Death Grinds Her Teeth!
Death was grinding her teeth so hard they might crack.
……………
'She wants to duel me?!'
"I beg your pardon—you wish to cross blades with me?!"
Hmm. How should I put this. Never once, in all my time here, had my words come out of Katerina's mouth this completely unfiltered.
But when I retraced things through Katerina's memories, it turned out that her deep-rooted shock and my own surprise stemmed from slightly different reasons.
Mine, first of all, was born of perfectly common sense.
'Natasha, sitting there so meekly? This girl who looks as delicate as a porcelain doll suddenly wants to duel? What could possibly be going through her head?'
Katerina's instinct, on the other hand, recoiled for roughly this reason:
'She's so weak that I'd hardly know how to lay a hand on her, and of all things, she requests a duel.'
In that instant, Katerina's memories sharpened into focus. Natasha as she had appeared at the winter festival's dueling exhibition. She had clearly worked hard—her movements were smoother than before—and she had fought well with a rapier before losing by a narrow margin.
Still, her improvement hadn't stirred much of anything in Katerina. It had been moderately entertaining, nothing more.
'Wait. Duels in this world are fought with LIVE steel?!'
And a second shock crashed over me as that memory finally surfaced.
……………
"Are you truly certain about this?" I asked one last time, out of genuine concern, but Natasha—so much firmer than her fragile appearance suggested—did not waver.
"Yes. I have no wish to let this opportunity slip away. Please, I ask it of you."
"…Very well, then."
The moment I reluctantly accepted her answer, Natasha's maids sprang into swift motion. They had clearly assisted their mistress with her armament more than once or twice—their hands moved with practiced speed and sure precision.
The elegant dress came away, replaced by a brigandine; greaves and arm guards were buckled into place over her limbs. Last of all, a long estoc was fastened at her hip.
"Lady Katerina."
Eliza drew near to my side.
"I shall cast a simple ward upon you. A scratch would be most unfortunate."
A faint glow kindled at her fingertips.
'A maid who can use magic?'
The question rose unbidden, but asking would be pointless. In Katerina's memories, no matter how many times she'd pressed her, Eliza had only ever brushed it aside with a serene, 'A humble maid is capable of magic, my lady—it is simply how things are.'
"Lady Katerina, are you ready to begin?"
At any rate, this was no time to be digging into Eliza's past. Natasha was waiting for me. Fully armed, she cut a figure quite different from the demure noble daughter of moments before.
"Ah—of course!"
I took my position a short distance from Natasha. The drawing room she'd received me in was, exaggerating only slightly, the size of a small hall—more than ample space for two noble daughters to duel.
The instant Eliza's voice announced the start, Natasha's estoc flashed.
The moment her blade left its sheath, it came thrusting straight and viciously toward my heart.
Her strike was no casual flourish. It was a killing blow, laced with a split-second feint.
'Dangerous!'
Reflexively, I bent backward at the waist and slipped the attack. And yet Katerina's memories were telling an entirely different story.
'This much? There's really no need to dodge at all.'
What on earth was that supposed to mean? Was her skin-hardening ward so powerful?
I couldn't make sense of Katerina's memories, but it was true all the same—even as I dodged the cold gleam of steel on pure reflex and athleticism, my heart stayed perfectly calm. Not a flicker of tension, not a single pounding beat.
I let Katerina's memories guide my body. Her—my—flesh responded as naturally as breathing. I dodged Natasha's attacks at a measured pace, and between them, I shoved her away with my palm or hooked her ankle to disrupt her footwork.
After perhaps twenty exchanges, Natasha's expression began to harden. Anger smoldered in her eyes. No doubt she had noticed Katerina's restraint.
"Hah!"
With a sharp exhale, Natasha swung her estoc faster. Her sword-speed was no joke—against anyone not wearing plate, a single thrust would have punched clean through the heart.
Shff!
Her blade parted the air once more. Unbroken strikes strung together with no thought for breath, and I could see her lungs beginning to falter.
I turned, caught her shoulder, and pushed. Less a counterattack than a pause—just enough to cool Natasha's overheated head.
"Please!"
But my consideration was wasted. Instead, Natasha cried out, her voice trembling.
