《Lest Unfortunate》


 Chapter 1 - Relic

    Her foot scraped against the cobbled floor, each step a grueling effort. The air burned her lungs as she gasped, her breath hitching between ragged coughs. A tremor ran through her frail body, shaking her to the core. It was cold, far colder than it should have been. She was so tired. Too old for this. Blood poured from a jagged wound on her right thigh, painting the stones behind her with a bright, glistening red. Every step left a smear, her dragging feet only adding to the trail of struggle. A broken spear hung limply in her grip. A deep cut marred her cheek, and her torso bore countless shallow wounds, each a reminder of the battle she had no right to survive. And yet, she moved forward.


    One step at a time, alone, through a sea of corpses scattered across the grand hall, leading her way toward the high altar that loomed at the far end.


    She glanced around, her gaze sweeping over the carnage. Everyone was gone, lifeless, broken, reduced to stillness. Was she truly the only one left standing? How could that be? She was neither impressive nor exceptional, not by any measure she held of herself. Among so many who had been greater, stronger, more capable, why was she the only one to survive? How had she endured when they had fallen, overwhelmed by unfair odds, against such monsters?


    [Level 63] > [57].


    Numbness seeped into her body, dragging her down like an anchor. She felt weaker with every heartbeat, her strength draining as though stolen by the last blade that had struck her. Was the blade poisoned? Had she been poisoned? Or was it just the blood loss? She didn¡¯t care enough to wonder further. Her wounds bled freely, but she made no effort to stop them. This was where she would die. The thought brought no fear, no regret, only a quiet acceptance, as unremarkable as watching the sun sink behind the horizon.


    At the altar¡¯s base, she paused, swaying like a reed in the wind. Her legs felt as though they might buckle at any moment, but still, she lifted one foot. Then another. The climb began.


    The ascent was agonizing. Each step demanded everything she had left, her breaths shallow and rasping, her limbs leaden. The weight of her own body became an unbearable burden, and yet she pressed on, pulled by a compulsion she didn¡¯t fully understand.


    Corpses littered the steps, their number growing with every painful stride. Bodies slumped and piled against one another, frozen in their final, desperate push toward the summit. Their faces blurred together, lifeless masks she didn¡¯t recognize. Only their uniforms gave her pause, reminders of countless battles fought and lost, of those who had fallen alongside her, just to get to this point.


    She hesitated, her gaze lingering on the tangle of bodies. Was she searching for something? A familiar face among the dead? A small, impossible hope flickered within her, that someone from her unit had made it this far. That she wasn¡¯t the only one. Would it have mattered? Would it have eased the crushing loneliness of this climb?


    The hope faded, leaving only the sound of her shallow breaths and the heavy thud of her feet against the stone. One step. Then another.


    And still, the summit waited.


    By the time she reached the top, her body was a trembling wreck. her back was hunched from exhaustion, and her broken spear dragged against the ground, more crutch than weapon.


    Still, she pressed forward.


    Ahead, at the far end of the altar, stood a lone statue. Once regal, now ravaged by time and violence. Its lower torso was fractured and scarred, leaving only fragments of its chest. One arm remained, extended outward, its hand open with palm raised, as though in eternal offering. Suspended above it, a glowing crystal hovered, a shard of radiance in the gloom. It pulsed softly, mesmerizing, a symbol of everything this conflict had cost.


    A harsh cough broke through the silence, followed by a rattling wheeze.


    She froze. The sound wasn¡¯t hers.


    Her eyes flickered, scanning the space, and then she saw him. Slumped at the base of the statue, barely more than a shattered husk of a man. She did not expect what she initially assumed to be a corpse to still be alive. His left leg ended abruptly in a jagged stump just below the knee, crudely bandaged in blood-soaked cloth. A sword jutted from his chest. His right arm was gone entirely, torn from his shoulder in a mess of shredded armor and flesh.


    Yet he lived.


    He watched her approach, his gaze sharp and unyielding. Those eyes burned, fierce with a determination that mocked his ruined body.


    She moved closer, slow and unsteady, her breath shallow, her muscles threatening to betray her.


