Mother often looked at me with teary eyes and whispered apologies.
Today was no different.
“Mama!”
I reached out my hand.
“Mama.”
I smiled brightly, trying to tell her not to worry.
But the more I did that, the harder she cried.
Pat, pat.
I lifted my short, chubby arm and patted hers.
Ugh, my sausage arm is heavy.
“Isabel, are you comforting me?”
Nod.
I couldn’t speak, but they say body language is a universal language.
Mother looked surprised.
“Can you understand me?”
Nod.
It wasn’t the first time I’d given that signal.
“Na-oo! Ma-oo a-woo ee-yuh-oo! (I can understand you!)”
Mother turned to my nanny, Luluka.
“Do you think she really understands what I’m saying?”
“I believe she does.”
Luluka lowered her voice.
“I haven’t told anyone. I’d only be scolded for saying such nonsense.”
“But… Isabel really does seem to understand us.”
“I think Her Highness is a genius.”
My baby body responded intensely to the clear praise.
I clapped instinctively.
“Kya-ha!”
“See? She loves praise.”
Mother hugged me tightly.
“Even if you’re not a genius, it’s okay. Just grow up healthy.”
A few more days passed.
Once I started to speak, my pronunciation improved little by little.
* * *
The royal family of Billotian had a tradition.
It was called the “Selection Ceremony,” something like Korea’s first birthday object-picking ritual.
And today was the day.
Luluka, who knew I could understand speech, whispered to me:
“Just pick the sword you want the most.”
“Mm.”
“I can’t wait to see everyone’s reactions.”
There was a hint of pride in her eyes.
She looked like a proud parent excited to show off her gifted child.
“We shall open the hall doors.”
The attendants opened the doors, and Luluka and I entered the hall.
Ack—so bright.
At one year old, my eyes were still delicate, and I wasn’t used to the dazzling chandelier light.
Far ahead, on the central seats, sat my father and mother side by side.
Behind them stood Sir Viaton, Father’s aide and close friend. Next to Mother, my four older brothers were lined up.
‘Oh, dear god.’
It was my first time seeing Sir Viaton and my brothers in person.
This had to be heaven.
‘Thank you deeply for this reincarnation.’
From Father to his aide to my brothers—those faces shouldn’t be free to look at.
Even if you just passed by on a bullet train, you’d know they were handsome.
To think such character designs actually exist…
Luluka set me down.
The floor was soft and plush.
‘Ooh, a red carpet!’
A long red carpet stretched out before me.
Lined on both sides were knights of the Billotian royal family, standing in rows.
They had drawn their swords and held them crossed overhead, like a forest made of blades.
“Oohh.”
So cool.
That solemn aura—they were every bit as imposing as Billotian knights should be.
‘Are they knights or models?’
This world was truly unique.
It wasn’t just the knights—even the attendants were way above average in looks.
It was a world overflowing with beautiful men and women.
With such a high standard of appearance, I was bound to get spoiled from all the eye candy over the next 21 years.
‘At the end of the carpet must be the swords.’
The great sword “Hail,” symbol of Billotian.
And ten or so lesser swords.
‘The princes of Billotian have always chosen Hail.’
It was proof of their bloodline.
‘All fine and good… but.’
The problem was that I had to survive my first death threat today.
There existed a faction called the “Sword Council.”
Formed by the founding noble families who helped build Billotian, they held immense power.
Among them were hardliners who refused to accept a princess of Billotian.
They would not tolerate a girl—who couldn’t wield their family swordsmanship—touching Hail.
‘As soon as I touch Hail, an assassin will appear.’
In the novel, it said she survived “by sheer luck.”
The blade supposedly missed by a paper’s width.
But I am not the Isabel from the novel.
“Survived by luck” means I could die if I’m unlucky.
‘I absolutely cannot die.’
No way. I clenched my tiny fist.
How could I die and leave those gorgeous faces behind?!
