At the exact moment Isaac shouted, the ambush sprang into motion. Believing they had caught him off guard, the attackers lunged straight for him—yet Isaac’s stance, unlike the urgency in his voice, fixed sharply on his targets.
-Rustle!
“……!”
Before the first Transcendent could even lift his blade, he was smashed face-first into the ground. The sword in the man’s fist did pique Isaac’s curiosity for a heartbeat, but he never wavered.
He turned to cut down the next foe, only for the Transcendents to recoil, unwilling to close the gap.
“…….”
“Damn.”
Cursing softly from a distance, they clearly hadn’t expected one of their own to drop so quickly. Isaac, sword raised, glared into the darkness.
The figures slipped back beneath the trees—then bolted.
Under the moonlight they spread bat-like wings and vanished. Isaac suddenly recalled the primitive Transcendent who’d once called herself a Blood Fiend.
Are they that woman’s underlings?
He remembered they’d been searching for Jonathan. Whatever tonight’s goal was, it hadn’t been a simple raid—and Isaac had no way to pursue.
Sheathing his sword, he checked on Rihanna.
“…….”
“All done?” asked the Grandmaster, one hand still clamped over Rihanna’s mouth as she watched. With a pleased grin, she flashed Isaac a thumbs-up.
“Your sword draw improves by the day. A master couldn’t be prouder.”
“Thank you.”
“…….”
“I believe this girl is praising you as well.”
At her words Rihanna nodded. Seeing how Isaac had grown—far beyond the boy she once knew—she was honestly impressed; cutting down her Red Love technique hadn’t been mere luck.
“Those men just now,” Isaac said, gazing up at the empty sky, “look like subordinates of the Blood Fiend we met.”
The Grandmaster’s face tightened. “A primitive Transcendent, you say?”
“Yes.”
He recalled Silverna vowing to kill the Blood Fiend after their humiliating defeat and forced return to the human realm.
“To me it seemed they were checking on Rihanna’s condition, as if they had other plans.”
“Hm. I’ve never met her, but… that didn’t feel like a simple skirmish.”
“Mm-mph.”
“You have something to add?”
Once the Grandmaster removed her hand, Rihanna spoke at once.
“They kept staring this way. Just like Isaac said, it felt like they were testing us.”
“Haah… Seems they still can’t tear their attention from your ex-wife,” the Grandmaster muttered.
Isaac said nothing, his expression clouded. He looked Rihanna in the eyes.
“You were incredible, Isaac,” she blurted.
“…….”
“The way you swung your sword was amazing.”
She knew this wasn’t the time, and her cheeks flushed red.
“At this rate you’ll faint from all that blood rushing to your face,” the Grandmaster chuckled, patting her head. Even more embarrassed, Rihanna shrank back as Isaac cautiously asked:
“Rihanna, did you meet the Blood Fiend while you were their prisoner?”
“Blood Fiend?” She blinked, then nodded quickly. “Yes. In fact, she was the only one who ever spoke to me. Hellic and the others never came.”
“…….”
“She oversaw me—and she ordered the assault on Evergard.”
“Not Hellic?”
“Right. And whenever I talked to her I felt… strange—like something sticky spreading in my chest.”
It was a clumsy description, but it was the best Rihanna could muster for the sensation in her mind.
Isaac pressed his lips together, thinking—
“Handsome,” she added.
“Pffft!” The Grandmaster burst out laughing, and Isaac could only sigh at the interruption.
* * *
“We’ll have to swap horses.”
The next day, just as noon crept in, the coachman brought the carriage to a halt and scratched his head in embarrassment.
“We drove them too hard. There’s a village nearby—we should trade mounts there.”
“No helping it,” Isaac said. “Since it’s lunchtime anyway, we can eat while we’re at it.”
They’d been pushing the team mercilessly to stay ahead of any pursuers; the poor animals were simply spent.
Sharen, sitting beside the coachman, tried out a bright little joke.
“Hey, the coachman says we gotta change our ‘words’*!”
“…….”
“Sharen, that’s not funny,” Rihanna snapped—her candor heightened by the vassalization.
“Horse-words—get it? Puhaha-ha!”
Only one person laughed—and it wasn’t Isaac. The Grandmaster clutched her belly, her chuckles leaking out despite her best efforts.