    The man wore plate armor, its foreign design still remained strange to her despite years of exposure. At his side lay a partly crushed helmet, the jagged remains of its once-pristine surface glinting faintly in the dim light. His surcoat bore the sigil of the Divine Cult, a knight of Nyros, the God of Beginning.


    She stopped just short of him, her gaze fixed downward on her enemy. He stared up at her, his face twitching, the anger mounting in his eyes. That¡¯s when she saw it, the crest of the Guardian Knot emblazoned into his helmet, the embellishments on his armor excessive and ornate, overlapping streaks of gold in religious inscriptions. She knew of only one kind of people who wore such armor.


    "Realmwalker," she hissed, the word laced with disdain. Her expression, dark and unreadable a moment ago, now twisted into something sharper, colder. "So, it¡¯s just us now. The last ones. Why is your filth so damn hard to kill?"Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    He didn¡¯t respond, didn¡¯t make an effort to speak. His right hand clutched a crumpled piece of paper to his chest, shaking violently, as though it held his last shred of life. The world around them seemed to grow colder with each passing second. She struck his hand with the broken shaft, her movement swift and brutal, and snatched the paper from his trembling fingers.


    "Gi-give it... back," he managed to croak, his voice hoarse with desperation, his hand reaching for her, grasping at the air as if it could will the paper back into his grip.


    She held it up, the bloodstained sheet catching light, courtesy of a ceiling riddled with holes. The writing on it was foreign to her, strange and intricate, more symbols than letters. The paper was stiffer than any she had ever felt, despite being so thin. No... this wasn¡¯t paper at all. She turned it over, her mind paused as something else was revealed.


    A painting. No, not just a painting. A miniature world captured on the small slip, vivid and lifelike, as though the image were a living thing trapped within the glossy surface. The strokes of color seemed to breathe, to pulse with a strange energy. She ran her thumb over the smooth surface, expecting to feel the grain of paint, the ridges of ink, but there was none of that. The surface was unnervingly smooth, almost unreal.


    The scene before her depicted the same dying man lying beneath her now, but younger, standing next to a girl and two older figures, whom she could only assume were his parents. They were all smiling, frozen in a moment of happiness that felt so distant, so foreign, like a memory long buried. A family portrait, perhaps.


    "Give it," he pleaded, the desperation in his voice now unmistakable. His earlier temper was gone, replaced by raw, unfiltered fear. His eyes, once fierce with defiance, were now wide with terror, searching for something he couldn¡¯t grasp.


    ¡°Did this come from your world? From before you came here?¡± she asked, dangling the object between her fingers. The faint glow of the hall¡¯s cursed light reflected off the delicate, worn edges of the image.


    His breath hitched as his trembling hands stretched toward the photograph, just beyond his reach. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill, but he couldn¡¯t move, pinned in place by a body that no longer moved. Leaning heavily against a statue that held him upright, he could do nothing but sit there, arms outstretched in futile yearning, grief consuming him whole.


    ¡°Give me your name,¡± she said, her voice as cold as the temple¡¯s stone. ¡°And I¡¯ll give this artwork back to you.¡±


    ¡°Seojin,¡± he whispered hoarsely, the word spilling from him like a confession. ¡°I¡¯m... Seojin.¡±


    Her head tilted, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled, faintly, "Odd name.¡± Without warning, she tore the photograph in half, the sound of ripping paper cutting through the silence like a blade.


    ¡°No,¡± Seojin''s voice cracked, wide eyed, but she was already discarding the torn halves like scraps of trash. The photograph fluttered to the floor.


    She released her ruined spear, letting it clatter to the stone. ¡°I am Elise, the Dragon Spear,¡± she declared, now drawing a dagger from her belt. ¡°Burn my name into your soul, realmwalker, for I will be your last.¡±


    A scream tore from Seojin¡¯s throat, not of fear or anguish, but of unbridled fury. The last remnant of his home, the fragile piece of his sanity, destroyed before his eyes. This cursed hall, this godforsaken temple, everything about this world. He did not choose this hell. He never asked for this. He committed no wrong! And at the center of it all stood the woman he now loathed with every fiber of his being. He cursed her. Her existence. Her name.


