A Distorted Fate (3)
One month before the spirit herb theft incident.
“Crunch……”
Sara Brace was peeking at the training grounds from behind a massive oak pillar.
“Huff, huff! One more time, please!”
“This should be enough for today.”
Far off in the faint dawn mist, she spied on a man and woman clashing swords.
Wh-what the hell? Why is Lady Iris teaching that fat pig…!
The man receiving her guidance was none other than the family's disgrace, the irredeemable fat slob wastrel, Sian Brace.
“Urk!”
Nausea welled up. She had a weak stomach to begin with, and the sight of Sian rolling around with his belly fat spilling out didn't help.
I wondered why she kept turning down my daily lesson requests, but it was all because of that human scum!
The woman she admired beyond all others was giving personal dawn training every day to that lump of lard!
Sara's guts burned pitch-black with rage.
Until recently, she had been the one receiving even a sliver of Iris's teachings. Not as an official disciple, but… she was absolutely convinced Iris had taken notice of her swordsmanship talent.
And now, that exalted position had been snatched by that filthy fat pig?
“Look over there. Again today.”
“It's been a whole month already? What does Young Master Sian really have going for him?”
The secretive whispers of passing maids wormed into Sara's sharp ears.
“But isn't it kinda weird? Why would the lofty Sword Fairy keep a wastrel like that around…”
“Tell me about it. What if the young master’s got some fatal weakness on her?”
“Weakness? Pfft… wild imagination!”
“You never know, though? With Young Master Sian’s personality, it totally fits. Like, maybe he secretly snapped nude photos with invisibility magic or something…”
The maids' over-the-top gossip. Normally, she'd have barked at them to quit spouting nonsense and scram, but to Sara—eyes rolled back in fury—it landed like a thunderbolt of plausibility.
…Nude photos?!
Sara's eyes ballooned like saucers.
Yeah. Thinking it over, there was no way Iris would show unprompted favor to that fat pig. She who was strict and icy even with her, wasting precious mornings on a sweat-dripping hog just for breathing?
She had to be getting coerced by some vile blackmail, forced to play along.
How dare… how dare you, you fat human trash, threaten Lady Iris?!
In Sara's head, Sian had already morphed into a heaven-defying criminal.
-Heh heh, sword lessons done? Time to teach him how to wash up.
-Guh…! If not for those photos!
-Just this once!
-Heh heh heh heh heh, sure thing. Almost bought your 'diligent living' act lately, but it was all smoke and mirrors, huh.
That scum would pull something like that!
Sara's brown eyes flashed murderously.
He wasn't family. Just a villain begging for a thorough thrashing!
Having scraped away the last dregs of sibling sentiment, Sara steeled herself.
Shame him so bad he couldn't even grip a wooden sword, crush him utterly, humiliate him before everyone.
If he fled to some territory backwater out of sheer mortification, Iris would finally break free from that filthy blackmail.
…Lady Iris, this disciple will rescue you from that vile beast soon.
Fist clenched tight, Sara sprang into action with her scheme.
“First off.”
She summoned her closest maids on the spot.
And stirred up false rumors—covert, but primed to spread like wildfire, juicy and provocative.
“Listen up, all of you. That Sian punk dared look down on me, a genius swordswoman, and challenged me to a duel! So in one month, atop the family's proud arena, I'll rip that pig's limbs off like chicken drumsticks!”
“Y-yes?!?!”
Thorough calculus. Blanket the streets with such humiliating buzz, and Sian couldn't back out. Seal his escape, demolish him before the masses—he'd never show his face in the duchy again!
Sara's bombshell declaration rippled outward, engulfing the entire territory.
“Hey, you hear? Lady Sara's thing!”
“What thing? Oh, the duel with that wastrel young master?”
“Yeah! Word is, fat-ass Sian looked down on her and challenged first!”
“Dantian's busted and his brain? Lady's the family's top genius—”
Brace Duchy merchants snickering in disbelief.
“Says in one month on the arena, she'll tear his limbs like chicken legs—shredded!”
“Kuhahaha! Gonna be epic! All my fortune on her KO'ing the blob in 3 minutes flat!”
“3? Under 1, easy! Betting he trips on his gut climbing up!”
“Front row means dawn lineup. Day off—pack extra baked potatoes for the show!”
Foreign mercenaries, dirt-farming peasants, even local students—everyone mocked Sian's idiocy, the whole duchy abuzz with duel fever.
Perfect. Our duchy sure spreads rumors fast.
