Chapter 251

Iona was utterly dumbfounded.

She couldn’t tell whether the others hadn’t heard what she said to Max because of the noise, or if they had heard and were just reacting this absurdly.

Just as she was seriously considering whether she should pause everything and start with introductions, one of them suddenly lunged forward with a sword.

“I’ll slice off your head and present it to Lady Iona!”

That thunderous shout left Iona feeling both insulted and oddly respected.

To be addressed with both “you wench” and “Lady” in the same sentence—it was certainly a rare experience.

‘Let’s not kill them.’

They were dumb, but at least polite.

Iona lifted her dagger—still sheathed—and blocked the incoming strike.

If she could’ve focused on just one enemy, the fight would’ve ended in seconds. But there were still three of them around her.

Even within the cramped confines of the wagon, they somehow managed to attack in turn without getting in each other’s way.

Their careful coordination was likely to avoid friendly fire, but ironically, it helped Iona mount a more efficient counterattack.

After parrying several strikes, Iona felt the wagon turning. Using the moment, she kicked the man closest to the edge square in the chest.

Thrown off balance by the sudden shift in weight, he tumbled out of the wagon just like Max had earlier.

As another one instinctively reached out to grab him, Iona slammed the back of his neck with the hilt of her blade—he, too, was promptly ejected from the fight.

Only two remained now.

This time, it was Iona who charged.

“Guh!”

The man barely managed to block her sword, gritting his teeth in pain.

Seeing an opening, his comrade lunged forward and grabbed Iona by the hair, slamming her head against the wall of the wagon.

Intent on keeping her dazed, he smashed her head against it repeatedly.

Fortunately, the wall was made of wood. If it had been anything sturdier, her skull might’ve cracked.

The man used his other hand to pin Iona’s body and shouted furiously:

“You little shit, hurry up and stab her!”

If they’d made one fatal mistake, it was failing to fully restrain her.

Iona gritted her teeth and kicked the incoming sword with all her strength.

Her leather boots—part of her uniform—had solid, reinforced heels, perfect for deflecting a blade.

Startled by the sudden resistance, the man holding her flinched just enough. Iona drove her elbow into his temple.

Just hard enough to rattle his inner ear—no more, no less.

Then she yanked out her dagger and drove it into the man’s wrist as he stumbled.

“Aaaagh!”

“You rat bastard! Pulling dirty tricks like—!”

The man she had kicked earlier looked over at his wounded comrade and screamed, his face flushed with rage.

Though he tried to regain control by barking threats, the nervous glint in his eyes betrayed him.

That kick must’ve landed well—his sword hand was trembling from the impact.

He hadn’t dropped the weapon yet, but the blow had clearly traveled through to his joints.

Or maybe it was the weight of being the last man standing.

Iona pointed to his shaking hand and said coolly:

“Keep swinging like that and your wrist’ll give out before you hit thirty.”

“You… you biiiiitch!!”

Cursing in a weirdly uncoordinated way, the man backed off a few paces and began flailing his sword wildly.

The man’s wild swinging looked more like a defense mechanism than a genuine attempt to strike.

Yet, despite the chaos, the man with the dagger lodged in his wrist still seemed unwilling to give up—he staggered and tried to rise to his feet.

Iona didn’t let him get that far. She grabbed him by the scruff and hurled him straight into his sword-wielding companion.

Startled, the second man instinctively dropped his weapon to catch his flying ally.

The weight of the limp body proved too much to handle—he let out a strained groan and slumped against the wagon wall for support.

As Iona walked toward them, she declared with crisp finality:

“Sorry, but I’ve got a long journey ahead. Time to drop off some excess baggage.”

With her blade pressed threateningly under their noses, the man visibly trembled and gave a faint nod.

At long last, the skirmish came to an end through something resembling a truce.

The two men, abandoning all resistance, obediently followed Iona’s command and took turns leaping out of the wagon—voluntarily, this time.

Since they weren’t ambushed and had a moment to prepare, the fall didn’t leave them seriously hurt. In a way, it was a fair enough deal.