    Elise moved, swift and merciless. ¡°Die!¡± she roared, the dagger flashing as it found its mark. The blade plunged deep into his neck, silencing his fury in an instant. Blood spilled, staining the stone floor beneath them, and his body collapsed in a lifeless heap.


    The hall returned to silence, save for Elise¡¯s labored breaths. She wiped the blade clean with a flick of her wrist, her expression betraying no regret.


    [Level 57] > [53].


    She barely had the strength to stand, using the statue the dead realmwalker leaned against for support. The faint glow of the crystal flickering in her blurred vision. Her focus snapped back to the artifact.


    This is what it was all for? She stared at the levitating crystal in disbelief. This is the reason for the war? For the invasion? Seventy-two outerworlders, united in purpose. Three nations wiped from existence. Thousands¡ªno, more¡ªdead. All for this fucking relic?


    In a flash of rage, she yanked the crystal from where it rested, her fingers tightening around it with a force that felt almost desperate. She squeezed it, as if her raw will could reduce it to ash.


    [Level 53] > [48].


    This was it. Her body was failing. Every breath felt like it might be her last. Anger was the only emotion left she could afford to muster. But the relic had to be destroyed. If her life had any purpose, it would be to deprive the world of this. To spit in the face of the cult one last time. Anything that could taint the realmwalkers and everything they stood for. Revenge. Revenge...


    [Level 48] > [Error].


    With the last of her fading strength, she raised her dagger, the weight of it strangely light in her trembling hand. She brought it down on the crystal with all the fury left in her.


    And then, the world went dark.


    From the heights above, a dying god watched in silence, its fumes ragged, its form fading. The last vestiges of its strength faltered, but still, it laughed, its voice a soft, bitter echo in the vast expanse. How amusing. How utterly fitting. Its sibling would bear witness to this final, slight embarrassment, this moment of humiliation on the eve of victory. And in that moment, something inside it stirred, an old, forgotten resolve.


    It was decided then.


    This god would not go quietly into the void. It would not allow its sibling to claim victory so easily, it would not be consumed with such breeze, not while it still had the power to resist. This mortal, this unlikely vessel, would receive its first and final blessing. The last of its essence, its strength, its fire. If it was to die here, it would be only right to leave something behind. A gift, a curse, a defiance. This mortal would bear the weight of its struggle, just as the god had borne its own, defying its twin since the dawn of existence.


    A gift, born of whim. A fate, forged by chance. A mortal, chosen not by design, but by desire. With no choice in the matter but to accept, no way to turn back.


    Do as you will, the god thought. Do as you will with the last of my essence, oh, unfortunate creation. Struggle¡­ for the mercy of a natural death will be denied to you.


    It smiled, not that it had a mouth, but a vision. A thought of pleasure. A smile full of obstinate, full of something ancient and defiant, as the god¡¯s light began to fade into the dark, eternal void.


    [Elise Kenjigawa].


    [Title Acquired: Inheritor].


    [Skills Acquired: ???¡¯s Blessing, Manifest Dominion, Chant of Conquest, Universal Speech].


    [Rebirth: Absolute. Effect: Immediate].

 Chapter 2 - Sweet New World

    As usual, she awoke before the day began, before the first birds stirred, before the light crept across the horizon, before dawn whispered its quiet promise of renewal. The room was silent, the world outside wrapped in a comforting darkness. She sat on her bed, motionless, staring out the window, daydreaming, dozing off, unable to sleep no longer.


    This has been her daily routine ever since she twisted into someone else and was robbed of childhood. Everytime, she woke to this same emptiness, this same nagging detachment from the life she was supposed to inhabit. She would sit there, caught between wakefulness and sleep, her mind drifting through fragments of thought and memory. Sometimes she simply stared, her thoughts a blank canvas. Other times, she would spiral into contemplation, searching for answers to questions she could never quite articulate.


