Chapter 197
Amaia quickly shifted direction, diving in to target Iona’s wrist.
Iona deflected Amaia’s dagger with a casual flick, widening the distance between them once more.
Carmen, who had been on the verge of letting out a scream at the sudden clash of blades, barely managed to clamp her hands over her mouth.
A wise choice. If people gathered here, it would only complicate matters further.
“Not bad,” Iona muttered with a faint note of admiration, her gaze fixed on the trembling blade in her hand.
She hadn’t expected much from an assassin tied to someone as insignificant as Viscount Ida. But contrary to her expectations, Amaia’s skills were commendable.
She couldn’t fathom what had brought Amaia to this place, but it was clear that back in her homeland, she must have been among the elite.
Iona wasn’t the only one who trusted her own odds of victory.
Amaia, perhaps caught off guard by her perfectly blocked attack, now wore a look of tension in her eyes.
Their gazes locked midair.
After a brief standoff, Iona was the first to strike this time.
Since this skirmish had erupted suddenly, Amaia only had a dagger on her, putting Iona at a clear advantage in terms of weaponry.
Iona capitalized on this relative edge, maintaining a calculated distance from her opponent.
Unless Amaia managed to close the gap, her short blade posed little threat of delivering a fatal blow to Iona.
As the battle dragged on, signs of unease began to creep onto Amaia’s face.
Iona didn’t miss it.
‘The weakness of assassins is their lack of endurance in prolonged fights.’
Their creed was simple: “Aim for the vital spot and finish it in one strike.” More often than not, their methods didn’t even involve blades—carriage accidents, animal attacks, falls, poison. The ways to eliminate a target without direct confrontation were many.
And often, they were far more efficient.
Of course, the assassin before her seemed to have decent command over a blade. Even so, Iona judged that her relentless offense wouldn’t be sustainable for long.
Her intuition proved correct.
The pressure coming through Amaia’s blade was gradually weakening.
Realizing she was losing her edge, Amaia suddenly flung her dagger straight at Iona’s face.
Opting to discard her weapon and close the distance, Amaia lunged forward.
Iona reacted swiftly, retrieving her sword to block the flying dagger. But in that fleeting moment, Amaia closed in and grabbed Iona’s leg, forcing her off balance and onto her back.
Amaia straddled Iona, reaching for the weapon in her grasp.
Yet, no matter how she clawed and pulled at Iona’s fingers gripping the hilt, the blade wouldn’t budge.
“What kind of… strength is this…!” Amaia snarled through gritted teeth, her face almost comically frustrated.
Perhaps realizing she couldn’t wrest the sword away with her bare hands, Amaia turned her gaze to her discarded dagger, lying just a few steps away.
In the split second Amaia’s focus shifted, Iona took her chance. She threw a sharp left punch, driving her fist into Amaia’s stomach.
“Gah…!”
Even with the full force behind the hit, Amaia didn’t budge from atop Iona.
Abandoning her interest in the dagger, Amaia glared back at Iona, her eyes steely with determination.
She stomped down on Iona’s sword-wielding wrist, pinning it to the ground with her boot. Then, as if to vent her frustration, she swung her fist down toward Iona’s face with all her strength.
Iona twisted her head just in time, narrowly avoiding a direct hit. The blow grazed her temple instead of shattering her nose.
When Iona attempted another left punch in retaliation, Amaia caught her wrist with her free hand.
This left Amaia in a slightly precarious position—exactly as Iona had planned.
Summoning all her strength, Iona planted her feet and heaved herself upward, using her back and arms to force herself off the ground.
Amaia pressed her weight down to keep Iona pinned, but in truth, she was far too light to hold her firmly.
“Ugh!”
In an instant, the tables were turned.
Now, it was not Iona but Amaia who found herself pinned to the ground.
Amaia hastily tried to mount a counterattack, but it was no use. Unlike her, Iona still had her sword.
The blade’s slender edge rested just beneath Amaia’s chin.
Sensing her defeat, Amaia forced a smile onto her lips.
“How dishonorable of you, Duchess.”
“Typical nonsense from the defeated,” Iona replied coolly.
Iona was skilled with a longsword, just as Amaia was adept with a dagger. Had they fought with the same weapon, the one wielding the tool they were most familiar with might have won. But battles in the real world were never so fair.
Amaia didn’t seem to mean her words seriously, as she offered no further argument and instead closed her eyes, signaling her readiness to die.
