Regarding the Absurd Incident Where a Beautiful Young Lady Declares She'll Become My Knight (2)
The girl stared at me for a long while. Until the steam rising from her teacup had completely vanished.
"A knight... with that body?"
Her voice carried a hint of mockery. Or rather, it was closer to sheer incomprehension.
"Then prove it."
She set her teacup down on its saucer.
"I won't even make you win. Just hold out against Elana for a little bit, and I'll hear you out."
So the knight's name was Elana. From the glimpse I caught, the face half-hidden by that translucent veil looked pretty enough to match.
The girl turned her head to look at the knight standing behind her. The moment their eyes met, the knight nodded silently without a word. I had no idea what question that was answering.
"Please."
"May I kill her?"
"Don't kill her. Just give her a proper thrashing. If you think she's got what it takes... you can accept her."
Hoo. The knight let out a sigh at those words, then unceremoniously tossed me the long sword sheathed at her waist.
I caught it on reflex. The hilt was cold, and for a woman's sword, it felt surprisingly heavy. Heavier than what most men would wield, even.
As if a single short dagger was plenty for her, the knight drew her own sheathed dagger without unsheathing it.
Right here? Right now?
I wanted to change out of this stretched-neck dress and pick a proper sword, but the girl dragged me off just like that. Not that she was seriously planning to make me her knight—she probably just wanted to humiliate me, wait until my resolve cracked, then tell me to be a maid instead.
The spot she took me to wasn't even a proper training ground, just a wide open lot beside the mansion. Grass-covered, with a few benches in the corner.
I drew the sword from its scabbard and gripped it. It was excessively long. Too heavy for my frame—I could lift it one-handed, but swinging it would just drag my arm along.
Elana stood there in the distance, holding only her dagger, not even bothering to assume a stance.
"Knights of the North never hand their swords to an opponent."
"The Empire is no different."
Elana's voice was low and dry. That faintly visible gaze, as if I wasn't even worth considering, rubbed me the wrong way.
I stabbed the sword into the ground and sliced off the hem of my skirt that kept getting in the way with every step. Shrip.
The fabric split, shortening the dress to above my knees. Man, I bet I look pretty damn good in a short skirt like this. Sure, rough movements might flash my underwear, but I'd matched it neatly with black today, so it should be fine.
Then I lowered the sword slightly and froze in place, staring at Elana.
Her build. A full head taller than me. Broad shoulders, solid muscle on those arms. No contest in raw strength.
Speed was probably equal at best, or her favor. Swordsmanship gap aside, my body just wouldn't keep up.
"You northern bastards just stared like that back then too."
Elana spoke up.
"Even when my lady was dragged off her horse."
I caught a glimpse of her mouth curling beyond the translucent veil. Not a smile.
The taunt landed perfectly. I kicked off the instant I heard it.
Crack!──!
Grass tore up, dirt spraying. I charged with the sword in hand. Fighting up close with this heavy blade would wreck me—it'd just yank me around.
Smarter than anyone, I knew this underdeveloped body had its limits.
So I wrapped the sword in blue light. Sword Aura spread from hilt to tip in a faint glow.
Two steps from Elana—close enough for the blade to reach—and I released the hilt.
I threw the sword.
The long blade, cloaked in blue, shot straight at her. Elana's eyes widened.
Clang!──!
She reflexively parried upward with her dagger. Success—it shattered the aura, sending the sword flying aside.
But blocking a heavy slab of metal with a tiny dagger sent shock up her wrist. The dagger flew from her hand, rolling across the grass, her stance crumbling to one side.
The aura-clad tip grazed the translucent veil she wore. It tore, revealing her face.
A burn scar stretched across her left cheek from cheekbone to jawline. Two knife scars crossed over it. I'd noticed the faint lip scars up close, but not like this.
Her face exposed, Elana bit her lip as if scalded anew.
Clearly, not just anyone could be the princess's guard knight. Proving it, she skipped retrieving her sword and lunged at me instead.
More like her shoulder slammed into my chest. Air whooshed out as my back hit the grass.
I scrambled up quick, but in the end, fights come down to weight class. Once we grappled, beating Elana was near impossible.
Thud!──!
A knee drove into my side. Then she grabbed my shoulder.
I twisted my waist to slip free, but the hand pinning it was too strong. Grass and dirt stench assaulted my nose. My silver hair dragged through the muck.
Elana's leg hooked my waist, her torso climbing up. One more second, and it'd lock around my neck. One arm barely free outside.
Only one way out. Her leg was right there.
So I bit.
Crunch. Teeth sank into flesh. Blood flooded my mouth.
