The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Household Wants A Divorce-Chapter 138: By Instinct
“Huuu…….”
In the underground prison.
Rihanna kneeled, shackled in heavy chains, her breath so faint it barely hinted at life.
Breathing should signify survival, yet each ragged exhale sounded more like a farewell.
Oddly, her mind grew clearer, and the torrent of thoughts on her tongue settled enough to be guided—if only a little.
‘What on earth is happening to me?’
She knew “Vassalization” was a spell meant to bind a human completely. Was it because Transcendents’s blood had flowed in the Helmut for ages uncounted?
Simply staying conscious under this savage spell felt like a blessing.
“……”
With her eyes shut, she focused on the weight of the wedding ring tucked against her chest—the ring she had exchanged with Isaac when they divorced. It was the single thing keeping her together.
Footsteps echoed from afar. She lacked even the strength to turn her gaze toward them.
The thoughts buzzing through her skull never made it past her lips for one simple reason—she had no energy left.
“Oh my? Dying already?”
It was a woman’s voice.
One of the primitive Transcendents who had introduced herself as a “Blood Fiend” when Rihanna climbed the Tower.
Wearing a gentle smile, the Blood Fiend lifted Rihanna’s chin and poured water into her mouth. Even that small gesture sent a spark of life through Rihanna’s limbs.
Clank.
The chains rattled as Rihanna glared upward and declared, chillingly, “I’ll kill you.”
“My, my—such language.”
The Blood Fiend parried that murderous vow with a sly grin. She knew the balance of power was entirely hers; why fear?
“So beautiful. Just so you know, I adore beautiful things.”
She traced Rihanna’s cheek with lingering affection.
“Your will to resist the spell is beautiful, too—but we both know it’s only a matter of time.”
“……”
“Giving you a story worthy of that beauty—that, to me, is our sacred duty.”
“What?”
“There’s been endless debate among us. After all, with Hellic down an arm, you aren’t exactly frontline material anymore.”
Rihanna’s stubborn resistance after falling to the spell had engraved itself in every Transcendent’s mind. To them, she wasn’t a lapdog but a hunting hound liable to bite.
“Evergarde.”
From the Blood Fiend’s lips came the name Rihanna least wished to hear—the kingdom’s capital, home to Baron Isaac Logan’s estate.
“That’s where we’re sending you.”
Tap.
Her ice-cold hand brushed Rihanna’s hair.
“Go there, find the kingdom’s true ruler…”
“……”
“…Princess Adeline. Slaughter her.”
****
The road to the Mage Tower was longer than expected.
Even on horseback, every night became nothing but training—again and again.
“Grip your sword.”
By day the Greatmaster looked like a child, but the instant she drew a blade at night, she became someone else entirely.
Her instructions were delivered with an impassive face.
The long, curved great sabre swept the air in silent arcs. Lately, Isaac had devoted himself to sparring with the Greatmaster.
A contest he once thought mere strength-testing—cross-guard fencing—proved rich with lessons in posture and balance.
“If we drag on, tomorrow will be brutal. Let’s end it here.”
Roughly three hours later, the Greatmaster sheathed her sword. Sharen and Damien had long since drifted into slumber within their tents.
Under moonlight stood the two who had been trading blows—plus Nameless, staring at them in silence.
“Hm.”
As though the starlight bothered her, Nameless tilted the brim of her straw hat and approached. Cradled in her arms was the handbook Isaac had penned for himself—Isaac’s Sword Manual.
“This little thing,” she began.
For days she’d read and reread that manual. Though recent chaos had forced Isaac to pause his writing, what he’d written so far was more than valuable.
“Impressive.”
Sincerity colored her voice. Uncharacteristically, she gave Isaac his due while clicking her tongue.
“I’m not just praising the swordplay itself. I honestly can’t fathom how anyone can be so brutally objective about their own abilities.”
“Hmph.”
The Greatmaster’s shoulders twitched in pleased pride—her disciple was being praised, after all.
But if Nameless had come only to hand out compliments, she wouldn’t look this grim.
“That is precisely the problem.”
“Excuse me?”
“……”
Nameless sighed and held out the handbook.
