[G]azing at the newcomer, Ionia's eyes remained void of emotions, masking the turmoil within her.
The resurgence of a heartache she had almost managed to bury struck her more intensely when she laid eyes on the Marquis, who was her father.
He had been the first man whose affection and approval she had longed for throughout her life. Looking at him now, Ionia felt no connection, no emotional tie.
She pushed aside the pain in her chest, harboring no attachment to the man who, before her regression, had ordered Draven through the NanoComm to kill her.
His cold, grey eyes locked onto his daughter with a stern glare as he asked bluntly, "I asked, what is causing all this commotion?"
The question was unmistakably directed at her. But Ionia's response was to simply roll her eyes, a reaction that visibly shocked Draven, Ellora, and the others. Without further ado, she pivoted to continue on her way.
"A-ah, Marquis..." Draven began, attempting to ease the tension, but Ellora cut him off.
"It's nothing, Your Grace. We were merely discussing last week's duel, but the young miss seemed to have taken offense, and... well..." Ellora, a young, beautiful girl with striking red hair and green eyes, nervously shifted her gaze from side to side.
"What else?" The Marquis pressed firmly at her delayed response. "Ellora Gaillot, answer at once."
Prompted by his order, Ellora hastened to add, subtly weaving her own narrative into her explanation. "A-and the young miss stated that she has no interest in learning the Lysander sword."
It was evident that Ellora had carefully framed the narrative to paint Ionia as the instigator.
Then, shifting her gaze toward Ionia's departing form, a hint of cunningness crossed her mint-green eyes before swiftly vanishing.
"Oh?" The Marquis now appeared more intrigued. "And why is that?"
Draven, unaware of Ellora's scheming, admitted truthfully, "She said the master's techniques are... outdated."
Ionia hadn't exactly used the word 'outdated'; she'd flat-out called it 'trash,' showing her low opinion of the Lysander's sword.
Regrettably, Ellora was cunning, and Draven, easily swayed.
Just as Ionia reached the rack to put her sword away, the Marquis's voice echoed again, "Ionia Lysander, on what grounds did you call the sword technique of your ancestors outdated when you haven't even learned or mastered it?"
Ionia tightened her grip on her wooden sword and turned to face her father, her piercing, resolute gaze casting a daunting presence.
Her typically innocent blue eyes took on an unfamiliar imposing edge. "I didn't say it was outdated…"
Draven's intense black eyes bore into hers, skeptical of her words. "Ionia, why would you lie—"
"I said it was trash!" Ionia admitted unflinchingly, repeating her earlier statement.
The knights, who had resumed their training upon the Marquis's arrival, halted and stared at her in shock. Insulting the Marquis was unheard of and typically led to severe consequences.
With an authoritative tone, the Marquis demanded, "What did you just say? Repeat yourself."
Ionia met his gaze with unyielding defiance. "I said, the Lysander's sword technique is trash."
Sensing the tension rising, Draven felt compelled to step in and defuse the situation.
[Flash-Steps - Activated]
In a swift motion, Draven, acting quickly, deployed one of his most valuable skills, positioning himself as a protective barrier between Ionia and the Marquis, who had taken a step closer to his daughter.
"I acknowledge that Ionia's choice of words was disrespectful, and I understand that. Please, allow me to speak with her and make her come to her senses," he offered, attempting to de-escalate the mounting tension.
Ellora's hope that Ionia would face the Marquis's reprimand, or even worse, backfired when Draven unexpectedly intervened.
It was a rare moment of him taking a stand for Ionia. However, she remained unmoved by his sudden heroism, as she had been let down by him far too many times before.
"Hey, Filth-Bringer! I've already instructed you to keep your filth to yourself," Ionia retorted with sharp sarcasm, her disgust evident.
Draven, taken aback by her audacity, widened his eyes and turned towards her, his gaze filled with disbelief.
He was in the midst of attempting to help her out of the mess she had created, and here she was, insulting him?
The term 'Filth-Bringer' left him puzzled, wondering if it was a mockery of his surname.
"Ionia, you need to apologize immediately! Your words have crossed the line," he growled, his eyes clouded with irritation.
He now resembled the prodigy everyone knew, but Ionia, unfazed, simply walked past him, leaving the knights and Ellora in slight amazement.
She shrugged indifferently. "What's wrong with what I said? I was merely speaking the truth."
The Marquis, however, regarded her suspiciously, narrowing his gaze. "Is this a new tactic to convince me to teach you the sword? My decision is final, and it won't change."
Without the need for further explanation, Ionia could already understand his stance.
Her younger sister, Stellia, had been endowed with divine powers, the highest class of healing ability. Due to Stellia's unsuitability to learn the Lysander sword, Ionia had been forbidden from pursuing it as well, out of concern that she might take away the glory rightfully belonging to her sister.
Her status as a noble, despite being born out of wedlock, didn't change her situation either. The family rules were harsh, especially for her, while her two cousins, alongside Draven, were being taught the Lysander sword art.
Ionia couldn't help but let out a sardonic laugh before boldly declaring, "I meant every word, and I have no desire to waste my time on the Lysander techniques. It's utterly futile."
As the Marquis scrutinized her with a penetrating gaze and sensed her unwavering seriousness, his expression twisted with anger. "Ionia Lysander, how dare you insult the—"
Interrupting him with unwavering defiance, she declared, "If you consider it an insult to your pitiful sword teachings, then let's put it to the test. I demand the right to challenge your protégé."
A wave of gasps swept through the training ground, filled with disbelief. The Marquis's protégé happened to be none other than Draven Voidbringer, the sole disciple who had been diligently mastering the complete form of her family's sword.
Whispers and doubts spread among the knights:
"Has she gone mad? Does she not comprehend what she's saying?"
"Y-yeah! She was defeated by the young miss Ellora recently; how can she even fathom challenging a true sword prodigy?"
Disregarding the murmurs, the Marquis sighed and eventually yielded, saying, "Very well, I accept your challenge. But if you intend to demonstrate that Lysander's Sword-art is 'trash,' as you so eloquently put it, then you'll face me, not an apprentice who hasn't yet mastered the art."
The training ground descended into another uproar:
"What? She's challenging the Marquis himself?"
"C-can't believe the Marquis planning to engage his own daughter in combat."
"This is suicide! How can she possibly dream of defeating a true swordmaster?"
Ionia swung her wooden sword with unwavering confidence, locking eyes with her father. "So be it," she declared resolutely, "I accept your challenge."