Chapter 48 | How to Not Get Executed as an Otome Game Villainess

“...What is this?”

For the first time, a trace of uncertainty crept into Waldenburg's voice.

He grew noticeably more guarded.

“The seriousness you asked for.” How grateful I was that he had previously given me an out by demanding I go all out... I said, maintaining my calm.

Waldenburg remained silent for a long moment before sheathing his sword.

I thought it was his turn to be scared to tears, and that he would say something like, “Then let's not fight anymore.”

But he didn't.

In the next instant, he took a deep breath, and a powerful aura rippled outward. His black hair actually drifted without any wind, even changing color to a faint gold.

Then, he drew his sword once more.

Holding it horizontally in front of him, a light I had never seen before burned in his dark gray eyes.

“Miss Aldheim,” he said. “Thank you for taking this seriously.”

“...” Honestly, if I was going to win, I wanted to win beautifully. It would have been best if he had just surrendered just now. If I failed to control my strength in the next exchange, I might actually hurt him.

It was a bit troubling.

Perhaps... defeating his swordsmanship with swordsmanship would make him accept his defeat gracefully?

Yes, let's go with that.

Swordsmanship was still somewhat easier for me to control. As for mana, I was genuinely afraid that if I swung a Wind Blade, the blade's edge would end up ten meters wide and travel at the speed of sound.

Swordsmanship it is, then... My sword, my sword... but I don't have one on hand right now.

But then I remembered the ancient fire magic I had practiced before. Oh, the time has come for it to shine.

Meanwhile, Waldenburg's gaze fell upon his own blade.

The silver-white blade reflected half of his face. In those dark gray eyes, there was no anger, no resentment, only a pure, almost obsessive seriousness.

“Actually, every night this past week, I spent nearly the entire night swinging my sword,” he said. “I thought about it for a long time. I couldn't figure it out.”

“So?” I was still thinking about how to use that spell.

“So I need this duel to give myself an answer.”

He looked at me openly and uprightly.

“Regardless of whether I win or lose.”

I remained silent for a moment, then recalled the fire-attribute technique, offering him my respect in return.

“Do your best.”

I raised my right hand once more, mana condensing in my palm.

But this time, I didn't shoot it out.

I held the mana back.

Restraining it within my palm.

Restraining it at my fingertips.

And then—

I changed its form.

Fire.

The fire element separated from my mana like an awakened serpent, wrapping around my fingers, climbing up my wrist, and enveloping my entire right hand.

The temperature began to rise.

But I felt no heat—because this was my mana, my fire, and its temperature was entirely under my control.

The flames condensed, compressed, and shaped themselves in my palm.

An inch.

Two inches.

A foot.

A sword.

A longsword composed of pure fire slowly took shape in my right hand.

The blade was a blazing red, its surface flowing with a lava-like luster, resembling a freshly forged iron billet that had not yet cooled.

But it was not iron, nor steel, nor any kind of metal—it was fire, a fire bound by mana and condensed to the point where it almost possessed a physical form.

Waldenburg's eyelids twitched.

“This is...”

“Magic,” I said. “Condensing the fire element into a physical form to use as a weapon.”

I gripped the hilt—no, there was no hilt; my palm directly grasped the base of the flames, the magic circuits extending from my fingertips to the blade, transmitting energy like blood vessels.

The blade trembled slightly in the air, emitting a low hum, and the surrounding air warped from the intense heat, forming ripples of transparent waves.

“It has a physical form?” Waldenburg's gaze locked onto the blade. “...This sword is solid?”

“You can try touching it.”

Without hesitation, he charged forward.

His blade slashed horizontally, sweeping toward my waist.

I didn't dodge.

Bringing the fiery sword down, I met his iron blade head-on.

“—”

Metal clashed with fire.

It wasn't the dull hum of a mana projectile striking a blade, but a genuine, sharp clang of metal meeting metal.

Clear, sharp, and powerful enough to numb my hands.

Waldenburg's sword was deflected.

His arm visibly trembled, and his gaze fell to his own blade—a thin layer of burning flame clung to it, leaving a charred mark as if it had been branded by hot iron.

“...It really has a physical form.” A trace of disbelief colored his voice.

He also understood that Loris's title of Level Ten was by no means an empty rumor; she was a genius in her own right, just as he was in his.

Up in the spectator stands, Liliana was already looking on in utter disbelief.

“Incredible...”

“I told you so,” I said, feeling a little self-conscious.

With a casual sweep, the flames on my blade flared violently, incinerating the clinging residue into ash.

Waldenburg fell silent.