“I told you, didn’t I? Taken to excess, cold rationality becomes poison to the very act of swinging a sword.”
“……”
“And for one who channels demonic-ki—it’s lethal.”
At that, the Greatmaster cleared her throat and glanced away. Clearly she’d been mulling over the same point but hadn’t found the words.
“I took your advice then,” Isaac answered. “I fight while keeping it in mind.”
It wasn’t an excuse. He truly meant it—so his reply sounded more puzzled than defensive. Nameless’ earlier lecture had struck him deeply, and he’d been striving to accept it.
“Hoo-ooh.”
“Mmh-hm.”
Both masters sighed in unison at his answer.
“……?”
Isaac looked at them, genuinely lost. The Greatmaster let out a dry laugh.
“Child, you’re so wise in every matter—yet blind as a mole to your own.”
“Sorry…? I’m not following.”
“Do you not hear the contradiction in what you just said?”
Contradiction?
He searched his thoughts but came up blank.
He’d listened, he’d tried to obey—what was wrong in that?
-Haah
At last, Nameless spoke.
“You said you swing your sword ‘instinctively’—but then you ‘judge’ every move with reason. Yes?”
“…Ah?”
It felt like a slap. As Nameless pointed out, even the parts that ought to be pure instinct, Isaac was dragging out and dissecting with cold logic.
“I’ve often sparred with Sword Fiends. While wielding their demonic-ki, they endlessly debate the sword.”
The Greatmaster scowled at that name, but Nameless pressed on; Isaac needed these words most.
“As I said, if someone using demonic-ki suppresses instinct, he cannot wield even half his strength.”
“……”
“Some Sword Fiends literally converse with their own demonic-ki.”
Isaac’s eyes widened.
“I do sometimes hear… curses and screams—like voices.”
Snap!
Nameless flicked her fingers and nodded.
“Your demonic-ki is ready—ready to accept its master. Only your frigid reason keeps it at bay.”
“……”
Without icy clarity he’d never have survived. He’d turned his back on fallen comrades to fight another day; he’d stared unflinchingly at a world racing toward ruin. In that age, clinging to blind hope was suicide—reality demanded relentless coolness.
‘Truth is…’
There had been a time he loved elegance, chased romance.
A time when, if he simply spoke his heart’s beauty aloud, he believed the world would answer in kind.
But that road ended in tragedy. A convulsing era had forced coldness on Isaac. Surviving to this day owed much to that very chill.
Especially as a the silent sword who teaches and compiles treatises—he’d needed it all the more.
“It’s time you let some of that go,” Nameless declared, arms folded.
“Child,” the Greatmaster added—the reason she hadn’t voiced this earlier:
“I know a little of the life you’ve led.”
She’d heard fragments of his past, seen how hard he fought.
“Sometimes the past gives us the shove we need—but when it’s dragged us too far, we must learn to set it down.”
Spoken by one who had left her own old comrades behind, the words hit Isaac all the harder.
So many yesterdays had made the man he was.
“And to move forward,” the Greatmaster finished, “one must be willing to change.”
Isaac clenched his fist.
He had to grow stronger—to take back Rihanna, crush the Transcendents, and save the world.
“I understand.”
He would bury the past to stride ahead.
“Then what must I do?”
“To honor instinct,” Nameless answered at once, lips curling in mischief, “you’ll have to kill your reason.”
****
“Yaaaa-aaam!”
With a massive yawn, Sharen Helmut shuffled out of her tent, rubbing sleepy eyes.
Before her stood Isaac, staring blankly into space—sporting a sizable lump on his head, no doubt last night’s sparring trophy.
“Yaaa-aam!”
Another yawn. She plopped down in front of him and thrust a hair tie his way.
“Isaac! Tie my hair!”
Ever since the journey to the Mage Tower began, if her handmaiden Kelsey wasn’t around, Isaac always did the honors.
Thus should have begun another ordinary day in Sharen Helmut’s life—
“No.”
—but it didn’t.
“Eh-he?”
She blinked at him in bewilderment. Isaac wore a strange, troubled frown.
“N-no,” he repeated, refusing her request.
– – The End of The Chapter ––
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