    But no matter how much she thought about it, no matter how often she dissected the details, nothing made sense. Her body felt foreign, like an ill-fitting garment she¡¯d been forced to wear. This life, this name, felt like a cruel trick. An elaborate lie. If only this was some frightening dream. Despite the years spent here, it was as if she were an actor cast in the wrong role, fumbling through someone else¡¯s story.


    When had it started, this unshakable sense of wrongness? She closed her eyes and searched for the beginning, as she often did. Six years old. That was when it began, when the first memories came, crashing over her like a tide she couldn¡¯t escape. They were vivid, terrible, and incomprehensible to a child. Battles fought on blood-soaked fields. Shadows of faces she loved and lost. The smell of fire, the scream of steel, the silence of death. And just, pure loneliness... A terrible existence. She was miserable.


    At first, the memories didn¡¯t feel like hers. They were like someone else¡¯s nightmare, bleeding into her mind. But over time, they claimed her, seeped into her soul until she couldn¡¯t distinguish them from her own. That''s when she started questioning if the memories were even real, then she questioned if this world was real. She cried endlessly in those early years, her small body wracked with headaches, sobs she couldn¡¯t explain. Her parents, bewildered and desperate, thought she was ill, plagued by some unknown malady. The doctors were useless, more decorative than anything, but they stuck with her nonetheless, stuffing all kinds of cures down her throat.


    Three years of this, three years of confusion, pain, and loss, until the last memories came. By the end of it, the child she had been was gone. What replaced her was¡­ older. Colder. A woman encased in the fragile shell of a child. A woman who had seen more than most could fathom, who had fought and killed, who had watched entire lives extinguished like dying embers.


    She raised her eyes to the window again, her reflection barely visible in the glass. The face staring back at her was a stranger¡¯s, young and untouched by the horrors she remembered. Yet behind those eyes lurked a war-weary soul that didn¡¯t belong here.


    And she couldn¡¯t shake the thought that it would have been better to die in that temple than to wake up here.


    The birds began to stir, the familiar songs of the Munichskav, always heard an hour before dawn. She pushed off the bed, her bare feet brushing against the worn floorboards. She dragged a chair to the window, her movements slow, and slid the sash open. A faint breeze touched her face as she sat down, resting her elbow on the window stool. She cupped her cheek in her palm, her eyes half-closed, letting the lilting song of the munichs wash over her.


    This kind of peace was still unfamiliar, even after so long. Once, such stillness had been a luxury she couldn¡¯t afford. But here, now, it came unbidden, a regular visitor in her strange new life. Compared to the endless pursuit of her past, the troubles of this existence barely rippled the surface. They were trivial. Insignificant. And yet, the contrast made her uneasy.


    Before, she never rested simply for the sake of it, her mind had always been bothered by one thing or another, an unseen goal, an endless fight. If she wasn¡¯t training, she was hunting. If she wasn¡¯t hunting, she was killing. There had never been time to stop. To think. To rest. Not until the end. Her end. Well, if she died. She was sure she had died. Right? The memory was hazy, but what else could explain this? This world, this body?


    Her thoughts drifted to the stories she¡¯d heard, realmwalkers, or more specifically a subset of them, reincarnators, wanderborn as others may call them, souls pulled from one existence and thrown into another. Did they feel this same sense of displacement? This quiet discomfort, as though the air itself whispered that they didn¡¯t belong? Perhaps they had a choice in the matter. Perhaps she was the exception. But the truth remained, she hadn¡¯t chosen this.


    She tightened her fingers against her cheek, her nails grazing her skin as a faint shiver ran through her. The peace of this world felt wrong, like wearing a borrowed life that didn¡¯t quite fit. As beautiful as the pre-dawn songs of the munichskav were, they only deepened the ache, a hint of what she¡¯d lost, or perhaps, what she¡¯d never truly had.


    She had dreamed of this, this life, a brighter, more loving, idealistic version of her childhood, consistently before her death. A life that had danced just beyond her grasp, always out of reach. All she had wanted was to return here, return home, and live in peace with the family she had lost so long ago. That had been the dream. But now, as she found herself living it, an unsettling realization clawed at her. All she could think about was the loneliness she had left behind, a conviction that she didn¡¯t belong here. She had no claim to this life, no right to it.