“K-khh! Child, how do you even come up with that? Forget swordsman—you should be a jester!”
Sharen puffed up with pride at the praise.
“Ah, I never want to grow old.”
“What was that?” the Grandmaster barked, suddenly stone-faced. Isaac pretended not to notice the squabble; soon enough, the party rolled into the village.
It was a sleepy place—normally the sort of hamlet populated by women, elders, and a handful of middle-aged men. Strangely, here the streets teemed with young and middle-aged men instead.
While the coachman headed for the stable, the others wandered in to find an inn for lunch.
“…….”
Hard stares pinned them at once. This wasn’t simple curiosity about outsiders; the looks brimmed with suspicion—and outright hostility—aimed squarely at Isaac.
“A question, if I may,” the Grandmaster murmured, eyeing the glares fixed on Isaac. “Have you, perchance, seduced one of this village’s women and spent a lively night here?”
“What nonsense is that? I’ve never set foot in this place.”
“Then why do they glare so? As if you stole every last sweetheart they had.”
“……I have no idea.”
Indeed, their malice was reserved for Isaac alone. They regarded the women cautiously, but toward Isaac the hatred was palpable—one wrong move and they’d spit on him to drive him out.
Clearing his throat, Isaac stepped forward. First impressions matter—and with looks like his, first impressions usually went very well.
“Good day,” he said warmly to a man chewing something in front of the tavern. “We’re only passing through and hoped to quiet our hunger—”
“Ptui! Beat it.”
For the first time in his life, Isaac had a door slammed in his face.
“…….”
“I said get lost. Don’t wander around our town.”
Isaac tried again, politely straightening his posture.
“Permit me an introduction: I am Baron Isaac Logan. Courtesy to a noble would—”
“Quit your damn yapping and scram.”
Ordinary nobles might have blown their top and drawn steel right then and there. But Isaac was not ordinary. Reason always outran instinct in this man.
His thoughts were already racing. This village is… odd. Don’t provoke them—size up the situ—
Sadly, there was a woman in the party whose instincts left reason in the dust.
“Red Flare Fist”
A red flash whistled past Isaac’s back. The lout who’d spit at them crashed through the tavern door and tumbled inside. Isaac’s jaw tightened.
When he turned, Sharen blew the lingering red aura off her knuckles—huff—and flashed a shark-toothed grin.
“First strike, sure win.”
“…….”
“Learned it myself: shut ’em down early before they mouth off—”
“Who taught you that?” Isaac asked, though he knew the answer.
“Lohengrin!”
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Tightly knit little villages may be sparsely populated, but when one local gets hit the rest come pouring out.
“Petri?! Who are these rabid dogs—!”
“Cause trouble in our town, will you?!”
Men spilled from the tavern—plenty of them, all surprisingly neat for country folk: hair slick, clothes color-blocked, looking almost groomed.
In the middle of Isaac’s bafflement, Sharen hopped onto a crate.
“Ask who I am, do you? Very well—answering is common courtesy!”
Swish!
She raised her greatsword overhead, smiling like sunrise.
“I am Sharen Helmut, second daughter of House Helmut! Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the name!”
The Helmut reputation—the kind that makes even crying babies fall silent.
Scarlet hair, massive blade: the instant the villagers recognized those symbols, every face blanched.
“H-H-Helmut?”
“Such… distinguished guests—h-how did you come to grace our humble village?”
The murderous atmosphere evaporated in a breath. Sharen stood preening, while Rihanna jerked her chin at the bruised Petri stumbling out of the tavern.
“You.”
On any other day Rihanna would’ve let it slide for Helmut’s dignity—but not today.
“Kneel and apologize to Isaac. Now.”
No one could stop this Rihanna—not even Rihanna herself.
The street froze in frosty tension when—
“P-pffft!”
The Grandmaster suddenly doubled over, palm clamped to her mouth.
“A horse swapping words? Kh-ha! What sparkling wit.”
“…….”
Yes—she was still laughing about that pun.
[TL: In Korean the word 말 (mal) means both “horse” and “speech/words.”
The coachman’s line “말을 교체해야 합니다” literally means “We need to swap horses,” but Sharen twists the first 말 to mean “words,” turning it into “We need to change our words.” ]
---The End Of The Chapter---
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