TINOT 35

Chapter: 35

Lysithea moved to the sparring ground, letting her sword hang loosely.

When she nodded to signal she was ready, Ryan closed the distance as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Lysithea lightly blocked the sword he thrust sideways. At the same time, she swung the scabbard in her other hand, aiming for Ryan’s neck.

It was the moment Ryan lifted his foot to step back in surprise.

Thwack! Lysithea kicked Ryan’s ankle hard.

Half in the air, Ryan lost his balance and landed awkwardly on his rear.

He stared at Lysithea in disbelief, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

He had expected a skilled opponent, but he never imagined he would be left utterly defenseless without even landing a single strike.

It felt as if an adult were dueling a child.

It wasn’t overwhelming strength or flashy techniques—it was simply a solid, immovable wall that blocked everything.

“C-Can I have just one more chance?”

Ryan’s voice was desperate.

“You didn’t really use your sword properly before. Let’s try again.”

With Lysithea’s permission, Ryan sprang to his feet and gripped his sword once more.

This time, he was far more cautious, waiting for an opening from a safe distance.

Lysithea followed his movements with her eyes, predicting his next move.

Ryan had a habit of pulling his left shoulder back when swinging his sword. Lysithea aimed precisely at that spot, thrusting her blade while saying:

“Upper left.”

Her sharp sword sliced past the left hem of Ryan’s jacket.

A chill ran down his spine—the precision of her blade was at an artful level.

Can someone this skilled really be not even twenty years old?

“Lower right.”

She thrust into an open space with astonishing finesse. Even when announcing her attack, he couldn’t block it.

At this point, it wasn’t a duel—it was a lesson in sparring.

As predicted, Lysithea’s blade cut the right hem of Ryan’s trousers. Again, not a single scratch on his skin.

“Waist.”

With a swoosh of air, the scabbard flew toward his waist.

Twisting to evade, he barely avoided the straight thrust, which stopped just pressing against his throat.

That attack had come without warning.

Ryan froze, dumbfounded. Lysithea smiled faintly, lifting one corner of her mouth.

“It’s dangerous to believe everything your opponent tells you. From the moment I hold my sword, all I think about is deception.”

Ryan’s sword was honest and straightforward, reflecting his personality—no tricks, no cunning, just straight, strong thrusts.

In contrast, Lysithea’s sword relied on unpredictable techniques and a natural eye for reading her opponent, designed to disorient and mislead.

Her twisted personality showed even in the way she wielded her blade.

Gathering his composure, Ryan bowed at the waist.

“Thank you for your guidance.”

It wasn’t an act of goodwill. It was simply the result of her whim to relieve her own frustration.

“…If that’s what you want to think.”

“C-Can I ask you one thing?”

Ryan, seeming to have one more question, hesitated before finally speaking.

“Yes?”

“How do you develop the ability to see your opponent’s weaknesses? Practice is the answer, I suppose?”

What impressed Ryan most about Lysithea wasn’t her flashy techniques or her cold, precise judgment.

It was her eyes—her ability to see straight through her opponent’s movements.

Lysithea blinked a few times at his question, then answered in a puzzled tone.

“Can’t you just see it?”

“…Excuse me?”

Ryan asked dumbly.

“By observing the trajectory of their arms, the movement of muscles, the angle of their feet, and their gaze, you can predict how they’ll move.”

“…I-Is that so?”

“If your prediction is faster than their movement, it’s easier to block or attack. So I make an effort not to take my eyes off them while our swords meet.”

The secret, if there was one, lay in reading the opponent’s movements to anticipate their next action.

“…”

Those who had heard Lysithea’s answer opened their mouths as if to comment, then quickly closed them, unsure what to say.

“So… you mean it’s important to never take your eyes off them?”

Even as he spoke, Ryan felt the absurdity of it. Taking your eyes off an opponent holding a sword? Unless you wanted to be impaled, why would anyone do that?

Yet after witnessing Lysithea’s skill, it felt like a profound secret technique.

