The Grand Summit (4)
These bastards all shared the exact same mindset: no one but themselves was allowed to lay a finger on me. They would have tried to kill him without a second thought for relations with the steppes.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You've talked long enough. Get on with it. Your spear will never even touch me."
"That's something you only know after trying! Don't look down on a warrior of the steppes!"
Wild Orkan charged at me with everything he had.
Yeah. He charged with everything he had. But to my eyes—the eyes of the one they once called the Sword Saint—every single movement of that spear was laid bare.
Really no fun. No thrills either.
Clash. Clang. Clash—clang!
Clang! Screech—clang!
After we had traded blows like that for a while—dozens of exchanges, easily—I still hadn't attacked once. Against someone pouring on a fierce assault, lightly turning aside every strike was far better than jabbing back. From the outside it showed the gulf in skill without looking arrogant.
And I did it all with one hand.
"One hand? How little do you think of people?"
"Because one hand is plenty. Why should I bother with full courtesy toward a bastard who already insulted me?"
"Kugh—Hiyah!"
CRACK!
In a single instant I shattered his spear.
"You can't even control your own strength and just flail the spear around. Nothing but wasted power, relying solely on brute force, spear and hand moving like they belong to different people. And this is the chieftain of the Turka?"
"Are you mocking me? To heap this kind of humiliation on the tribes of the steppes!"
"And what about the humiliation I took earlier? Come on. Pick up another spear."
Orkan snatched a fresh spear from a palace maid, still huffing and glaring.
Yeah. That's how you come at me.
CLANG!
And it broke again. This wasn't even a fight. On a real battlefield Orkan would already be a corpse, and I would just be the idiot soldier who kept handing the enemy free chances. The only difference was that I possessed overwhelming martial power.
"Well, that settles it rather cleanly."
"Indeed. To think the young lady of Ashtar possessed skill of this caliber."
"Duke Ashtar. Honestly, we assumed she became Saint on the family's prestige alone. Yet she has the spirit of a true heroine. How enviable."
All sorts of comments drifted from behind me.
The nobles, especially, were clearly revising their opinion of me on the spot. Of course they had been. Saint was family influence; Taesa was just the Emperor's little joke. But then she actually showed real skill?
A person's impression can flip in a single heartbeat.
"No! My brother could never be defeated so helplessly! This is an Empire fabrication!"
"Hold your tongue, younger sister of the chieftain! Raising your voice in His Majesty's presence?"
"Otherwise how could our brother—the greatest warrior of the steppes—"
Even the little sister was crying foul. Tsk. The other tribal chieftains who had come along were the real pitiful ones now.
"Atali, was it?"
"Ugh… y-yes, Y-Your Majesty the Emperor."
Ah. Nothing settles an anger-management problem like someone even stronger. No matter how green the nomad, they still had to bow their head before the Emperor.
"The world is vast. Strong ones are many. The steppes are little more than a narrow well. Your brother may be the greatest warrior of the steppes, but he is far from the greatest on the continent."
Verbal violence like that still felt a bit rough on the kid, though.
"B-but archery still remains!"
Right. Archery was still left. Ah, I'd almost forgotten.
But could this bastard actually shoot properly?
Yeah. Probably the exact same way they did on the steppes—mounted archery as the default.
So we held the contest.
No real need to describe it. Complete victory for me again.
Whether it was hitting targets from a fixed stance or from horseback, I crushed him in every category.
The skill levels themselves were roughly even. Strength might have been different, but under the rules—hitting fixed targets with arrows—technique was comparable. In a match like that, the first one to tire simply loses.
Which made it hilarious.
Because men have superior stamina, the idiot had been certain he would win.
"Huff… huff… huff…"
Orkan already stood before me completely spent, gasping. His face was painted with humiliation and pure shame.
Of course it was. These nomads—especially the men—despised being weaker than a woman more than anything. Looking down on women and believing men were always the stronger sex was simply their common sense.
Moments like this made me genuinely grateful I was a woman.
Right? I could deliver a far deeper humiliation than I ever could have as a man.
"So this is all you amount to after all."
The Turka tribesmen had all gone silent as if their mouths were stuffed with honey. The other steppe peoples didn't look any happier either. Even if relations between them weren't great, deep down they had still hoped he would uphold the pride of the steppes. Instead he had been wrecked like garbage.
Anyway, this was the steppes' defeat, pure and simple, with nothing more that needed touching.
Duke Ashtar found the entire situation strangely unsettling.
"Kahahaha! So he set his sights on an Imperial duke's daughter and ended up looking like a complete fool. Wouldn't you say so, Duke?"
"Quite so."
"To be frank, we were rather worried. She is still a young lady, after all. A contest against those steppe ruffians? Skill aside, it simply wasn't proper."
"And she scratched that itch most satisfyingly, did she not?"
"Indeed, indeed. Truly worthy of Ashtar blood."
The nobles of the Ashtar faction piled on praise after praise, yet the Duke himself only felt that his daughter looked alien.
Yes. It had started that day—when she first stood before him, spoke clearly and without fear. Something had already felt wrong then.