Having cleared out the entire wagon without a scratch, Iona brushed back her disheveled hair and surveyed her surroundings.

The only ones left were the stunned Duke’s son, who stared at her wide-eyed, and the coachman, who was doing his best to pretend he hadn’t witnessed any of it.

Iona stepped inside and gave a brisk order:

“Stop the carriage at the first fork in the road.”

“Y-yes, ma’am!”

The coachman responded with the stiff discipline of a soldier receiving orders.

Iona walked over to the Duke’s son and began untying the rope around his feet.

Maybe it was tied tighter out of spite during his earlier resistance—either way, the knot had been pulled absurdly tight.

While she wrestled with the stubborn rope, the carriage sped along until it reached the familiar two-way split in the path that Iona remembered.

Following her earlier command, the coachman dutifully brought the wagon to a stop at the roadside.

Iona leaned toward the window that connected to the driver’s bench and spoke:

“Alright. From here, you get down and head back the way we came.”

“P-pardon? I… I can really go?”

The coachman looked genuinely touched, realizing he wouldn’t be thrown off like the others.

Iona gave a small nod, then motioned with her thumb, gesturing toward the direction they’d come from.

“Don’t look back. Run, and pick up your injured friends. No trying to sneak off alone.”

“Of course, of course, I’d never!”

“Good. I’ll take your word for it.”

Just as Iona turned away, the coachman—clearly eager to leave before she changed her mind—hurriedly dropped his whip, then froze.

In a careful, hesitant voice, he asked:

“Um, excuse me… but are you really Lady Iona?”

“Do I not look like her?”

“It’s just that the real Lady Iona would never…”

“Never what?”

Though Iona replied as if she were merely curious, she knew exactly what the man was going to say next.

Something along the lines of, “But I thought a knight like you would never betray His Highness the Crown Prince.” That sort of thing.

Iona met his eyes with a calm, unwavering gaze.

The man flinched under her stare, quickly swallowed his question, and scrambled down from the carriage.

“N-no, it’s nothing! I’ll be on my way now!”

Then he darted off in the direction they had come from, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake.

Iona scoffed through her nose, smirking, and refocused her attention on untying the stubborn knot she’d been wrestling with.

Fortunately, once she brought her dagger into play, the bindings came loose much quicker than expected.

Now freed, the Duke’s son stared at his hands in disbelief, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times as if testing whether they were really his.

Iona asked with a half-smile:

“How does it feel? A bit more comfortable now?”

“……”

“Ah, the gag.”

In the rush of thinking ahead to their escape, she had completely neglected the most basic form of communication.

Looking slightly sheepish, Iona reached out behind his neck to remove the gag.

But the Duke’s son gently brushed her hand away, as if to say he could do it himself.

After removing the gag on his own, he didn’t speak. He simply sat there in silence, his eyes fixed on Iona, filled with suspicion.

Iona, unconcerned by the glare, just kept talking.

“Are you alright physically? We’ll be traveling by horseback soon. If you’re not feeling up to it, let me know—you can ride behind me.”

“……”

“Honestly, I’d prefer to keep you seated in here, but we’ll likely be pursued soon. Speed is our priority.”

“……”

“If you’re not ready to speak yet, that’s okay. You can just nod or shake your head instead.”

As she said that, Iona looked at him with a flicker of sympathy in her eyes.

From afar, he had seemed sturdily built thanks to his broad frame. But up close, it was clear—his body had been worn down by prolonged hardship. He was almost emaciated beneath that strong exterior.

Then, finally, the Duke’s son asked in a voice roughened by disuse:

“Who… are you really?”

Iona replied calmly:

“I thought you’d have figured it out by now. If I had to describe myself in a way you’d recognize, I once went by the name Iona Modrov. I served as a royal guard under His Highness the Crown Prince… for quite some time.”

“You’re not an imposter?”

His eyes sharpened, the doubt in them deepening.

At that, Iona couldn’t help but let out a sigh of quiet resignation.

She didn’t bother trying to prove herself—she simply shrugged.

“Your father is waiting. We can discuss everything else… once we’re somewhere safer.”

---The End Of The Chapter---

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