Chapter 11: The Cleaving of Dignity

She continued speaking with a brazen smile.

“The Intezeruto House began reclaiming the Serenus Marsh about a hundred and ninety years ago.”

Cough. 

I barely suppressed the laugh bubbling up.

A hundred and ninety years ago—our father, Argantius, hadn’t even ascended as Lord of the House yet.

“The Imperial Family dispatched a survey team a hundred and ninety-two years ago to measure the Midus Marsh and establish the budget. Isn’t that correct?”

I think I finally understood what was happening here.

The Imperial Capital and Intezeron are disgustingly far apart.

Each Elector Family governs its territory independently, so they can’t just send investigators as they please.

By the time they send notice, select their team, and finally arrive, it would take over a year.

More than enough time for both Houses to repeatedly forge their documents—one out of the greed to seize land, and the other out of fear of losing it.

And the result of that was this absurd mess of numbers.

“Ahem.”

“Hmm.”

Half of the Imperial delegation and my younger sister both gave awkward laughs at the same time.

It was Ribelia who spoke first.

With a voice laced in sincerity, she used a word that was practically taboo in diplomatic exchanges.

“If we could all be just a little honest, I think we could stop running on these parallel lines.”

Apparently, the Imperial envoy was desperate enough not to take offense at that word.

“You’re right. How could we verify land reclaimed before we were even born? Let’s be honest. We might not be satisfied, but we can at least accept it.”

“Yes. We might not be satisfied, but we can accept it.”

My sister received a local map from the administrator.

She picked up a quill and drew a straight line right down the middle.

“This is the exact center point. Let this be the border.”

“No. That won’t do.”

The Imperial envoy shook his head.

“Are you going to pretend you didn’t know that Midus Marsh was wider than Serenus Marsh?”

My sister’s eyes curved.

It was a smile worn like a mask.

I’d only learned yesterday that Midus Marsh was supposedly larger.

Whether that was true, I didn’t know.

But the Imperial Family had insisted on that point all along, and we either didn’t deny it—or couldn’t.

“Do you have any proof?”

“What?”

“I asked if you have any survey data. Data from a brave soul who entered the heart of that monster-infested marsh and measured the land according to proper regulations!”

The Imperial envoy ground his teeth.

“I can’t accept this. I must see this negotiation through properly.”

“How convenient. So must I,” Ribelia shot back.

“That’s why I’ve decided to do whatever it takes.”

My sister blinked in confusion. “What did you just—?”

The Imperial envoy suddenly reached out his left hand and seized Ribelia’s wrist, pulling her across the low desk.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

She shouted sharply.

Just as I went to draw my sword, a tingling sensation spread across my lips and the back of my hand.

The Imperial envoy’s right hand glowed with blue light.

My mana responded instinctively to his powerful will.

For a moment, my muscles froze as though petrified.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

His voice carried a strained kind of desperation.

“I’m desperate.”

The blue mana flared brightly.

It formed a glowing sphere that enveloped both my sister and the Imperial envoy together.

No.

I recognized it instantly—I’d studied magical theory obsessively to compensate for my lack of talent.

“Wind magic… Short-range teleportation.”

“Short-range,” my foot.

That technique could cross several thousand meters in an instant.

Once he activated it, they’d be back in their own camp immediately.

Our soldiers caught on to the situation and stirred uneasily.

But with Ribelia in his grasp, there was nothing they could do.

I charged forward, aiming to drive my sword into Sormanzer’s side.

Mana itself has no physical force—it can be pierced clean through.

“Sir Daiodel. Protect me until the spell completes.”

The Imperial envoy’s murmured voice reached my ears.

He slammed Ribelia down roughly, pinning her beside him.

Desperately, I forced movement into my frozen fingers and regained control of my body.

***

Four soldiers of the Imperial Family gathered their administrators and fled back toward their camp.

Four soldiers of Intezeruto charged forward, caring nothing for the officials—only desperate to rescue their lady.

Daiodel the Cleaver drew his sword and stepped toward them.

The Intezeruto soldiers, disciplined as ever, moved with precision and speed even in chaos.

One swung his halberd in a wide arc as the others rushed in.

A single strike to the leg or shoulder would cripple their opponent’s movement.

An ordinary knight would have dodged with catlike agility.

But Daiodel did not dodge.

He twisted his right arm holding the sword hard to the left.

His upper body coiled—and then, like a taut rope snapping free, his blade swung loose.

Swaash!

Four halberd shafts shattered like reeds.

“Fall back!”

“You go! We’ll hold him off!”

Even amidst the confusion, their composure as elite soldiers held.

But when one of them saw his comrade’s torso split clean in two, his jaw dropped open.

“Impossible!”

Armor and spine aren’t something you can cut through in one blow.

The spine is so tough that even an executioner’s axe must strike several times to sever it, and their armor was reinforced leather and plated steel.

No knight could cleave through that.

But the half-body lying before them was undeniable proof.

That was the origin of his epithet—Daiodel the Cleaver.

