The Will in Your Sword. -8- The Goddess of Victory Raises Hanna's Hand
The goddess of victory had raised Hanna's hand.
It wasn't an overwhelming win. The flow of the battle had tilted toward Hanna, but Mikhail's skill had exceeded even my expectations. If he'd just stayed a bit calmer—no, if he hadn't gotten baited early on—the goddess might have chosen someone else.
His fatal mistake was letting those accumulating wounds pile up unchecked. Hanna's blade was like a poison that subtly choked the life out of you. Without that, the duel would have dragged on, and Mikhail might have seized several opportunities.
I say it again: Mikhail was strong. Strong enough to beat Hanna. Especially that final technique he'd prepared—it was genuinely dangerous, with enough power to potentially reverse the outcome.
If it had succeeded, that is.
I had no idea what kind of training Rowen had put him through, but the results of his growth were undeniable. The purity of his aura. His fundamentals in swordsmanship. He'd improved far beyond before.
But the simple truth was that Hanna was stronger than Mikhail, and her final attack had been ready just a fraction sooner.
So I ended the duel. Mikhail's body was too exhausted to even hold his sword, and the minor wounds had wrecked his stance. I knew his last attack would fail. Rowen knew it too—that's why he didn't stop me.
Hanna's technique manifested faster than Mikhail's preparation. By the time Mikhail unleashed his, he'd already be sprawled on the ground.
I lifted my head and looked at the three standing in the training ground. Rowen, standing there like an idiot staring at Hanna. Hanna, her face weary not from the thrill of victory, but from the simple fact that it was over. And then.
"Please..."
I could see Mikhail clutching my clothes, denying his defeat.
"Please don't say it's over..."
Mikhail was in denial. He clung to my hem like someone with everything on the line in this duel, refusing to accept it. His breaths came in shaky gasps as he shook his head, unable to swallow the reality of loss.
"I can still fight. So...!"
Why was he so desperate for this off-script duel that wasn't even in the original story?
"Please... don't say it's over."
Why was he acting like this? I couldn't understand Mikhail.
I couldn't fathom why he'd react this way to a battle he had nothing to lose. I knew Rowen meant something to him as a mentor, but this extreme reaction felt over the top. They hadn't built much bond. No cherished memories. Losing to someone like that shouldn't hurt enough to bring tears.
I couldn't shake off his hand. I just looked at him quietly and said,
"You know, don't you."
"No... look, I'm still standing."
"Your legs are giving out."
I glanced at his trembling legs. His shaking hands. The sword he'd already dropped. His body screamed it couldn't continue— what more was there to say?
I shook my head.
"Continuing the duel like this would leave both sides with fatal injuries."
"No."
Mikhail shook his head in denial. He pounded his fist against his unsteady legs, straining to force his exhausted body upright. I gave a wry smile at the dull thud thud of his blows against legs that wouldn't move.
"Mikhail."
"No...!"
He denied it.
"It's right there now. I was just about to find it, and you can't end it like this...!"
"Mikhail..."
"So. Ricardo, please...!"
I shook my head again. I couldn't give him the words he wanted.
I shook my head heavily.
"You know nothing changes like this. It's not easy for me to say it either, but with your body right now..."
"Shut up...! I can do it!"
Mikhail snatched up his fallen sword and hauled his weary body to its feet. I turned away from his pitiful sight, legs quivering as he rose. No matter what, he was an old friend with history. We'd grown distant over the young lady's matters, emotions piling up, but watching a comrade fall apart didn't sit right.
Mikhail gripped his sword and tried to advance on Hanna. His legs, tension released, refused their duty, but still he jabbed the blade into the ground for support, struggling forward. Blood flowed from his abdomen, soaking his clothes and dripping to the floor. I stood blocking his path, lips sealed.
"Move."
"I can't."
"Move."
"I can't."
"Please...!"
With a crash, Mikhail's body, lurching violently, collapsed to the ground. I caught him before he fell fully and bowed my head.
