The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Family Wants A Divorce

Once they were some distance away from the capital, Everguard, Commander Eisenwolf began to pick up speed.

Because the roads leading north were so well-maintained, their march proceeded swiftly.

Thus, they finished the first day of marching and set up camp for the night.

Isaac felt a shiver at the thought that, if it weren’t for Ravenfall, he might have ended up walking this whole way on foot.

Tents were crowded together in clusters, while some soldiers chose to settle down near a campfire with nothing but a blanket for their night’s rest.

As for the rations, a soup filled to the brim with meat and vegetables, it actually tasted pretty good.

“Wow, what’s this? Are they really giving us so much?”

“Quite a lot indeed. Sniff sniff… though the smell is a bit odd—”

At the muttering from Sharen and the Grandmaster, who were sitting with him, Isaac offered a brief explanation.

“Ew, now I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

“Eat anyway. We’ll be moving again tomorrow without a break. And Helmut has a strong stomach, doesn’t they?”

“…Yeah, Helmut does have a sturdy stomach.”

With that, Sharen gulped down the soup. The Grandmaster had evidently taught her enough times to figure out how to handle her moods.

Seated across Sharen, Isaac cautiously asked the Grandmaster a question.

“How did you handle Damien?”

Damien—

He was the oldest of the Grandmaster’s disciples and rather unique, given he used to be a thief.

During Isaac’s Silent Sword days, he had taught Damien various sword techniques suited to him.

Though Isaac once trusted him, it was Damien who opened their castle gates to the Transcendents during the last invasion.

Isaac was curious about how she felt regarding Damien.

“I sent him ahead. He’s likely already arrived up north before us.”

“I didn’t bring this up to speak ill of him.”

“I know. It’s only right that you try to figure things out. But, child… I still can’t decide.”

“……”

“I’m still weighed down by the deaths of my fellow disciples—”

The Grandmaster clearly found it distasteful that she had to doubt her own disciple.

Isaac, with a bitter smile, nodded in understanding.

“Forgive me. It seems I brought up something unnecessary.”

“No, it’s fine. You are destined to live burdened with such worries and regrets. I only regret that I cannot shoulder even a sliver of it alongside you.”

“…What are you two talking about?”

Having finished her soup, Sharen looked from one to the other. In response to her question, the Grandmaster merely chuckled and dismissed it as nothing important.

“Hmm, is it those folks over there?”

Continuing to eat her soup, the Grandmaster gestured to one side. There, a group of young nobles was making a ruckus with fairly loud voices—

the Pure Flow Association that Clarice had mentioned.

“Yes, that’s the Pure Flow Association. It’s an organization formed mostly by young nobles.”

“Whenever brats like that get together, they go on about youth, innovation, and the like.”

“……”

Isaac had a passing thought but held his tongue. This time, it wouldn’t be bread getting flung at him; it might well be soup.

While they openly watched, a man and woman from the Pure Flow Association approached Isaac and his companions.

They were siblings of the Leivice Family: Rayahn and Marlin.

“Are you all resting well?”

‘I’m almost envious of how brazen he is.’

Trailing behind the forthright Rayahn, Marlin offered only the slightest nod of greeting.

“Hmm? Do you need something?”

“Oh, wow. So your ears really are perched on top of your head?”

“……”

It was known that the Grandmaster—a half-breed who stood with humans under Princess Clarice—had ears and a tail, making her all too noticeable.

“If a person were uneducated, one might excuse them for lacking manners. But you don’t appear that way.”

The Grandmaster’s gaze became oppressively heavy, enough to startle even Sharen.

Yet Rayahn simply curled his lips in a smirk.

“We nobles are always told to be prepared, to be on guard, and ever ready.”

Behind him, other members of the Pure Flow Association started gathering one by one.

“Commander Eisenwolf told us not to underestimate the Transcendents.”

“……”

“That’s why we came to learn. Even if you’re only half, just how powerful are they? Perhaps you could give us a demonstration?”

The Grandmaster glanced at Isaac.

Isaac, however, merely blinked at the Pure Flow Association members, inwardly wondering:

‘What in the world are they rambling about now?’

In life, there are countless ways to get yourself beaten up. Somehow, out of this entire army, they had singled out the most dangerous woman.

“If I were to speak kindly, I’d say… you’re positively brimming with energy.”

Slowly standing, the Grandmaster picked up the sword she’d rested at her side.

“But the other way to put it is: you have no sense of your own limits.”

The Pure Flow Association members, who had been sporting mischievous smiles moments before, now turned stiff. They were young, prideful nobles—hardly the sort to bear ridicule calmly, especially in a group.

“Haha, let’s see your skills then. Martin, you go fir—”

“Don’t spout nonsense.”

The Grandmaster walked right past them and headed to a wide clearing. Sensing trouble, onlookers began to edge away.

“Seeing as it’s only our first day marching, a bit of entertainment might help the troops relax.”

