The Swordswoman's Revenge Story after Rebirth

Chapter 2 CBack "You insolent little wench, ignoring my words now? Do you really think Lady Isolde will save you?" A cold, sharp voice echoed faintly. Moments later, the sharp crack of a slap rang out, followed by the muffled sobbing of a young girl. Isolde awoke with a start, her body drenched in a cold sweat. Her back felt sticky, and the memory of that chilling voice lingered in her ears. She knew that voice—it was Mary, the housekeeper. Looking around, she realized she was in her old bedroom at the Duke's estate, back before her marriage. I am not dead? Or was it all just a nightmare? No, it couldn't have been a dream. The pain that had pierced her to the core still haunted her vividly. But what is this? Slowly, she got out of bed, wrapped herself in a cloak, and pushed open the door. Every detail of the estate matched what she remembered from when she had returned from the countryside manor years ago. Mary looked up at her, her face impatient. "My lady, a woman must endure such things. What good will all this do you? You'd be better off making peace with Eleanor-it'll help you secure your position in the Marquis's estate." Those words struck a familiar chord. Isolde remembered her past. Her stepmother, Matilda, had told her that Eleanor was carrying William's child and demanded Isolde to allow Eleanor into the household. She had cried her heart out, adamantly refusing. Yet when she awoke, Mary had tried to convince her with those very words. Her eyes grew cold as fragments of memory surged into her mind. I... have been traveling through time? Into the tbefore the marriage? She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The bloodshed and betrayal of her past life flooded back, making her teeth clench and her body tremble. She turned to Helena, whose face was streaked with clear finger marks, standing by her side. Tears brimmed in Helena's eyes, and she looked utterly aggrieved. Before her ttravel, Helena had secretly warned her not to let Eleanor into the house, insisting she was scheming and dangerous. Isolde slowly sat down, her gaze icy as it swept over Mary. "So, Mary, you're suggesting I agree to let Eleanor into the Duke's estate as a concubine, is that it?" Mary's face darkened. "Lady Blackwell is the daughter of a Marshal. She shouldn't be just an ordinary concubine? Allowing her to be treated the sas a wife would show your grace and magnanimity." "Same?" Isolde let out a cold laugh. "So what? The title is still a concubine." Mary blinked, startled by her tone. What has cover the young lady? In the past, she'd always been obedient, never daring to question her. But now-now she seemed like a different person. In her past, after her mother's death, Isolde had been sent to a countryside manor and wasn't brought back to the estate until she was thirteen. When she returned, her stepmother, Matilda had put Mary in charge of her household affairs. Naive and unaccustomed to a noble life, Isolde had let Mary run things as she pleased. Over time, Mary had grown arrogant, wielding more authority than her mistress. Mary straightened, her voice cutting. “Then, she should be an official wife. And you can only be a concubine. Miss Blackwell is pregnant, it's only right she joins the household first." This was different from her past life. Back then, Matilda had suggested making Eleanor a concubine. No one would have guessed they'd been planning to make her the official wife all along. Mary mistook Isolde's silence for compliance and said, "Lord William and Lady Eleanor will arrive shortly, and even Lady Felton will be here. My lady, freshen up and dress properly. This needs to be settled before the Marquis Eldermere returns from the front.” Lady Felton-William's sister. In her past, she had been a vicious thorn in Isolde's side. The rumor that Isolde was cursed? That had cstraight from her mouth. How fitting. she thought. Ttravel had delivered these snakes straight to her. "Why are you standing there gawking? Go dress the lady!" Mary snapped at Helena, raising her hand to strike. Before the slap could land, Isolde caught Mary's wrist, her voice ice-cold. "Mary, you're dismissed. Leave." Mary froze, staring at her in disbelief. The timid girl who had always obeyed without question was gone. What the hell is this? Isolde let go, ignoring the shock in Mary's eyes, and turned to Helena. "Chelpwith my hair." Helena hesitated, her surprise obvious. Lady Isolde isn't afraid of Mary? Offending her meant crossing Matilda, and Isolde had always feared her stepmother. Inside the room, Isolde sat before the dressing table. The face in the mirror was caked in garish makeup, heavy and vulgar, making her look years older than her age. Back then, she had grown up in a countryside manor, uneducated and oblivious to proper manners. Sword fighting had been her only passion. When she was brought back to the Duke's estate, Matilda had sent Mary to "assist" her. Mary's idea of help was to dress her like this every day, claiming it was the style of the capital. Foolishly, Isolde had believed it. “Wash this off," Isolde said evenly. "And findsomething simple to wear." Helena's face lit up. "My Lady, you've needed to ditch those gaudy red and green dresses for ages. They're awful! And this makeup—no proper young lady would paint herself like this!" Isolde's gaze softened as she watched Helena's nimble hands wipe away the heavy layers, revealing a fresh, youthful face. "You're beautiful," Helena said, smiling at her reflection. Isolde touched her brow. There was no scar. In her past life, she had taken a blade for William, the wound stretching from her brow to her temple. She'd survived, only to hear him sneer later, "That scar is hideous." How blind I've been. She picked up a brush and carefully shaped her brows, applying only a touch of lip balm. She didn't need colors-her youth was beautiful enough. "Aren't you afraid of offending Mary, my lady?” Helena asked hesitantly. Isolde slipped into a simple gown of pale fabric, the faint cloud patterns giving it a refined elegance. Loose strands of hair framed her face, her sharp brows lending her a striking, confident air. She looked every bit as captivating as Eleanor. "What's there to be afraid of?" Isolde said with a wry smile. "Helena, remember this: you answer to me. Whatever anyone else says, treat it as nothing but hot air." "That's quite vulgar," Helena chided gently, though she couldn't hide her grin. Isolde laughed, the warmth in her cheeks deepening her beauty. "I grew up in the countryside. Vulgarity comes naturally." Pretending to be a noble lady had been her greatest folly in her past life. She'd endured beatings and insults, playing the part of the docile wife. Never again. "Miss, Lady Felton and Lord Valen are here. Lady Matilda asks for you,” Mary said as she walked in, her tone as smug as ever. Isolde didn't even look at her, rising gracefully and heading out with Helena. Mary's face darkened, her hands curling into fists. That little wretch is getting too bold. She'd see to it that Matilda brought her back in line colors -before the girl forgot her place.