Chapter 05
Pant, pant—
The Crown Prince’s knight, Werner, staggered in with ragged breaths. He must have run straight from the training grounds to here without stopping.
“Werner. What is it?”
“That’s… huff, haah… Sir Isaac, at the knights’ order, he’s….”
For a moment my blood ran cold.
Had Isaac’s wrist finally fallen off?
If he cried out something like “A zombie appeared in the knights’ order! Sir Isaac has turned into a zombie!”—that would be the end of everything.
I quickly hid my trembling fingertips behind my back. Thankfully, Tristan’s attention was fixed entirely on Werner.
“No, it’s… Sir Isaac and Sir Harold are dueling!”
“What?”
Tristan’s expression hardened instantly.
“Isn’t it the spectacle of a lifetime? For years, people have bet on who’s the strongest in the order, but the two of them never actually fought each other, so every wager fizzled out. Finally, today’s the day! For the record, I put my bet on Sir Harold!”
Werner, oblivious to the weight of the situation, babbled on cheerfully.
“Ah, pardon me, Lady Walker. I forgot you were here. Don’t misunderstand—I bet on Sir Isaac last time.”
He even had the gall to flash me a friendly grin.
At least he didn’t find out about the zombie part…
But a duel? At a time like this, when Isaac should be hiding himself away? What was he thinking?
If he wasn’t careful, he could be exposed in front of everyone.
No… as long as His Highness the Crown Prince doesn’t see it directly, maybe it can still be salvaged.
“You really are…” Tristan rubbed his forehead, clearly exasperated by Werner’s antics. Luckily, it didn’t seem like he was—
“Let’s go at once.”
“Ha! I knew you’d say that!”
My fragile hope was shattered as Tristan shot to his feet.
“I already told them to save the best seats. Let’s hurry!”
“I could learn a thing or two myself.”
He was a knight too, after all. No wonder he was interested in watching the duel between two of the order’s finest.
I barely restrained myself from smacking my forehead.
“Ah, Lady Walker, if you’re not too busy, would you care to join us as well?”
Werner turned to me with his usual easygoing manner. As the Crown Prince’s guard, he was often friendly even with the scribes. Normally I would have declined politely, but—
“Would that be all right?”
This time was different. I forced a shy little smile, laying the groundwork to stop the duel.
“Actually, Isaac hasn’t been feeling well lately…”
“Strange, I heard he broke three wooden swords just the other day during training?”
“…That’s exactly why I’m worried. What if he’s overexerting himself?”
“Normally he breaks five. There’s even a running joke that Sir Isaac eats up the biggest chunk of the order’s budget. Ha ha ha!”
Werner’s booming laugh made the veins in his throat bulge. I had to fight the urge to punch him there.
Isaac, just what nonsense have you been pulling?
I hadn’t realized, since the budget allocation wasn’t my duty, that he was such a notorious money sink.
Silently apologizing to whoever had to manage that headache, I followed Tristan and Werner out of the office.
What a mess…
Isaac forced himself to look calm as he gripped the wooden sword. He gave it a few light swings. That much was fine.
But the moment I put any real strength into it…
Crack.
A sickening sound jolted from his wrist. It felt as if it might snap clean off. He quickly clutched it with his other hand.
Damn it. I should never have taken the bait.
He let out a heavy sigh. He hadn’t wanted this. Truly.
But if Harold hadn’t prodded his most sensitive nerve, he would have laughed off any taunt.
Isaac, your little sister—what was her name again? Emily? Anyway, isn’t she a useless dud with no talents? She’s old enough, don’t you think it’s time to sell her off to some decent family? You’d make a tidy profit, eh?
Just recalling that vile smirk made Isaac grind his teeth.
I plan to make a formal marriage proposal soon, so do me a favor, won’t you? Of course, I know the Walker family usually only takes in sons-in-law. But surely you won’t apply the same rule to a defective girl, right?
He knew it was provocation, but he couldn’t bear it.
Emily didn’t deserve to hear such filth from the likes of Harold.
In truth, Emily lacked nothing. Perhaps she wasn’t dazzling, but she was a dear little sister—clever, gentle, and kind.
But in the House of Walker, that meant she fell short.
