Alice sighed, rubbing her temple.
"This is exhausting."
The banquet hall was already far behind them, yet the lingering tension refused to fade. The whispers, the looks, the half-swallowed fear—it all clung to her like dust.
...But Julies wasn’t finished.
If anything, this was only the beginning of the lesson.
"Lady Alice," he said, his tone respectful but unyielding, "about the duel at the banquet today—why did you choose that response?"
Though phrased as a question, there was a quiet certainty in his gaze, as if he already knew her answer and was merely inviting her to say it aloud.
Alice halted mid-step.
For a brief moment, irritation surged through her chest.
’Is he... correcting me?’
The servant who was supposed to shield her reputation, to stand behind her without question, was now scrutinizing her decisions.
She turned toward him sharply.
"Your intentions are impure," she said flatly. "You’re overstepping."
Julies stiffened, then scratched the back of his head in a rare display of awkwardness.
"I apologize," he replied. "But this is for educational purposes. Correction is the main focus. Please understand."
Correction.
The word alone struck a nerve.
As if she had made a mistake.
Alice’s eyes cooled.
"You may think my response was excessive," she said, voice measured but edged with steel, "but it was the best judgment I could make in that moment."
"...You mean the duel?" Julies asked.
"Yes." She didn’t hesitate. "How dare they tarnish the honor of the North."
Her fists clenched at her sides.
She could tolerate personal slights. Mockery aimed at her alone was trivial.
But those words—
’Indeed, a Northerner. Barbarically unmatched.’
’To talk nonsense about what you don’t know.’
They hadn’t insulted Alice.
They had insulted everything she stood for.
Julies watched her quietly, letting the silence stretch.
"I understand why you were angry," he said at last. "Truly."
That made her brow furrow.
"But," he continued, "was a duel the best way to protect that honor?"
Alice scoffed, her lips curling with unmistakable disdain.
"In the North," she said coldly, "honor is answered with steel."
Those words were not mere bravado.
They were the foundation upon which the North had been built. For generations, its people had survived by force of arms—driving out wild beasts, subjugating monsters, and pushing back demons from the barren, frozen lands they called home.
To them, martial strength was not barbarism.
It was survival.
So how could she simply stand by while outsiders dismissed it as crude and uncivilized?
"If they dare insult the martial prowess of the North," Alice continued, her voice firm, "then it is only right to repay them in kind."
That was why she had chosen a duel.
Not out of impulse, but conviction.
A duel was the most honorable way to prove one’s worth through martial ability—clear, direct, and free of petty scheming.
Yet even after hearing her reasoning, Julies merely shook his head, slow and restrained.
"You’re not wrong," he said evenly. "By the standards of the North."
Alice frowned.
"But this is the Central region," he went on, meeting her gaze without flinching. "And you, Lady Alice, are not just a knight. You are also a duke’s daughter."
Her mouth opened, then closed again.
She felt it—an invisible net tightening around her thoughts.
Politics.
A knight proved honor with a blade.
A noble preserved it with restraint.
Julies continued, his tone calm but unyielding.
"Showing yourself to be easily provoked is never wise. It only gives your opponent something to seize."
Alice’s fingers curled at her side.
The anger of nobles was dangerous not because it was subtle—but because it was crude. Raw. Careless. Once displayed, it became a weapon for others to wield.
She understood that.
Perhaps too well.
If she had gone through with the duel, the whispers would have begun the moment she turned her back.
The eldest daughter of the Draken ducal family was said to lack composure.
All brawn, no poise.
A northern brute wrapped in noble attire.
Alice had heard those words more times than she could count.
But what did it matter?
She stood tall, spine straight, chin lifted. The whispers of others slid past her like snow against steel. Their opinions were nothing more than noise—empty chatter from those who had never stood on a battlefield, never felt their lives hang on the edge of a blade.
Resolve like hers could not be shaken by gossip.
After all, none of them could match her sword.
Mosquitoes and other flying insects were irritating, yes—but never something to fear.
Alice turned her gaze to Julies, her blood-red eyes sharp and unyielding.
"It’s not that you’re wrong," she said evenly. "Most of the time, you are correct. Restraint, calculation... those are your specialties."
A pause.
"But I fail to see why I should endure an insult to the North," she continued, voice firm, "and simply let it pass without challenging them to a duel."
Her words carried no anger—only conviction.
Julies met her gaze without flinching.
"In the North," Alice went on, "we answer disrespect with steel. That is how we’ve survived. That is how our land was protected. Through strength."
Alice took a step forward, boots echoing softly against the floor.
"They insulted not just me," she said. "They insulted the blood that built these lands. The soldiers who froze to death guarding borders no one else wanted. Tell me, Julies—why should I overlook that?"
Julies was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully.
"Because tonight isn’t about the North proving its strength," he said at last. "Everyone here already knows it."
Alice’s brow twitched.
"And yet," he continued calmly, "what they want is for you to draw your sword. They want to provoke you into confirming the image they already have—an unthinking northern warrior who solves everything with violence."
Her fingers tightened slightly at her side.
Meanwhile, Julies looked at Alice with deep thought in mind.
’I have to change —No, I have to improvise her thinking ability.’
... Only then she will able to survive what will comes next.