Felicia's mind reeled.
How?
How had he copied her in an instant?
Before she could even finish processing the thought, her consciousness faded, and she collapsed.
William exhaled.
"Well, that's that."
The Black Lions stared.
Their eyes flickered with disbelief.
They had expected a struggle.
They had expected a prolonged fight.
But the Third Young Master had ended it in a single exchange.
It wasn't just about strength.
Or speed.
It was instinct—the kind that even years of training couldn't teach.
Felicia had bested two of them—Black Lions, handpicked warriors—and yet, William had taken her down with one strike.
More than that, he had mimicked her technique perfectly.
And he had only been learning the sword for two months.
It was unnerving.
So had dismissed the rumors—that William was a hidden beast, a lion with its claws sheathed.
Now, they weren't so sure.
William glanced down at Felicia's unconscious form, his expression unreadable.
"She still hasn't fixed that bad habit."
A faint smirk played on his lips.
"When soone taller swings diagonally, she always dodges by lowering her stance. Makes her an easy target."
He sighed.
"Too bad for her."
Those who learn the sword without a proper teacher always develop bad habits—one or two, at the very least.
In Felix's case, whenever facing a taller opponent, he instinctively dodged diagonal slashes by lowering his stance.
It was an effective habit.
By ducking under the attack, he could close the distance and counterattack before his opponent had ti to react.
But a move repeated too often eventually becos predictable.
William had first noticed the flaw while working alongside Felix on a rcenary job.
He pointed it out, expecting so resistance—after all, it was a technique Felix had used successfully many tis.
"You're lucky I caught that. If I hadn't, it would've co back to bite you soday."
Instead of being offended, Felix had simply nodded, his gratitude genuine.
"Thanks. I might not have noticed until it was too late."
Rather than stubbornly clinging to the habit, Felix imdiately ca up with several alternative responses, rotating between them to keep his enemies guessing.
William had been stunned.
Most rcenaries—even those aware of their weaknesses—never corrected them because they lacked the ans or the discipline to do so.
But Felix adapted within days, as if flaws in his swordplay were nothing more than minor inconveniences to be adjusted.
This was what true genius looked like.
"Since you helped , I'd like to return the favor. Would you let correct your swordsmanship?"
It was a dangerous thing to say.
To offer to fix soone's swordsmanship was to imply that one's own skills were superior.
An arrogant suggestion, at best. An insult, at worst.
But William accepted imdiately.
His own self-taught swordsmanship was full of holes, and Felix—a once-in-a-generation prodigy—was offering to patch them up.
He would have been a fool to refuse.
"Your swings have force, but your stance crumbles too easily," Felix had pointed out. "Instead of putting everything into a single strike, you should focus on deflecting and countering."
Felix's corrections were precise and nurous—yet every single one aligned with William's own struggles.
It was as if Felix had taken a dagger to William's frustrations and carved them away, one by one.
From that day forward, William's crude, unrefined swordplay finally beca sothing worthy of being called a proper style.
They had only worked together a handful of tis under the sa employer.
Yet without those brief encounters, William would have died on the battlefield long ago.
I swore to repay that debt soday.
But Felix had risen far beyond him before he ever had the chance.
A few years after they had parted ways, a Border Duke had taken notice of Felix's talents and knighted him.
When William first heard the news, it had felt inevitable… yet also bitter.
Even after so many years, his own status had barely changed.
Looking back, he realized how foolish he had been.
It was never inevitable.
That Border Duke was blind. If he had truly recognized Felix's abilities, he wouldn't have just made him a knight—he would have given him the title of Baronet and made him a Royal Guard.
But instead, he had been granted a re knighthood—a mockery of his talents.
And there was only one reason why.
William's lips curled into a bitter smile.
It was because of his gender.
A female knight was a fantasy—sothing out of fairy tales, not reality.
A noble lady might have been able to secure such a title through influence.
But a common-born woman?
The very fact that Felix—no, Felicia—had been knighted at all was a miracle.
The Border Duke had hidden her true gender and granted her a real opportunity to prove herself.
Not just as decoration—but on the battlefield.
And in a way, she was just like William.
Despite unmatched talent, she had been forced to sell herself short because of circumstances beyond her control.
Not this ti.
This ti, Felicia wouldn't have to lower herself.
William would clear away every obstacle in her path.
And in return—
She would stand by his side and wield her sword for him.
"Hugo. Take her with us."
There was a pause.
"...Hugo?"
Hugo snapped back to attention. "Ah, yes. Apologies. How should we handle her?"
William's gaze flickered toward Felicia's unconscious form.
"Tie her up—make sure she can't cause trouble. But treat her well."
"Understood."
At William's command, Hugo ordered his n to carry Felicia away.
That left only the fallen knights, a single remaining maid, and the Marquis's son, Philip.
Philip, realizing that all possible escape routes were cut off, trembled with rage.
His glare locked onto Hugo as he shouted.
"You street rat! You dare betray ?! You think you'll get away with selling out? Do you really believe you'll be safe after betraying the Logran Marquisate?!"
"Young Master!"
The fallen knights cried out in horror.
Too late.
William laughed.
"Logran Marquisate, huh?"
He had wondered which powerful hand had been pulling the strings.
He hadn't even needed to interrogate Philip—he had confessed the mont he opened his mouth.
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