Westminster Bank

Chapter 298: Chapter 180: Isabella, Part 2

Although the diary’s portrayal suggested Isabella was very likely trustworthy, people don’t stay in the past forever. They always change.

Besides, while flashes of the original owner’s memories occasionally surfaced, they were ultimately incomplete. Most of what he knew about his past identity and social relationships came from the diary left behind by his predecessor.

His current identity was a wanted criminal on the Inner Side, while she was a candidate for the position of Patriarch of the Beowulf Family. And that was before factoring in the inside information he had overheard last night.

Unsure if the negative effects of the "Lucky Goddess Necklace" had worn off, Baron thought it was best to err on the side of caution. After all, since entering the mountains, he had: tripped on flat ground twelve times, nearly slipped and fallen off a cliff, taken an arrow to the ribs during his "robbery" by Isabella, and had a lighter explode in his hand while trying to start a fire.

’I’ve already made a pact with a Red Dragon. Logically, I should be someone abandoned by Destiny, so how is this bad luck still following me? This is so unrealistic for a fantasy world,’

Baron complained inwardly. Suddenly, he felt a stir in his heart.

He glanced at Isabella and, seeing she hadn’t noticed him, made a quick excuse and slipped behind a eucalyptus tree. He opened the Secret Notes—the very book that had nearly turned him from a millionaire into a "debt-illionaire."

Someone had sent him a new message. If there were no surprises, it should be from his sister, Yelena.

’But why did it take so long for her to reply this time...’

’No, that’s not right.’

Baron suddenly realized that because of the different flow of time, the letter he sent from Prole had probably only reached Yelena in the last few days.

On top of that, he had spent most of his days training with the Shepherdess in a dreamscape. According to her explanation, the dreamscape was a space separate from both Prole and Britain, one where the concept of Time didn’t exist.

’When you put it all together, the delay makes sense.’

He snuck another glance at Isabella. Although the chains couldn’t completely enact Forbidden Magic, they suppressed the flow of his Spiritual Power. His Perception Power wasn’t restricted, but considering Isabella also had ways of Concealing Breath and Holding Breath, reading and replying would take too long and inevitably arouse suspicion.

Baron thought for a moment, then closed the notebook and put it back in his ring.

This wasn’t something to rush. If Isabella discovered something was off because of this, he’d be finished.

"Back already?" Isabella shot a sideways glance at Master Jack as he sat back down.

The Scale-Stripping Saber in her hand was already polished to a mirror shine, and she had now switched to sharpening a short knife from her waist. The red spear was propped up in front of her, its shaft as crimson as blood.

"I suddenly decided it wasn’t that important."

Baron glanced at the moon overhead and said, "The moon is pretty big tonight."

It was a rare full moon. A hazy silver light flooded the sky as if it were a great ocean, and the moonlight cascaded down like an ocean tide.

Isabella glanced at the sky and said coldly, "Gabriel died this morning."

Baron froze, feeling the name was somewhat familiar.

"Rob Gabriel, the Chief Steward. He died this morning... because he betrayed his faith," Isabella said.

As soon as Isabella said it, Baron remembered. It was the Chief Steward whose father’s name he had accidentally used when making up a lie.

’He’s dead?’

Baron was about to argue that he hadn’t delivered a fatal blow—at most, he’d only ’changed the boy’s choir voice,’ so how could he have suddenly died? But Isabella’s next words shocked him, like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

’Betrayed his faith? So you’re telling me that swearing an oath to some God actually has real legal—no, real Law-like consequences?’

Baron recalled his own various "blasphemous acts," and a cold sweat began to prickle his back.

’Then again,’ he thought, ’I’ve used a pseudonym every time I’ve sworn an oath. I should be fine. Otherwise, I wouldn’t still be alive right now.’

Isabella said flatly, "After becoming Chief Steward, he swore an oath upon his faith. Last night, he forsook it."

’He only forsook his faith because no man could have withstood that kind of brutal torture,’

Baron said with righteous indignation, "I have no respect for people who forsake their faith. He deserved to die."

Isabella: "..."

Her aloof, arrogant expression returned. Without another word, she took a pink notebook from her pocket and began writing silently.

’Is she writing in her notes or settling accounts?’

Baron was completely baffled but didn’t dare to ask.

Sensing his gaze, Isabella said flatly, "A diary."

’A diary?’

"I’m writing in my diary."

’Writing in her diary?’

Baron was dumbfounded for three reasons.

