Never Die Villain

Ilya stood across from Anastasiya with a steel sword in hand.

It had been a long time since the two of them had crossed swords like this. The last time had probably been six years ago, back when they were still children.

Ilya adjusted his grip around the handle and looked at his sister.

Now that he was standing directly across from her, Ilya couldn’t help but wonder when Anastasiya had become this short.

No, that wasn’t right. Anastasiya had already stopped growing years ago, while Ilya had continued getting taller without really paying attention to it. The last time they had stood across from each other with swords in their hands, he could still remember having to look up at her.

Back then, Anastasiya had been the taller one, the older sister who stubbornly challenged him over and over despite losing nearly every time.

Ilya tightened his grip around the sword.

"...It’s been a while."

"Six years."

"...So you remember."

The next moment, the voices of senior knights who had been called forward to oversee the match echoed.

——Both sides, prepare yourselves!

The suggestion from the elders had turned into a proper exhibition, with servants clearing the center of the Grand Hall while two knights took their positions along the edges to ensure neither sibling went beyond what was permitted.

The audience had grown considerably louder as well.

——Who do you think will win?

——Lady Anastasiya, obviously. Have you forgotten what she did to Morozsk?

——But Young Lord Ilya defeated Karskin.

——That was Aleksei Karskin. This is Anastasiya Belozerskaya.

Similar conversations spread throughout the hall, with most of the younger heirs already treating Anastasiya’s victory as inevitable.

The elders, meanwhile, watched from their seats while occasionally exchanging a few words among themselves, and Ilya could already guess that several of them cared far less about who won than about what the duel might reveal.

"Are both participants ready?"

Anastasiya raised her sword.

"I am."

The knight turned toward Ilya.

"And you, Young Lord?"

Ilya gave the sword in his hand one last adjustment.

"Ready."

"Very well."

The senior knight stepped backward, putting enough distance between himself and the two siblings before raising one arm into the air. Around them, the remaining conversations gradually died down as everyone turned their attention toward the center of the hall.

Anastasiya lowered her stance.

Ilya watched her through the Whiteout. Even from only several paces away, her face had already disappeared behind the blizzard that occupied his vision, leaving him with little more than the shape of his sister holding a sword.

He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing Cold Sense to spread through the surrounding frost until even the smallest movement within it became clear.

"Begin!"

Anastasiya moved first.

"...."

Ilya felt it immediately.

The cold around her shifted as she crossed the distance between them, and by the time he opened his eyes, her blade was already descending toward him.

Clang——!

Their blades collided.

For the first time in six years, Ilya and Anastasiya crossed swords again.

* * *

"Ilya, you should succeed Father."

Anastasiya rested her chin on her crossed arms as she watched her younger brother swing his wooden sword again and again. She had been complaining for the better part of half an hour, though Ilya had mostly continued his practice while listening to her from across the training yard.

"Why does it have to be me?" she continued. "I’m not even good with a sword, and the training is... too rough for me. Look at my hands, Ilya!"

She immediately held them out for him to see.

Her palms were covered in fresh blisters, while several of her fingers had been wrapped in thin strips of cloth after another morning of sword practice. There were red marks along her forearms as well, probably left behind by the training stick whenever her instructor caught her faltering.

Ilya finally stopped swinging.

Sweat ran down the side of his face as he lowered the wooden sword, taking a moment to catch his breath before looking at his sister’s hands.

Anastasiya had always struggled with their family’s training, and judging by the state of her arms today, her instructor had been particularly unforgiving.

"When I get good enough, I’ll definitely convince Father," Ilya said. "So... just hang in there until then, Sister."

"...You promise?"

"I promise."

"You can’t take it back later."

"I won’t."

Her expression immediately brightened.

"Then hurry up and get stronger!" She pushed herself upright, all the misery from a moment ago suddenly forgotten. "You’re already better than me anyway, so Father has to listen eventually! Then you can become Grand Duke, and I won’t have to wake up before sunrise every morning just to get hit with a stick."

Ilya stared at her.

Apparently, she had already planned out the rest of her life.

"And once you’re Grand Duke, I’ll marry someone handsome and leave all this sword stuff to you."

Anastasiya grinned as she began counting everything off on her fingers.

"Then I’ll have children, you’ll have children, and they’ll all grow up together. We can even have our estates close to each other so they can visit whenever they want."

"...You’ve thought pretty far ahead."

"Of course I have." She crossed her arms proudly. "I’ll be the older sister of the Grand Duke, so I should at least get to live comfortably after suffering through all of this!"

Ilya looked at the red marks covering her arms again.

"Then I suppose I’d better work harder."

"Yes, you should!" Anastasiya leaned forward and pointed at him with complete seriousness. "I’m counting on you, Ilya. If you lose to someone and Father changes his mind, I’ll never forgive you!"

"You’re putting a lot of responsibility on me, Sister."

"That’s what younger brothers are for!"

Ilya laughed before raising his wooden sword again.

"Fine. I’ll become strong enough that Father won’t have any reason to choose anyone else."

"Hehe. But if it ever gets too hard, we can always run away together." Anastasiya smiled at him. "Still, I’m glad I have a little brother like you. It’s nice having someone I can always count on."

Judging by their conversations alone, it was sometimes difficult to tell which of the two was supposed to be the older sibling.

Anastasiya had always been the more immature of the two, quick to complain whenever something became difficult and even quicker to run to Ilya whenever she wanted help, while Ilya had been unusually composed for a child his age.

Even members of the family had occasionally joked about how the Grand Duke’s six-year-old son seemed more dependable than his nine-year-old daughter.

Physically, however, there was no mistaking who was older.

At nine years old, Anastasiya was considerably taller than Ilya, enough that the top of Ilya’s head barely reached past her shoulders whenever they stood beside each other.

She never missed an opportunity to remind him of that fact either, especially whenever her little brother started speaking to her as though their ages had somehow been reversed.

Anastasiya rested her chin on her arms again and watched Ilya return to his training, completely satisfied with the arrangement they had made.

She had already decided that her troublesome future as Grand Duchess now belonged to her little brother, while Ilya continued swinging his sword as though the promise he had just made were something he could actually guarantee.

A woman emerged from the mansion shortly afterward and began making her way toward the training yard.

"My, what are the two of you doing out here this early?" she called out. "Have the servants even finished preparing breakfast?"

Ilya stopped his sword.

"Ah, Diane."

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