Chapter 164: Dragon's Eye, Human Heart (28)
Chapter 164: Dragon's Eye, Human Heart (28)
Irene Lupemion hated Ian Percus.
She wasn't sure if the emotion was fear or a deep-seated aversion, but regardless, she hated him.
If asked for a reason, she could list several off the top of her head.
First, he had insulted her liege in front of everyone by dousing her with water. To a loyal knight, it was an intolerable injustice. Moreover, her liege, Cien, had merely been trying to have a conversation. It was customary to resolve matters of the tongue with the tongue. Even setting aside the relationship between an Imperial noble and a Princess, splashing water on someone in the middle of a conversation was a grave discourtesy.
Second, he was brazen even after committing such a transgression. He carried himself with an air of confidence, as if he had done exactly what needed to be done. He had even possessed the composure to restrain Irene when she tried to draw her sword. And to think, a mere third-year at the Academy had said what? Take your hand off your sword if you don't want to regret it. It was the greatest insult she had ever received in her life.
Irene had every justification to punish him.
Finally, the third reason: Irene, who had stepped forward with such momentum, had been utterly defeated by him. It had been a single exchange. That alone was enough for her to feel the staggering difference in their skill. The moment her sword path was diverted and her world was flipped upside down, Irene realized it.
I cannot win.
Even before she could fully regain her senses, as she lay face-down on the ground gasping for breath, that thought took root. It was the moment she finally understood the nature of the strange anxiety she had felt just before facing him.
The man was more monster than human. Those eyes that lacked even a shred of emotion, that technique for reading the flow of mana, and the sheer audacity to slam a Princess’s guard knight into the dirt without a moment's hesitation.
Still, Irene had maintained her resolve until the very end. She knew subduing him was impossible, but her liege had been insulted, and she had been struck down in a single blow. She couldn't hold her head high if she didn't land at least one hit.
That was when the axe buried itself in Irene’s shoulder.
Thud. The blade wedged between her bones, its power terrifyingly proportional to its speed. A scream had escaped her lips involuntarily.
Everything after that was a nightmare. Blood sprayed, bones shattered, and bone marrow was exposed. The sensation of pain had long since been numbed; she simply felt death approaching vividly through her fading consciousness.
However, what pierced Irene’s heart more intensely than any physical agony were the evaluations Ian had tossed out so casually.
“The level of these escort knights is disastrous. They need mental training.”
“You call yourselves protectors, yet you hesitate with your liege behind you?”
“This is the share your liege should have endured.”
Every word uttered in that indifferent voice stabbed into her chest like a blade. For Irene Lupemion, who overflowed with pride as a knight, those words were nothing short of a death sentence. The only reason her liege had remained unharmed was purely due to the man’s mercy. In a sense, Irene should have been grateful that he had settled for punishing the escort knights, including herself, instead.
That felt like an unbearable humiliation.
She had failed as a protector and as a knight. Anyone could hope for an opponent’s mercy. In fact, if one wanted to beg for mercy, it was better to bow one's head and flatter. The more she thought about it, the more Irene was consumed by self-loathing.
She was a failure. Both as a protector and as a knight.
Naturally, Irene was confined to the infirmary for some time. As the hours spent alone on the bed stretched on, her depression deepened. This remained true even though Cien visited often to chat, having noticed her state. If anything, Cien’s kindness was more frightening. She felt she could no longer remain a guard knight worthy of that favor; she felt inadequate.
It was only after several days that Irene was able to leave the Temple. In truth, she was one of the lucky ones. Zeros, the guard knight whose arm Ian had severed, had been deemed unfit for combat for the foreseeable future and had to return to his hometown.
Nevertheless, the reality awaiting the discharged Irene was harsh. Whispers followed her every step.
“Is that the knight?”
“I heard she got absolutely wrecked by Senior Ian from the Swordsmanship Department.”
“She’s supposed to be our senior? That’s so fucking embarrassing.”
The mockery and ridicule directed at Irene weren't limited to the Academy students. Letters arrived from the Imperial Guard, their disappointment palpable, as well as from her own family, expressing concern for their prestige and honor.
Irene had never disappointed anyone in her life until now.
In truth, no matter how she looked at it, it wasn't entirely Irene’s fault. If four guard knights were defeated at once, it was more logical to conclude that the opponent was an unexpectedly powerful individual. But people do not always think logically. If they judged Ian Percus to be unexpectedly strong, they simultaneously judged Irene and the other knights to be unexpectedly weak. It was the only way they could fit reality into their common sense.
Irene, the proud daughter of the Lupemion family and the closest confidante of the 5th Princess, became a recluse in her room.
Yet, Cien refused to give up on her. Every morning, she knocked on Irene's door and personally tried to persuade her. Though Irene had initially served Cien out of loyalty mixed with the calculated ambition of staying close to a Princess, she couldn't help but be moved by Cien's sincerity.
Even so, Irene was terrified of stepping outside. Outside that room was the world—a world where she had to hear ridicule and criticism with every step, a world where letters arrived constantly, elegantly gift-wrapping the sentiment that she was a disappointment.
