That's Not How You Assassinate...
A few days earlier.
"Lord Kilian. I've brought the item we discussed before."
The dagger that would be used to assassinate Freya.
Blood Fang had, in truth, reached the hands of the first prince Kilian before it ever reached the second prince Robert.
"The appraiser has finished his examination. It is unmistakably Blood Fang. Rated as a mythic-grade weapon."
"I see."
"A mythic-grade weapon will never break and never miss its target unless faced with another of equal grade..."
"No, no. I already know all that."
"Then why..."
"Is my reaction too lukewarm for you?"
"......"
"The situation has changed."
The first prince Kilian pulled out a single letter and laid it on the table.
"The second has already made his move. He's even laid hands on the will."
"Th-that..."
"Civil war can no longer be avoided. Therefore..."
Kilian regarded the dagger with indifference, then set it down on the table.
"See that this ends up in the second's hands."
"Pardon? But this is..."
"A mythic-grade weapon. So of course it will make his eyes spin."
"Even so..."
"But he won't be foolish enough to think this alone can kill me..."
"Then who exactly is this weapon meant for?"
"Probably Freya."
"What?"
Kilian's subordinate lifted his head in alarm.
"Once he's touched the will and can manipulate Father as he pleases, every other sibling becomes the second's enemy without exception."
"He can't defeat Your Highness directly, so he means to strike first at Lady Freya, who might side with you."
"Something like that. Not that I would ever join hands with the likes of Freya anyway..."
"Understood."
Kilian's subordinate tucked the dagger back into his coat.
"Hurry. Make certain the other side never moves ahead of me again."
"Yes, my lord!"
And so the dagger left Kilian's hands.
After that, just as planned, it fell into the second prince's possession and was swiftly passed to one of Robert's men.
And then—
Crack.
"What?!"
The dagger once called mythic-grade shattered into pieces with pathetic ease.
"Th-this can't be..."
"Who the hell are you?"
Freya's reflexive motion had blocked the blade.
The assassin had already known she possessed skill of that caliber.
What he had never imagined was that her skill could snap a mythic-grade weapon clean in half.
"Impossible..."
"Not that you'd answer even if I asked."
Thrust.
And just like that, the finest assassin serving the second prince Robert died with his heart pierced through.
"Damn it!"
Watching from the shadows, his superior—Robert's direct knight—charged in at once.
"This is why assassins are—"
He assumed the whole mess was simply the assassin's blunder.
It never occurred to him that a mythic-grade dagger could break.
"You're one of Brother Robert's knights."
"I'm honored you recognize me, but—"
So he rushed Freya without a second thought.
She had left an opening while dealing with the assassin, and by all reports she was hardly a formidable opponent.
"You'll die right here!"
Thrust.
"Huh?"
But—
"Wh-what...?"
"Sorry. My body feels unusually light today."
The one who was pierced first was not Freya.
"Ah... my lord..."
He wanted to warn his master of so many things.
Yet not a single word left his lips.
Thud.
"Hiding my strength paid off... still no match for my two brothers, of course..."
Freya wiped the blood from her sword.
As she did, her gaze flicked to the half-shattered dagger.
That dagger... what was it? The sensation when I caught it felt strange...
Now reduced to something no different from an ordinary blade, it offered not a single clue.
"Ah..."
Because of that, she never even noticed what had happened to her own sword—the one that should have drawn far more attention.
"Tsk... the edge looks a little off."
Freya clicked her tongue as she examined her blade.
"Heh... looks like I'll have to go see her again."
Yet a faint smile soon curved her lips at the thought of meeting a certain someone once more.
The next day.
"Hey. You really don't know anything?"
"What in the world are you talking about? You've been at this since earlier."
"No, no. I've asked everywhere, and this place is the only answer that comes up. Even the material supplier said it was the exact same stuff they always deliver!"
"I keep telling you—what are you even going on about?"
The general-store owner had shown up carrying the knife I sold him yesterday.
"There's no other explanation. That cheap material turned into high-grade stuff once it became this knife!"
"Ha. You've got to be kidding me."
"J-just tell me the secret..."
"What nonsense is that... It's just my talent, my skill. What's with you? That knife over there is the same as the one you're holding. Buy another if you want."
My adoptive father pointed at a still-messy blade I hadn't finished refining yet.
"Huh? L-let me try it real quick."
"H-hey, you can't just use merchandise before—"
Scrape.
Screee-scrape-scrape.
An uneven, ugly sound rang out as the storekeeper tried to shave medicinal herbs.
"No, this isn't it..."
"Hey! Who said you could turn my goods into used junk?! Get out!"
Bang.
My adoptive father kicked the storekeeper out and slammed the door hard.
"Damn it..."
Then he turned and looked straight at me.
I hurriedly averted my eyes.
"Hey."
But he already knew everything. He walked right up to me.
"Look at me properly."
"......"
Scary.
I was a shut-in even in my past life, and now a seven-year-old body had to face the terror of an adult it simply couldn't handle.
"You sold something to that bastard without my permission, didn't you?"
"(Shake shake shake)"
I tried forcing a lie.
But I knew.
No child can hide their heart from a parent...
