Philip, who had been brimming with bravado just moments ago, suddenly paled with fear.
"F-Felicia! What are you doing?! Protect me! If swinging a sword is all you’re good for, at least be useful now!"
"…Haa."
A sigh.
One of the maids—the one Philip had addressed as Felicia—stepped forward, gently pushing aside another, trembling maid.
She picked up a sword.
One of the weapons that had been knocked from the hands of a fallen knight.
"Great. Just what I needed."
The Black Lion approaching Philip clicked his tongue in irritation.
A maid wielding a sword?
Did she think she could actually fight?
"Step aside."
The Black Lion swung his sword, still sheathed, aiming to end this farce with a single strike.
A clean arc.
Even an experienced knight would struggle to block such a swift attack.
But his blade never met its mark.
It sliced through empty air.
"What the—?!"
Crack!
A sickening thud followed as the Black Lion staggered backward.
Felicia had ducked under his swing and countered—striking his chin with the pommel of her sword as she rose.
His body jerked violently, his eyes momentarily losing focus, before he collapsed backward.
Silence.
Everyone froze.
The outcome was so unexpected that the battlefield fell into complete stillness.
A few seconds later, the other Black Lions snapped out of their daze.
"What the hell?!"
"A damn maid?!"
The remaining four glared at Felicia, clearly incensed.
But none of them attacked immediately.
Even the Black Lions had some pride—charging at a single maid all at once would be beneath them.
"I’ll handle this."
One of them stepped forward, gritting his teeth.
Unlike his fallen comrade, he wasn’t going to make the mistake of underestimating her.
He was determined to end this in a single strike.
Felicia took a deep breath.
A flash of steel.
A cry of pain.
The second Black Lion collapsed.
The Black Lion’s sword had already slashed through the air where Felicia stood.
But she wasn’t there anymore.
With a precise, last-second movement, she dodged the attack and struck his leg guards, forcing him to stumble.
Gasps of shock erupted among the remaining Black Lions.
"This… what the hell?! She reacted to that?!"
"There’s no way! Are you telling me a maid is on our level?!"
"She didn’t react—she predicted it."
"…What?"
William, who had been silently observing, finally spoke.
"She wasn’t watching your movements. She anticipated them. She already knew when you would move and at what speed, so she acted in advance."
"That’s ridiculous… Is that even possible?"
"If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be seeing it with your own eyes."
William gestured toward Felicia with a tilt of his chin.
Only then did the others truly look at her.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her shoulders trembled from exertion.
She had only dodged two attacks.
Yet, it was obvious that her body was at its limit.
"You forced yourself to keep up, didn’t you?" William remarked, his voice even. "You pushed your mana usage too far to compensate for your lack of speed. Right now, I’d wager your muscles feel like they’re being torn apart."
Felicia clenched her lips but said nothing.
Her silence was answer enough.
Philip, who had been hiding behind her, suddenly found his voice.
"F-Felicia! Even if you die, you have to protect me! That’s your job, do you understand?!"
"Shut up, you idiot. You’re distracting me."
"W-What?! You dare talk to me like that, you useless—!"
Felicia ignored him.
She adjusted her stance again.
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Her body trembled slightly, unable to completely conceal her exhaustion, but there was still some fight left in her—just enough for one more counterattack.
One of the Black Lions, enraged, was about to draw his sword when William stepped forward.
"Step aside. I’ll handle this."
"Third Young Master?! This is my fight!"
"So, what? You plan to kill her?" William asked, his voice casual. "Are you going to silence her just to save your honor?"
"I was under the impression we had discretion over this mission."
"That discretion is revoked."
William’s tone left no room for argument.
"Apologies, but I can’t let someone this skilled die over your wounded pride. She’s too valuable."
The Black Lion hesitated.
"…Then allow me to subdue her myself and hand her over."
"I’d rather not risk you suddenly ’slipping’ and killing her," William replied with an amused chuckle. "Step back."
Grinding his teeth, the Black Lion obeyed.
William was acting on the Grand Duke’s orders—there was no defying that.
Still, he had one last warning to give.
"Be careful. If you’re taking responsibility for this, we won’t step in if things go wrong."
A polite way of saying: If you get hurt, it’s on you.
William smirked but didn’t reply.
Instead, he picked up a sword from the ground, examining its weight in his hand.
Weak.
The moment Felicia looked at William, she could see it.
His muscles were undeveloped.
His hands lacked the calluses of a seasoned swordsman.
Compared to the two Black Lions she had fought, his raw strength and speed were laughable.
And yet…
This boy was their leader.
William Hern.
A direct descendant of the Duke’s house.
If she took him hostage, she could escape this place.
She didn’t care about Philip’s life.
She didn’t care about the Hern family’s honor.
All she cared about was getting out of here alive.
Unlike these pampered nobles, her life could be taken at any moment.
She had no room for mistakes.
Felicia inhaled deeply, forcing mana into her aching muscles.
She could still move two, maybe three more times before her body gave out.
Enough to take down one noble brat.
"Are you ready?" William asked.
Felicia narrowed her eyes.
That tone.
That arrogance.
Did he really think he could win just because she was injured?
Let’s see how long that confidence lasts.
Felicia adjusted her stance as William approached, step by step.
She would wait.
Let him come just a little closer.
Then she would counter.
William raised his sword.
A diagonal slash.
How predictable.
Felicia almost laughed at how basic the attack was.
Did he seriously think something that obvious would work on her?
With ease, she prepared to dodge and retaliate—
CRACK!
"…!"
Felicia’s vision blurred as her knees hit the ground.
A ringing shockwave spread through her skull, disorienting her.
It wasn’t until she saw the odd angle of his sword that she realized what had happened.
William’s blade had changed trajectory mid-swing.
At the last moment, he had altered its path, feinting downward, striking where she least expected.
And that movement—It was her own technique.