    A question lingered, sharp and unwelcome. Does this mean she is a reincarnator now too? To be counted among those freaks? The very thought made her stomach turn, disgusted her, and she quickly rejected it.


    "Status," she whispered. Texts began to appear in her mind.


    [Elise Kenjigawa, Level 0, Inheritor]


    [Stats: STR 1, DEX, 1, CON 1, INT 1.6, WIS 1.2]


    [Skills: ???¡¯s Blessing, Manifest Dominion, Chant of Conquest, Universal Speech].


    Like a newborn, she thought, except for the skills. At first, she had thought she was reliving her past, transported back in time by some twist of fate. The experiences were so familiar, so nearly identical to her childhood, that it seemed plausible. But that conclusion quickly went to the pits as she began noticing the changes, both unsettling and minor. Despite the strange sense of deja vu, she knew, with unshakable certainty, that this wasn¡¯t her world. At least, not the one she had left behind. And if the memories of her previous life were real, well, that was another question entirely.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    For one, her stats had changed. That alone was enough to make her rethink. A person¡¯s stats generally remain unchanged throughout their life, unless the circumstances were extreme. But then again, death itself could be considered extreme. A person¡¯s stats were a reflection of their innate talents, an unchanging part of who they were. Except, of course, they trained under extraordinary conditions, as she had, or found themselves fortunate enough to undergo some rare form of personal growth. She remembered when her stats had all been one in the previous, nothing more than a blank slate. Now, her Intelligence and Wisdom had risen. It should have been a good thing, a sign of progress. Yet, she felt no pleasure from something she couldn¡¯t explain.


    Next, and perhaps the most dramatic change, was her skills. She had possessed none of these in her previous existence. Chants of Conquest and Universal Speech were abilities she understood and accepted with surprising ease. Skills were meant to feel innate, impossible to reject, as though they were an inseparable part of one''s being.


    But the other two, Blessing and Dominion, were different. Troubling. Years of prodding and experimentation had yielded nothing, leaving them as lifeless as an unreadable script. Were they dormant, waiting for some hidden trigger? Or were they entirely passive? Did they require mana, like magic skills? But testing that theory was impossible with her level stuck at zero, a situation unlikely to change anytime soon, given her social constraints.


    Something plagued at the edges of her thoughts. Even if the skills were unusable, she should have understood them. Every skill required knowledge, either learned beforehand or imprinted directly into the mind upon involuntary acquisition. That was how Chants of Conquest and Universal Speech had arrived, a cascade of information so instinctive it felt exactly like recalling her previous memories, albeit through a much less agonizing process. But Blessing and Dominion? Nothing. No sudden clarity, no rush of understanding. Just silence. She was as clueless as a naive doe.


    Irritation nudged at her. Skills weren¡¯t meant to be mysteries. They were tools, purpose-built and ready to wield. But these two sat idle, their potential locked behind a door she couldn¡¯t find, let alone open. Why?


    Over the past few years, she had subtly scoured every corner of her limited world for answers. Every question turned cold, every guess failed. Even the process of trial and error became a cruel joke. The skills were there, etched into her soul, but no closer to revealing their purpose than on the day they¡¯d first appeared. Honestly she was about to give up, or accept, that any new revelations would remain out of reach for the foreseeable future.


    Finally, the last personal change didn¡¯t stem from her value stats but from a physical transformation, though perhaps appearance would be a more fitting word. She had long accepted her once-unremarkable dark brown hair and black wood eyes, the kind that blended into the crowd, unnoticed. But now? Now she was someone else entirely. Her hair had turned as white as snow, her eyes gleamed a startling gold, and her skin had paled to an almost unnatural degree.


    If she had once found comfort in her previous appearance, she could no longer say the same for this, in fact she hated it. Made her feel like a spectacle, an anomaly, some figure out of an old fairytale. Never, in all her long years, had she seen anyone resemble even anywhere near this new form. Maybe the elves, with their strange and ancient bloodlines, might possess something similar, but she''d never met one. Only heard whispers. But if she had to guess an entirely different species to find any resemblance, that was already a problem. And it did nothing to ease her parents'' obsession with the idea that she was somehow special. She couldn¡¯t hide even if she wanted to.