"Enough."
Dark red blood spread, staining his academy uniform. Feeling his faint, trembling breaths, I slowly lifted his body and blocked his path once more. His sad eyes fixed on me, pleading to let him pass. I refused with difficulty.
We had our reasons too. We couldn't let a hard-won victory melt away to his tantrum—not when we had so much to lose.
I ignored his stubbornness again, running a hand through my hair.
"Aim for the next chance. You've grown plenty, Mikhail. The next fight will surely..."
"There is no next...!"
Mikhail wailed at the empty air, as if something hovered before him. He screamed out his grief in a booming voice.
"There is no..."
He slumped to the ground, head bowed. His heavy shoulders trembled like gentle waves, lips quivering as he murmured,
"No next time..."
Mikhail watched the tiny spark of hope he'd pinned everything on flicker out.
Quest Failed
Hanna approached Rowen. One step. Two steps. She stopped, gazing wearily at her father's face as he stood frozen, staring back.
"Father."
Rowen's shoulders twitched at Hanna's low, resonant voice. He couldn't believe it. Not the swordplay he'd just witnessed with his own eyes.
It was talent. Pure talent. A level of swordsmanship no amateur teaching could reach—and Hanna had achieved it.
His aura awakening had come later than hers. But in accomplishment, Rowen's delusion that he surpassed all was shattering. As head of House Histania, backed by everyone's expectations and the family's investments, the results he'd achieved in his youth—the heights he thought unmatched—Hanna was catching up to portions of it at just 21.
The sword of the daughter he'd dismissed as talentless was denying his eyes. With clear results.
The blade of the girl he'd deemed weak and discarded—the seed of talent he'd refused even to water, stomping it down—was sprouting before him. For the first time, Rowen felt guilt.
That illusion he'd seen—it stemmed from him. Now he realized. If he'd shown interest in his daughter, it wouldn't have happened. A drop of love might have averted that tragedy. But because of him, that blemish of a man, it had all begun. Rowen learned this only after everything ended.
He couldn't admit it. Didn't want to face the past mistake he'd perhaps known but avoided. He couldn't lift his head.
He'd driven his daughter to death.
That's why he hadn't blocked the final attack. He'd permitted lethal blows himself, but Hanna's sword was crumbling his convictions. His mind blank, no strength left to intervene—he'd made a grave error.
Standing there like a fool, Rowen had no words. Not for Hanna's teacher. Not for his daughter. Not for his disciple.
No excuses.
Hanna gazed at the dazed Rowen and spoke softly.
"It's over."
"..."
"It's over now."
"..."
"The sword you dismissed is better than the one you acknowledged."
"..."
"Feel better now?"
Hanna clenched her fist.
"Or will you deny this one too? Bring another replacement and make me fight?"
She spat scornfully at Rowen.
"I hate you now."
"I..."
"Father."
Hanna cut him off with a trembling voice, her tone firm and resolute, refusing more lame excuses.
"I won."
"..."
"It's really over now. This suffocating house, your heartless word games— all of it. I...!"
Hanna balled her bloody fist.
"I don't want to see you anymore."
Hanna glanced lightly at the blue window before her.
Would you like to view?
Hanna shook her head. The past held no meaning. She lived in the present. She wanted to see it, a future with the butler living happily—but she wouldn't cling to unfulfilled what-ifs for joy.
Right now, she just wanted to lean into him.
She shook her head lightly and answered inwardly.
No.
Really abandon viewing?
Abandoning viewing makes re-viewing impossible.
Hanna nodded. The reward from this duel was enough. Now she wanted rest.
Yes.
Refused Quest Reward
Hanna turned her back on Rowen, severing the weight of their long, toxic bond. She walked away. There was the butler. Comforting Mikhail with a heavy expression, then turning back, waiting for her—his face came into view.
Hanna clenched her fist. And then.
"Butler..."
She beamed brightly.
"I won."
Hanna threw her arms around Ricardo.
Finally.
Her heart eased.