The Broken Sword and the Duke's Fall
“Hmm.”
He gazed down at me for a moment with inscrutable eyes. His inherently stoic face made it look almost like he was displeased. Come to think of it, I had no idea what the knights really thought of Abigail. Abigail had always despised the northern knights as brutish fools who only knew how to swing a sword. If that disdain had shown through, they might have kept their distance from her. And with all the rumors swirling in the mansion about her mistreatment of the servants, it was even more likely.
Which meant this knight, Jade, might actually resent being assigned as my instructor.
I suddenly felt tense.
“First, I’ll teach you how to hold the sword.”
“Huh? Oh, yes.”
It was unexpected. Jade explained how to grip the sword with surprising care. The one he handed me was a small wooden practice sword meant for children. But due to the northern style’s emphasis on two-handed swords, even the child-sized version was large and heavy. For Abigail’s body, it was a bit tough to handle.
Abigail had hated anything resembling exercise. She’d throw a fit mid-stroll if she got tired, demanding the servants fetch a carriage. I’d been worried about her lack of basic stamina, but fortunately, lifting the wooden sword felt light enough.
“...Your stance is good.”
“Haha.”
Jade complimented me with a look of genuine surprise. No wonder—gripping a two-handed sword shared a lot of similarities with the kendo I’d learned in my previous life. In kendo, we’d held the wooden bokken with both hands too. The method he taught was similar to kendo’s basic chudan-no-kamae stance. The main difference was that here, the hands were pressed tightly together, making the balance point right where they met. It seemed perfect for delivering powerful downward strikes.
“Now, raise the sword and bring it down like this. Do you see the target in front of you?”
“Yes.”
I nodded and lifted the wooden sword. A wooden block shaped like a scarecrow stood before me. I aimed the tip at what looked like its neck, then swung downward in a vertical arc.
Crack!
“...Huh?”
“...!”
Jade and I froze like statues. The wooden sword lay in two neat halves at my feet. And the target I’d struck was badly mangled too—the spot I’d aimed for at the neck was half-severed, dangling loosely.
Jade probably hadn’t expected this at all. I was flustered enough; he must have been stunned. I sneaked a glance at him.
“J-Jade, Sir Knight.”
“...”
“Haha, why’d it break so easily? That’s weird.”
I laughed awkwardly, eyeing the sword like it was the culprit. My knuckles throbbed a little, but it wasn’t too painful. And there should’ve been a huge impact from clashing with the target, yet my arms hadn’t even twitched. What the hell?
Abigail’s body...?
Memories from the past few days flashed through my mind. During walks, the maids had trailed behind, exhausted, but I’d never felt tired. I’d chalked it up to youthful stamina, but apparently not.
So Abigail had just been faking weakness? All those carriage demands were just her playing sick?
My head was spinning in confusion when...
“...As expected of a Carpoem.”
“Pardon?”
Jade, who’d been silent for a while, finally spoke. His voice was low and husky, yet laced with unmistakable excitement.
“Forgive me for doubting you, even briefly, Lady Abigail. You truly are the future lord of us all—a Carpoem.”
“Uh, lord?”
Jade’s eyes began to sparkle, which was a bit intimidating. The knights who’d been stealing glances now stared openly, murmuring in awe. Someone whispered, “As expected of a Carpoem.”
I looked down at the cleanly severed wooden sword.
So Abigail had inherited the family’s talent after all? She’d been oblivious to it, blinded by love, making one disastrous choice after another until her ruin.
“Let’s continue the training, Sir Jade.”
“Yes. I’ll fetch a new wooden sword.”
I nodded vigorously. Finally, I felt like I understood what I needed to do.
* * *
“Haa, I’m exhausted.”
It had been several days since sword training began. Even with this body’s great stamina, pushing it all day took its toll. I grumbled, my face scrunched up.
“Annie, water, please.”
“Yes.”
The cool water revived me a bit. Lemon-infused, it went down smooth without any off-taste.
“Miss!”
In that moment of peace, someone burst into my room. I frowned at her.
“May, what’s wrong? It’s not dinnertime yet.”
My other maid, May. After training, I’d rest a bit before dinner with the duke. But it was still early—plenty of time to change out of my sweaty clothes and shower first. Was she calling too soon?
I shot May a reproachful look.
“I haven’t even washed up yet.”
“It’s not that, Miss. It’s...”
