Never Die Villain

"...."

There was blood running from a scrape near Anastasiya’s elbow, and one of her knees had begun throbbing badly enough that putting her full weight on it was becoming uncomfortable.

None of the injuries were particularly serious, and under any other circumstances, she probably would have laughed them off.

"...."

Still, she waited.

"...."

Surely, her mother would turn around in a moment.

"...."

She would finish checking Ilya, notice Anastasiya standing behind her, and come rushing over with the same worried expression. Perhaps she would scold both of them for taking a spar too far, sit them beside each other, and complain while treating their injuries like she used to.

"...."

Anastasiya waited.

"...."

But Mariya never turned around.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes."

"Slowly, then. Don’t force yourself."

"Mother, really, I’m fine."

"I’ll decide whether you’re fine after the physician looks at you."

Anastasiya lowered her eyes.

"...."

Something inside her became strangely quiet.

Recently, she had finally gathered enough courage to tell Mariya how lonely she had been. She had cried in her mother’s arms and admitted how neglected she felt, and Mariya had apologized over and over, promising that Anastasiya should never hesitate to come to her whenever she needed something.

Anastasiya had believed her.

Of course she had. Mariya was her mother, after all.

Yet when there had been no time to think, no opportunity to carefully choose what to say or whom to comfort first, Mariya had run straight past her.

"...Ah."

She finally understood.

Her father had disappeared behind the doors of his office, and no matter how many times Anastasiya had waited outside, he had never come out for her.

Ilya had once been the person she could run to whenever everything became too difficult, but he had his own burdens now, his own life, and somewhere along the way, he had stopped needing his older sister.

...And her mother had Ilya.

Anastasiya looked down at the sword still clutched in her hand.

Then what did she have?

"...."

For years, she had hated the answer.

She had cried because she didn’t want it, begged Ilya to take it from her, and dreamed about the day she could finally throw it away and live however she pleased.

Even after accepting Valentin’s decision, some part of her had continued treating the position as something temporary, something she would carry only until Ilya recovered enough to take it from her.

But if she gave that away too...

What would be left?

"Lady Anastasiya!"

One of the knights finally noticed the blood along her arm and hurried toward her.

"Your arm. You’re injured."

Anastasiya looked at him.

The knight immediately lowered his head.

"Please allow me to call the physician, My Lady."

Anastasiya stared at him for a moment before looking past his shoulder.

Mariya was helping Ilya toward the estate, her arm wrapped around him as the two slowly disappeared through the doors. Neither seemed to notice that Anastasiya hadn’t followed them.

"...No."

"My Lady?"

"It’s nothing serious."

"But your shoulder—"

"I said I’m fine."

Her voice was different enough that the knight immediately fell silent.

Anastasiya looked down at her sword again.

She remembered the mornings she had spent waiting outside Valentin’s office. The lessons she had endured without complaining, the books she had forced herself to understand, the hands she had trained until they bled because she wanted to become someone capable of carrying the burden Ilya no longer could.

Until now, she had always been doing it for someone else.

’For Ilya.’

’For Father.’

’For House Belozersky.’

Perhaps it was time she did it for herself.

Anastasiya slowly straightened her back.

"...Sir."

The knight looked toward her.

"Yes, My Lady?"

"Tomorrow’s training."

"What about it?"

"I want to start earlier."

"How much earlier?"

"Before sunrise."

"Lady Anastasiya, considering your injuries, perhaps you should rest tomorrow."

"No."

Anastasiya tightened her grip around the sword and looked toward the enormous estate before her.

"I’ve rested enough."

The North. House Belozersky. The title she had spent her entire childhood wishing she could give away.

If that was the one place in this family that unquestionably belonged to her, then she would never let anyone take it from her.

Not even Ilya.

* * *

Clang——!

Their swords collided again, steel grinding against steel before Anastasiya forced Ilya’s blade aside.

Cuts already covered Ilya’s arms and shoulders, several thin streaks of blood staining his clothes, while Anastasiya remained almost completely untouched despite how long they had been fighting.

Yet even so, Ilya pressed on.

He recovered immediately and stepped back into her reach, bringing his sword around from below before abruptly changing its course halfway through.

Anastasiya read the feint without difficulty, catching his blade near the guard and twisting her wrist hard enough to throw his entire stance off balance.

Clang——!

Another opening.

Anastasiya’s sword flashed across him.

Ilya moved away before the edge could cut deep, but another shallow cut opened along his side as he retreated several steps. He glanced down at the blood spreading through his shirt before raising his sword again.

Perhaps it had to be said, but a sword wasn’t even Anastasiya’s main weapon.

Her preferred weapon had always been the rapier, the weapon around which most of her techniques had been developed, and the one she wielded whenever she fought seriously.

The fact that she could face Ilya with an ordinary sword and remain completely unscathed, while his body was already covered in several cuts, said more than enough about the difference in skill between them.

Even with Ilya subtly manipulating the blizzard to compensate for what he lacked, the disparity remained painfully obvious.

He might have once been the child everyone regarded as the better swordsman between the two of them, but those days were long gone.

While Ilya’s growth had slowed and eventually led him away from the sword altogether, Anastasiya had spent years training until the weapon she once hated became second nature to her.

And now, even without her rapier, Ilya was struggling just to touch her.

"Sister."

The moment the word left his mouth, Anastasiya clicked her tongue.

"Tsk. I told you not to fucking call me that."

She dashed forward and swung wide, her sword tearing through the air with enough force that Ilya immediately noticed the opening she had left behind.

He capitalized on it in an instant, driving his blade toward her exposed side, only for Anastasiya’s figure to suddenly disappear from where it should have been.

Clang——!

Her sword struck his from the side before his swing could finish.

The impact knocked the weapon off its original course and sent Ilya stumbling several meters backward. Struggling to regain his footing, several thin cuts opened across his exposed skin almost simultaneously.

"Haa..."

Acceleration.

It was one of Anastasiya’s trademark techniques.

By using her aura to cut down the distance between one movement and the next, she could accelerate for a brief instant, turning what should have been several steps into something nearly instantaneous and making even an obvious opening dangerous to exploit.

She hadn’t used it against him until now. That alone told Ilya she was finally taking this seriously.

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