    A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Sixteen. It had been sixteen years in this body, sixteen years in this new life, and she still hadn¡¯t come to terms with any of it. Was she being unreasonable? To deny reality for this long? Was this denial too childish for someone her age? Is that even possible? To call herself naive? Or any other term associated with youth? It should have made sense, given her physical years, but not the mind inside her. By the end of next winter she''ll be seventeen, adulthood, where the weight of responsibility would only grow, along with the looming pressure of marriage. It would do her no good to remain confused, lost in the haze of wanderment. This childish reverie, this stubborn resistance to what was, needed to end.


    This was her life now. A truth as bitter as frost on blood. And this would be her life far into the future, stretching endlessly like the horizon beyond the barren plains. She paused, her breath catching. The future....


    It was a word that lingered like a wound in her mind, its weight pressing heavier with each passing year. The thought had been a faint whisper at first, easy to dismiss. But now, it clawed at her with an unease she could no longer ignore.


    A question. One she feared to face. Denied. Buried beneath excuses. She told herself this world was different, so different from what came before. But was it? Or was that just another lie, a fragile dream she clung to in the hope it wouldn¡¯t shatter? On one hand, with her self-delusions, she would claim this world was so similar to the last. On the other, driven by her fears, she would insist this world was so vastly different.


    Maybe this rejection of reality was her way of hiding. Of avoiding the truth. Perhaps she couldn¡¯t reconcile her past or her present self because of that question. Because the moment she accepted herself, both herselfs.


    It meant it had to be answered.


    It demanded an answer.


    And to answer it, she could only prepare, to reach for her spear once more.


    Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came. She didn¡¯t dare ask the question aloud, not even as a whisper. Instead, it echoed silently in her thoughts.


    Would the future repeat itself?


    Would it?


    This world felt both different and eerily identical. And if it was in essence nearly the same as before, then perhaps it wouldn''t be foolish to assume that history would indeed repeat itself, to varying degrees. The wise don''t sit and hope for the best of a bad storm, they prepare.


    She straightened, pushing away from her palm, as purpose solidified within her. The past was no longer hers to claim. Its sentimental value, the yearning for what had been, would all fade into the grave. What remained were hard truths, the facts, the consequences, and lessons on what to avoid.


    Her fists clenched, the tension in her limbs coiling like a spring, primed to unleash decades of instinctive motion. No more hesitation. No more wondering. If she couldn''t settle her identity issue now, it could wait. Time wouldn¡¯t wait for her. She would do whatever it took in this life to keep the past from repeating itself, even if this wasn¡¯t truly the same world.


    Her jaw tightened. The anger inside her simmered. An old woman¡¯s resolve. She was Elise, Dragon Spear of Iowa, Secondborn of Lesh Taudi, Daughter of Lord Kazia of Bazeers Keep. And she would not allow a repeat, not while she drew breath.


    The sky began to shift, light spilling over the horizon, though the castle walls somewhat blocked her view. Has an hour already passed? She could feel the first rays kissing her skin. The sun would soon climb higher, its warmth spreading quickly. She stood, casting aside any lingering doubts, and began to dress.

 Chapter 3 - Family Breakfast

    ¡°Is everyone there already?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I believe so, my lady,¡± the servant replied, her tone brisk as she stepped ahead, leading the way down the corridor. The sound of her shoes on the polished floor echoed quietly in the stillness of the morning.


    Elise followed, her gaze drifting as they missed a turn. From the looks of it, they might even be heading downstairs. The faint scent of wax and old wood lingered in the air. ¡°Where are we going? Is the dining room not in use today?¡±


    The servant hesitated, her stride faltering. She turned, bowing deeply, a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. ¡°I beg your pardon, Lady Kenjigawa. I should have informed you¡ªthe lord has decided that breakfast will be held in the great hall today.¡±


    Elise arched a delicate brow, her expression betraying only mild curiosity. ¡°Are we expecting guests?¡±


    ¡°No, my lady, not to my knowledge. If there are, I haven¡¯t been informed. Perhaps the lord simply had a change of preference.¡± The servant¡¯s tone was careful, but her hands fidgeted at her sides.