The Grandmaster drew her sword and propped it on her shoulder. Normally, even the act of drawing the sword itself could be a form of technique or attack, but it seemed she was deliberately holding back this time.

“All of you—come at me together.”

“What an outrage—!”

“How dare you, you outsider!”

“A mere beast like you couldn’t possibly understand noble honor!”

Watching the members of the Pure Flow Association follow the Grandmaster, Sharen smacked her lips and rummaged for more food.

“Isaac, how long do you think the Grandmaster will take?”

Sharen didn’t even consider the possibility of her mentor losing. Isaac mulled over it briefly.

“It might take longer than you expect.”

“Huh? Really? Even for the Grandmaster?”

“Because she has to subdue them without seriously hurting anyone. If she were aiming to kill, it’d be over in a flash.”

“Ah, I see.”

Nodding, Sharen watched as a single noble from the Pure Flow Association remained in place.

It was Marlin Leivice.

“…Aren’t you going, too?” Isaac asked. Marlin answered flatly, her expression impassive.

“I was taught that drawing one’s sword without purpose is meaningless.”

“…”

“Besides, if I were to draw my sword here, it would diminish the reward set aside for Baron Logan.”

‘She’s unbelievably strict…’

Compared to her brash brother Rayahn, Marlin came across as stoic and aloof—enough to wonder if they were truly siblings. In some ways, she seemed even more rigid than Rihanna had been.

“She… sort of reminds me of my old sister,” Sharen muttered, and Isaac nodded. Their appearances weren’t alike, but her mannerisms and speech bore a striking resemblance to how Rihanna had been in the past.

“Gyaaaah!”

“Grrraagh!”

Screams rang out. Beyond Marlin, the young nobles of the Pure Flow Association were being thrown around like rag dolls.

“If you claim noble blood, show me a bearing worthy of it!”

“Grr…!”

Rayahn Leivice was doing a little better than the rest—he was on his knees rather than sprawled flat. But he soon buckled under the relentless attacks. As Rayahn dropped his sword, the Grandmaster swung her sword one last time.

“I’ll spare your head.”

She neatly sliced off Rayahn’s beard.

“A… ah?!”

“Consider it a lesson.”

With a tobacco roll in her mouth, the Grandmaster observed Rayahn’s now-shredded beard on the ground. He stared in shock, trembling.

“W-what is this?! What have you done to me?!”

“It looked ridiculous. You should be thanking me instead. It was hardly appropriate for your age to begin with.”

“I grew that beard with special tonics—!”

“What a waste of time.”

Exhaling a plume of smoke, the Grandmaster gave a curt nod. Rayahn clenched his fists and looked about ready to charge again, but—

“Enough!”

A weighty, authoritative voice echoed through the night air.

Stepping in was the knight-commander with the deep-set wrinkles, Eisenwolf.

“We march again early tomorrow. This ends now. Those on watch, prepare for guard duty; the rest of you, ready for sleep.”

“S-Sir Eisenwolf! That woman—she—!”

“On the battlefield, would you fly into a rage over losing a bit of facial hair?”

“Kh…!”

“As she said, you’d have lost your head instead! You were many against one and lost miserably, so pay the price!”

Rayahn pressed his lips into a tight line. The Grandmaster merely shrugged, stepping over Rayahn and the nobles strewn on the ground as she returned.

“That old man plays the severe type, but he’s cunning,” she remarked.

“You mean Eisenwolf?” Isaac asked.

“He waited until they’d been properly humiliated. It seems Princess Clarice wasn’t the only one hoping to curb the Pure Flow Association’s arrogance.”

And so, the Pure Flow Association had been riding high before hitting the ceiling. But whether these young nobles would let it rest that easily remained doubtful.

After all, youth is prone to hot blood.

****

A few days later—

The pace of the infantry ahead had noticeably slowed. The northern chill bit at the tip of everyone’s noses, and the Grandmaster exhaled wisps of white breath instead of tobacco smoke. At last, they arrived at the provisional palisades, set up to keep beasts at bay on the northern front lines.

Though the real trials were about to begin, everyone was relieved that the grueling march was finally over. Smiles spread among the soldiers.

“……”

Unaware, Isaac found himself growing tense. Waiting for him here—his ex-wife—whom he hadn’t seen in nearly half a year.

‘Honestly… I don’t know how to greet her.’

Feeling awkward, Isaac was lost in thought. Then he spotted a flash of red hair charging straight toward him.

He squinted. At first, he wondered if it might be Rihanna, but the length of that hair, the solid build, that rough, horn-like greatsword.

“Ah…”

“Woah…”

Both Isaac and Sharen let out brief exclamations.

Scattering snow in his wake, the man rushed to greet Isaac more enthusiastically than anyone else:

“Isaac!”

He was the man with a perfect losing record against Isaac in sparring—the eldest son of Helmut,

Lohengrin.

– – The End of The Chapter ––

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