As the man lunged forward, almost every soul in the square held their breath. They stared wide-eyed at the young maiden, wondering what method she would use to counter this incoming strike. Would she dodge? Or would she block? For a moment, not a single word was spoken in the vast central square—silence hung heavy, broken only by the middle-aged man's thundering footsteps and roaring battle cry.
Faced with the charging warrior, Charlotte stood completely motionless. If not for the soft, maid-like smile still playing on her lips, the crowd might well have thought the delicate young lady had been frozen stiff with fear. By then, the man had already closed in on her, his momentum unchecked as he swung his sword down in a brutal arc.
Though infuriated by Charlotte's audacious taunt, the man still exercised a measure of restraint. He could clearly sense that the girl before him possessed no combat prowess whatsoever; to fight her seriously would only make a fool of himself. Thus, he had no intention of killing her—merely of frightening her into submission. He deliberately angled his blade slightly off course, aiming for Charlotte's shoulder instead of a mortal wound.
Just as the sharp, glinting sword was about to pierce her flesh, Charlotte suddenly twisted her body sideways. There was no visible movement—yet the cold, sharp blade sliced cleanly past the edge of her dress, not so much as grazing her skin.
The middle-aged man froze for a split second, stunned by the girl's impossibly narrow dodge. But he was a seasoned warrior, and he wasted no time lingering on his surprise. With a low growl, he slammed forward with the wooden shield in his left hand, hoping to knock her off balance.
His reaction was undeniably swift—but it was still a fraction too late. The shield crashed forward, yet it failed to make contact with the girl's body. Charlotte's strange, almost imperceptible backward step had perfectly evaded his follow-up attack.
What in the world was happening?
Not only was the man dumbfounded, but the onlookers in the square exchanged confused glances as well. The clash of advance and retreat had happened in the blink of an eye, too fast for anyone to follow clearly. And because Charlotte's evasive movements had been so minimal, it looked to the crowd as if she had been struck by the sword and pummeled by the shield—yet there she stood in the center of the arena, completely unharmed. It was utterly bizarre!
The warriors watching from the sidelines, however, frowned deeply. These men were the elite fighters of their respective noble houses, their strength far from trivial. Unlike the clueless spectators, they could see the truth clearly: Charlotte possessed no martial power to speak of, and the man was merely a low-tier mid-ranked swordsman. The battle between them might have fooled the "uninformed masses," but it could not hide the truth from their trained eyes. They had watched with absolute clarity as the girl's dodges had been executed with exquisite precision—she had seemed to anticipate the man's every move and attack trajectory before he even made them, allowing her to counter each strike with preternatural ease.
How was this possible?
They silently put themselves in her shoes. What would they have done to evade that sword strike and subsequent shield bash? To their astonishment, they realized that while they could have dodged or blocked the attacks with their own strength, replicating Charlotte's hairbreadth evasion—brushing past the blows as if they were nothing—was virtually impossible. After all, in such close-quarters combat, most warriors would never dare to take such a reckless risk with their lives. Only the most experienced veterans, who had stared death in the face countless times, could possibly maintain such a calm, unflappable demeanor in the heat of battle.
Was this girl's skill just a stroke of luck? Or was there more to it than met the eye?
With that thought, the warriors abandoned their casual indifference in an instant. They fixed their eyes on the battle with renewed vigilance, watching Charlotte's every move with rapt attention.
Having missed his mark twice in a row, the man began to feel a flicker of doubt. He was starting to realize that this fight was not going to be as easy as he had assumed. The girl might seem weak, but she was proving to be a surprisingly tricky opponent. Even so, he did not take her seriously. After all, she wore no leather armor, and she was completely unarmed—not a single weapon in her hands. Her movements might be strange and unpredictable, but attacking him would be an entirely different matter. To land a blow, she would have to close in on him—and once she did, his superior strength as a man would make short work of such a frail young woman.
"Lady Ophelia, do you truly think that young lady stands a chance of defeating him?" Wen asked, his voice laced with anxiety and doubt as he watched the battle unfold. Ophelia frowned in response, looking somewhat embarrassed. While she was no longer the battle ignoramus she had once been, her knowledge of combat was still extremely limited—and she had no idea how to answer Wen's question. Of course, she believed that Charlotte would never have stepped into the arena without a plan to win. But she had never seen the head maid fight before, which left her feeling uncertain. Just as Ophelia was struggling to find a reply, the twin sisters seated beside her spoke up in perfect unison, as if sharing a single mind.
"Of course she does."
"Absolutely no problem at all."
"Sister Charlotte will never lose."
"Sister Charlotte is sure to win."
"He's just a mid-ranked swordsman."
"He's no threat to Sister Charlotte whatsoever."
With that, the sisters exchanged a glance, then burst into a silvery peal of laughter.
"His fate is already sealed."