Iona gazed down at her silently for a moment.
Her body was slick with cold sweat from the intense skirmish, but her expression remained remarkably calm.
Then, Iona spoke suddenly.
“I half-expected you to swallow poison.”
“If you promise me a painless end, I can fetch some for myself,” Amaia replied without opening her eyes.
It seemed less a genuine request for mercy and more an attempt at sarcasm. Even so, Iona couldn’t help but feel a twinge of admiration for her.
Amaia’s unyielding demeanor, even with death’s blade pressed against her throat, was strikingly resolute.
Perhaps those in the business of death were expected to face their own demise with such composure.
Iona couldn’t help but compare Amaia’s reaction to her own past experiences.
“Was I less impressive?” she mused inwardly.
She had once ended her life with a romantic kiss, though it had been a stolen one, taken by force. That memory still unsettled her slightly.
“Maybe it would’ve been better if I had confessed first,” she thought with a trace of regret.
But what use was regret now? Back then, she hadn’t even realized she liked him.
And in truth, Iona had no intention of dying nobly in her youth. She’d already once sacrificed herself to protect her lord. Now, she dreamed of living a full life, dying peacefully in old age surrounded by children and grandchildren.
‘This one doesn’t seem likely to die gracefully either.’
With that thought, Iona lightly tapped Amaia’s cheek with the flat side of her blade.
It wasn’t sharp, so it wouldn’t hurt, but it likely bruised her pride.
Sure enough, Amaia’s brow twitched in visible irritation.
Seeing her reaction, Iona withdrew her sword and asked, “Amaia, why did you aid the Viscountess?”
“What are you…?”
“Your mission must have been to keep an eye on Viscount Ida, ensuring his attention didn’t stray.”
Amaia’s face showed clear surprise, as if she hadn’t expected Iona to know her assignment.
She frowned in confusion, reviewing the situation in her mind, before her expression turned serious.
“Wait… was this an order from her?”
It seemed Amaia had jumped to the wild conclusion that Iona had come on the Empress’ orders to eliminate her
Iona let out a dry chuckle, about to correct the misunderstanding, when someone unexpectedly interrupted their exchange.
“Stop it!”
Carmen, who had been observing from a distance, suddenly dashed forward and threw herself between them, clutching Amaia tightly.
She collapsed onto the floor, her face tear-streaked, and turned to Iona with a desperate plea.
“Please, Duchess. Stop this. I’ll leave. I’ll live as quietly as you wish, like a shadow, as if I don’t exist! Just spare Amaia. Whatever else you want, I’ll do it. Anything.”
The unexpected turn of events startled not just Iona but Amaia as well. For a moment, Amaia could only look up at her mistress in bewilderment, unable to protest or intervene.
Her eyes darted toward Iona, as if fearing the Duchess might harm Carmen next.
But Iona didn’t make a move to push Carmen away or dismiss her. Instead, she silently listened. Something about this sudden outburst piqued her curiosity—it might just be tied to the reason Amaia had chosen to aid Carmen in the first place.
Carmen, sobbing like a mourner at a funeral, continued to confess between her cries.
“This is all my fault. I forced her into this. I was trying to run away with Peter, and we got caught by her... Amaia was just trying to stop me, but she got dragged into this mess because of me.”
Her wailing was so pitiful that it could move even the hardest of hearts. And perhaps Carmen wasn’t wrong in assuming Amaia’s life hung by a thread.
The person in question, however, merely massaged her temples, clearly weary of the drama.
“Don’t humiliate yourself for me, ma’am,” Amaia finally muttered. “It’s meaningless either way. I’m already a dead woman. I killed Viscount Ida, yet failed to adequately replace him. That’s as good as betraying my master’s wishes. So if she sent someone to dispose of me, it’s only natural—”
“That’s not true.”
“…What?”
“I said, it’s not true,” Iona repeated, her voice calm but firm.
She crossed her arms, her next words laced with mild irritation, as if she found the misunderstanding bothersome.
“I’m not here on her orders,” Iona clarified, dispelling the unnerving notion that she was acting on behalf of the Empress.
“And for the record, I never said I was going to kill you.”
The room fell silent as her words sank in. Carmen’s sobbing quieted, and Amaia’s hand froze mid-motion as she stared at Iona, stunned.
For a moment, all anyone could hear was the faint sound of their breathing, heavy from the tension and chaos of the fight.
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