Chapter 65: Thrashing
The tension snapped like a bowstring.
Steel rang as Darius lunged first, his blade flashing toward Isolde’s chest. She didn’t even move her feet. With a flick of her wrist, a glowing rune circle formed in the air — clang! His strike rebounded as though he’d struck an invisible wall. Sparks crackled, his sword vibrating in his hands.
"Too slow," Isolde said coldly.
Another knight rushed from her left, shield raised high. She pivoted, hand slicing through the air. A pulse of invisible force hit him square in the chest — thoom! — sending him flying across the room. He hit the wall with a grunt, his shield clattering to the ground.
The inn’s floorboards shook under boots as the rest of Cedric’s knights charged together, a dozen men filling the space with steel and shouts.
Oliver took half a step forward, but Isolde lifted her hand slightly. "Stay back. This is nothing."
Then she moved.
A knight swung a heavy axe at her head. She ducked under it, her palm glowing faintly, then tapped the man’s stomach with the gentleness of a pat. The force blasted him back five meters — straight into a table that shattered under his weight.
Another tried to grab her from behind. She spun, caught his wrist, and twisted. Crack! His scream filled the room as she tossed him into two of his comrades like they were bowling pins.
The room filled with groans and metal clattering against wood. Chairs were overturned, mugs rolled across the floor — but not a single customer harmed, not a single wall broken. Every movement was precise, restrained.
"You... bitch!" one of the knights snarled, thrusting his spear.
Isolde didn’t even look. With a snap of her fingers, the weapon bent mid-air like soft clay, the shaft curling until the point turned back toward him. He froze, trembling, before dropping it with a clang.
Another pair came at her from both sides. She lifted her arms, mana flaring — and boom! both were lifted from their feet and slammed onto the floor, groaning as they rolled.
It wasn’t a fight anymore. It was slaughter — except she wasn’t killing. She was dismantling them, one by one, without even breaking a sweat.
Oliver leaned against a pillar, watching with wide eyes. "Remind me never to piss her off," he muttered.
Within minutes, the dozen knights were sprawled across the inn floor, groaning, clutching their arms or legs. Not one had died, but not one could stand either.
Only Cedric remained.
The pompous noble was no longer pompous. His face was pale, fat cheeks quivering as he stumbled backward, landing hard on his ass. He tried to crawl, his rings scraping against the floorboards, but his legs wouldn’t obey him.
Isolde’s shadow fell over him.
She crouched slightly, her eyes gleaming with mockery. Her lips curved into a smirk. "You reek of piss."
Cedric whimpered, and indeed, a yellow puddle spread beneath him, soaking into the floorboards. The smell hit a moment later.
Isolde’s expression twisted in disgust. She straightened, flicked her fingers, and Cedric’s obese body rose into the air like a ragdoll, flailing helplessly.
"Get out of my sight."
With a flick, she launched him across the room. Thud! He crashed through the inn’s open doorway, rolling into the muddy street outside, his clothes stained, his pride in tatters.
The inn went dead silent.
Isolde turned, eyes sweeping across the groaning knights still strewn across the floor. "What? Do you need an invitation to crawl out? Or do you want another round?"
Her tone was calm. Too calm.
The knights scrambled, groaning and limping, dragging one another toward the door. Some left shields behind in their rush, others dropped swords. Their clanking armor faded as they stumbled out, humiliated.
Only Darius lingered. He stood slowly, his breathing ragged, one hand on his ribs. He approached Isolde, not with his weapon, but with grim eyes.
"...Cedric is a petty man," Darius said quietly, his voice low enough that only she, Oliver, and Serena could hear. "He won’t stop here. Next time, he’ll bring more. Stronger than us."
Isolde’s expression didn’t soften. "Then next time, I’ll thrash them too."
"...Cedric is a petty man," Darius said quietly, his voice low enough that only she, Oliver, and Serena could hear. "He won’t stop here. Next time, he’ll bring more. Stronger than us."
Isolde tilted her chin upward, her crimson eyes glowing faintly. "Then I’ll be waiting."
Darius blinked at her, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. But it wasn’t mirth — it was the weary look of a man who knew trouble when he saw it. He let out a long breath.
