The Fallen Lady Speaks with Her Fists - The Empty Lady Stands in the Way with Her Fists

The front door shattered. Wood splinters flew with a thunderous crash, slicing through the twilight air as men poured in like an avalanche. The sound of their boots stomping across the stone floor—still caked with mud from the street—echoed through the quiet mansion. Celestia Valdrene stood in the center of the hall. Her pale, silver-tinged blonde hair was tied back low in a single bundle, loose strands spilling onto her shoulders. Her old navy riding clothes were patched in places, but carefully maintained—and somehow they suited her strangely well, the way she stood with her back perfectly straight. She was slender, but there was a thin layer of muscle across her shoulders and back, and her fists, wrapped in leather gloves, were large enough that the knobby joints were plainly visible. Her gray-blue eyes caught the men head-on. There was little emotion in them. She simply stood there, quietly. "You're Celestia Valdrene, ain't ya." The man at the front waved a slip of paper back and forth. A seizure notice. She didn't need to look. Since five years ago, the same paper had been delivered to this mansion more times than she could count. "We're here to collect the collateral. Get in the way, and we won't go easy on you." Behind him, five more men. All wearing the same kind of filthy coats, cudgels and daggers hanging at their hips. One of them, moving with practiced ease, was already reaching for a candlestick by the wall. A silver one. That was from her mother's room, she was fairly sure. "...Stop right there." Celestia's voice came out lower than she'd expected, and it carried well. The men froze for a moment. Then the one at the front grinned. "Ooh, the young lady's angry? But y'see, there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Not when you're 'Empty.'" Empty. In this country—the Kingdom of Centralis—the amount of magic a person possessed was their worth. Noble and commoner alike were born with magic in their bodies, and that quantity determined their station. Magic was currency, collateral, and weapon—the absolute power of this world. And those stripped of all their magic were called this: Empty. Little better than dead. The very bottom of society. Around Celestia's neck was a bracelet made of iron and silver alloy. A magic-sealing bracelet. Five years ago, as collateral for a debt her father had taken on, her magic had been handed over to his creditor—sealed inside that bracelet. Until the debt was repaid, she couldn't use magic. No—perhaps the day of repayment would never come at all. "What's a woman with no magic gonna stop, huh? Out of the way." The man stepped forward and reached roughly for Celestia's shoulder. His hand never touched her. Celestia's body moved, smooth as silk. Her left hand coiled up from below and caught the man's wrist. Using his own weight and momentum against him, she twisted his arm outward and up. The joint creaked audibly. "Guh—aaah!?" She quietly swept the screaming man's legs out from under him. The next instant, his massive body arced through the air and slammed back-first onto the floor. A heavy, dull thud. His eyes rolled back, and he twitched and spasmed. The hall went dead silent. "...Wh-what the hell did you just do, you—" Another man shouted. His voice cracked. Celestia didn't answer. She simply stood beside the fallen man and slowly re-clenched her fists. The leather gloves creaked. "Y-you damn Empty...!" The second man drew a dagger and charged. His aim was sloppy—a brute-force swing. Celestia turned sideways and slipped past it, sliding her body inside the man's extended arm. Her elbow drove into his solar plexus. "Kah—" The dagger fell from his hand, and he dropped to his knees. Celestia gave his shoulder a light push, flattening him face-down on the floor. Then she placed her palm on the back of his neck. Stay down. A clear signal. The remaining four backed away. "Wh-what the hell is this woman... no magic, and yet..." "F-fall back! We're falling back!" The confidence had vanished from their faces. They didn't know. That in this country, there were people who could fight without magic. That what the Valdrene family had passed down for generations wasn't sorcery—but bare-handed forms and methods of forging the body. "Well, well." A low voice came from beyond the front entrance. The men parted. From the backlight of the setting sun, a single man walked slowly forward. He stood well over six feet two. Broad-shouldered, with a thick chest that was obvious even through his coat. Deep wrinkles carved his face, and an old scar ran pale from his right temple down to his cheek. The sword at his hip was no ornament. But what drew the eye most was his right leg. He dragged it, just slightly. "Mr. Drang..." One of the men called out, sounding relieved. The man called Drang grinned. Only the corner of his mouth lifted—an unpleasant smile. "I see. This wasn't part of the calculation." His gaze settled on Celestia's fists. Then he looked down at the two men sprawled on the floor and clicked his tongue softly. "Oi. Get up. Pathetic, the lot of you. Stretched out by a single woman—how do you sleep at night?" The fallen men groaned and pushed themselves up. Faces bright red, they retreated behind Drang. "...You're the one in charge?" Celestia asked quietly. "'In charge' makes it sound so ugly. I'm just a collector. I came to retrieve the collateral on the Valdrene earldom's debt, nothing more." Drang shrugged. An exaggerated gesture. "Still, I'm surprised. The 'Empty Lady,' and a fighter of this caliber? Who in the world taught you those tricks?" "...My father." "Ah, the late earl. That man left behind something quite interesting, didn't he." Drang cupped his chin, appraising Celestia like he was sizing up merchandise. "Fine. I'll leave the collateral for today." "Wha—wait, Mr. Drang!?" "Shut it. It's because you lot are useless. I'm a man who prefers contracts to violence. A promise is a promise. No collection today." The men looked disgruntled, but