet Abel's smug face crumbled in an instant.
Fast!
Liriet's hands moved at an uncanny speed.
The thrust itself was somehow manageable.
But the recovery and follow-up? On another level entirely.
No preparatory stance at all.
His reaction lagged just enough for her wooden sword to graze his shoulder.
Seizing the opening, Abel counterattacked with identical double thrusts—your turn to taste it.
But,
Clang! Swoosh!
"What?!"
She blocked the first.
On the second's timing, she shoved her shoulder forward and closed in, toppling his balance instead.
"Guh!"
Exploiting the gap, her wooden sword struck his left arm.
A pained groan escaped Abel's lips.
"Ah, Abel!"
"Please don't interfere. Have a seat, sister-in-law."
Kasdia jolted to her feet in shock, but Baal's gesture restrained her. She sank back down.
"Damn it!"
Humiliated at taking a hit from this sister, Abel gnashed his teeth and swung wide.
Liriet had overextended for her own big attack, exposing a gap.
She can't dodge this.
"Huh!"
"She—she dodged that…?!"
But Liriet leaned back dramatically, her sword grazing a hair's breadth from her nose tip—a flawless distance calculation.
Astonished murmurs erupted from the onlookers.
A faint smile tugged at Baal's lips.
Doesn't matter. Drag it out, and her sword shatters first.
Though inwardly anxious, Abel recalled last night's handiwork and flashed a venomous grin.
He shifted to pure defense.
Waiting for her wooden sword's durability to give out, focusing solely on clashes.
They'd exchanged blades over twenty times now, yet Liriet's sword showed not even a crack.
Damn it! Why won't it break?!
Frustration mounting, Abel ground his teeth.
Did the scroll fail?
No—he'd gotten two just in case and tested them.
Unlikely.
Only one option left.
"Hah, huff… Liriet."
"Hoo… Yes, brother."
Dozens of exchanges had pushed their bodies to the brink. Ragged breaths spilled first from their mouths.
Liriet steadied her stance and awaited his words.
Distancing himself, he opened with a sleazy smirk.
"This tug-of-war's wearing me out. How about we settle it with one final clash?"
"One clash…."
"Pour everything into a single strike. Of course, if you're scared, you can run."
"…."
The blatant taunt made Liriet's brow twitch.
With spectators watching.
Refusing here meant whispers of "wins without swordsman's pride," victory hollow.
Above all, she couldn't bear fleeing before her revered uncle.
"All right. Let's do it."
Stupid bitch!
As Liriet nodded, Abel's eyes gleamed. He reset his stance.
Pulling the Argent honor card, was she?
This idiot sister had no clue it was her fatal mistake.
Honor was meaningless before victory.
He'd have refused and capitalized on the advantage.
Figures—she's never known honor, so she clings to the illusion.
Liriet distanced herself, inhaling deeply.
Abel watched with cold eyes, channeling every ounce of remaining strength into his sword.
She'd held out impressively, but her limit was near.
This strike would pulverize that irritating sword and hand her utter defeat.
"Here I come, brother."
"Bring it!"
Liriet struck first. Abel charged simultaneously.
No thought of evasion or guard.
Both knew this was the endgame, swinging solely to fell the foe with this blow.
In that instant, Abel glimpsed the future in his mind's eye.
Liriet's sword snapping in two. Her staring in hollow despair.
Crunch!
Their blades finally collided.
Followed by a feeble thunk as something arced into Abel's view.
I win!
Shards from the broken wooden sword.
Grinning like a victor, Abel shifted his gaze to rewind and savor that vision.
"…Huh?"
But an entirely different scene unfolded.
Why?
Liriet's wooden sword hurtling toward him.
And conversely—his blade lay shattered.
Thwack!
"Argh!"
His body slammed into the ground with an undignified thud.
No strength left; his limbs trembled uncontrollably as he struggled to rise. Futile.
His mind still reeled in shock.
"Winner: Liriet Argent!"
Winner: Liriet Argent
Oden strode forward, hoisting Liriet's hand high and declaring the result in a resounding, impartial bellow.
Lifting his head amid the despair of utter defeat, Abel's eyes caught something.
Huh?
The base of his bisected wooden sword hilt.
And etched upon it—a cute floral pattern he'd never drawn.