One Day, My Fiancé Brought His First Love Along - Chapter 65

The day of the swordsmanship tournament finals had arrived.

Aileen woke before dawn. She went through her final posture checks and made sure everything was in order.

The match was scheduled for the morning. Once a winner was decided, there would be an award ceremony before the public, followed by a grand banquet after nightfall.

Dressed in her neatly pressed uniform, Aileen entered the dining room for breakfast with her family.

“There you are, my daughter. Sit down. I told them to prepare something light so it wouldn’t weigh on your stomach. Eat comfortably,” the Duke said, practically hovering by her side as if ready to serve the meal himself.

“Honey, calm down.”

“Really, Father. You’re going to stress her out more than the match,” added her mother.

“Ahem. And you—Ashite—why are you chiming in like you’ve done anything right?” the Duke muttered awkwardly, trying to hide his nervous energy by snapping at his son.

Wrongfully caught in the crossfire, Ashite fell into silence again.

To lose… and to that person, of all people. He should’ve beaten Carlisle into the ground—just thinking about it made his blood boil.

It was a disgrace he wouldn’t forget.

Ashite knew well that Carlisle was considered the strongest knight in the Diert Empire. But still.

He’d hoped—maybe foolishly—that with all the growth he’d undergone recently, he might have been able to defeat him.

And that only made the result harder to accept.

He knew his father had scolded him for a reason, but truthfully, Ashite was punishing himself more than anyone else ever could.

Quietly, he looked at his younger sister—his precious, prideful sister—now nibbling gently at her food. He couldn’t help but worry that she might get sick if she forced herself to eat too fast.

Because of his loss, it was now Aileen who had to face that detestable man.

That, and only that, was what truly bothered him.

The fact that he had performed worse than his sister didn’t matter at all. He didn’t care what anyone else thought or said about him.

Ashite turned away and poked listlessly at his now-cold omelette.

“Thank you for the meal,” Aileen said quietly.

“Did you eat enough, darling?”

“Definitely. I had plenty. Any more, and I might feel too heavy to move.”

“Can’t have that. No, no. All right then, let’s be off,” the Duke said, clearly trying to keep things light. He personally escorted her out—an honor he had willingly passed on to his son countless times, but not today.

Today, it was his turn to walk beside his beloved daughter.

“My daughter… I’m proud of you.”

As the carriage began to move smoothly forward, the Duke finally spoke.

The cheerful, slightly overbearing father from earlier had vanished. What remained was a man—serious and sincere—speaking from the heart.

“It’s not because you’ve gained fame by making it to the finals, or because of any praise from others. I’m proud because you found your path, and you forged it yourself. That’s why I’m proud to call you my daughter.”

His violet eyes—so much like Aileen’s—shimmered with endless love and deep affection.

“Winning or losing doesn’t matter. I just want you to have a match you can be proud of. As long as you give it your all and leave with no regrets… that’s enough.”

That was all he said.

The Duchess, sitting across from them, placed her hands gently over Aileen’s folded ones. Her gaze was soft, overflowing with maternal warmth.

“I hope you don’t get hurt… but I know that might not be possible. So go out there, give it your all, and come back proud, Aileen.”

Aileen’s eyes turned red—like the sky during sunset.

“Hey, give him a smack on the head. And if you don’t manage to, don’t worry—I’ll do it later,” Ashite added.

“Honestly, it might be easier if I just hit him myself,” Aileen replied with a teasing smile.

“You really—ugh.”
Ashite, instead of yelling as usual, simply shook his head with a faint grin as Aileen laughed.

“I’ll do my best. I’ll give it everything I have, and I promise not to bring shame to House Revart. I’ll fight with everything I’ve got and come back satisfied. So… just wait for me.”

Aileen smiled brightly.

It was a historic day—the finals of the first Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament were about to take place.

Thankfully, the sky was a perfect blue, and a cool breeze blew gently through the capital.

“I still can’t believe the final match is between that Count Avergue and the young lady of House Revart. This is going to be something.”

“We finally get to witness the strongest knight in the Empire in action! I’m so nervous I might faint.”

“Dame Aileen is just amazing. She’s inspired me to start learning swordsmanship too!”

The massive coliseum where the final match would be held was alive with energy.
Even though the match hadn’t started yet, the crowd was already more excited than they had been during the semifinals.

Cheers and roars echoed without pause as spectators waved flags, handkerchiefs, or anything else they could find—bursting with emotion.

