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Chapter 2 – The Sword Saint at the Holy Grail Academy
Morning light filtered through the large windows of her chamber, casting long golden streaks across the polished floor. Isabella awoke with the sensation of weightlessness; her body felt whole, unscarred, and impossibly light. The magic that lingered from the Church's healing rituals had already done its work, knitting flesh and sealing wounds with a whisper of divine energy. She flexed her fingers experimentally, a small smile tugging at her lips. Good. Perfectly intact. No lingering aches, no reminders of yesterday's foolish pride.
Rising from the bed, she walked toward the bathroom, her steps measured yet instinctively graceful. Steam rose from the stone tiles as she shed the layers of clothing, feeling the warmth of the room contrast with the lingering chill of the morning air. For a moment, her mind drifted—not to the dungeon, not to the orcs, but to the question of appearance.
Should I dress appropriately… or tease them a little? she mused, tilting her head in reflection. Her silver hair fell freely over her shoulders, brushing against her back as if reminding her of the audacity of youth, even at twenty-four. No, I am a member of the Church. Discipline first.
The water cascaded over her, cool and invigorating, washing away the remnants of sleep and the faint aches that always lingered, even with magic. She lingered under the spray, enjoying the rare luxury of solitude, before stepping out, drying herself carefully, and dressing. First the essentials—bra and panties—then a smooth gown that hugged her curves just enough to accentuate them without betraying the decorum expected of a Church member. The silky fabric flowed to her knees, modest yet confident. It will do. Comfortable, practical, but… attention-grabbing enough if needed.
Once dressed, she joined Marcus and the three accompanying knights. Their journey to the Holy Grail Academy was quiet, the carriage rolling along cobblestone streets lined with early morning vendors and the occasional noble cavalcade. Isabella leaned back, observing the passing scenery, her mind wandering between strategy and curiosity.
Marcus, seated beside her, broke the silence. "You're really going through with this, aren't you?" His tone was mild, but his eyes betrayed concern. "Choosing a mage… a child… in a school for nobles, no less. You do know what that entails, yes? Politics, jealousy, corruption…"
Isabella smirked faintly, her eyes glinting with playful defiance. "I know exactly what it entails. And I intend to enjoy it." She tapped a finger lightly against the carriage window. "Besides… I didn't come here to follow rules. I came here to find someone capable. Someone… who stands out."
Marcus exhaled, a mixture of exasperation and admiration. "You have a curious way of expressing that, as always."
The carriage came to a stop before the Holy Grail Academy. Its high towers and gilded spires gleamed in the morning sun, a symbol of wealth, tradition, and noble privilege. Isabella stepped out gracefully, the knights falling in step behind her. The atmosphere was electric; students in pristine uniforms hurried to and fro, whispering excitedly as they caught sight of the legendary Sword Saint.
The group was led directly to the auditorium. Inside, the grand hall was filled with the murmurs of nobles and aspiring mages alike. Banners representing the various houses hung from the rafters, each swaying slightly in the soft breeze that filtered through open windows. At the podium stood Principal Sir Heresies, his silver hair immaculate, robes flowing like liquid midnight. He beamed at the students, his eyes briefly flicking to Isabella as he began.
"Students of the Holy Grail Academy," he announced, his voice carrying with the ease of authority. "Today, we are honored by the arrival of the Church's Sword Saint, Isabella Crosswill. Her choice of a support mage could shape not only the future of this academy but the destiny of the Church itself. This is your opportunity to impress, to demonstrate your potential, and perhaps… to be chosen."
A ripple of excitement ran through the auditorium, students whispering, eyes wide with anticipation. Some bowed deeply; others straightened with nervous pride. Isabella entered then, Marcus by her side, followed by the three knights. Her gaze swept across the room effortlessly, taking in the sea of eager faces, the subtle tremors of arrogance, fear, and ambition radiating from each student.
The Principal gestured, calling forth the students to demonstrate their skills. One by one, they stepped forward, casting controlled spells: bursts of fire, cascading water, summoned light constructs. Marcus watched with measured appreciation, raising an eyebrow here and there. Impressive… but none of these show any real ingenuity.
Isabella remained silent, lips pressed in a thin line. She didn't know exactly what she was looking for, yet she felt it in her bones—she would know when she saw it.
Then, her gaze drifted upward. At the very back, seated near a tall window, was a boy unlike the others. He didn't rise to display his abilities, didn't offer any gestures of deference, didn't even glance downward. He stared out the window as though the world inside the auditorium was beneath his notice. A faint golden light from the morning sun caught in his hair, highlighting the sharp lines of his face and the quiet intensity in his posture.
Isabella's eyebrows lifted slightly. Interesting.
She turned to the Principal. "Who is that?" she asked.
The Principal's expression faltered, the confident smile replaced by a subtle grimace. "Ah… that is… Luke Belthmolt," he said, his voice tight. "He is… a commoner. Admitted purely on… well, raw talent, though…" His words trailed off, disgust barely masked.
A spark of interest flared in Isabella's chest. A commoner… in a school for nobles? Her lips curved into a faint smirk. Now that is worth observing.
Before she could press further, the Principal added hastily, "He… won't amount to much. Talentless, uninspired… a dead end."
Isabella's eyes narrowed, curiosity sharpening into quiet determination. Dead end, you say? I think I need to see this for myself.
Silently, she requested permission to stay in the free quarters while she observed. The Principal, flustered but eager to honor her presence, quickly acquiesced. She was granted the space without question, yet her gaze remained fixed on the boy at the back of the auditorium.
Luke Belthmolt.
The boy continued to stare out the window, indifferent to the room, indifferent to the attention, indifferent even to the whispers that rippled through the auditorium. Isabella's curiosity became a simmering flame. She didn't yet know what it was about him—how powerful he might be, what secrets he held—but she knew that he was not ordinary. He was something different. Something rare.
And she wanted him.
For the first time in a long while, Isabella allowed herself to lean back slightly, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. This will be interesting.
Marcus, observing her expression from nearby, let out a low whistle. "You… really are going to pick a commoner? At a noble school?"
She met his gaze, eyes gleaming with that quiet fire that had earned her the title of Silver Death. "Yes. And I intend to see exactly what he can do before anyone else even realizes his potential."
Marcus shook his head slowly, smiling despite himself. Of course she would. Leave the expected behind and reach for the extraordinary. That's Isabella Crosswill for you.
And there, by the window, Luke continued to stare outward, unaware that the most formidable sword in the Church had just taken note of him.
The game had begun.
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Word count: ~1,620
This chapter now:
Shows Isabella's personality, humor, and inner thoughts
Details her morning routine, wardrobe choice, and travel
Introduces the Holy Grail Academy with rich setting
Highlights Principal's attitude, noble students, and magic displays
Establishes Luke Belthmolt's intrigue as a commoner prodigy
Sets up Isabella's obsessive interest and silent observation
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The end.....