    ¡°I see. Lead on, then.¡±


    The servant bowed once more. ¡°Again, I apologize, my lady. This won¡¯t happen again.¡± She turned and resumed her path, her shoulders just a fraction tenser than before.


    Elise followed in silence, her steps measured, her thoughts drifting. She knew this castle as well as she knew her own reflection, every corner and corridor etched into her memory. Even in a state of intoxication, not that such indulgence was ever allowed, she could find her way without issue. Yet here she was, trailing obediently behind a servant, as decorum demanded.


    It was a peculiar restriction, one she had almost forgotten in the years spent away from this life. A noblewoman must always be accompanied, her movements an exercise in grace and submission, her independence wrapped tightly in the guise of propriety.


    Once, she had embraced these rules with the unthinking ease of youth, the habits of her station as natural as breathing. But that was a different Elise, in a different time. Years spent roaming under different names, following different codes, had stripped away those old reflexes. Now, this deference felt strange, almost stifling, a cage disguised as civility.


    The servant glanced back briefly, as if to ensure she was still following. Elise offered a faint smile, one that didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. Yes, she would play the part. She always had. She would not embody the name she so proudly bore if she failed to adhere to circumstance. But the girl she¡¯d been, who had once walked these halls without question, was gone. And this time, she knew exactly how small the walls of this life truly were.


    ¡°Beyond this door, my lady,¡± the servant said, her hand sweeping toward the double doors, their surface etched with intricate carvings of overlapping shapes. ¡°I will remain here. Please, enjoy your meal.¡±


    Elise inclined her head in acknowledgment. The servant¡¯s words hung in the air like a benediction as two additional servants, standing by the doors, stepped forward, their hands steady against the heavy oak. With a low groan, the doors swung open, revealing the hall within.


    The chamber seemed to breathe with life. Large oil lanterns hung high on wrought-iron chains, their golden light spilling across the room in waves. Shadows danced and wavered on the stone walls, which were decorated with family banners and artwork collected and gifted over generations.


    She lingered at the threshold, the soft click of her shoes against the stone. The air was rich with the scent of roasted meats, vegetables, and spiced wine, underscored by the woody perfume of the crackling hearthfire at the far end. It wasn¡¯t the smell of breakfast.


    Seated at one of the long dining tables in the center of the hall, modest in comparison to the grandeur surrounding it, she observed her family sitting exclusively along its upper length. Each was caught in their own quiet rituals: a spoon stirred, a hand rested on a cup, a spoken word or two lost in the vastness of the room.


    At the head of the table sat her father, a man of quiet authority, his sharp eyes lifting from a cup of wine to meet the newcomer¡¯s gaze. Beside him, her mother exuded composed grace, her hands folded neatly in her lap, though the tilt of her head suggested an unspoken question. Elise lowered her eyes in deference, silently apologizing for her tardiness.


    The mistress, seated further down, was a clear difference to the mother''s modest dress, draped in luxurious silks, her lips curved into a subtle smile as she twirled her cup. She watched with an air of amusement, waving her hand to Elise in greeting.


    Her sister, a twin in birth but not in appearance, perched beside the mistress, was the picture of youth, her features lit with a quiet conformity as she traced the edge of her empty plate with a finger. Her timid eyes darted up to Elise, reflecting a mix of concern and expectation.


    Her two brothers, one true and the other half, seated side by side across the table from the girls, the oldest sitting closer to father. The duo presented a difference in manners. The oldest lounged carelessly in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips as if he found the entire affair tiresome, while the other sat with a rigid posture, his expression unreadable.