Crash.
And this man only ever played the parent when it came to moments like this...
"Hey!"
"Eek!"
When he hurled a bowl, my seven-year-old body flinched hard.
Tears welled up right after.
"I told you not to sell things behind my back."
"......"
"Did I say it or not?!"
"(Nod nod)"
"Answer me!"
"...Y-yes."
"Listen carefully."
He waved the knife in front of my face as he muttered.
"If I catch you even once more, I won't let it slide. Got it?"
"(Nod)"
"What's with the nodding? What does that even mean?"
"I-I... won't... do it..."
My adoptive father clicked his tongue, turned, and opened the door.
"Just keep working! I'm busy!"
Then he grabbed money for drinking and slammed the forge door shut three times for good measure.
"Ugh... uuu..."
Only then did the tension snap, and fat tears plopped down one after another.
Wipe.
But it was fine.
My mind was still an adult's, so I recovered fairly quickly.
"Haa..."
I decided to rest for the day.
I'd already stockpiled plenty of work without him noticing, so I could take it easy.
Whenever he started drinking in broad daylight he never showed up until the next day, so I figured I might as well nap.
Knock knock knock.
Freya, hood pulled low, visited the forge once more.
No answer came.
Is it closed today?
She almost turned back.
Yet somehow the door wasn't properly shut.
"Hmm?"
She slipped quietly inside.
"You were sleeping."
Tina's small form came into view.
"Well, a child working in a place like this would get tired..."
A forge was clearly too much for a child.
To think those tiny hands could refine weapons so skillfully—how much effort must that have taken?
"Right... even a bastard child works this hard..."
For a moment Freya sank into thought.
The faces of the lords who had sworn loyalty to her floated up.
In truth she had been letting a great many things simply drift along.
But meeting this child had changed something.
A stubborn spark had lit inside her.
The urge to thrash a little harder, to struggle a little more...
"Oh?"
She approached the child and gently smoothed the tousled black hair.
Then she noticed something odd.
"Were you crying?"
The child's eyes were swollen.
And looking around, something seemed to have been smashed—thrown, even.
"...Come to think of it, what kind of man is the adoptive father raising this child..."
Questions about Tina's adoptive father began to pile up.
Making such a tiny girl work a forge already made him someone Freya disliked.
"Mm?"
But before those questions could turn into anger—
"Ah, sorry... I woke you."
"Eek?!"
Freya couldn't think of anything else.
The sleeping child jolted awake, then vanished like a startled squirrel into the corner of the forge.
"Haha... my apologies."
Flustered, Freya scratched her head awkwardly and drew her sword.
"Um... I'd like to leave it for maintenance again..."
"Ah!"
The moment the child saw the sword, color returned to her face and she hurried over.
"Hm?"
But the instant she checked the blade's condition, she looked up at Freya with clear dissatisfaction.
"I'm sorry."
"......"
"Please don't be angry."
"......"
"Can you fix it?"
"...(Nod)"
And so the child accepted the sword.
Shhhk-shhhk-shhhk.
The soft sound of a blade being honed filled the forge.
A short while later, in the city square.
"My lady. So this is where you were."
"Albert."
"Even with your identity concealed, you really shouldn't wander about so freely."
"My apologies. More importantly—what's that in your hand?"
"Ah. A messenger brought word."
After having her sword repaired, Freya met Albert and unfolded the small note.
"This is..."
"What is it?"
"News concerning Lord Edmund."
"Edmund? The lord who manages the granary lands?"
"Yes."
"What about him?"
"It seems the time has come for me to compete with my eldest brother."
"Pardon?"
Freya set the note alight and watched it burn.
Then she looked at Albert with a faintly tense expression.
"Albert, it appears you'll have to join me on a hunt."
"A hunt? Of what, my lady?"
Freya adjusted the sword at her hip as though ready to leap into battle that very instant.
"A dragon."
"What?"
"From this moment on, we hunt the white dragon Styria."
After riding hard for a full day, the two of them—
"We'll camp here for the night."
"Yes, my lady."
—took a brief rest by a campfire.
"Hmm? By the way, that letter you've been glancing at since earlier—who is it from?"
"Ah? This? Heh."
Freya smiled and held out a sheet of paper packed so densely with writing that not a single blank space remained.
"The child wrote it."
"Th-the child...? Ah, that bastard girl."
"Yes. When I left the sword for its final repair this time, she filled an entire page with this long scrawl."
The contents were a thorough scolding for damaging the blade, followed by dense advice on how the sword ought to be used from now on.
"That looks less like advice and more like pure fury."
"Heh. Isn't she adorable?"
"She seemed such a quiet little thing, yet her writing is exactly like my wife's... ahem. You didn't hear that."
"That's precisely her charm. When it comes to anything connected to the forge, this child is completely earnest."
Freya took the letter back and giggled as she read through the strongly opinionated lines.
"Hmm?"
Then—
One sentence seized Freya's gaze and refused to let go.
So when facing a dagger...
When you face a dagger, please refer to the following tactics. And don't go breaking the sword like this again.
"Huh?"
A strange unease brushed past Freya.
"How... how does this child know that the sword faced a dagger?"
