I Can Easily Defeat SSS Ranks... This World Is Already Mine

This chapter is told from the perspective of Isabelle Vhagar.

The silence after the battle was the worst part.

The adrenaline faded, leaving only the dull ache in my muscles and the ringing in my ears.

We had established the foothold. A great victory for our Lord.

But the cost… the cost was a pile of broken bodies, both monster and human.

I watched as my Lord gave his orders, his voice a blade of calm in the midst of the post-battle chaos. He was a brilliant commander. A ruthless king. A magnificent, terrible, and beautiful monster.

And he was mine.

Or so I thought.

For twenty days, we prepared. For twenty days, we played our parts in his grand, ridiculous deception.

I led my Wrecking Crew in a series of beautifully choreographed, spectacularly incompetent "attacks" that were more slapstick comedy than warfare.

It was humiliating. It was absurd.

And it was working.

The humans of Suzu grew confident. Arrogant. They thought we were a joke.

But in the quiet moments, in the long, dark nights of the campaign, a new and terrible conflict was raging.

Not on the battlefield.

But in my own heart.

The Sword King. Sayama Kotetsu.

My grandfather.

I had seen him on the battlefield. I had felt the impossible, overwhelming power in his single, perfect strike.

I had seen the face of the man who had taught me everything I knew about the sword. The face of the man who I was now marching an army to kill.

The conflict was a poison in my veins. The girl I had been, Isabelle Thorne, screamed in silent, horrified protest. But the woman I had become, Isabelle Vhagar, my Lord's First Sword, knew her duty.

My loyalty was to him. Absolute. Unwavering.

But the thought of facing my grandfather on the battlefield… it was a thought that threatened to tear my soul in two.

I had to tell him. I had to confess.

I had to see if my Lord, in his infinite and terrible wisdom, could offer me a path through this impossible, personal hell.

On the eve of the final assault, I went to his chambers.

The Crystal Spire was a fortress of silence and shadow. His private chambers were at the very top, a sanctum of power and privacy.

I stood before the massive crystal doors, my heart a frantic, terrified drum against my ribs. I raised my hand to knock.

And then, I heard it.

A sound from within.

A soft, feminine moan. A gasp of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

My blood ran cold.

I knew that sound. I had made that sound myself, in this very room, in my Lord's bed, just two nights ago.

But this was not my voice.

It was a voice like the tinkling of tiny, silver bells. A voice that belonged to a certain Dark High Elf.

Chloe.

My hand froze, inches from the door.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

The air was stolen from my lungs.

My mind, my disciplined, commander's mind, went into a state of pure, white-hot shock.

The whispers from within were muffled, indistinct, but the meaning was clear.

A soft giggle. A low, satisfied growl from my Lord.

The sound of rustling sheets.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, a ghost in my own armor, the pieces of my shattered world reassembling themselves into a new, terrible, and exquisitely painful picture.

He was not just my Lord.

He was hers.

The cold war between us, the simmering rivalry, the professional jealousy… it was all a lie.

We were not just rivals for his favor.

We were rivals for his bed.

A wave of pure, incandescent rage, so hot it felt like it would burn me from the inside out, washed over me.

It was followed by a wave of cold, desolate despair.

I was a fool. A pawn in his game. Just another tool to be used and discarded.

I turned to leave. To walk away. To find a quiet corner of the dungeon and fall on my own sword.

But then, I stopped.

The rage was still there. But something else was stirring.

Something cold. Something sharp.

The Blade Saint.

The divine power that now resided in my soul, a gift from a god I no longer believed in, whispered a new, terrible truth.

Love was a weakness.

Jealousy was a distraction.

There was only the mission.

There was only victory.

I would play his game. I would be his perfect, loyal sword.

I would lead his armies. I would win his wars.

And I would wait.

I would wait for the perfect moment. The moment when he was at his most vulnerable. The moment when he thought he had won everything.

And then, I would have my revenge.

Not on Chloe.

But on him.

I took a slow, deep breath, the air in the crystal hallway feeling thin and useless.

I pushed the rage down, burying it deep, deep inside, a cold, hard diamond of perfect, patient hatred.

I straightened my back. I smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in my gauntlet.

I raised my hand and knocked on the door, my expression a mask of cool, professional competence.

"My Lord," I called out, my voice a blade of ice. "The final preparations are complete. We are ready to march on your command."

The sounds from within stopped abruptly.

There was a frantic, muffled scrambling sound. A whispered curse.

A moment later, the door slid open.

He stood there, his hair slightly dishevelled, his long, dark coat hastily thrown on. His face was a mask of perfect, kingly composure.

"Excellent, Commander," he said, his voice a smooth, confident baritone. "I was just… meditating."

I looked past him, into the room.

It was empty.

But the air was thick with the scent of her. Of ozone and moonlight and betrayal.

And on the floor, half-hidden under the bed, was a single, elegant, and utterly incriminating object.

A dark elf's dagger.

Our eyes met.

He knew that I knew.

I knew that he knew that I knew.

A silent, beautiful, and exquisitely dangerous understanding passed between us.

The game was afoot.

"Of course, my Lord," I said, my voice dripping with a sarcasm so perfect it was almost a work of art. "Your meditation must have been very… thorough."

I gave him a slow, dangerous smile.

"Shall we go win a war?" I asked.

And in his eyes, for the first time since I had met him, I saw a flicker of something new.

Something I had never seen there before.

Fear.

And it was beautiful.