Meanwhile, inside the coliseum, Aileen stood in the waiting room, calming her breathing.

Even as she’d stepped into the carriage this morning, it hadn’t felt entirely real.

She had replayed all the hours of grueling training, envisioned her final battle with Carlisle—but it still hadn’t fully sunk in.

Now, though—
With the crowd’s electrifying cheers shaking the stadium, and the deep, thunderous drums echoing through the air—

Aileen was finally being pulled into the moment.

Into reality.

“His Imperial Majesty, Edys Diert—the Sun of the Empire—is entering!”

A voice rang out from outside the waiting room, announcing the Emperor’s arrival. Once Edys finished his opening remarks, it would be her turn to enter the arena.

Aileen repeatedly clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to release the tension from her body.

Give it everything you’ve got. No regrets. You can do this, Aileen.

“Sir Carlisle Avergue, enter!”

The announcer’s voice trembled with excitement—and the deafening roar of the crowd exploded like thunder.
Carlisle! Carlisle!

A knight who brought pride to the Empire.

The overwhelming energy, admiration, and expectations directed at him radiated through the stadium—and even reached her.

“Dame Aileen Revart, enter!”

She gripped her sword. The familiar weight of it fit perfectly in her hand as she stepped into the corridor leading to the arena.

Blinding light greeted her.

Aileen! Aileen!

The cheers were so loud, it felt like her eardrums might burst. The noise hit her like a physical wave, and for a moment, she wondered if it might knock her off balance.

Hearing it from the inside hadn’t prepared her for this.

Her name rose and fell, mixing with Carlisle’s—it sounded almost unfamiliar, distorted among the roar.

Aileen gave her head a strong shake and looked ahead.

Beneath dark hair that nearly brushed his brow, Carlisle’s eyes were sharp—deep and unreadable. Those intense, ocean-blue eyes looked straight at her.

She had seen him in the black uniform of the Sel Order countless times, and yet somehow, today… he felt like a stranger.

His broad, fortress-like shoulders were the same, as was the poised way he held his sword with long, steady arms. Nothing about his appearance had changed—and yet, everything felt different.

She was slipping into that odd sensation again—like the two of them were completely separated from the roaring crowd.

“Now then, both knights, take your positions.”

The referee had approached without her noticing and brought her back to reality.

Snapping to attention, Aileen adjusted her grip on her sword.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Carlisle gave a short nod in response.

The referee turned to the announcer. The moment the signal was given, the announcer lifted a large flag high into the air.

And just like that—the finals had begun.

Aileen moved first, launching herself forward to test Carlisle’s form.

Clang!

Carlisle blocked the diagonal strike with a single upward motion of his arm—without taking even a single step back.

Aileen bit her lower lip and retreated.

She could tell with just one exchange—he hadn’t weakened. If anything, he had grown stronger since their last sparring session months ago.

She steadied her breath. The real match had begun.

Carlisle simply stood there, his gaze calm and unshaken, as though waiting for her stamina to wear down.

That’s not good. The longer this dragged on, the worse it was for her.

Speed was her greatest weapon—but her endurance couldn’t match his. She had to finish this before she started to tire.

“You’re not just going to stand there and wait, are you?”

The muttered challenge slipped out of her mouth.

And that was when Carlisle moved.

In a flash—like lightning that appeared and vanished in the blink of an eye—he was suddenly right in front of her.

His sword rose from below in a swift upward strike. Aileen twisted her body just in time to dodge the lethal thrust.

“Ah—”

Her uniform tore—fabric fluttering loose. But there was no time to dwell on it.

Don’t give him a chance to breathe.

She charged forward.

Clang! Clang!

The sharp clashing of blades rang out again and again.

Carlisle didn’t counter with brute strength like Haller. Instead, he deflected her strikes with fluid, flowing movements—like water.

It was his preferred style—one she had faced many times during their sparring.

It felt almost like being transported back in time.
And yet, the familiarity only made her grit her teeth harder.

“Stop playing around. Fight me for real!”

Aileen didn’t want to relive the past.
She wanted a battle—knight against knight.

She couldn’t stand that he was still fighting her like this, as if they were sparring again.

At her angry demand, something changed in Carlisle.

His blade—until now gentle and fluid—shifted.

Suddenly, the atmosphere around him snapped tight, like a drawn bowstring. The calm, flowing motions disappeared completely.

In their place came something sharp.
Cold.
Cutting.

Like a storm of steel, his strikes began to rain down on her with merciless precision.

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