She didn't want to go out. The one who dragged her back into the light was her liege, Cien, whom she respected so deeply. Cien seemed to want Irene to overcome her fear through this opportunity. Though the whispering continued, the Princess’s stride remained dignified. Her attitude suggested she was not ashamed of Irene.
Finding deep comfort in that fact, Irene thought: This time, I will not disappoint Her Highness.
Only a few hours after making that firm vow, Irene’s face turned deathly pale. It happened the moment she saw the man’s axe-work. There wasn't a hint of hesitation in those swift, linked movements.
It was just like that day. That man was still a monster.
Irene’s hands grew damp with sweat from the tension. She swallowed hard, forced to watch the man approach. And when the man, unable to withstand the Princess’s provocation, drew his axe, Irene drew her sword as if she had been waiting for the moment.
Now was the chance to wash away all that humiliation. Like a true guard knight, she would bravely fight her fear and protect her liege.
The moment Irene’s sword rang out with a sharp metallic cry, fueled by that single-mindedness—
‘Sir Irene… take your hand off your sword if you don’t want to regret it.’
That indifferent voice from that day suddenly pierced through Irene’s spinal nerves. Her body froze in terror.
It was only a split second of hesitation. But in a battle between experts, a split second is often everything.
Before Irene could even thrust her sword, the man’s axe blade was already dripping with cold, sharp intent. It was right above the Princess’s shoulder.
The Princess’s body trembled at the heavy bloodlust she felt. Her light gray eyes, wide with shock, stared at the axe in disbelief. Her wavering gaze betrayed her terror.
Ignoring even that, the man whispered with a nonchalant expression, leaning in close.
“……So, do you think that ‘outside world’ is going to save you right now, Your Highness?”
If he felt like it, the man could easily strike down the Princess’s shoulder right then and there. By the same logic, he could have taken her head. No one present was unaware of that fact.
And so, Cien and Irene could only stand there, frozen.
The man continued to whisper in a low, heavy voice. It was a resonant baritone, but perhaps due to the atmosphere, it sounded chilling.
“The real world exists neither inside the Academy nor outside of it. The only truth is the reality right before Your Highness’s eyes.”
Just like this hand axe, Ian thought with a bitter smile.
The Princess’s eyelids fluttered and then snapped shut. She seemed to want to say something, but didn't dare open her mouth.
Watching this, Irene’s eyes filled with desolation.
Again. She had failed her again.
Regardless of Irene’s feelings, the man took a moment to admire the sight of the trembling Princess. Then, he promptly withdrew his axe.
The Princess turned a bewildered gaze toward Ian. She looked as if she wanted to snap at him, but her lips only parted and closed repeatedly, her fear not yet subsided.
As if understanding her unspoken question, Ian replied in a leisurely voice.
“I don’t strike pitiful people with an axe. Because the people I strike are only those who deserve it.”
In other words, the Princess wasn't even worth striking. He didn't say why, but for now, it was because she was pitiful.
It was an unbearable insult. Was not pity an emotion the strong bestowed upon the weak? It wouldn't have been strange for the Princess to fly into a rage immediately. Indeed, a flash of resentment crossed her eyes for a moment.
But the moment she met those golden eyes, Cien had no choice but to look down. To argue against Ian’s words was essentially to say she wanted to be struck by the axe. The prideful Cien had just been broken before the man’s hand axe.
Irene bit her lip in even greater misery. She felt that even this was due to her incompetence as a guard knight. It was then that the man finally cast his gaze toward Irene.
“And, guard knight. You… I mean…….”
Ian trailed off, then tilted his head curiously.
“Who were you again? Anyway, it was a shame you hesitated at the end.”
The man offered a slight smile, unaware that the words ‘Who were you again’ had stabbed deep into Irene’s heart.
Did it mean she wasn't even worth remembering by name? Even though he had called her ‘Sir Irene’ last time.
Whether he knew Irene’s heart or not, the man began to walk away. As he brushed past her, he patted Irene’s shoulder a few times.
“……If you hadn't hesitated, you might have been able to stop me.”
Snap. Something inside Irene’s heart broke, like a sturdy rope finally giving way.
The man departed, and Cien and Irene, left alone, collapsed onto the ground simultaneously. Cien still looked dazed, while Irene was gasping for breath in her despair.
Irene thought: I failed.
That man was right. Yes, she was a defective product. She could never be recognized by that man.
But if she wasn't recognized by him, who in this world would ever recognize her? She would remain an eternal loser in his presence.
Like an earworm, the world’s laughter burrowed into Irene’s ears. The reproachful letters from the Guard and her family scattered like prose, pouring over her heart submerged in despair. The reality was so suffocating that Irene felt like clutching her own throat and screaming.
Ian Percus, Ian Percus, Ian Percus…….
As she muttered the name internally, a depthless despair was etched onto Irene’s face.
I have to win. Or be recognized. Otherwise…
She couldn't bring herself to finish that final thought. Because it was meaningless.
Otherwise, everything was meaningless. Her pride as a knight, her life—everything she had protected until now.
Irene’s gaze became desperate.
*
It was after this that she heard a strange rumor in front of the Temple.