The frenzy surging through her veins slowly cooled as the cold wind swept by.
Anna’s limbs felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead. She struggled to move her feet, leaning against the haystack, her fighting spirit slowly unraveling.
She was still lost in the lingering resonance of the sword dance just now.
This was the first time she had fought Yegor to a standstill.
Yegor couldn’t break her sword dance, and Anna found it equally hard to take Yegor’s head.
Exhausted in both mind and body, the two now rested back-to-back against a haystack.
A wind laced with icy crystals lifted the hem of Anna’s skirt, attacking her bare legs. The chill made her instinctively curl into herself.
A leather wine flask was passed from the other side of the haystack. Its loosely-stoppered mouth released a pungent aroma of alcohol.
It was unmistakably intoxicating Distilled Liquor.
Rumor had it that northerners drank strong liquor to keep warm; Anna didn’t know if it was true, but she raised her throat and took a gulp. It tasted like water, but it seemed to light a fire in her throat, making her cough uncontrollably.
It was her first time drinking something so strong. Compared to this, the Fruit Wine she used to drink in taverns was nothing but sweet water.
Behind her, Yegor’s mocking chuckle sounded.
“Drink up. Don’t freeze to death here.”
Yegor turned with a heavy movement, shifting his position. He sat beside Anna, at that moment staring at the birch on the distant cliff, like a melancholy, sensitive poet.
“If I drink it, I’ll die right here.”
Were birch trees really that beautiful? Anna followed his gaze along the cliff. The birch stood alone, fighting against the wind and snow.
And perched atop the mountain, the New Swan Castle loomed like a giant boulder pressing on the peak. Ophelia was now imprisoned within.
Ophelia… what must she be enduring now?
So-called Bride’s Training—it would surely drive her mad, wouldn’t it?
Ophelia.
What surfaced in Anna’s mind were only the absurd words, “I miss you.”
Yet compared to wind and snow that could crush a mountain, such thoughts felt too frivolous.
The mountain was silent, yet seemed to mock Anna’s insignificance.
“Still not enough… Far from enough.”
Anna yearned to grow stronger. Never before had she so desperately desired power.
“The Grand Duke wasn’t wrong. You really are a lot like her.”
As if trying to relieve her bitterness, Anna kicked away a stone at her feet. In Yegor’s eyes, she began to overlap with a once-familiar, now-blurred figure.
Just as thin, just as dejected, just as hungry for strength… Just as much a Sword of the Lady.
Her name was Cecilia. When Yegor first met her, she shone brilliantly, carrying hope on her back—a hero—while he was nothing but a Lieutenant behind the general.
“Train with me, Yegor.”
One day she said this to him.
In this camp, on this snowy plain, leaning against a haystack just the same, they talked about everything. She called him “Instructor,” and he joked, calling her “Private.” They were once the closest of comrades.
Only Yegor understood the secret feelings buried deep in his heart.
He would take this secret to the grave. That way, he would always remain her best comrade.
He watched her marry, and soon after, become a mother. When she should have been by her daughter’s side, she resolutely set foot on the battlefield.
She didn’t even see her daughter once.
In the end, that hero fell with regret before the Demon King’s castle. Always one to cherish his own life, Yegor charged like a madman into the tide of the Demon King’s army. No one thought a fool so reckless would come back alive.
But he returned, and brought back her sword.
He would never forget, when he handed over the sword, how the girl—her daughter—eyes widened in shock, so like Cecilia’s, and the Grand Duke heaved a heavy sigh.
Yegor lived on in regret until today. And then, he met this new Private by his side.
Just as stubborn, just as resilient, just as reckless, just as deeply in love…in love with her only blood.
The Grand Duke had aged; he was a dying sun, unable to light the darkness of night.
The world once belonged to them, but in the end, it would be theirs.
This Lieutenant, Orderly, Staff Officer, and Guard all in one resolved to betray the lord to whom he had sworn his life.
So he was determined to temper that Sword of the Lady until it was sharper still.
Only then would she be worthy to take up that blade and stand at the Lady’s side.
Yegor’s chuckling stopped.
He silently took a long drink of liquor, his Adam’s apple bobbing fiercely, as if he was swallowing the bitter, icy wind and snow that had been pressing down for a dozen years.
“She said that too, back then…”
His voice lowered, like an old man speaking to a nameless grave.
“‘Not enough, far from enough’… She used to say that all the time, too.”
Anna was taken aback. She vaguely realized who “she” was—that Sword of the Lady who still held Ophelia captive, one of her predecessors… Ophelia’s mother.
The wind and snow seemed to quiet a little, as if making way for the memory.
“She always led the charge, always ran to the most dangerous places. She said that fearlessness in the face of death was the hero’s nature.”
Yegor’s eyes still rested on the distant birch, yet seemed to pierce through time.
“Even after she started a family and bore the Lady… I thought she would stop. But she didn’t. She was always preparing, always running to the next battlefield that awaited her.”
His old and weary voice was tinged with almost gentle pain.
“The Grand Duke hid her away, with castles, with family, with love… But everyone knew: a cage could never hold an eagle destined to soar the skies.”
Yegor fell silent, taking another swig. This one seemed especially fiery, making even his eyes redden.
He turned his face abruptly. In those iron-gray eyes, Anna saw clearly nostalgia, guilt, fury, and a resolve to burn his bridges.
“Do you know why I help you, Private?”
Anna shook her head.
Yegor reached out, his rough fingers nearly pressing against Anna’s heart.
“For the Lady. For you. You’re so much like her, yet so different… You don’t fight for some damned mission. You fight for a person.”
His gaze was as sharp as a blade.
“You want to snatch her from this damned cage, from that cursed marriage that should never have trapped her, right?”
Anna’s heart pounded fiercely. Yegor had mercilessly hit her deepest secret.
She met Yegor’s gaze without flinching, answering firmly and decisively.
“Yes. I said… I would stay by her side.”
“Good.” Yegor showed a savage yet utterly relieved smile. “Then prove it to me! Prove you can take up that sword, prove you’re worthy to stand by the Lady’s side.”
He stood, drained the last of the liquor, and hurled the empty flask into a distant snowbank.
“Rest is over, Private!”
He pointed toward the castle atop the distant mountain, his voice sharp as a drawn sword.
“A month from now, on the day of the wedding, Annatasia—”
His voice echoed through the valley, filled with an undeniable sense of fate.
“You will step over my corpse, use Northern blood as your bride price, and take your beloved away… Can you do it?”
Anna drew a deep breath. The fire ignited in her veins by the liquor seemed to blaze even more fiercely.
She straightened her spine, rooting herself into the frozen earth like a snow pine, her voice clear and resolute.
“Yes, Instructor.”
She raised her right hand, saluting Yegor like a true Private.
Her gaze passed over Yegor, fixing once again on that ironclad fortress.
She would never break her promise.