He had slapped her cheek, but that brief sting was nothing compared to this.
He had genuinely intended to treat her well from now on. Yet the daughter he watched today… was she even the Olivia he knew?
Just who is my daughter?
People change after great shocks—he had heard that. Change was possible. But not like this. Combat ability did not simply bloom overnight.
To master swordsmanship and archery enough to force a steppe chieftain to his knees would take years at minimum. No matter how little attention he had paid, he knew perfectly well that his daughter had never devoted herself to martial arts.
And it wasn't fraud. It wasn't magic either. Magic would have been spotted instantly. She had reportedly shown outstanding skill even in Atelina, and that clearly hadn't been empty packaging.
Then what about Crad Castle…?
Had she personally brought Crad Castle down as well?
To call it mere military talent felt insufficient. She was some strange existence gifted by the heavens themselves.
No wonder the Emperor had made her Taesa in earnest rather than as a joke.
Duke Ashtar glanced sideways at Katrina, who had been watching their daughter's performance the entire time.
"Hey."
"Yes. Speak."
"Doesn't Olivia seem… off? I decided to make up for everything I never did for her, yet I always knew she never put real effort into sword or bow—only magic."
"What does it matter? She is our Olivia, is she not?"
Even Katrina's simple "as long as she's Olivia, everything is fine" felt faintly terrifying. Still, the Duke's instincts screamed at him.
Yes. She was his daughter. And yet… a strangely different daughter.
Something must have happened on the day of the broken engagement.
Aslan had already been publicly humiliated by her; maybe the Duke should just snatch him away and interrogate him privately.
Even if I was indifferent… this is too much.
She had changed too completely—almost like another person entirely. He couldn't possibly fail to notice.
Something was wrong. If she had always been like this, then he really had been a complete fool who knew nothing about his own daughter.
Was this truly something he could just let slide?
He knew she wanted distance from the family. That was why he had allowed her free rein under the titles of Saint and Taesa while still keeping the Ashtar name on her.
Have I simply never known my daughter at all?
The more he looked, the more that explanation seemed correct. Only then would this bizarre feeling—that someone else was mixed inside his daughter—make any sense.
But first…
Wasn't she getting far too close to the Emperor for no good reason?
Now that he thought about it, people said the Emperor preferred women over men—so much so that some joked the Emperor of the Empire must actually be a woman himself. Past and present, the Emperor favored women.
And Olivia showed no interest in men, had become Taesa, and was now standing right up against him so openly…
At her age? Touching a duke's daughter?
No. That couldn't be it. The Emperor wasn't that much of an idiot. Liking women was one thing, but anyone with a shred of conscience wouldn't lay hands on a girl the same age as his own children—especially one who had until recently been a candidate for his daughter-in-law.
So what was I supposed to do from here?
I had already gone and done it, and as Taesa of a great nation I had publicly humiliated someone right in front of everyone. Maybe I should feel a little sorry.
Nah. There were other steppe tribes present, so it wasn't really a problem. They were basically all one big family. No reason for any of them to feel particularly embarrassed. The fact that the steppes participated in the Grand Council at all meant they acknowledged the Imperial family as the elder brother. From the Empire's side, it was nothing more than taking care of some freeloading younger siblings.
"Well then. Do you acknowledge defeat? Or shall we spill blood here the way the steppes prefer?"
"I acknowledge defeat."
Good. That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
Then, as the victor, I would make one request of the loser—a request he had no choice but to accept.
"Fine. But as the winner, I have one request of the loser."
"Speak."
Yeah. Speak or not, you're going to listen either way.
"Manage your tribe properly. Coming all the way to the elder brother's country just to make such a disgrace of yourselves? You don't seriously intend to spit on the face of the entire Steppe Coalition, do you?"
Did they not realize this wasn't just a matter of losing face—it was their necks on the line?
"I… I understand."
Whether he truly understood or not, the way he ground his teeth was almost poignant. Still, he had sown this mess himself; he would have to reap it. No other choice.
"As expected of the Taesa. Truly worthy of being the Emperor's teacher."
"You flatter me."
Calling me the Emperor's teacher was a bit much. Just "Saint" would have been plenty. The way people were looking at me from every direction wasn't particularly friendly either.
"I cannot express how fortunate I am that you are my Taesa."
"Hahaha."
Yeah. Life was just like that sometimes.
After that there wasn't much left worth watching.
To be blunt, from the moment I took Orkan down, every steppe warrior—regardless of tribe—went limp like rotten potatoes. Orkan had probably been the biggest name in the entire Steppe Coalition. Once he lost, the rest of them just wilted.
In his place…
"Might this humble one pour a cup for His Majesty's Taesa?"
"Go ahead."
"I am deeply honored."
The steppe tribes actually started lining up to offer me drinks.
That was the steppe way: show respect to the strong. Submit to the strong. Unlike Orkan, most of them kept their heads down inside the Empire, yet plenty of tribes still followed their steppe instincts even here.
But seriously—why?
No, seriously—why? Why are you pouring me alcohol? Force-feed the Emperor instead! This woman is clearly hiding some ridiculous amount of power!