Her Graceful War Song

Alistair gritted his teeth against the searing pain, his fury igniting as he disregarded the rules of hierarchy and lunged straight at Carissa, Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

The result was a series of punches–one to the left, another to the right–before he even realized how she had struck him.

After returning to the capital, Carissa had been an exceptionally considerate person. To ensure he could still see clearly, she slowed down and raised her hand when she grabbed the fabric of his shirt. When he raised both hands to block it, she expertly dodged them and landed solid hits to his face.

Then, before he could even recover from the shock, she kicked him again, sending him crashing back into the wall.

This time, Alistair saw everything clearly, but was powerless to avoid it. Her foot moved slowly, the kick seemingly casual, yet it accelerated mid–air, precisely predicting the direction he would try to evade.

All he could do was watch as he took another beating.

Alistair’s face turned a deep shade of purple, the pain so intense that he found it difficult to summon his strength.

Carissa brushed off her sleeve, turning to Argent, who wore a look of disbelief. “Let’s begin. I’ll supervise the punishment.”

Argent’s expression shifted from shock to respect. “Understood, Commander Sinclair!”

Alistair was assisted over by the royal guards he had brought with him, his proud head hanging lower than before as he faced Carissa.

Eleanor was pinned down, letting out a piercing scream followed by a torrent of vicious curses directed at Carissa, damning her ancestors through the generations.

Carissa hardly responded. She merely watched as preparations commenced before saying coolly, “It seems all you can do is curse.”

The act of pulling teeth was brutal, but in comparison to what Eleanor had done to those women, it hardly registered as cruelty.

The people in the Heritage Bureau were well–practiced in such matters. They flipped Eleanor over, pinning her to the ground. One guard pried her mouth open while the other brandished the pliers, ready to begin.

When Eleanor had been punished at the Supreme Court, she hadn’t emitted such a shrill scream. Even under torture, she had remained whole. But losing her teeth and having her tendons severed meant that, for someone untrained in combat, she would never stand again. She would only be able to crawl or drag herself along the ground once it was done.

Eleanor couldn’t accept such a mutilation of her body.

But now, it was no longer in her hands. The pain pierced through her chest, making her body tremble violently. One by one, her teeth were thrown to the ground, soaked in blood.

Hatred consumed her for everyone around her, including Yuvan–what a useless fool) If only he had sent more people! That way, she could have died at the hands of his suicide soldiers. That would have spared