Elana didn't scream.
"......Hah."
Just a low groan.
And the next instant—Thwack!
Her foot kicked my side. Vision spun. I rolled sideways, grass scraping my cheek, dirt in my mouth.
Ptoo.
I spat blood and soil. Her dropped dagger lay before me.
I snatched it up, endured the throbbing from the hits, exhaled long, and rose.
Elana waited, long sword in hand, as if giving me time. Tip aimed at me, expression still serene. Blood trickled from the bitten leg, yet she stood steady. Stoic, but faintly pissed.
I love love stories. Whether they end happy, tragic, sweet, or gross.
If love's in it—manga, movies, books—I could binge all day without tiring.
Loving them so much, maybe I'd gotten trapped in one? I'd tried accepting my rofan reincarnation calmly, but nah.
Maybe I was Don Quixote. But now... who cares.
Dulcinea needed saving, right? Wait, princess or imperial lady—which ranks higher? Anyway, no loyal Sancho, but unlike that aura-less geezer, I could fight.
Elana advanced slowly. Sword tip unwavering.
Her swings came heavy, one after another. Clang! I deflected with the dagger, but my arm numbed.
Second, third. Wrists screamed. And she'd barely put force into them.
Fourth—my dagger blade tilted. Grip slipped.
Clang!──!
It spun through the air, glinting in sunlight before landing in the grass. Legs buckled, center lost.
The knight's sword tip halted at my throat. Cold steel grazed skin. Swallowed spit slid down the pressed blade.
"For your age, that's impressive."
Elana murmured low, sword still drawn.
"I'll tell Her Highness myself..."
Words cut off. I stood.
The blade nicked my throat. Rising pushed it deeper, skin parting. Warmth trickled down my collarbone.
Elana's eyes bulged. Still expressionless, but shock in her gaze.
On that scarred face—burns and blade marks tangled, now bare—a new emotion flickered.
Don't kill her, right? As the knight withdrew her sword, I lunged like a rabid dog.
She shoved my shoulder left with her free hand, but instead of flying back, I seized that arm with both hands.
Leaned my weight to drag it down, hooked a leg inside her thigh. She held firm. Strength worlds apart—she could lift me one-handed.
So I hooked her knee with my heel. Twisted the grabbed arm, threw my whole body sideways.
Thud!
We crashed together, naturally. Even the fine knight hit grass hip-first, sword flying free.
Before she could rise, I mounted. Thigh pinned her torso, knee crushed one hand.
Her collapsed face right below—I smashed a fist down. Knuckles into cheekbone. Bone-on-bone crunch up my arm.
She turned away but not fully. Fist grazed burn scar, then blade mark.
Blood—mine or hers?—splattered her scarred knight's face, indistinguishable.
Fifth swing—arm wouldn't rise. Sixth. Fist fell silent. Blood coated my knuckles. Red on delicate fingers looked wrong.
Throat blood soaked my dress. Warmth down to my chest.
Dizzy, somehow.
"Stop."
A voice. Small hand tugged my shoulder. Jasmine scent. Same tea aroma from the greenhouse.
I turned. Black hair tousled, blue eyes stared into mine. Wet. Tears beading on lashes, sparkling.
Lips trembling. Trying to speak, but no sound.
Somehow, couldn't look away from those moist lips. Face like she might cry.
I dropped the raised fist. Stared blankly at the girl.
Ptoo. Spit from below.
Elana turned her head, spat blood, then shoved up from under my thigh. Wordless, so I tumbled aside. Had she just taken it? Her face stayed calm.
"A knight can't abide insults... You pass."
With that, her fist rocketed toward my face. Blindingly fast.
I woke on some bed. Losing didn't bum me out. Getting KO'd by a silverback gorilla like that? Fair.
If I'd brought a mansion sword, she'd be dead. So really, I was the one sparing her—and the gorilla lurking behind the girl like nothing happened.
Anyway, the girl sat beside me, eyes narrowed at her book. Lips looked insanely moist. My past-life self would've needed a tub of Vaseline and glitter to match.
Wonder if she's kissed.
"Have you?"
She flinched, startled, then spoke with faint worry.
"......How's your body?"
"Have you?"
"What the hell right after waking..."
"Tell me."
"Done what?"
"Kissing."
Her eyes rounded. Irritation twitching under her eyes.
"First words after waking... Sigh. You northerners are all insane."
She closed her book, stood, and sat on the chair by the bed.
"...Anyway, why that?"
"I said I'd be your knight, not a maid."
For a knight, it's not the lady's kiss that matters—it's earning the right to receive one.