First, he couldn’t understand why a woman like Isabella—with her elegant brows, phoenix eyes, jade-like skin, and an attitude as cold as frost—would even keep a diary.

Second, why was her diary a girly, pink notebook?

And third, why was she telling him she was writing in her diary in the first place?

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "You have a problem with that?"

’No problem at all. Whatever makes you happy.’ The thought had barely formed in Baron’s mind when Isabella suddenly snapped her notebook shut, pulled out the long spear beside her, and stood up. With a flourish, she leveled the spear’s tip at him. "Care for a round?"

’Sis, the way you say ’care for a round’ is as casual as when I used to ask my roommate if he wanted to play a match of Honor of Kings in my past life.’

Baron shook his head, trying to signal that he was just a simple fellow who didn’t know any martial arts.

But this time, Isabella clearly wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.

Her hand darted into her robes, and she pulled out a long spear. With a casual flick of her wrist, she threw it. The spear landed half a foot in front of Baron, piercing through the alpine rock he had been using as a seat. It sank half an inch deep, its shaft not even quivering.

"A thief who dares to steal from the Beowulf Family needs more than just courage... Yesterday, you disabled and defeated eleven people, including a Demon Hunter. Two of them were Black Iron-ranks I trained myself."

"According to that Attendant and Maid, it all happened in an instant."

"An ordinary thief couldn’t do that," Isabella said. "And judging by the trajectory of the wounds, besides using a knife, it seems you also know some Spear Technique..."

At this point, Baron understood. ’As expected of someone with the blood of a Dragon Slayer,’ he thought. ’Her powers of observation are terrifyingly sharp.’

"Our deal is that I help you collect enough Dragon Scales to open the guide. There’s nothing in there about being your sparring partner."

He said that, but he quickly gripped the spear, because Isabella was already lunging at him.

The spear thrust was vicious, carrying the force of a fatal blow.

’Damn it! It’s not just that she has a bad personality. The way she attacks without warning, she’s exactly like that girl from my university group project in my past life!’

’And another thing! This spear is stuck in here way too deep! It’s not coming out without some serious muscle! Damn it!’

Cursing internally, Baron finally yanked the spear free and sidestepped Isabella’s attack. At the same time, he pivoted, using the clanking shackles on his wrists as a weapon to ensnare the next attack that followed: an Alchemy Weapon—the Scale-Stripping Saber!

Baron’s brow twitched. ’So that’s why you were sharpening your blades earlier! You were planning to use them on me! And what’s with all the extra weapons? Is this an unlimited-weapon deathmatch?!’

"You really aren’t an ordinary thief!"

’Fine, I’m an *extra*ordinary thief, happy now?’

Isabella seemed to have anticipated Baron’s counterattack. A slight smile played on her full lips. While Baron was still reeling, her initial thrust with the Red Spear instantly reversed into a sweeping upward slash. Baron subconsciously raised his own spear to block, but the Red Spear traced a bizarre arc, evading his defense and flying toward his face.

"But this is where it ends."

Baron’s heart pounded, not because of the killing intent in the attack, but because he knew this move!

Wasn’t this the very set of moves Prole Gawain had given him... the "Dragon Spear"?!

In the next instant, Baron sidestepped, dodging the Red Spear.

Isabella’s brow furrowed. She followed up instinctively, her muscle memory kicking in as she once again used the Beowulf Family’s ancestral "Dragon-Deficient Spear."

It was a technique passed down from her ancestors—swift as Fire, fast as a shadow, its trajectory as unpredictable as a soaring Dragon in the sky.

It could be used for Dragon Hunting, and it could be used for killing people.

It had become incomplete over the course of history, but it was still more than enough.

Isabella wasn’t using this spear technique to kill Baron. His successive dodges had simply ignited her competitive spirit, fanning the flames of the Beowulfs’ belligerent Dragon Slayer bloodline like bellows on hot coals.

An immensely oppressive and brilliant Dragon Mighty condensed along the spear’s path, looking vaguely like a crimson Dragon lunging for the White Mask.

At the same time, her slender, delicate hand was already gripping the spear, ready to pull back her strength at any moment.

But Baron sidestepped again, dodging it as if he had anticipated the move all along.

The spear smashed into the bonfire behind him. Embers flew into the air, and the scattered firelight split the two of them, and the surrounding shadows, in half.

Isabella: "..."

——————————

[From the Secret Notes of Baron Constantin (Original):

June 12, 1977 / Wales / Overcast

Isabella suddenly became very much like a Dragon.

But she was fine after eating some sweets.]