Drang paid them no mind. "However." His eyes narrowed. Cold, serpentine eyes. "Next time, I'll take your magic along with everything else. That bracelet on your neck—looks awfully heavy, doesn't it." Celestia's hand moved unconsciously to the bracelet at her throat. The cold touch of iron and silver seeped into her fingertips. "Your magic is still sealed inside that bracelet. If the repayment stalls, I'll collect that as collateral too. You understand? If all your magic is drained, you'll become truly 'Empty.' Literally—not even the strength to live will remain." Drang took a step closer to Celestia. The height difference was stark. Her head barely reached his chest. "I'll buy those fists of yours. Not a bad deal, is it? I'm telling you to pay off the debt with your body. You may not have magic, but those arms are worth plenty. How about working for me?" Celestia's gray-blue eyes narrowed sharply. "...I refuse." "I see. A shame." Drang said it as though he genuinely meant it. Then he turned on his heel. "Well, if you change your mind, come to the 'Ring' pawnshop anytime. We've got branches all over the capital. Ah, that's right—" He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Next time I come, I'll bring more men. I look forward to seeing how long those fists of yours hold out. My lady." With that, Drang led his men away and disappeared into the gathering dusk. Silence returned to the hall. Celestia stood motionless for a while. Night wind poured in through the broken door. The smell of blood, of sweat, of scorched wood—all mingled together. She began to walk slowly and picked up the silver candlestick lying on the floor. One of the men had tried to carry it out and dropped it. It was from her mother's room. The silver was tarnished, but still beautiful. Further in, the family portrait that had hung on the wall had fallen. The frame was cracked, glass scattered everywhere. Celestia knelt and gently lifted the painting. It depicted her father, her mother, and herself as a small child. Her father had been a man of impressive build. As head of the earldom, he had led a martial house that guarded the frontier. But five years ago, his business ventures failed. He'd gotten involved in magic-collateral financing and lost everything. He'd piled debt upon debt, using the mansion and the magical tools in the storehouse as security, and in the end, he'd put even his own daughter's magic up as collateral. And her father was gone now. "Celestia. Even without magic, you can survive." Her father's words echoed in the back of her mind. That was the night before he left home for the last time. Smelling of liquor, he'd ruffled her hair roughly. "The Valdrenes learn with their bodies. You've carved everything I taught you into yours. With that, you can survive anywhere. Be proud." Celestia stared at her father's face in the portrait. Proud. Did she have anything like that now? Called Empty, laughed at, abandoned even by her fiancé, her home ransacked by debt collectors. Pride was nowhere to be found. But. Celestia clenched her fists. Even so—she wouldn't let anyone die. She didn't want to lose anyone else who had stood by her. Gareth. Luca. The people who had stayed in this house—she would protect them. That was the one thing she could do now. "...Lady Celestia." A quiet voice spoke, and she turned. From the far end of the corridor, the old butler Gareth Aldridge approached. His white hair was combed back, his face deeply lined. His calm gray eyes surveyed the broken door and the scattered hall. Sixty-three years old. About five foot five, and thin. His butler's uniform was worn, but his collar was neatly arranged. He asked nothing. He simply confirmed that Celestia was unharmed and gave a small nod. "Let us clean up." That was all he said before he began picking up the shards of glass scattered across the floor. Back straight, slow and careful. "...I'm sorry, Gareth." Celestia's voice wavered, just slightly. "What are you saying? There is nothing for you to apologize for, Lady Celestia." Gareth looked up and smiled warmly. "Besides—not a single one of those men is dead. You held back properly, as you always do. You've always been that kind of person." Celestia couldn't find the words to reply. Gareth had served this house for thirty years. Since her father's time—no, even before that, he had watched over the Valdrene family. When the family fell and all the other servants left, he alone had stayed. "I do not serve the house. I serve you, Lady Celestia." That was Gareth's favorite saying. "H-hey, are you okay!?" Footsteps came pattering, and a boy came running. His reddish-brown curly hair bounced, and his freckled brown eyes were round as saucers. Thirteen-year-old Luca. About four foot eleven, with the hem of his worn shirt hanging down to his knees. "Th-those guys, they're already gone? Damn it, I could only hide...!" Luca bit his lip and struck the floor in frustration. "Luca, you'll hurt your hand." "But still! I'm so pathetic... I got protected by you again, Celestia-nee." Luca caught sight of the portrait Celestia had picked up and his face fell. "This got cracked... I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything." "...You stayed hidden with Gareth. That's enough." Celestia placed her hand on Luca's head. His curly hair brushed softly against her palm. "Next time they come, I'll definitely fight them off! I'm gonna get stronger too!" Luca shouted, fists clenched. His voice was trembling. He was a bit of a show-off, but he was truly timid. Even so, he was desperate to repay his debt—the debt he owed to this house that had taken him in. "...I know. But don't push yourself too hard." Celestia lifted her hand from Luca's head. "Now then, Luca. Help me out. First, we need to do something about the front door." Gareth said in his usual tone. "R-right! Leave it to me! There should be some boards out ba

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Name: The Fallen Lady Speaks with Her Fists
Author: Novelia

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