The Swordswoman’s Revenge Story after Rebirth

Chapter 392: Rejecting the Hereditary Title

Isolde had so many words left unsaid. A thousand things she wished to tell him, but none he would ever hear. She traced his brow with delicate fingers, as if trying to commit every detail to memory, as if by doing so, she could etch his face into her bones, ensuring she would never forget him.

At last, she pulled out the letter he had left for her. Hands trembling, she unfolded it and began to read.

Isolde,

By the time you read this, I will already be gone. I do not know if you will grieve, but if you do, please don’t. There is no need. My heart is at peace. The moment I made this decision, a great weight lifted from me. At last, I will see your mother again. Prunella… she was always a gentle but stubborn woman. Once she made up her mind, nothing could change it. And I know – she has been waiting for me, waiting for me to admit my faults, to atone. Since the day the truth was revealed, I have wished for death – not because I gave up, but because I have longed to stand beside her once more, to hold her hand again. I have yearned for this day, but I could not leave until I knew you would be all right.

Now you are married, and Oliver is an outstanding man. You will be safe. You will be loved. I can go in peace. Your imprisonment gave me an excuse – an opportunity. Forgive me, Isolde, but I have used you one last time. Hate me for it. If you hate me, then at least you will not grieve too deeply.

Leaving you is my greatest sorrow. You are my only tether to this world, the only proof that Prunella and I ever existed together. But I cannot bear the thought of her being alone any longer. You have Oliver. You have Doug. You have people who love you. But your mother – she only has me.

In the end, people always reflect on their lives as they take their final breath. And as I look back, I see nothing but failure. I was not a good general – I failed to serve my country. I was not a good husband – I failed to protect your mother. And I was not a good father – I left you alone for sixteen years, abandoned you to a world without me.

I once told Oliver to keep you from the battlefield, even fought with him over it. Perhaps he told you. If he did, you must have been furious, thinking I doubted you. But I never did. I was proud of you – so proud that it humbled me. In Zloimond, I watched you from afar, saw the brilliant strategist in the war tent, the fearless leader on the battlefield. I thought – this incredible warrior is my daughter. Mine and Prunella’s. Do you know how that made me feel?

Isolde, I wish I could have more time with you, but I must go now. If souls truly linger, I will not stray far. Your mother and I will watch over you, always.

By the time she finished reading, her face was soaked with tears. Slowly, she folded the letter and tucked it into her sleeve. Then, she whispered, “Father, take your time. I will see you off.”

The pain in her chest did not disappear, but somehow, knowing he was with her mother made it easier to bear. He had found his peace. And she would find hers.

On the day of Geoffrey’s funeral, Ashley entered the palace. But the King, weighed down by Geoffrey’s passing, refused any fanfare. No ceremonial processions. No music. He ordered that Ashley be escorted to Balgan Chamber quietly, where Queen Sophia would handle the formalities. He did not even attend the welcoming ceremony himself.

And when the King moved, the entire court followed.

In life, Geoffrey had been neglected, a forgotten relic. But in death, his home was flooded with mourners, the Langley estate never more crowded than it was that day.

Inside, standing before Geoffrey’s body, the King turned to Isolde, “Your father was a First-Rank Duke. His title is hereditary. If he did not designate a successor, it should pass to Clark.”

Isolde hesitated. “Clark was adopted into my father’s name. He is legally his son. It would be appropriate.”

The King shook his head. “I spoke to Clark. He refused.”

She blinked. “He refused?”

“He was adamant.”

Isolde frowned. If Clark did not accept it, then by law, it would fall to Vance or Braden. But the thought of either of them inheriting her father’s legacy made her stomach churn.

“Your Majesty, allow me to speak with Clark,” she said.

“Do so,” the King agreed. “Your father was a hero. His name should not be carried by a man like Vance.”

Isolde’s hands curled into fists. “I understand.”

That night, she and Oliver summoned Clark to the Pearl Tower. Clark met her gaze steadily. “I will not take the title. My future is my own to earn. That is Sadie’s wish as well.”

“Sadie’s wish?” Isolde echoed, surprised.

“And mine,” Clark affirmed. “But have you considered… taking it yourself?”

She jolted. “What?”

Clark folded his arms. “You are a general. If anyone should inherit Geoffrey’s legacy, it’s you.”

“That’s absurd,” she blurted out. “A daughter inheriting a duke’s title? There’s no precedent for it.”

Clark smiled slightly. “Rosemary says rules exist to be rewritten. If anyone can set a new precedent, it’s you.”

Isolde shook her head. “No. I won’t.”

“Then Oliver,” Clark suggested.

Oliver raised a brow. “That would be even less legitimate.”

Clark exhaled. “Think about it. There’s no rush. We can decide after the funeral.”

The weight of the decision pressed on Isolde’s heart.

Vance tried another route, sending Martha to plead his case.

Martha, eyes alight with greed, played her part perfectly. “Clark, I know Geoffrey legally adopted you, but he was never your real father. Vance is. He may not have done much in life, but he loves you. If he inherits the title, you’ll benefit too.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Clark said flatly. “I will not inherit the title. But I will ensure Isolde does.”

Martha’s mouth fell open. “You’re insane! A woman inheriting a duke’s seat? It’s never happened before!”

“Then it will be a first.”

Martha’s face twisted in fury. “You fool. You think marrying Sadie guarantees your future? You’ll be nothing without rank, you’ll be overshadowed. What happens when her family decides you’re unworthy?”

Clark’s expression remained unreadable. “That is my concern. Not yours. Now leave.”

Martha seethed. “Ungrateful idiot. You’re throwing away everything for that bastard’s daughter!”

Clark’s eyes darkened. “My father is dead. Show some respect.”

Martha stormed out. Clark simply sighed and shut the door, sealing the matter once and for all.