Then, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

A genuine smile of excitement crept onto his face.

“Interesting.”

He leaned forward once more.

Accelerating.

He was even faster than before.

I didn't retreat.

I blocked horizontally with the fire sword.

“Clang—”

Iron and fire clashed once more.

This time, he wasn't deflected—his sword pressed hard against my fiery blade, his arm muscles bulging as mana surged from the hilt to the blade. The silver-white light and blazing red flames devoured, neutralized, and exploded against each other.

Sparks flew in all directions.

The two of us stood face-to-face, separated only by the length of a blade.

I could clearly see my own reflection in his eyes—blonde hair, emerald-green eyes, and a face smudged with dust and sweat.

“Your swordsmanship,” he said through gritted teeth, “isn't something you just picked up on a whim.”

“I figured it out myself,” I gritted out. “I might not practice every day, but I haven't been slacking off either.”

“Monster,” he said, his eyes cold.

Suddenly exerting force through his arms, he shoved my fire sword upward.

Using the momentum, I took two steps back and regained my footing.

I spun the fire sword in my hand, pointing the tip downward, the flames carving a scorched arc into the sand.

“Again.”

“—”

This time, I made the first move.

I swept the fire sword upward from below, the blazing red blade leaving a burning afterimage in the air.

Waldenburg sidestepped to dodge, his iron sword thrusting in from the flank.

Twisting my wrist, I cut horizontally with the fire sword.

“Clang, clang, clang—”

Three consecutive strikes.

It happened so fast it felt like a single collision.

The iron and fire swords wove a dense net of flames in the air. Each collision showered sparks onto the sand, which hissed and sent up wisps of dark smoke.

Waldenburg's swordsmanship was typical of the Border Knight Style—concise, highly efficient, without a single wasted movement.

Every strike aimed for a vital spot.

Every strike left him no room for retreat.

His style was a high-stakes, "kill or be killed" approach.

But my swordsmanship was different.

Shirune hadn't taught me knightly swordsmanship; she had taught me Guardian Swordsmanship—using defense as offense, mastering movement through stillness, finding flaws in the opponent's attacks, and delivering a fatal blow.

So I didn't actively attack.

I simply blocked.

Parrying.

Deflecting.

Redirecting.

The fire sword in my hand acted like a burning shield, blocking all of Waldenburg's assaults.

One strike.

Two strikes.

Three strikes.

Four strikes.

Five strikes.

His attacks grew faster and faster, and the silver-white light on his blade burned brighter and brighter.

My arms grew increasingly sore, and the flames on my sword began to dim.

The mana consumption was simply too immense.

Simultaneously maintaining the fire sword's physical form while blocking Waldenburg's attacks felt like performing two entirely different tasks at once—one requiring delicate craftsmanship, the other requiring heavy physical labor.

Although my mana pool was vast, it wasn't infinite.

“—”

Waldenburg clearly noticed this as well.

His offensive grew even more fierce.

His blade cleaved downward from above, carrying immense force.

I raised my sword to block.

“Clang—”

The massive impact traveled from the fire sword to my arm, then to my shoulder, and finally through my entire body.

My knees buckled slightly.

My feet sank deep, leaving two distinct footprints in the sand.

Waldenburg gave me no time to breathe.

A second strike.

A third strike.

A fourth strike.

Each blow was heavier than the last.

Each blow was faster than the last.

Maybe I shouldn't have challenged his swordsmanship with my own. This was Waldenburg, after all, the man destined to become the legendary Black Swordsman in the future storyline. Perhaps I had been a bit too arrogant.

The web of my hand was completely numb, and my fingers could barely grip the fire sword.

Flames peeled off the blade like shattered glass, drifting down piece by piece before burning away into nothingness.

But... damn it.

I have my pride too!

I suddenly poured everything into a single swing! The blazing flames reflected the astonishment in Waldenburg's eyes before quickly dimming.

Using the opening, I leapt back to create some distance.

“You can't hold out much longer,” Waldenburg panted.

“You're not doing much better yourself,” I teased. And I was telling the truth.

His breathing was ragged, veins bulged on his forehead, and his white uniform was soaked with sweat, clinging to his skin.

Although his mana consumption was lower than mine, his physical exhaustion was far greater.

The physical training in the Swordsmanship Department was rigorous, but after sustaining such high-intensity attacks for so long, he had to be nearing his absolute limit.

Having broken away from our clash, dust swirled across the sand.

We stood ten meters apart.

“Then, one final strike,” he said, tightening his grip on his sword.

Just what I wanted.