Hearing the twins' confident declarations, Wen said no more. He had seen the pair's strength with his own eyes—if they believed the maid would win, then victory was all but assured. He turned his gaze back to the square, his attention now fully captured by the fight.
At that moment, the battle unfolding in the center of the square was growing increasingly bizarre. The middle-aged man's attacks were fierce and menacing, but they were utterly useless against Charlotte. Whether he struck horizontally or vertically, she evaded each blow with barely a hair's breadth to spare, always at the very last second. The crowd had shifted from quiet observation to wild cheering—they had never seen a battle so beautiful, so akin to a graceful dance. The maid moved like an elf twirling in the square, exuding an air of elegance and charm that captivated everyone who watched. Her graceful dodges left the audience spellbound; they cheered themselves hoarse, shouting their hearts out in exhilaration.
The watching warriors, however, wore increasingly solemn expressions. Many of the more discerning among them had already realized the truth: while Charlotte possessed no raw strength of her own, her keen observational skills and peerless technique allowed her to outperform even a mid-ranked swordsman. They had never encountered anyone like her before—or even dreamed of how to counter such a fighting style. At that moment, the man still held the upper hand in terms of offensive momentum—but many of the warriors could see that the tide of the battle had already shifted completely in the maid's favor. Now, all she needed was a way to seal her victory—and the match would be hers. And then what? Who would dare step forward to challenge her next?
"ROAR!!"
The middle-aged man swung his sword again, but Charlotte twisted away with another elegant spin, drawing another thunderous cheer from the crowd. By now, the man was growing frustrated and flustered. He had finally realized the truth of the situation—but there was no way he could back down now. If he dropped his sword and surrendered at this point, how could he ever show his face in battle again? He was certain that doing so would make him a laughingstock for all eternity. A mid-ranked swordsman, outmaneuvered by a powerless little girl? If word of this got out, he would never live it down.
The man pinned all his hopes on the girl's apparent lack of offensive ability. After all, from the moment she had stepped into the arena, she had done nothing but dodge—she had not shown the slightest hint of an attack. His only option was to drive her back to the edge of the square and force her to concede defeat by leaving the arena!
With that resolve, the man stopped holding back. He unleashed a flurry of sword strikes in quick succession. Charlotte seemed completely oblivious to his tactic, continuing to evade his attacks with that same graceful, strange, and weightless movement. In the blink of an eye, their back-and-forth skirmish had carried them to the very edge of the square.
The crowd erupted into screams of alarm. Even the most unskilled onlookers could see the man's strategy clearly now. They shouted warnings at Charlotte, urging her to watch out for the trap ahead of her. But it was too late. As the maid stepped back half a pace, narrowly avoiding the sword's edge once more, her body was already standing right at the boundary of the square. And in front of her, the man's towering frame blocked every possible escape route.
The next strike would decide the outcome of the battle!
At the sight, the entire square fell silent again. The crowd watched with bated breath, their hearts filled with anticipation, tension, and unease, completely unaware of what would happen next. Would the girl lose? Surely she would! After all, she had dodged every single attack thrown her way—but she had not launched a single counterattack of her own. If this continued, the outcome of the battle was obvious to anyone with a shred of sense.
Should she surrender? It would be the sensible choice—but human beings always had a fighting spirit. Watching this delicate young lady hold her own against such a powerful warrior for so long, refusing to show any sign of defeat, made everyone want to cheer her on. She must have a trick up her sleeve—there had to be some way for her to secure victory! The spectators who had taken Charlotte's side could only wait silently, clinging to the only shred of hope they had: the confident words she had spoken before stepping into the arena—and nothing more.
"ROAR!"
Seizing his chance—knowing that such an opportunity would never come again—the man showed no mercy now that Charlotte had nowhere left to run. He discarded the wooden shield in his left hand, gripped his sword with both hands, and brought it crashing down toward her with all his strength. He was absolutely certain that she would never be able to block this strike—her only option would be to step backward, right out of the arena!
But at that very moment, something unexpected happened.
Faced with the man's devastating attack, Charlotte broke into a confident smile. Then, in a sudden blur of motion, she charged directly toward him.
She was finally going on the offensive!
The crowd erupted into wild excitement at the sight of Charlotte taking the initiative for the first time since the battle began. They roared their approval, cheering the girl on with all their might. Some of the warriors, however, frowned deeply. Unlike the cheering spectators, they understood the harsh reality of the situation perfectly well. The man was protected by a layer of defensive soul aura; against such a barrier, even a low-ranked swordsman's direct sword strike would be completely ineffective. Only another mid-ranked swordsman, capable of manifesting their own defensive aura, could hope to penetrate it. And this girl clearly possessed no strength of her own—she could not use soul aura, nor did she wield any magical weapons. Charging forward empty-handed like this, even if she managed to land a blow on the man, it would cause no damage whatsoever.
