46 A Worthwhile Gamble and a Shackled Genius
William barely had ti to process that before his father's gaze shifted—to Hugo.
"So you're Hugo," the Grand Duke mused. "I heard you played a role in this operation."
Hugo imdiately dropped to one knee.
"I-I greet Your Highness!"
The Grand Duke didn't respond imdiately.
Instead, he studied Hugo in silence before speaking again.
"You've done so comndable things," he admitted. "But your past cannot be ignored."
Hugo stiffened.
"I understand, Your Highness. But I—"
"William knew that. And yet, despite knowing your history, he requested that I knight you," the Grand Duke continued. "He even said he was willing to forfeit his own reward to see it done."
Hugo's head snapped up in shock.
His wide eyes locked onto William.
William, embarrassed, gestured for him to lower his head again.
Still, Hugo couldn't move.
The Grand Duke, unimpressed by the stunned reaction, kept speaking.
"I refused him, of course," he said. "Not because of your past. But because your rit is still lacking. You are simply not qualified for knighthood."
Hugo flinched.
The Grand Duke's voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the finality in his tone.
"However," he added, "William still chose to fight for you."
Hugo's shoulders trembled.
His fists clenched, shaking.
He sucked in a ragged breath, then lifted his head—his eyes filled with conviction.
"I will dedicate every breath I have to serving him," he swore.
The Grand Duke smirked.
A soft, almost imperceptible approval glead in his eyes.
But his expression darkened the mont he turned to Felicia.
"So," he said coolly, "this is the maid you want to introduce to the Sword Saint?"
Felicia, stiff as a board, forced herself to kneel.
"Your Highness, I—"
"Pathetic."
The single word froze everyone in place.
Felicia's breath caught in her throat.
The Grand Duke turned back to William, his expression hard.
"You wasted your reward on this?" he demanded.
William stood firm.
"I had a chance to ask for anything, so long as it wasn't excessive," the Grand Duke continued. "Yet you threw it away on a worthless woman?"
Felicia flinched.
She had witnessed the brutal political struggle of noble heirs before. She knew how desperately sons fought for their fathers' approval.
But William had given up his chance for recognition—for her.
Yet William showed no hesitation.
"I don't regret it."
The Grand Duke narrowed his eyes.
"Not even if this was your last chance at a reward?"
"I wouldn't regret it," William said firmly. "Because I used it for sothing worthwhile."
The Grand Duke exhaled sharply, exasperated.
"You actually believe she's worth that much?"
"Yes."
William's answer was imdiate. Unwavering.
His voice held no defiance—only certainty.
"I don't know what you see, Father," he said, "but I see a swordsman blessed by the gods. I see a genius shackled by her status, bound by chains that blind others to her potential."
His eyes glead.
"And I will be the one to bring her into the light."
As his words faded into silence, a single tear slid down Felicia's cheek.
Felicia had talent with the sword.
She first realized it when she was ten years old.
That day had been like any other. She was going about her usual chores when her half-brother approached and threw a wooden sword at her.
"Hey, let's play a duel. You're half-noble, so you should at least know how to hold a sword, right?"
It was nonsense.
This was the sa brother who had spent his whole life mocking her as a lowborn, refusing to acknowledge that they shared the sa blood.
They had never even sat at the sa table, let alone trained together.
A duel? It was nothing more than an excuse to tornt her.
But Felicia had no right to refuse.
"I'll attack first! Try to block!"
With an excited shout, the one-sided beating began.
He would feint a strike, making her flinch, then punish her whenever she lost her balance.
Each ti the wooden blade struck her thighs and shoulders, pain flared up, forcing screams from her lips.
She had no choice. If she wanted to avoid pain, she had to fight back.
And that's when it happened.
She saw it.
Sohow, the incoming attacks beca clear.
She didn't just see them—she understood them.
Every movent, every shift in his muscles and feet beca sothing she could grasp as easily as breathing.
It wasn't long before she was parrying every strike.
Not only that—she countered.
"S-Stop! I said stop! Argh!"
Her half-brother, who had trained for years, lost to her in minutes.
It was only when he collapsed, panting, that she realized soone had been watching.
Her father.
Felicia's heart pounded.
For the first ti, she felt hope.
Maybe… just maybe… her father would praise her.
But that hope was shattered in an instant.
"Damn it," her father spat, eyes filled with disgust. "That cursed brat stole the talent ant for my son."
Felicia froze.
"What a disgrace. There's nothing about you that I can approve of."
"M-My lord! This is a divine gift! A once-in-a-lifeti talent—"
"And what do you expect to do about it?" her father sneered. "It's useless. A girl with talent is still just a girl. Get her out of my sight. Have her work in the stables."
Felicia's world collapsed.
She had seen him celebrate her brother's pathetic scraps of talent.
But when she, his own daughter, displayed sothing far greater, he didn't even spare her a second glance.
That night, Felicia cried until her eyes swelled shut.
And yet—she never let go of the wooden sword.
No matter how much it hurt, no matter how unfair it was—she loved the way it felt in her hands.
The freedom, the exhilaration—every ti she swung the blade, it felt like she was sowhere else, sowhere better.
Her brothers and their knights mocked her endlessly.
"You think it matters how good you are? You'll never be anything but a servant."
It was jealousy, mixed with their own inferiority.
But they weren't wrong.
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