Her cotton-candy-pink hair and warm green eyes were pleasant enough, but when she stood beside her siblings, her light dimmed.
She was smart, yes, but not as brilliant as the eldest who remembered everything at a glance.
She wasn’t weak, but not like the second, who could shatter boulders with bare hands.
She was dexterous, but not like her twin sister, who could concoct potions with perfect precision.
In the Walker family, blessed by the gods for generations, each child was born with a singular, remarkable gift. Emily… was simply ordinary.
But that’s what people who know nothing say.
Isaac often thought back to their parents’ death. If not for Emily’s quiet smile, their family would have collapsed entirely.
When everyone else had been lost and broken, she alone had stood firm as their anchor.
No one had the right to belittle her.
Isaac tightened his grip on the wooden sword. The divine blessing he had received was unmatched strength and endurance—now nearly useless since becoming a zombie.
But his years of experience hadn’t vanished.
Closing his eyes, then opening them again, he readied himself. The duel was upon him.
The training grounds, usually reserved for knights, were packed with spectators. Word of today’s match had spread like wildfire.
Yet with the Crown Prince present, the crowd instinctively kept their distance, as if a barrier had been set up.
Thanks to that, even in the chaos, our seats were comfortable.
“See? Isn’t it convenient to attend with His Highness?” Werner smirked, clearly proud of himself.
“Oh, it’s starting!”
We sat down on the folding chairs Werner had prepared. On the platform, Isaac and Harold appeared at last.
His wrist…
My eyes immediately went to Isaac’s hand. Thankfully, it was still attached—for now.
“Salute!”
As duels were an honorable affair, the two men bowed courteously to each other.
“Prepare!”
They took their stances, wooden swords at the ready. My heart pounded as I tried not to show my anxiety.
“Is he really unwell?”
I nearly jumped at the voice by my ear. I turned to find Tristan leaning toward me, his face unexpectedly close. Flustered, I dropped my gaze.
“Pardon?”
“Sir Isaac.”
“Oh… yes. He’s been sick for a few days now. Said something he ate didn’t agree with him.”
“No wonder he looks so pale. He’s gone blue.”
Werner joined in. Under the training ground lights, Isaac’s complexion was ghastly.
Of course it is. He’s a zombie.
Not a drop of blood ran through his veins. No color would ever return to his face.
I’ll have to tell him to at least put on makeup next time…
Today he’d come in suddenly after his leave request was denied, with no time to prepare. His sickly pallor was so obvious that murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Is he fit to fight?”
“Wait—this changes everything. I’m switching my bet to Harold!”
“Please win, Isaac! I bet a fortune on you!”
Hope and despair mingled among the onlookers. My eyes went to Harold across the stage. He clearly saw his opponent’s condition but had no intention of calling off the match.
Of course. There’s no way today’s challenge was a coincidence.
All brilliance casts a deep shadow.
Isaac, gifted with monstrous strength, had become the youngest knight in history, then the youngest to enter the Imperial Order, and even stood poised to become its youngest commander.
Such brilliance always bred envy.
“Begin!”
At the signal, Harold lunged.
“Haaaah!”
His wooden blade slashed toward Isaac’s neck. Wooden or not, it could still cripple.
Clack! Swish—
But Isaac deflected it smoothly, using Harold’s own force to redirect the strike. Harold stumbled forward off-balance.
Whoosh!
Isaac’s sword swung for his exposed nape.
Clack!
Harold barely blocked, rolling away to regain distance. He twirled his wrist with a puzzled frown. Isaac’s blow had been strangely light.
So he really can’t use his strength.
I wasn’t an expert in swordplay, but I’d grown up around Isaac’s overwhelming power. If he’d struck in earnest, Harold’s wooden sword would already be splintered.
Harold might not know the details, but he sensed Isaac wasn’t fighting at full capacity. Smirking, he lunged again, head-on.
Clack, clack! Swish—bang!
The wooden swords clashed again and again, Harold pressing the attack, stabbing at every gap the moment Isaac deflected.
It was a strategy tailored to exploit Isaac’s weakness. And it was working.
Isaac’s wrist was twisting more and more.
Crrrk—
Others might think his wrist was simply unusually flexible.
But I could see it clearly.
His wrist was about to snap clean in two!