What on earth was she thinking?
While the crowd and the warriors alike were still reeling in confusion, Charlotte ducked down, slipping past the man's swinging sword with ease. She then leaped upward, her right hand clenched into a fist, and struck upward with all her might. Her pale, delicate fist shot forward in a blur—but it brushed past the man's cheek, missing him completely.
A miscalculation!
The man let out a cold laugh. He knew full well that even if the girl had managed to hit him, his defensive aura would have protected him from harm. Now that she had missed her only chance, she was completely defenseless! With that thought, he reached out with both hands, intending to grab the girl's slender frame and pin her to the ground. In his single-minded focus on capturing his prey, he completely failed to notice the faint glint of glass that flashed between Charlotte's fingers as she pulled her hand back.
A moment later, a rich, sweet fragrance filled the air.
"Hmm?"
At first, the man thought the scent was coming from the girl herself—but before he could react, he felt his nerves go completely numb, his body suddenly refusing to obey his commands. His once-clear mind grew hazy and confused, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. Even the world around him began to blur and spin. The man's movements slowed for a fraction of a second—but for Charlotte, that fraction of a second was more than enough.
Without pausing for breath, Charlotte pushed off the ground with her feet, leaping upward like a nimble bird. She placed both hands on the man's shoulders, using his body as a pivot to execute a graceful flip, landing lightly behind him. By then, the man had completely lost his balance. He stumbled forward, swaying unsteadily, completely oblivious to the fact that his prey had already escaped his grasp.
Perhaps he no longer needed to notice.
Even as the man stumbled forward, Charlotte twisted around in mid-air. She grabbed a handful of his hair with her right hand, then drove her knee forward with all her strength, slamming it directly into the back of his neck!!
"Crack!"
The sound was soft, but it echoed clearly in the silent square, reaching the ears of almost every onlooker. Struck by the devastating blow, the man's eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the ground with a thunderous crash. Using the recoil from the strike, Charlotte spun gracefully through the air once more before landing lightly on her feet. She lifted the hem of her dress slightly in a polite curtsy, her soft smile still playing on her lips—as if she had not just won a brutal battle, but had performed a beautiful dance for the audience gathered before her.
Silence.
Faced with this utterly unexpected turn of events, every single person in the square stared in dumbfounded shock. They had never imagined that the tide of the battle could shift so dramatically in an instant—that the young lady, who had seemed on the verge of defeat just moments ago, could defeat the middle-aged swordsman so effortlessly, in the blink of an eye!! They stared at the slender figure standing in the square, completely at a loss for words. But after a moment of stunned silence, the square erupted into a deafening roar of cheers. The crowd shouted and screamed their praises, their voices shaking the very air. No one spared so much as a glance at the man lying on the ground outside the arena, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. In their eyes, the beautiful young lady who had fought with such elegant skill was far more worthy of their adoration!
Amidst the thunderous cheers of the crowd, the watching warriors turned pale with shock. They could not for the life of them understand what had just happened. They had watched the entire battle with perfect clarity—the girl had only struck once, and that single strike had seemed completely powerless. And yet, she had emerged victorious. How had she done it?
If Charlotte had displayed overwhelming strength, the warriors might not have been so disturbed. But she had not shown any logical, understandable power at all. She had thrown a single punch, followed by a single knee strike—and with those two simple moves, without any display of martial prowess, she had taken down a mid-ranked swordsman. The impact of this feat on the other warriors was immense. They exchanged glances, their eyes conveying a single, unanimous thought.
Who would dare step forward to challenge this young lady next?
"By the judgment of the tournament officials, this beautiful young lady is the winner of this match!!"
After confirming that the middle-aged man was still alive, the tournament announcer stepped onto the square and declared the result in a loud, clear voice. At his words, the crowd erupted into another wave of thunderous cheers.
"Now, is there anyone else who wishes to challenge this young lady?"
At the announcer's question, both the warriors and the nobles looked deeply troubled. They exchanged glances, completely unsure of what decision to make. Unlike the warriors, who were focused on the battle itself, the nobles were far more concerned with the power behind the girl. They had already learned that the maid belonged to the noble house currently locked in a territorial dispute with the Byrd family. But this only made the situation more complicated. That house was neither an internal faction of the Byrds nor an allied noble house from outside their domain—it had no clear allegiance whatsoever. So, who exactly were their enemies? And who were their allies?
"Once again—does anyone wish to challenge this young lady?"
Seeing that no one stepped forward after a long pause, the announcer sighed and repeated his question. The crowd turned their eager gazes to the nobles, waiting for their decision. But at that moment, Charlotte smiled softly and walked over to the announcer.
"I apologize, sir."
"Hmm? What can I do for you, young lady?"
"Yes," Charlotte replied, her voice calm and polite. "I'm afraid I would like to forfeit the match."