Without waiting for a response, Waldenburg took a deep breath.

He lowered his stance slightly, feet shoulder-width apart, holding his sword with both hands, the tip pointing downward at his side.

Mana surged from his arms into the blade. The silver-white light grew brighter and more intense until the entire sword was enveloped in a blinding white glow.

Once again, it was mana infusion.

He was pouring every last drop of his mana into this single strike.

After this blow, regardless of the outcome, he would have no strength left to fight.

I didn't hesitate either.

The flames on the fire sword reignited, shifting from blazing red to a brilliant white, the temperature instantly soaring to the point where the surrounding air began to warp.

The blade expanded.

It grew longer.

From three chi to four, and from four chi to five.

A massive greatsword, condensed from pure fire and white light, was now gripped firmly in my hands.

“—Haaah!”

Waldenburg moved.

Like an arrow released from a bow, he charged in a straight line, dragging his blade behind him and carving a deep trench into the sand.

I moved as well.

If we were purely comparing swordsmanship, I would probably lose to him. So, sorry, Waldenburg, but I'm going to bully you with sheer mana capacity.

The fire sword carrying an earth-shattering momentum suddenly erupted!

Mana infusion!

Ten paces—ten percent!

Five paces—fifty percent!

Three paces—one hundred percent!

One pace—two hundred percent!!!

“—!”

The two swords collided in the center of the training ground.

The silver-white light and blazing red flames devoured, neutralized, and exploded against each other!

A shockwave rippled outward from the point of impact, kicking up coarse sand from the ground that rattled against the walls.

The chairs in the spectator stands felt as if they were about to be overturned.

Liliana shielded her eyes with her arm, her hair whipping wildly in the gust of wind.

The magical lights on the vaulted ceiling flickered a few times before going out.

The training ground plunged into a brief darkness.

Only the glow of the fire sword remained lit—but even that light was rapidly dimming.

My arms were starting to lose their grip.

Whew... so tired.

About thirty percent of the mana in my ocean-like pool had been depleted. For the first time, I felt as if I could see a hint of a shoreline. Actually, it wasn't quite an ocean—just a terrifyingly large lake.

And Waldenburg was in no better shape.

The silver-white light on his blade had completely vanished, and his iron sword returned to its original, dull, and lusterless state.

His arms were shaking.

His knees were shaking.

His entire body was shaking.

Blade pressed against blade.

Sparks sputtered at the point of contact.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

And then—

A crack appeared on Waldenburg's iron sword.

It was tiny.

Very thin.

Barely visible unless one looked closely.

But the crack rapidly expanded—spreading from the center of the blade toward both ends like fissures in a dried-up riverbed.

Snap.

A soft sound, like a bone snapping.

Waldenburg's sword broke in half.

The severed half of the blade fell to the ground with a dull thud, bouncing once on the sand before coming to a rest.

Waldenburg was left holding only half a sword.

A broken hilt with half a blade.

He stared down at the broken sword in his hand, the rough texture of the metal fracture reflected in his dark gray eyes as he stumbled backward.

However, he didn't collapse from exhaustion.

Instead, he abruptly dropped to one knee, preserving his dignity as a swordsman. He plunged the broken blade into the sand, panting heavily as he tried to recover his strength.

Silence hung in the air for about three seconds.

“I... lost,” he said, utterly exhausted.

He raised his head, his voice unexpectedly calm.

There was no resentment, no anger, and not even any regret.

He simply accepted the result calmly and gracefully.

Seeing this, I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a touch of admiration.

I gave a light wave of my hand.

The flames began to dissipate from the tip of the sword, slowly extinguishing from top to bottom like a candle flame blown by the wind.

In the end, only a tiny ember remained in my palm.

I withdrew that last ember as well.

“Your sword...” I looked at the broken blade on the ground.

I wanted to apologize for breaking it and offer to buy him a replacement, but that felt a bit too soft... Or should I mock him by asking why it was so fragile? No, that would just be adding fuel to the fire.

In the end, before I could say anything—

“It's fine,” Waldenburg said, sheathing the broken sword. “It has been with me for three years. It's about time for it to retire.”

Damn it, that just makes me feel even more guilty, okay?

Waldenburg simply looked up at me.

“Your swordsmanship is very strong.”

“Your swordsmanship is very strong as well,” I said patiently. If we had only used swordsmanship, I truly wouldn't have been able to defeat him.

“But you won.”

“...” As a villainous daughter, I could only accept his praise with a smirk, even though my heart was screaming, Stop praising me, stop praising me, I'm actually so embarrassed! There was nothing else I could do.