"Class," the instructor announced, "Prince Gar's swordsmanship is renowned throughout the kingdom. Among his peers, he stands in a league of his own. Today, he'll share his insights with you."

Liang Lin snorted in disdain. Already changed into riding breeches, she plopped onto the grass, crossed her legs, propped her chin on her palm, and watched Gar prattle on with utter boredom.

*Is he here just to show off?* Unlikely. He'd never visited before—why appear right after Auston and Doris's scheming? Definitely a hidden agenda.

"Class, that concludes my advice," Gar said with a smile. "Who'd like to spar with me?"

*Spar?*

Battle-hungry Liang Lin straightened up instantly—then lost interest the moment she saw Gar's face. *He's a prince. What if I misjudge my strength and injure him? Others must feel the same...*

"Me!"

"Prince Gar, I volunteer!"

"May I spar with you?"

*Huh?* Feels like a marriage proposal scene. So many jumping at the chance?

What followed was pure theater.

The Pipps heir—whom Liang Lin had once beaten black-and-blue—after two lazy exchanges with Gar, dramatically clutched his chest, collapsed, and gasped, "So strong!" "No match for you!" Other nobles followed: some knelt in feigned submission, others lay weeping on the grass.

Liang Lin: "..."

*Great. Just great.* Flattery and sycophancy. Pathetic.

"Haha~" Gar laughed heartily. "Is there truly no strongest student here? Or has the strongest already faced me?"

All eyes swiveled to Liang Lin seated on the grass.

*Why me?* Her guard shot up. She met Gar's surprised gaze.

"You mean... this lovely young lady is your strongest?"

Silence. Nods.

The instructor murmured confirmation: Liang Lin was indeed swordsmanship class's top student.

"Then..." Gar approached slowly, extended a hand with polished courtesy. "Miss Liang Lin, would you honor me with a spar?"

Trapped by etiquette, Liang Lin sighed inwardly. "Certainly, Prince Gar."

*Better lose on purpose.* Standing out now might earn his grudge. She hadn't yet secured the headship of House Langwendi—antagonizing a prince would make it impossible.

She parried half-heartedly, round after round. At the tenth clash, she timed it perfectly—and let her sword slip.

*Clang!*

The blade hit the dirt. Cold indifference in her eyes, she bowed slightly. "Prince Gar, I concede. My apologies."

She expected boasting. Or hollow comfort.

Instead: "Haha~ As expected. Swordsmanship? Women can never truly master it. Miss Liang Lin, stick to dancing and afternoon tea. Sword arts suit neither the body nor mind of the 'weaker sex.'"

*What... did he just say?*

Her mind went blank.

In her past life, every technique came from her sister Siralili's devoted teaching. Liang Lin, a natural prodigy, surpassed her later—but never in agility. Never in respect. Whether as a male marquis reborn or noble lady now, she'd never scorned any gender.

And now Gar mocked *both* her and Siralili.

"You," Liang Lin murmured, lifting her head. A trace of malice tinged her crimson eyes. She bent, retrieved her sword, tilted her chin, and pointed the blade arrogantly at him. "Arrogant fool like you... If I fail to defeat you, I'll cut off my own head and hang it from the academy's highest tower."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Those words were a death-or-glory vow. No longer sparring.

"And why say this?" Her crimson eyes lifted in utter contempt. "Because I won't die. I won't lose. I am, after all, a swordsmanship prodigy."

Gar froze a second, then boomed with laughter. Clapping, stroking his chin: "Your strength's too slight—you dropped your sword! Don't push yourself, Miss Liang Lin."

*Push myself?* Even if it were hard—for Siralili's sake—this prince deserved correction.

Ignoring him, Liang Lin swept her silky hair into a high ponytail, yanked off her coat, and tossed it aside.

"Prince Gar. Your move."

"Since Miss Liang Lin insists," Gar smiled sweetly, hands behind his back, "I'll grant you three free moves."

*Trash. If not for your title, you wouldn't merit the word 'spar'.*

Her blade sliced the air with a sharp hum. Crimson energy swirled. Wind whistled past the gleaming steel—reflecting icy sharpness and Liang Lin's face: beautiful, cruel.

*Too fast.*

Gar barely twisted aside. Cold sweat soaked his back.

Her strikes fell like thunder—precise thrusts, sweeping arcs—forcing him backward relentlessly.

"Pick up your sword. Fight me."

Three moves had long passed. Not unwilling—he had *no opening*. One lapse, and steel would pierce his chest.

"RAISE YOUR SWORD!"

Her roar jolted him. Sweat-beaded forehead, he swung wildly. *Clang!* Then—*clatter*.

Silence.

Liang Lin's blade rested on Gar's shoulder. One centimeter deeper—his head would roll.

She swept the stunned crowd with icy pride.

"I told you: I have every right to be arrogant. 'Villainess'? Merely your fear dressed as slander."

"I won."

"And women *can* be exceptional swordswomen."