“As a fellow warrior… surely a brief exchange should be allowed, should it not?”
A few seconds after hearing those words, Iris broke into a radiant smile.
“Thank you!”
Greg said nothing in return—because if anything, it was
he
who owed thanks.
Greogor Kiel.
The last blood of the Kiel line, the son Mister Kiel gave his life to protect.
His clan name, once stripped due to charges of treason, had returned to him… all because of Iris.
Though she wouldn’t learn of Greg’s lineage until much later.
Gender, age, race—it mattered little. When affinities aligned, people grew close with surprising ease.
“Seriously? I go to that shop all the time too! The one in the capital—ah, I mean, rare to find one that decent over there!”
Knights who had initially felt awkward around the grand duchess quickly grew comfortable once Greg treated her as a fellow cultivator of the sword.
Naturally, the question they were most curious about soon arose.
“Honestly, I didn’t expect someone from House Valentine to be so earnest about sword cultivation.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“Well, I don’t hear everything from the noble circuits, but word was, the Valentine daughters weren’t exactly walking the martial path.”
Iris silently agreed.
Orchid had recently shifted toward political ambitions. Liliana was obsessed with noble marriages and the social sphere.
“But, milady—why did
you
never lay down your sword like they did? Was there a reason?”
A junior knight asked this eagerly, hand shooting into the air.
It was a question that should’ve been simple to answer—yet Iris averted her gaze for a moment before replying in a calm, quiet voice.
“Because… it was the only way I could prove I was truly a Valentine.”
“…Pardon?”
“I was never meant to belong in House Valentine to begin with.”
Living there had felt like being stranded on an island where no one spoke her language.
She had been treated as an outlier, a mistake.
“I cannot manifest sword Qi.”
And in House Valentine, where sword Qi was the very symbol of genius, that made her a disgrace.
No wonder they saw her as something
other
. Not a knight. Not even a proper noble.
At that, the knights who had earlier gossiped about “Valentine’s dull-witted second daughter” promptly turned and bit down on their tongues in shame.
The junior knight who asked the question turned pale, unable to say anything further for fear of having wounded her.
But one voice stood firm.
“Why should the ability to wield sword Qi even matter?”
Greg spoke clearly, unshaken.
What’s this idiot saying now?
His fellow knights lunged to stop him from talking, but too late—he had already spoken.
“Sword Qi is just one visible result of training. Nothing more.”
It was something his father, Mister Kiel, had often said:
‘Everyone treats sword Qi like it’s the proof of a genius. That’s truly unfortunate.’
If anything, sword Qi hindered true growth.
Those who awakened it too early became addicted to its ease—
Its ability to enhance strength and speed led them to neglect their foundational cultivation.
Strong sword Qi led to sloppier swordsmanship.
“Which is why sword Qi does not define the blade.”
Greg meant every word.
But no one had ever told Iris that.
No one around her had ever said that not having sword Qi didn’t make her
less
.
And truthfully, I lack more than just sword Qi.
Iris’s body had never taken well to training. She struggled more than others.
Her frame was slim, her bones frail—they broke easily and healed slowly.
She had never been physically suited to knighthood.
She had no way to climb over the wall of gifted genius.
“…I see.”
Her smile was faint, and it revealed she didn’t quite believe Greg’s words.
Seeing her expression, a flicker of defiance stirred in Greg. He frowned slightly, then stood.
“In that case, how about we settle this with a friendly tournament?”
“…You mean, I should take part?”
“…That’s the most obvious thing I’ve ever heard.”
This woman—so sharp in some ways, yet so unaware in others.
And also…
Why was she looking at him with those sparkling eyes like it was the most exciting thing in the world?
Greg quickly looked away before his face could betray anything improper.
“Then… I’ll go prepare.”
Iris didn’t even realize she’d unintentionally chased Greg off. She simply brought her hands together in anticipation.
A tournament…
House Valentine had held tournaments too—monthly evaluations to assess each disciple’s cultivation progress.
But Iris had never once participated.
Her family strongly opposed it, claiming it would be humiliating.
And when she tried, the knights refused to face her, saying they couldn’t raise their swords against a noble lady.
It was all a lie.
They simply refused to acknowledge her as a real knight.
“Milady, will you really be joining the tournament?”
And here—here in Leontheim—they were treating her as an equal.
Iris nodded to the knight who asked.
“I’ll be honored to compete.”
“Wow—how long has it been since our last tournament?”
“This time, I’m
definitely
beating Greg!”
“She’s at it again…”
Though they stood before the Consort of the Grand Duke, most of them—being common-born—made no attempt to conceal their emotions. The open and spirited atmosphere, so unlike the stifling air of Valentin, brought a faint warmth to Iris’s heart.
Amidst the casual chatter, Iris quietly polished her sword. The way she moved—elegant and composed—resembled the ideal of a holy knight summoned straight from a sacred scroll. Her grace drew every gaze without her even trying.
Naturally, this also drew attention to her blade.
“Is that… a rapier?”
“It's sparkling clean.”
“But doesn’t the tip look strange?”
The end of her blade curved upward ever so slightly, like a hook—something none of them had seen before. At that observation, everyone around nodded in agreement.
Customizing one’s sword to suit their sword aura was a common practice among cultivators, yet they all remembered: Iris had said she couldn’t use sword qi. Curiosity rippled through the crowd just as Greg returned, holding a torn-up tournament bracket he seemed to have prepared in advance.
“Ugh, your handwriting is terrible.”
“Shut it. Read it yourselves.”
Grumbles rose from those struggling to decipher the haphazard calligraphy, but Iris calmly searched the list for her name.
‘Ah, here I am.’
Just as she was about to read the name of her opponent, a light tap landed on her shoulder.
“I’m your opponent, Lady Consort.”
“Ah, pleased to meet you.”
“Haha… yes, likewise.”
The knight smiled awkwardly and let out a long sigh as they walked to the sparring ground. He didn't want to, but his eyes kept wandering toward his comrades practicing nearby, casually exchanging blows.
‘Of all people, why her…’
Thankfully, she had declared she wouldn’t use sword qi, but someone spoken of as a talentless dullard surely couldn’t be that skilled with the sword either.
‘And on top of that… she’s nobility.’
If he injured her—even by accident—he might lose more than just his rank. He could lose a hand. Or worse.
As they prepared for their bout, Iris gave a slight bow, and the knight, observing courtesy, mirrored her before raising his sword.
‘Right… let’s keep it gentle—’
The thought had barely formed when—
‘What?! Where’d she go—’
Iris vanished from before his eyes.
In a flash, she had slipped beneath his guard and burrowed in close under his stance.
“Guh—!”
Startled, he scrambled to block, but he was too late. With a metallic scrape, the tip of her rapier slid past his blade and hovered at his throat, the curved end trembling lightly from the force of the strike.
“H-hah…!”
On closer inspection, the hooked tip had a sharp edge. Now he understood its purpose. Had she driven it in, it would’ve been a fatal blow.
“Well done.”
Iris withdrew her rapier with a gentle smile, her tone warm despite the lethal threat she had just demonstrated.
“If you hadn’t hesitated, the exchange would’ve been even more refined. Your reflexes are excellent.”
The knight could only stare, completely disarmed—emotionally more than physically.
‘What… what was that just now?’
And he wasn’t alone.
The knights who had finished their matches, and even those merely spectating, found themselves struck silent by what they’d witnessed.