The bigger the spectacle, the higher Sara's smirk crept.
And the fateful month arrived.
“Tickets! Tickets! Wastrel Sian vs. our next heir Lady Sara duel seats—just 1 copper!”
“You bastard, she said free—scamming now?!”
“Popcorn here! Can't savor the spectacle without chews!”
Brace Duchy's massive Grand Arena thrummed with raucous din from dawn.
…Over 10,000 souls crammed in on the rumors alone.
From behind VIP curtains, Sara gazed down at the seething throng, smug smile blooming.
Hoho, flawless! More than planned, but that's a bonus!
Demolish him before these eyes, that moron fatso would flee the territory in shame for sure.
“You there.”
“Yes, milady.”
“Brother's late—go drag him here.”
About to haul the cowering rat onstage—
“Lady Sara!!”
A mansion maid barreled into VIP, gasping to her limit.
Sara's eyes bugged. She was Patriarch Baltar's exclusive attendant.
…What? Father never dispatches her lightly.
Ominous vibes crept over Sara.
The maid side-eyed the surroundings, flustered, then shot Sara an annoyed glare.
“What's with this mob? No event planning on record.”
“None of your business! Why're you here anyway?”
“Patriarch's emergency summons.”
“Father? Outta nowhere why?”
Sara's heart plummeted.
Tough errand? N-not now!
Herded the whole town, cancel the duel sudden-like? She'd be branded the duchy's supreme bullshitter!
Lip bitten raw in panic, the maid's deadpan droned on.
“Just now, Patriarch approved the honorable duel between Young Master Sian and Lady Sara. Wants you both prepped in 1 hour—he'll judge personally.”
“……Huh?”
Sara's brain shorted blank.
Sian's 'challenge' was her pure-fabricated bait—how'd Father sniff it and greenlight the stage?
Blankness fleeting.
…Aha!
Her logic flipped to self-serving spin.
Father's finally decided!
Brown eyes glittered ecstatic.
Heard the buzz, seizing the chance to back her fully. Resolved to boot that lost-cause lard-ass from the family forever!
“Heh heh, heh…”
“…Milady?”
It all clicked pristine. Patriarch judging? Ironclad pretext to exile Sian.
Excitement surging unchecked, Sara bellowed triumphant.
“Got it! Tell Father I'm taking the arena now!”
“Ah, yes. As commanded. But milady, this insane crowd is wha—”
“Quit yapping—report my yes now!”
“……”
Perfect.
I grinned inwardly, all smug. Close call, but snapping right into plan.
Mulligan the spirit herb heist sin, flash solid 3-star might to reclaim top-heir status.
But.
“……What the?”
Nearing the arena, an eerie mismatch hit.
Duchy's sole venue or not, outside racket was insane.
Like some mega-fest—buzzing voices, mystery yells, whistles blasting.
Baltar rally crowds already? Nah, even then, not this rowdy…
Stepping into the Grand Arena mouth.
“……Insane.”
Eyes betrayed me. Truman Show? World punking me with epic hidden cam?
“Oh! Here, here! Fat young master's arrived!”
“Yo! You really challenge Lady first?! Guts bloated massive!”
“Young master! All-in on you surviving 1 min! Belly-block for us!!”
…The hell they on about?
Simple spar? Stands rammed solid—easy 10k+ heads.
One corner hawking popcorn, baked potatoes even.
“Brother~.”
Brain adrift in question-mark soup, zoning—sis Sara's voice cut in.
Perched arena-top, fully geared.
Her cocky mug locked on me strolling entrance—shifted baffled.
“……Eh?”
Not just her.
Mob primed to potato-hurl jeers—abrupt hush like ice-water dump.
“What? Figured fat young master from that waddle, but wrong guy?”
“With Sword Fairy? Judge maybe?”
“Finer lines than your average noble miss… slurp.”
Murmurs souring bewildered.
Sara hollered at Father's exclusive maid nearby, dumbfounded.
“Wh-what! Fight my brother, right?! Who's this scrawny chick climbing?!”
“…That's Young Master Sian.”
“Whaaat?!”
Maid's stone-certain reply—Sara's peepers popped saucer-wide.
Plastered to rail, bored laser into me, then shock overran.
“Cr-crazy! Diet actually worked?! No wait… why prettier than me!!”
Sara's raw grievance boomed arena-wide.
Caught every word—face auto-crumpled.
“……Worst slur you can hurl at a guy.”
“Pfft.”
“Laughing now?”
“Oops.”
Even Iris wasn't Team Me, apparently.