"For what it’s worth... I respect your strength," he said, bowing his head deeply despite the bruises mottling his face. Then he straightened with difficulty, wincing as he added, "But you must understand — Cedric isn’t just some arrogant brat. He’s the son of the viscount’s cousin. Tonight, you didn’t just humiliate Cedric. You humiliated the Valtaine family name. And nobles... they don’t forget slights. Next time it won’t be just a dozen knights. It may be the head of the family’s forces themselves."
Oliver’s stomach dropped a little at the weight of those words, but before he could speak, Isolde’s lips curled into a smirk.
"So what?" she said flatly, her voice dripping arrogance. "Do you think I’m afraid of anyone? Let them come. I’ll still be waiting here."
Darius stared at her for a long moment, as though trying to decide if she was brave or insane. Finally, he just shook his head, the fight drained from him. "You leave me with no words."
He turned, limping heavily, and made his way toward the exit.
One by one, the groaning knights dragged themselves out into the night. The air in the inn shifted. The oppressive silence Cedric had brought with him lifted — and suddenly it was replaced with chatter. Excited voices, hurried whispers, the scrape of chairs as customers leaned forward to gossip about what they had just witnessed.
Then someone clapped. Then another. And soon, a cheer rose from the remaining guests and staff.
Isolde didn’t bask in it. She simply crossed her arms, her gaze cool, though the corner of her lips curved just slightly.
Serena and Nyra hurried forward, weaving through overturned chairs and broken mugs. Serena’s eyes were wide, her voice almost reverent.
"You never told me you were a fucking monster," Serena said, half in admiration, half in exasperation.
Nyra’s reaction was the opposite. Her small frame nearly vibrated with excitement as she clutched Isolde’s sleeve, her eyes sparkling like twin lanterns. "Big sis, you’re amazing! So strong!"
Isolde arched an eyebrow at the two of them, crimson eyes glinting as if she found their awe amusing.
Behind them, Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. "...Great. She’s never going to shut up about this now."
Isolde smirked, tossing her hair back as though to prove his point. "Of course not. Why hide it? They should all know who they’re dealing with."
The chatter swelled louder around them, the inn buzzing with excitement and awe. But under it all, Oliver couldn’t shake the unease in Darius’s words.
Humiliating Cedric was one thing. Humiliating the Valtaine family was another.
And now, they’d have to live with the consequences.
"Big sis, will you teach me that too?" Nyra asked, her voice small but filled with determination. Her wide eyes gleamed as she tugged lightly at Isolde’s sleeve. "I also want to be strong like you. Then I won’t ever have to run from anyone again."
Isolde’s expression softened just a fraction. Then she laughed lightly, ruffling Nyra’s hair. "Of course. You can join your big brother Oliver in his lessons."
"Big brother is also learning from you?" Nyra blinked in surprise.
"Of course," Isolde said with a teasing smirk. "He’s just a weak chicken in front of me."
Oliver groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Can you stop saying that out loud?"
But Nyra shook her head fiercely, stepping between them. "Big brother is not weak! He beat those bad guys and saved me. He’s my hero. He’s not a weakling."
Oliver froze, staring at her. Something in his chest tightened at the words — the sincerity in her voice, the way she looked at him like he was more than he ever believed himself to be.
Isolde chuckled, her smirk softening into something warmer. "Ha ha... of course. He is a hero." She reached out and patted Nyra’s head.
Oliver muttered, trying to cover the heat creeping up his ears, "...You two are impossible."
Across from them, Serena leaned against the counter, her arms crossed and her face creased with worry. Her eyes flicked over the wrecked chairs, the broken mugs, the scorched floorboards. "Gods above... what kind of trouble have I invited into my inn?"
Her voice was low, but Oliver caught it. He couldn’t blame her.
Because outside these walls, the night was far from quiet. The inn still buzzed with chatter, customers and bystanders whispering about what they’d just witnessed.
And already, rumors were beginning to spread through the town.
A noble’s humiliation. A dozen knights defeated without effort. A woman with power no one could measure.
By dawn, everyone in Valebridge would know the name of the woman who spat in a noble’s face.