Chapter 79

The mare Malena chose for her was the smallest in the stables. It was not only slight of frame but also gentle, a creature without the kind of stubborn temperament that made taming difficult. For someone learning to ride for the first time, it was the perfect match.

She also procured a beginner’s practice sword and bow, and with Lord Blair’s permission she secured a training ground for Odelliana’s use.

“What I teach you will all be for self-defense,” Malena explained as she handed her the wooden blade. Her tone was calm, firm, the voice of someone accustomed to command. “These techniques focus on defense rather than offense. If you commit them to memory, they will serve you well in an emergency.”

Swordplay and archery were not so difficult to learn. Though Odelliana had asked Malena to take on the role of instructor, she found she already recalled the basics—knowledge stored somewhere in her mind, waiting to be awakened.

“…You learn quickly,” Malena remarked after several days of training, her voice carrying faint surprise.

It had been a week since they began. Already she had reached the conclusion that there was little more to teach when it came to sword and bow. Odelliana had struck the target the very first time she loosed an arrow, and once her strength increased, she found the center with ease. Whether holding a blade or drawing a bowstring, her stance was that of a practiced fighter. Malena could not shake her suspicion that the girl had studied elsewhere.

Her posture is second nature, the mercenary thought. Every habit, every angle, fluid as though long practiced. And yet—her body betrays her. She moves as though this flesh is unfamiliar, as if she is not learning something new but forcing herself to remember what her body once knew.

What unsettled Malena most was how foreign the girl seemed to her own movements, almost estranged from herself. It was not ignorance of skill but an uncanny discord between memory and flesh. Like someone inhabiting a body that was not her own.

“Have you ever received instruction from Sir Matthias?” Malena asked one afternoon, narrowing her eyes.

“…What?” Odelliana blinked, caught off guard.

“You pretend to be clumsy, but every time you draw your blade, you take the precise stance required. The way you grip, the way you strike—each movement is correct. And with the bow… the harmony between strength and motion is perfect. It is not something one acquires in a week.”

Odelliana hesitated, then answered quietly, “I know the theory. But before, my body was so frail I could hardly move on my own. I never once had the chance to hold a sword or bow.”

“…I see.” Malena accepted the explanation with little more than a nod.

Odelliana let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, relief softening her features. As expected. A seasoned mercenary’s eyes see far too much. I’ll have to be more careful.

Thanks to Malena’s aid, she was gradually adapting to her new body. Knowing the principles was one thing; bending flesh and bone to those principles was another matter entirely. She could not move with the same ease as when she was Lelusha. This body required her to relearn, to forge habits anew.

Her lame leg demanded that she minimize lower-body movement, so she developed techniques that required stability on one leg, conserving energy for decisive, lethal strikes rather than wasteful flourishes. Heavy weapons were out of the question; she trained with light blades—épées and rapiers—learning to thrust with precision rather than hack with strength.

Archery offered slightly better prospects, though even here her weakness showed. The crucial moment came when the legs must ground the body as the bowstring was drawn. With only one leg steady, balance wavered, the shot losing accuracy over distance. Close-range arrows landed true, but the farther the target, the sharper her limitation revealed itself.

“Then let us begin proper riding lessons,” Malena said at last, once sword and bow foundations were complete.

Odelliana had expected it, but expectation did not soften reality. Riding was harder than she imagined. Even with the smallest, gentlest mare, simply mounting the saddle was torment. Time and again she found herself slipping, tumbling to the ground.

“I told you, riding may be impossible,” Malena said one day, folding her arms.

“And I told you, it’s worth trying,” Odelliana shot back. Her eyes burned with stubborn fire. “It’s for me to decide whether it’s possible or not.”

Pride stoked her resolve. She extended her practice, tripling and quadrupling the hours. Where once she rode three to four hours daily, she now pushed herself until exhaustion blurred her vision. The training tunic, breeches, and leather boots Malena had given her wore thin and tore from repetition. Yet she persisted.

