The Swordswoman’s Revenge Story After Rebirth Chapter 39: Everything Is Mine

Just as Isolde had predicted, the night passed without incident. Dinner was simple but satisfying—one meat dish, one vegetable, and a bowl of mushroom soup. She slept soundly. The bedding wasn't from her mother's time, yet resting in a room where Prunella had once slept brought her an unexplainable sense of peace.

Isolde had never known what Prunella looked like. From the estate to the Duke’s manor, she had never seen a portrait of her mother. At Belleview Manor in Windermount, some older women tried to describe Prunella’s appearance. But country folk lacked poetic language. They would simply say, “She was beautiful. Her eyes were eyes, her nose was a nose.” Yet, weren’t everyone’s eyes just eyes, and noses just noses? No matter how she tried, she could never piece together a clear image of her mother’s face.

But that night, in Montlins Manor, she dreamed. She dreamed of a woman dressed in soft cyan silk, walking toward her with quiet grace, sitting by her bedside, and gently caressing her face. The sensation was so vivid, so real, it surpassed the realm of dreams. She saw a face—gentle, kind, and filled with boundless affection. When she awoke, her pillow was damp with tears. She tried to recall the woman’s face, to hold onto it—but like mist dissolving in the morning light, it slipped away, leaving only a hollow ache. She sat in bed for a long time before finally rising.

Jacqueline entered, smugly announcing, “Isolde, Milton and several officials have arrived. Mrs. Langley says that if you’re awake, you should go out and greet them.”

The haze in Isolde’s eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp gleam. “Milton? What’s he doing here?”

Jacqueline smirked. “It’s an official holiday today, and Mr. Blackwell happens to be on standby at home, so he invited a few officials to the estate for a summer retreat.”

Isolde nodded, rising. “Prepare my washbasin. I’ll be out soon.”

The guests included Milton Blackwell and his wife, Samiyah, along with General Joshua Cortez and his wife, Civil Affairs Commandant Freddie Foster and his wife, Valiant Colonel Declan Murray and his wife, and lastly, Tyler, the High Magistrate of Argentum—who had come alone. The first five were known to be Milton’s subordinates. But Tyler’s presence took Isolde by surprise. In her past life, Tyler had been known for his integrity—an honest official who avoided political entanglements and rarely attended social gatherings.

Matilda smiled warmly. “Isolde, come greet our guests.”

Isolde stepped forward to bow, but Tyler stopped her. “A County Princess holds a noble title. It is we who should bow to you.” With that, he respectfully clasped his hands and inclined his head.

Isolde swiftly responded, her tone sincere, “I don’t dare accept such courtesy. Tyler is an esteemed official, a guardian of the people. It should be I who pays respect to you.”

Tyler’s eyes flickered with approval. “County Princess, your composure is admirable. Despite your youth, you carry yourself with dignity and righteousness. You are indeed awesome.”

She had heard these words countless times in both lives. She had never witnessed her father’s legendary might firsthand, but for those who had known him, he was unforgettable. Some people, even in their fall from grace, still commanded deep respect.

At Tyler’s remark, the wives of the generals stepped forward to greet Isolde. Most of them were not particularly beautiful, but they were dressed in luxury. Milton’s wife, Samiyah, was an exception—dark-skinned, with sharp, narrow eyes and unruly brows that gave her a fierce and aggressive look. Standing beside the burly but seemingly good-natured Milton, the contrast between them was stark. Samiyah was not only coarse in appearance but broad-shouldered and heavyset. The expensive silk draped over her did not add elegance; instead, it only amplified her crudeness.

Once greetings were exchanged, Michelle stepped forward with a bright smile. “Isolde, as the hostess of this estate, it is only fitting that you entertain our esteemed guests. Since the ladies have taken the trouble to visit, why don’t you show them around? Eleanor and I will accompany you.”

Isolde’s smile did not falter. She lowered her gaze in a polite bow. “If the ladies don’t mind the rustic simplicity of the manor, I would be honored to give you a tour.”

She whistled. Immediately, Leonis came bounding in. She scooped him up in one arm and smiled. “Shall we?”

Samiyah wrinkled her nose. “You’re always carrying that filthy dog. Doesn’t it disgust you?”

Eleanor tugged on Samiyah’s sleeve, subtly signaling her to stay quiet. With a small army of maids trailing behind them, the group set off through the estate.

The June heat was already oppressive, even in the early morning. Luckily, Montlins Manor was built at a higher elevation, allowing for occasional breezes. However, mosquitoes were an inevitable nuisance in such wild countryside.

Joshua Cortez’s wife, Talia, waved a silk fan in irritation. “What kind of wretched place is this? The mosquitoes here are ridiculous! I’ve already been bitten several times!”

Declan Murray’s wife, Deborah, chuckled. “You have such delicate skin—of course the mosquitoes love you! The sun is only going to get worse. We should find some shade and burn some mugwort to drive the bugs away. Let’s sit down and have some coffee.”

Samiyah turned abruptly to Isolde, snapping, “Why didn’t you prepare anything in advance? You knew we were coming! Shouldn’t you have had mugwort and repellent pouches ready?”

Isolde’s demeanor shifted. Gone was the courteous host—her face hardened into icy disdain. “Are you out of your mind? You knew you were coming to the countryside and didn’t bring your own repellent, and now you’re blaming me? If you got bitten, that’s your own damn fault!”

Samiyah’s face twisted with rage. “What did you just say? Is this how you speak to a guest?”

“Who invited you?” Isolde retorted. “If you don’t like it, leave. I’ve already done more than enough by humoring you this far.”

Ever since Milton became a general, Samiyah hadn’t heard such blatant disrespect. Her face twitched with anger, her muscles stiffening as she pointed a trembling finger at Isolde. “And who do you think you are?” she snapped. “Daring to behave so insolently in front of all these ladies? I’ll see to it that you get the discipline your father clearly failed to provide!”

“Try me,” Isolde responded, her voice cold as steel.

Before the tension could escalate further, Michelle swiftly stepped between them, raising a hand to keep them apart. She turned to Samiyah with a soothing tone. “Don’t be angry. Isolde’s not targeting you—her quarrel is with me and Eleanor. She’s upset with us.”

The gathered ladies exchanged disapproving glances before one of them spoke up with a sharp sneer, “What kind of hostess behaves this way? Not only neglecting her guests but speaking so rudely to her elders? Geoffrey clearly has no control over his daughter—raising her to be this unruly.”

Samiyah let out a huff of indignation. She shot Isolde a scathing look. “I won’t waste my time with you today. But rest assured, when we return, I will personally inform Geoffrey. He needs to rein you in.”

Michelle immediately stepped in with profuse apologies, smoothing things over with the ladies. She gestured to Ryker, who had been lingering nearby, and ordered him to escort them to the lakeside pavilion and have refreshments prepared. Ryker, ever the diplomat, took the cue effortlessly, guiding the women away with charm and tact, leading them toward the shaded pavilion by the reservoir.

Only once the ladies had departed did Michelle let her pleasant mask slip. She turned to Isolde, her expression icy. “You shouldn’t have spoken to Samiyah like that. Not with so many witnesses. Do you want people to mock us?”

Eleanor, standing quietly to the side, finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. “Let it go, Michelle. Isolde lashed out because of me.”