“I’ll… do my best not to take my eyes off them from now on.”

Clenching his fists in determination, Ryan made his vow, earning a sympathetic look from Wilhelmina.

“Yes, then.”

As Lysithea lightly nodded and turned to leave, a sudden wave of dizziness hit her.

Her hands weakened, and she dropped the sword she was holding.

“Uh, this…”

Bending down to pick up the sword, Ryan checked it, then recoiled in shock at the sight of blood dripping from her fingers.

“Lady Aster!”

Her face, drained of color, was as pale as a sheet of paper.

Blood streamed through her fingers as she tried to stop it.

“Miss!”

“I’m fine, Mari. It’s nothing.”

Taking a handkerchief from the trembling maid, Lysithea calmly wiped her mouth and hands stained with blood.

For someone who had just bled, her composure was unnervingly practiced.

Something’s not right…

A sense of foreboding washed over Ryan, and he lowered his head.

Even the precious secret he had just gained felt heavy and unwelcome in his chest.

“H-hic… sniff… hiccup…”

Mari finally broke into tears as she gathered the bloodied clothes.

Even Wilhelmina, who had been jokingly chattering moments ago, was now silent. The room echoed only with Mari’s sobs.

Lysithea, leaning against the headboard with her eyes closed, spoke in a flat tone:

“Mari, I’m not dead yet.”

“Milady! How can you say such things!”

“Then stop crying. I don’t have the energy to soothe you right now.”

Lysithea muttered with a weak smile, and Mari bit her lip, bowing her head.

“I-I’m sorry. I got carried away…”

“Don’t apologize.”

Even though she hadn’t told Mari to feel guilty, the maid couldn’t raise her head.

“I-I’ll quickly take the laundry and be back.”

“Alright. Take your time.”

Mari fled, fiddling with the bloodied garments as she left.

Even with her eyes closed, Lysithea felt Wilhelmina’s gaze, peeking cautiously.

It was more uncomfortable that she refused to speak out of consideration.

“As you can see, I’m not feeling well. Count von Dilton already knows, but I don’t want more people aware of it. Please keep this secret.”

“Yes. I will follow your instructions.”

After Wilhelmina’s serious response, silence returned to the room.

Just as the awkward quiet became unbearable, the door opened, and a cool scent brushed past Lysithea’s nose.

“Litsi.”

Hearing Diarmuid call her, Lysithea opened her eyes.

Behind him, Ryan’s anxious face came into view.

He must have gone to inform Diarmuid after Lysithea had been assisted back from the sparring ground.

I shouldn’t trouble busy people with trivial matters…

Suppressing a sigh, Lysithea tried to get up, but Diarmuid quickly stopped her.

“Sit.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he brushed her sweat-damp hair aside and asked:

“The physician?”

“It’s not an unknown illness. Seeing the doctor won’t change anything. I’ve taken the medicine, so I’ll be fine soon.”

She found it awkward and uncomfortable when people fussed over her fainting spells. To her, a fit lasting half a day with Mari’s sobs in the background was just part of everyday life.

Diarmuid silently grasped her hand.

His large, warm hand kneaded her cold, stiff fingers.

“I’ve been thinking… why not have that physician stay at the Grand Duke’s residence?”

“…”

“I’ve checked—his reputation and skill are decent. Having the doctor nearby would be convenient for you in many ways.”

He chose his words carefully to avoid burdening her.

Refusing his suggestion would be pointless stubbornness. She didn’t want to waste the little time she had left on obstinacy.

“Alright. I’ll just have the Grand Duke’s physician treat me. Bringing in a new person is more trouble than it’s worth.”

There was no reason to insist on the blind physician alone. A doctor at the level of the Grand Duke’s household would be discreet.

“Then we’ll have both doctors collaborate. Two are better than one.”

Assigning two physicians to a terminal patient who had even abandoned life-prolonging treatments—some might call it excessive.

But Lysithea didn’t want to backtrack on what she had just said, so she quietly nodded.