After a month, she managed at last to mount without assistance. What others learned in a day had taken her four relentless weeks. And yet, instead of despair, she felt exhilaration. To achieve what everyone swore she could not—there was triumph in that. It was like the first time she had risen from crawling, leaning on a staff to stand upright on faltering legs. Each milestone, however small, became the foundation for another.

Next came endurance. She trained to sit astride a stationary horse, holding her balance for hours. It should have been simple, with the animal unmoving, yet keeping her body upright demanded every ounce of strength in her waist and sound leg. Through endless error and correction, she pushed further, until by the end of the second month she could remain seated for three unbroken hours.

“…You are relentless,” Malena muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

The woman who had survived war and mercenary life, who had weathered every hardship, now looked at Odelliana with something like fear. The girl once as fragile as glass revealed a core of iron. Malena could not fathom where such tenacity came from.

“Why are you so desperate?” she asked at last.

“So I can keep up with everyone else,” Odelliana replied simply.

Malena frowned. “My lady, women do not usually turn their hands to swords and bows and horses. They spend their time learning languages, cultivating art, mastering music and embroidery. Why throw yourself, body and soul, into a path no woman needs to walk?”

“Because it’s the only thing I might do well,” Odelliana answered.

The reply struck Malena speechless. This frail body, ill-suited to strenuous exertion, claimed battle as its greatest strength. Yet the conviction in Odelliana’s eyes left no room for doubt.

The talent is there, Malena admitted to herself. It’s only her body that fails her.

“But what use is it?” she pressed. “You are no knight. You are nobility. What does a noble lady need with such things?”

“One day, whatever you learn will prove useful,” Odelliana said.

“…If you are worried about mercenaries,” Malena began carefully, “put it from your mind. The lord is already working in secret to root out the assassins. It won’t be long before they are gone entirely.”

“They aren’t the only threat,” Odelliana replied, her lips curving into a bitter smile.

Malena stared at her, but the younger woman offered no further explanation.

Other noble daughters could spend their days stitching embroidery and indulging in music because no danger threatened them. They had guardians aplenty, walls of protection built by family and wealth. Odelliana had no such privilege.

For her, the virtues prized in noble society were useless. She did not even live within that world. Her parents—her so-called family—kept eyes sharp upon her chest, waiting to claim the heart that beat there.

Her first duty was survival. Sword and bow, horse and steel—these were necessities, not luxuries. To squander her precious hours on genteel hobbies was folly.

“You see me as some noble lady,” Odelliana said quietly. “But the truth is, I’m only a weak woman burdened with far harsher conditions than most. A woman who can live only by depending on others. That is my reality.”

Malena said nothing, only listened.

“I am no true noble,” Odelliana continued, her voice steady. “Though the blood of Grüsewald runs in my veins, I hold no power. For now, under Blair’s protection, I am treated as one of them. But I don’t believe that will last forever.”

“The lord will look after you always,” Malena said quickly, almost sharply.

“Will he?” Odelliana murmured.

“Of course. Surely you don’t think he would ever cast you aside?”

“One day, Blair will find a woman he loves. He will marry, build his own family. And when that day comes, his first priority will be his wife and children. And I… I am not his only family.”

Her mind conjured the image of Oerdet, heart sickened and failing. If the family demanded her heart to save him, what would Blair do then?

He was a good man. She loved him dearly, as one loves a brother. But could she trust even him to defy his family for her sake? She could not. Affection was one thing, but this was survival.

No one can guarantee such loyalty, she thought. In the end, the only one I can rely upon completely is myself.

Blair, Malena, Matthias—they were strong, reliable, and for now they stood beside her. Yet Odelliana never deceived herself into thinking it would last forever. Their interests aligned for now, but sooner or later the day would come when paths diverged.

“…In the end,” she said softly, meeting Malena’s gaze, “the one who bears responsibility for my life is me. Always me.”