"Lady Katerina, face me in earnest!"
The knuckles wrapped around her estoc had gone white with strain.
"You have no idea how long I have waited for this. To duel you, Lady Katerina—!"
She caught her breath for a moment, then went on, eyes rimmed red.
"And yet… you mock me like this."
'Hmm. Well, if you want it that badly…'
She truly was giving it her all. Half-heartedly humoring her might well be the greater discourtesy.
"My apologies, truly."
At this rate, I supposed I had better meet her properly. Which meant going for the torso wrapped in brigandine, avoiding her face. Punching through armor with a bare fist was no easy feat—I would need wide movements and my full weight behind each blow.
Needless to say, striking armor with your knuckles is a fool's errand. But I couldn't bring myself to hit that pretty face of Natasha's, so I had no choice.
As I squared my stance, Natasha gripped her estoc tight, eyes narrowed in wariness. Her form was, even by Katerina's exacting standards, passable—poised to counter at any moment.
"Brace yourself!"
I charged at her, cleaving the air, swinging my right arm in a wide arc and pouring my weight into it.
And a heartbeat before my fist connected with Natasha's body, Katerina's instinct screamed.
'DANGER!'
It was not a warning of her counterattack. It was a warning that this single blow could turn into murder.
I desperately tried to pull the punch, but it was already too late. A fist charged with monstrous force flew straight for Natasha's body.
……………
Even now, thinking back on that day sends a chill down my spine.
Who am I, you ask? I am Tatiyana, a maid in service to the House of Volkov—and one of the few who might dare call herself close to Lady Natasha.
I watched every moment of that duel from beginning to end.
The Grand Duke's daughter sighed. When Lady Natasha snapped at her to take the duel seriously, she obliged—clenching her fist for the very first time, as though she had no other choice.
And then… I still cannot forget what I saw.
When the Grand Duke's daughter's fist struck Lady Natasha's armor, her body flew into the air like a ragdoll tossed by a child.
She sailed across the room toward the wall… struck it, and crumpled to the floor. The brigandine—forged from the finest steel in all of Volkov County, rune-blessed with magic besides—was crumpled like so much paper.
Thank the heavens the young lady survived. For a heartbeat, I could see the gallows right before my eyes. Had Lady Natasha died, the rest of us maids would have been held responsible and put to death without question.
And this is an absolute secret, but… there is something I learned later.
On the eve of the duel, the Grand Duke's daughter's personal maid, while casting the skin-hardening ward over her lady, had also—surreptitiously—enchanted the lady's fist. A spell that softened the impact, like a cushion against the knuckles.
A truly providential thing. The barbarian god of the north—ahem, the Thunder God, I mean—must have been watching over us. Without Lady Eliza's magic… neither Lady Natasha nor I would have lived through it.
You ask how a mere maid could possibly cast such magic? Honestly, people who ask questions like that don't live long. I am not curious. Truly, I am not.
Still, some good did come of the affair. Word spread that Lady Natasha had traded fully twenty blows with the Grand Duke's daughter, and her standing rose by leaps and bounds. The other noble daughters took notice, and even the vassals of Volkov County came to acknowledge the young lady.
For that, I can only offer my deepest gratitude to the Grand Duke's daughter. She must have done it deliberately, to preserve the young lady's dignity, don't you think?
Tremendously presumptuous as it is to say, watching all this gave me the sense that the Grand Duke's daughter has changed, somehow.
She was, after all… famous for caring not one whit for anyone else's circumstances or feelings. I fully expected her to ignore Lady Natasha's duel request outright—or, if she did accept, to toy with her and mock her from start to finish.
Instead she behaved entirely contrary to my expectations. From the very start she abandoned all pretense of playing around, and simply sparred with Lady Natasha at a measured level—enough to keep her safe, no more.
And at the end, she read Lady Natasha's heart and brought the bout to a close as though they had fought a real, proper match—letting the young lady keep her face intact.
They say the Grand Duke's daughter suffered a very grave injury recently. Perhaps, in surviving and recovering from such an ordeal, her heart has shifted in some way.
Or could it be… that she has become someone else entirely?
Haha, of course I jest. Such a thing could never happen. …Could it?