‘What about Milkis? Macarons? Meat! Tteokbokki!’
It’s so unfair.
I was going to enjoy all 21 years of this life to the fullest.
‘I need to create a variable.’
So I had to make things go differently from the novel.
The more variables, the more the outcome would change.
Crawling along.
I still couldn’t walk, so I gave it my all crawling.
‘A variable!’
Small stones called “magic stones” dotted the floor.
They were traps—touch them and a small explosion would occur.
Babies participating in the ceremony had to avoid these traps to reach the destination.
“Ebeh-beh. Yucky.”
I ignored them and crawled right past.
Eventually, I arrived at the place where over ten swords were embedded.
They called it the “Hall of Swords.”
My father’s voice rang out.
“Choose your sword.”
I sat for a moment and thought.
‘Touching Hail = assassin pops out.’
Nope. Not doing that.
Pick Hail, get stabbed.
Pick something else, lose princess status.
‘This is when I use a cliché.’
Picking the first emperor’s sword? Nah, that’s not a proper rofan (romantic fantasy).
In a real rofan, the cute daughter should always choose her cold and scary dad.
Forget the symbolic sword. I was going for the cliché: the scary but cool father.
Besides, he was the empire’s best swordsman.
“Ngahhh!”
But my body wouldn’t move well.
Fear of the assassin lurking nearby had paralyzed me.
‘Forget the assassin for now.’
A baby’s body could only handle one thought at a time.
Thinking about assassins made me too scared to move.
So I had no choice but to sing.
“Swodds… fowest… gweepin’ throo… gogo… cwaaawl awooong…”
Through the forest of swords, let’s crawl along.
The baby body forgot one thing while focusing on another.
Singing helped me forget the fear, and finally, I could move.
‘Wow, this step is high.’
The staircase, made for adults, was too tall.
Thankfully, no assassin showed up yet.
“Ubbah! Ubbabah!”
‘I am! Climbing! To the top!’
Courage, rise up!
I pushed with my legs.
Hup!
I climbed one step.
Wiggle, wiggle!
My right leg flailed in the air.
I used all my strength in my left and right arms.
Hnghh!
Success—I conquered a single step.
‘I did it!’
I climbed a stair all by myself!
‘Ah… so tired.’
Let’s see… about 21 more steps to go.
‘I need a break…’
Maybe I overdid it. Drowsiness hit me hard.
‘This is… way… too… sleepy…’
My vision blurred.
* * *
Zzz… zzz…
The Sword Council’s scholars, watching the ceremony, couldn’t close their mouths.
Empress Serna covered her mouth with both hands.
‘What do we do…’
Adults weren’t allowed to intervene in the Selection Ceremony.
Everyone stared blankly at sleeping Isabel.
Ron, with his usual emotionless eyes, stared at his napping daughter.
He used his mana to whisper telepathically to Viaton.
[Are girls… like this?]
No girl had been born in Billotian in 500 years.
So they knew nothing about them.
[I’m not sure either.]
Viaton was the strongest swordsman in the empire after the emperor himself.
He and Ron had been close since childhood—like brothers.
He was one of the few people Ron spoke casually with.
[She was chanting something strange earlier. What was that?]
Viaton pondered and gave his conclusion.
[It may have been an instinctive magical incantation.]
Through the forest of swords, crawl along.
Her voice had a rhythmic pattern and tone.
[Are you saying a one-year-old was chanting a spell?]
[It’s rare, but it happens. The Mirotel Magical Federation calls it a “birth incantation.”]
[Nonsense.]
[Even my mother chanted spells at that age.]
[Interesting phenomenon.]
Viaton’s mother had been a powerful mage and cared for Ron when he was young.
Ron had always respected her like a second mother.
So when she came up, Ron backed off slightly.
Still, he wasn’t entirely convinced.
[That child carries Billotian blood. How could the princess of a sword empire utter magical incantations from birth?]
And Viaton’s reply was outrageous…
(continued in next chapter)