“Then what?”
I asked indifferently, standing up. Untying my hair ribbon let my long locks cascade over my shoulders. As I started to shed my dust-caked clothes, May continued in a trembling voice.
“Th-the Duke...”
“What?”
Only then did I notice May’s ashen face.
“What about Father?”
My chest tightened with unease. A bad feeling crept in. Panting from her rush, May finally forced out the words.
“The Duke... he vomited blood and collapsed.”
“...”
The duke’s sickly, bloodless face sprang to mind. He wasn’t supposed to die yet. In the original story, he lingered for years before passing. Still, my hands shook. I clenched my fists, calluses just starting to form.
“Miss!”
Someone called from behind. Without thinking, my body bolted toward the duke’s room.
* * *
Because the Carpoem Duke and Abigail had a poor relationship, I’d always thought of him more like a stranger than a father. Even when coquettishly asking him for favors, my heart stayed cold.
I was an orphan. I never knew parental love. In that way, Abigail and I were alike—children starved of their parents’ affection, marked by unhappy childhoods.
Maybe that’s why I hadn’t felt much dissonance after possessing her. No matter what I did, I couldn’t change the duke’s heart. Not even his own daughter could.
So I’d held no expectations. I’d only worked to save him because he was useful—a tool for my plans. That had to be why I was panicking now. He was still essential; his death would cloud my future.
“Your Grace, please come to! Your Grace!”
“...”
Dominic was shouting desperately.
“Is the doctor here yet?”
“He’ll arrive soon.”
Dominic’s frantic yells mixed with the servants’ anxious murmurs, buzzing in my ears. I shook off a servant’s restraining hand and approached the bed.
“L-Lady Abigail...”
Dominic looked at me in distress. His apron was soaked red with the duke’s blood.
I stared at the duke lying on the bed. His face was deathly pale, almost blue like a corpse.
“Lady Abigail, you can’t be here. Please leave.”
Dominic signaled the servants around me. But no one dared touch me. No one could make me leave—except the unconscious duke.
“...Father.”
“...”
I called to him calmly. The last time he’d had a seizure, Abigail had been hosting a tea party with her capital friends. She’d giggled with the other young ladies over towers of colorful desserts and chocolates, only learning of his collapse late. But she hadn’t stopped the party. Her face had paled briefly, then she’d gone right back to chatting. As always, she partied until dusk before retiring to her room—never visiting him, indifferently hearing he was stable. That night, she’d tossed and turned sleeplessly.
“...I’ll stay here.”
“Lady Abigail.”
“I’ll stay. Please, Dominic.”
Calling his name familiarly, like when I was little, made his eyes tremble.
“Very well. But if it gets too hard to watch...”
“I’ll go then. Don’t worry.”
Dominic nodded gravely. Then—
“His Grace isn’t breathing!”
“What?”
A servant watching the duke screamed while Dominic and I talked. Dominic panicked, checking the duke’s nose and pressing his ear to his chest. His face went ghost-white.
“Th-this can’t be. It’s never been like this before...”
“...”
In that instant, I realized: The duke might die right now.
Dominic shook the breathless duke in panic.
“The doctor—the doctor! Why is he so late?!”
Since the duke’s illness confined him indoors, his personal physician had moved into the estate. But thinking back, that doctor was elderly—serving since the previous duke’s time. The vast estate probably slowed his steps.
“Dominic, step back.”
“Lady Abigail, what...”
I calmly pulled Dominic away. Shaking someone who’d stopped breathing was insane. These people truly had no medical knowledge.
I climbed onto the duke’s bed and placed my hands on his chest—one flat in the center, the other stacked atop it, fingers interlaced. CPR from my office training. I’d only practiced once, but it felt right. Pressing down hard with locked hands.
The frail, bony sensation transmitted through my palms. I pressed rhythmically, lost in the motion. Sweat poured like rain. Counting in my head, I kept going.
Please, breathe. Breathe, damn it.
The limp, corpse-like body jolted with each compression. I glimpsed the bright red blood he’d vomited. Gritting my teeth—
“Kuh... hack...!”
“Your Grace!”
The duke finally gasped, coughing raggedly. I stared at him blankly. His tightly shut eyes slowly opened.
“...Abigail?”
“Father...”
Seeing his red eyes, a sigh of relief escaped me unbidden.
“The doctor has arrived!”