That was New Swan Castle, a bastion perched atop the highest peak in the kingdom’s northern border, overlooking the entire stretch of the frontier.
It had once been the kingdom’s frontline stronghold against the Northern Barbarians.
After the barbarians submitted, the Castellan family—border dukes who rose through military merit—were granted this fortress as their hereditary seat.
Generation after generation, the Castellans had turned the once-bastion into the family residence.
The silent, towering walls spoke of the family’s origins—noble warriors forged in fire and blood, a legacy impossible to erase.
The current Duke Castellan, Duke Valka, was once the kingdom’s most heroic general.
The expedition he led had brought humanity closer than ever to toppling the Demon King.
Afterwards, he resigned all military posts, retreating to New Swan Castle, keeping company only with strong liquor and the harp.
Since then, few had heard news of the once radiant Northern Sun.
Anna was among the fortunate few to have seen that sun.
Silver hair slicked back, bloated cheeks, eyes glazed and listless from excessive drinking, and a military dress clearly ill-fitting—a decrepit old man who should have died long ago.
That was Anna’s sole impression of him.
“You are the Sword Hero?”
Sensing those murky, scattered eyes, Anna stood as straight and unyielding as a cedar.
Belonging to Ophelia, the ill-fitting formal dress hung limply on her frame, making her figure appear especially frail.
Yet those small shoulders stood firm, as if bearing the weight of the entire bastion.
Her red eyes lifted, sharp as blades.
“Yes, General.”
Her voice was soft but echoed through the entire fortress.
“You do bear some resemblance to her.”
Duke Valka’s gaze fixed on the bridge of Anna’s nose. His blue eyes were deep and hollow, as if steeped in the poison of time.
“I have heard much about you, very much.”
His words fell like a verdict.
“I heard you fought to the last moment beneath the Demon King’s castle, your holy sword broken there… So why did you return alive?”
“I should have died there, and death would have been glorious. But like your beloved, never again seeing the smile of the one you cherish—is that justice?”
The teacup grazed Anna’s cheek like an ice shard before smashing on the floor, shattering.
Anna did not dodge or flinch, letting the spilled tea freeze against her skin.
Her words were too bold—Ophelia even rose from her seat.
Yet Anna did not retreat. She stepped forward between the rows of swords at her side until she stood before the duke’s throne, where his sword pressed against her throat.
“Death is not glorious; living holds hope. I long for victory—I dream of it. Beneath that castle, I owe countless graves. Without Ophelia, I might have been trapped in that nightmare for life.”
The sword’s tip pierced her skin like thin paper; blood wound around her neck like a red thread.
She let the duke’s blade trace her throat, eyes locked onto his, now painted with anger, as if willing her gaze to become a sword piercing his soul.
“With all due respect, General, your daughter is far stronger than you. It is because of this that I am so devoted to her. I promised her I would be her sword. To this day, this moment, I do not intend to break that oath, even if it means standing against you.”
Anna’s words were like a declaration of war, cold and unwavering as she slapped the sword from the duke’s hand, each word heavy with unyielding resolve.
“General, you once were my idol.”
Her fingers brushed the blood trailing down her throat, like adorning herself with a necklace of crimson.
“Anna… Enough. Step down.”
Ophelia’s sharp voice came from beside her; the emblem on her abdomen burned fiercely.
In the past, Anna would have yielded at this moment. But today, she wanted to stand tall.
Even if the fire buried within her body would burn her to ashes.
“Anna!”
“Better to keep quiet, useless hero.”
The knight’s sword came at her like a blade cleaving the sky.
Anna did not summon the sword that had once been repaired after the capital attack; her holy sword remained broken—the repair was only an illusion.
She blocked Yegor’s assault with a broken blade. A broken holy sword was still a holy sword, and a fallen hero was still a hero.
“Enough of your nonsense… What do you know, brat!”
Yegor’s sword struck again; Anna met it head-on. At the clash of blades, a thick ice wall materialized between them, magic cast by Ophelia, while the duke still watched impassively.
“Enough.”
The old voice rumbled like a lion’s final roar, as if the sun was setting, yet the afterglow still scorched.
“Yegor, she’s yours now. Take her to your men to teach her a lesson—no need for her to get in the way inside the fortress.”
The duke’s order carried an irresistible power.
“As for you, Ophelia, until the young master of the Carath family visits, I want you to stay locked away and reflect. You two are not to see each other again.”
“I refuse.”
“Yes… Father.”
The moment Anna spoke, Yegor grabbed her neck and twisted her arm.
“Shut up right now!”
Yegor forced Anna’s face to the side, his mouth close to her ear. His roar nearly deafened her.
Perhaps Ophelia’s compromise crushed her will to resist, for she said nothing as Yegor dragged her out the door.
“What exactly do you want, Anastasia?”
Yegor’s fist struck her jaw. The metallic scent of blood rose in Anna’s throat.
Seeing her in such a state, the rage of a father who could not bear to see his child broken surged within Yegor’s chest.
“Know your limits! With your sorry state, you think you can save the lady? Stop dreaming of being a hero!”
Another punch struck her forehead. She did not retaliate, only wiped the blood from her mouth and looked at Yegor with an expression neither joyful nor sad.
“Ophelia did not refuse.”
“You made the lady refuse, drew all the eyes of the Northern Border onto yourself, and destroyed every possibility, didn’t you, Anastasia? If you truly want to stay by her side, then trust her more!”
“Mind your own business.”
Anna roughly shoved Yegor’s chest, but the battle-hardened warrior stood firm like a fortress.
He looked down at her coldly, filled with disdain and bone-deep disappointment.
“I heard everything you said in the carriage. I think the lady must have her plans. And you? Are you just going to give up like this? Or do you think you can run through this bastion like a ghost with that broken sword? Don’t pretend—you can’t even handle me. What right do you have to answer the lady’s request?!”
Anna’s hand suddenly fell limp.
What was she hoping for? For Ophelia to defy her father? For the two of them to stand against all the Castellans? Or for a tragic, all-consuming double death, a bleak and endless tragedy?
Or was it for her to end Ophelia’s suffering with her own hands, then drink that cup called The Antidote, listening to the crows mourn Never Return?
Why… couldn’t she trust Ophelia a little more? She was so clever, so strong—she… would never give up without a fight!
She was such a fool.
“Answer her Request…” Anna muttered, the metallic taste of blood and the dull ache in her cheek sobering her somewhat.
“Or what?” Yegor released her, voice still cold, but the pure anger had faded, replaced by a near-cruel realism.
“What do you think the lady is asking of you? A grand, heroic double death? She’s chosen to bow temporarily to buy time and space. But you want to drag her down to roll in the mud with you and ruin everything.”
He turned away, no longer looking at Anna’s pale face.
“Come with me. Since the duke handed you over to me, don’t expect an easy life.”