Low, holding the broadsword across the training ground, didn't even bother to take a stance, relaxed against an opponent whose skill seemed far beneath him.
‘He’s really looking down on me…’
Kynemia stifled the tears threatening to spill. Given the gap in their strength, it made sense—but still…
Summoning her resolve, she adopted a deliberately solemn tone. “If you keep standing still, you’ll get hurt, Low.”
At her words, Low—who’d been motionless, about to lower his sword—straightened his slouched posture. Kynemia’s intense gaze made it clear this wasn’t a game. A serious opponent deserved serious respect. That was a swordsman’s duty.
As he adjusted his stance, her bright blue eyes gleamed behind the bluish blade.
‘Perfect posture, strong momentum.’
With better physicality, she might’ve become a great swordsman, but her small frame limited her. Most petite swordsmen trained rigorously to compensate with aura, but without magic, mastering basic self-defense was already a feat for Kynemia.
‘Three strikes.’
Low intended to block the first two and deflect the third.
‘Can’t let the fairy get hurt.’
Clang!
Kynemia lunged. Low angled his sword, expecting a direct clash. Instead—
“……!”
Her blue eyes left a streak of light as she flashed past him.
Swish—
A crisp sound followed as her blade sheared through his.
‘How…?!’
The broadsword split cleanly, like an ax felling a tree in one stroke. Low gaped at the falling blade.
Clang—
The severed steel clattered to the floor, its pristine cross-section undeniable. Unbelievable. He’d tested the broadsword’s hardness himself—it surpassed iron. Yet this girl’s sword had sliced it effortlessly?
‘Is this even possible?’
As Low stood stunned, Kynemia spun gracefully, her sword scraping the ground. “Told you it’s better than Tuyen.” She raised the flawless blade skyward. “How does this exist…?”
The bluish edge reignited his warrior’s spirit. He nearly craved to grab it and slash wildly. Gulping, he asked, “Grand Duchess, that sword…?”
“Made from a new mineral—Mithril. No name yet. It’s seeking its true master.” She stepped closer. “I lack my mother’s talent. Me wielding this is like pearls on a pig.”
Low’s throat tightened as the blade neared. But more than desire, duty compelled him. He knelt.
“I’ve… lost.” A humiliating defeat—born of arrogance, of dismissing her words.
“My pride’s downfall.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Kynemia crouched, studying him. He smiled faintly.
“Fairy, swords are dangerous. You could’ve been injured.”
“I needed Heukya. But Nyanpapa wouldn’t listen. Had to prove myself.”
“Ah…”
“Besides, I hate relying on others. Nyanpapa will be mine.”
“Yours…?”
“Yes. Join me, Low. With the guild.”
“I’m unworthy…”
“Shouldn’t you see how your guild lives now?”
“…….”
“I know where they are. What they’re doing.”
Low’s eyes flickered. After disbanding the guild, he’d avoided the Kshans out of shame. Now, he couldn’t find them even if he tried.
‘How does she read hearts so deeply?’
“I won by the sword’s code. Accept this.”
Low stared at the offered blade. Refusal now would only feed his pride. And…
‘This sword…’
A Kshan’s soul lived through their blade. This felt like rebirth.
“Grand Duchess Kynemia Lion.”
He knelt on one knee, fist over his heart. “Kshan Low. I pledge loyalty to you, with Oasis as witness.”
Kynemia blinked—a swordsman’s oath meant lifelong service. Flustered, she waved her hands. “No! I wanted a guild contract!”
“Then I’ve no choice.” He pressed the broken broadsword to his chest. “Rejection means death.”
Too extreme!
“Fine! I accept!” She seized his sword hand.
Smiling, he repeated the vow. Kynemia inhaled, resting the Mithril blade on his shoulders.
“I accept your oath, Kshan Low. Take my sword.”
He bowed, trembling as he grasped it. Blushing, she whispered, “Rise.”
“Yes.”
Low swung the sword—swish, swish—his stance and speed mirroring her mother’s.
‘…But he looks happy.’
Swords suited him far more than lace.
As Kynemia smiled, a thought struck her:
‘Where’s the troublemaker?’
Her anxiety during the duel hadn’t been about Low, but Ayan. Yet he’d stayed oddly quiet.
‘Impressed by me?’
Never mind that she’d exploited an item and his complacency—mental victories mattered. Puffing up, she flashed a V-sign at Ayan.
“……Ayan?”
He lay collapsed on the ground.