Another swing, and two soldiers lost their legs.

A thrust, and the last clutched his throat before collapsing.

It all happened in the time it takes to blink twice.

Without a single ragged breath, Daiodel licked his lips with the tip of his tongue and smirked unpleasantly.

“I’ve never killed a pureblood before.”

With those words, he lunged at Anplus like a black panther.

Anplus, who had been rushing toward Sormanzer, caught the glint of dark metal at his left flank.

Seeing Anplus’s startled face, Daiodel was sure his strike would land.

At that speed, it was impossible to change direction mid-motion.

But Anplus twisted his body on his right foot and turned to face him.

His heel drove deep into the earth.

Using the rotational force of his turn, Anplus channeled all momentum into his blade in a graceful slash.

He aimed for Daiodel’s forearm.

Daiodel swung his left arm instinctively, feeling his breath hitch.

The principle of striking before your opponent’s attack reaches full power—useful not just in shield defense, but in any form of combat.

Their weapons collided—clang!

Normally, Anplus’s sword would have been easily deflected.

But sparks crackled, and Daiodel’s gauntlet shook under the impact.

Suppressing the pain of what felt like a broken bone, Daiodel counterthrusted.

He aimed precisely at Anplus’s thigh.

Even if he ducked, it would be too late.

He was already picturing the sight of noble blue blood spilling.

But Anplus crouched and stepped back.

The blade stopped just a finger’s width from his thigh.

There was no look of relief on Anplus’s face.

He’d predicted the range perfectly—and moved exactly far enough.

“You… gauged that?!”

Daiodel, startled enough to speak his thoughts aloud, hastily withdrew his sword.

His stride and reach had been read completely.

Now he stood still.

For a knight, mobility is both sword and shield.

A motionless knight is a disarmed one.

And Anplus had no intention of letting him recover.

“You’ve seen the flowers bloom. There was no need to be so tense.”

Anplus drove his gauntleted fist forward.

The steel-clad punch struck Daiodel’s face like a hammer.

***

I frowned, feeling a weaker recoil than expected.

He’d leaned back the instant he was hit, dispersing the impact.

I’d said there was no need to tense up, but this opponent was formidable.

I glanced briefly at Sormanzer’s spell formation.

He was nearly done with the Wind Teleportation Technique.

It was fortunate he hadn’t practiced casting with another person before—the delay was our only saving grace.

Ribelia was struggling, but I didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.

I had to end this fast—and for good.

I lowered my stance, aiming my sword at Daiodel once more.

“Young one, your punch stings.”

Blood dripped purple from his face and nose as he stepped between me and Sormanzer.

“I planned to toy with you slowly before killing you, but that won’t do.”

He took that same brutal stance he’d used to cleave my soldiers in two.

Right arm wound far to the left.

That infamous Cleave of Iron.

At our similar speed, I had the disadvantage.

His blade would reach my arm before mine reached his armor.

But no technique is invincible.

For all its speed, changing direction after a full swing must be difficult.

That was my chance.

I answered him.

“Don’t worry. I was planning to finish this in one strike from the start.”

A duel between knights usually ends in three exchanges at most.

They charge toward the enemy mage, spot each other, and strike in a blink.

The faster, bolder one moves on. 

The slower, hesitant one lies in the dirt.

So a prolonged clash like this, with blades locking and testing distance, was rare indeed.

Both Anplus and Daiodel measured reach, step, and timing—each trying to pull the other into their own rhythm.

A half step forward, one back. Footprints piled atop each other like tangled threads.

Then Sormanzer tightened his grip around Ribelia’s neck.

Her face paled rapidly as her mana failed to disrupt his spell.

“Wretched girl.”

Her black hair fell limp, and the golden-haired noble refocused.

The blue sphere of mana swelled rapidly.

The tension between me and Daiodel snapped—when I moved first.

A textbook charge, my jaw nearly grazing my knee.

Daiodel, elated, swung his sword.

Three short steps.

No one who had entered that distance had ever survived.

The blade cut the air like a snapped rope.

It struck with speed that split a blink in half.

A strike strong enough to tear flesh and shatter bone beneath steel.

He’ll never dodge that.

I never intended to.

But there was no trace of panic in Anplus’s eyes.

He timed his heartbeat into four precise beats—and caught the moment.

Just before the blade touched him, he swung his left gauntlet diagonally downward.

Krrrk!

Metal met metal.

For every heartbeat, he moved his gauntlet four times, changing the angle with each clash.

No matter how much power was behind it, if the angle slipped, the blade would slide harmlessly off the curve of the plate.

Clank, clang, clatter!

Anplus deflected Daiodel’s strike, then caught his wrist and yanked.

Daiodel stumbled, losing his balance.

Anplus raised his sword high.

Pain surged through his extended muscles as he brought it down with rope-snapping force.

Cleave.

Purple blood sprayed. Daiodel’s arm was severed cleanly.

“You’re not the one who matters.”

Anplus threw the arm aside and dashed forward.

Ahead, he saw Sormanzer’s face twist in horror.