Krugger watched Isabella prepare her sword and felt a flicker of surprise.
He had expected the clumsy hesitation of a sheltered noble girl. Instead, he saw calm efficiency. She inspected the edge carefully, adjusted her grip with deliberate precision, and settled into her stance with the confidence of someone who had trained for years — even if in secret.
"That looks fine… for a child," he said evenly. "But that swordsmanship…"
His blade moved before he finished the sentence.
There was no elegance in his motion — only ruthless economy. The kind born in mud, smoke, and European battlefields. With a sharp twist of his wrist and a burst of raw force, he struck her blade aside.
Isabella's rapier spun through the air and clattered against the stone, the sound echoing like a cracked bell.
Krugger's voice was flat.
"That looks fine for a little girl. But that swordsmanship is made for display, not for survival. Whoever taught you forgot that a duel is not a dance."