    The weight of their gazes increased on her as she took slow steps forward, and bowed lightly. ¡°I apologize for my lateness, despite being the first to rise.¡±


    Her father grinned. ¡°And here I assumed you slept in for once. I''ve been unable to see you of late, but the servants tell me you still wander around before morn. Did you patrol the halls today too?¡±


    ¡°No, father. I remained in my room until the sun came up.¡±


    ¡°Doing what?¡±


    ¡°Listening to the munichskavs sing.¡±


    He laughed, taking another sip of his wine. ¡°I will never understand what you find so amusing about their chirps. But maybe I''ve seen too much blood.¡±


    Her mother gave him a stern gaze. ¡°Don''t mention such things in the morning,¡± she warned.


    ¡°I''m sorry, my dear, I''ll be more mindful of my words. Elise, come, I might''ve asked why you''ve come last of norm, but I suspect the reason wouldn''t pull my interest. And I simply wish to eat as soon as possible. Ven, Anslen, move a seat down, both of yous.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ven complained. ¡°She can sit over there. This is our side of the table.¡±


    ¡°I said move you dimwit, your face annoys me. You think I care what gender you are in a private meal? You''re a lady yourself if I''ve seen one. Damn near twenty and still haven''t gotten your first kill. Should be ashamed.¡±


    ¡°How can I get a kill if you won''t let me fight even a crippled mon?¡±


    ¡°That''s your problem to figure out, isn''t it, son?¡±


    ¡°Dear god¡­¡± Ven gasped, frustrated.


    ¡°I can sit beside my sister, father, there is no need,¡± Elise said humbly.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°But I want you here,¡± he pointed, ¡°come, come. Let''s not delay any further, I wish to eat.¡±


    Elise looked to her mother for reassurance, who gave her a faint nod of approval, granting her permission to sit on the men''s side of the table.


    Seeing this, her father frowned in dissatisfaction. ¡°What? My dear, is it not obvious that this is a private meal, why must you give permission? Is it too much to have my daughter sit beside me? You don''t have to be so strict amidst blood.¡±


    ¡°You''re the one who insisted we eat in the great hall. There are rules,¡± her mother replied firmly.


    ¡°Let''s not be so harsh in the morning,¡± the mistress leaned in, ¡°I¡¯d for one, prefer a slow start to the day.¡±


    ¡°So do I, Licia, and in consideration of your preference, I will ignore this lack of dignity,¡± her mother said, glaring blades at her husband.


    In the meantime, Elise had already taken her seat, her gaze fixed with quiet patience. The food before her still steamed, its warmth rising in the chill of the morning, which was colder than usual. The steam swirled in the air, a visible reminder of the meal¡¯s freshness. Bowls of noodles and rice sat alongside broths that hinted at rich flavors, plates of tender beef, lamb, and vegetables, and neatly arranged dumplings. A side of sliced pears and apples added a touch of sweetness, while three bottles of rice wine stood in disregard of the early hour. It was a hearty spread, far more suited to an evening feast than breakfast, certainly not the kind of meal her mother would approve of.


    ¡°It''s the wine, isn''t it,¡± shaking his cup in front of his wife, pissing his own death warrant. ¡°You''re just not happy I''m drinking.¡±


    ¡°The drink isn''t the issue, but rather, the hour. And if I may ask, for the 4th time,¡± she emphasized, ¡°why are you drinking so early in the morning?¡±


    Licia, also sipping wine, quickly averted her gaze as the drink touched her lips.


    ¡°Can I not?¡± the husband replied, his tone sincere.


    ¡°That''s not an answer,¡± the wife almost snared.


    What a loving marriage, Elise thought, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her silver spoon. The two of them had never been this sociable in her past life, and her father, especially, had never been this talkative. She glanced at Licia, the woman her father had taken as a mistress a few years after Elise¡¯s birth. Of peasant origin, with a merchant¡¯s background, Licia hadn¡¯t existed in Elise¡¯s previous life. The family she remembered was smaller, colder, just an older brother and two distant parents. Now, she found herself with an extra kashear, a twin sister, and a younger half-brother. A close-knit family, at least by her judgment.


    ¡°Can we eat yet? I''m starving,¡± Ven said.


    ¡°Then eat. No one¡¯s stopping you,¡± her father replied.


    ¡°How can I do that if you haven''t taken a single bite yet? All you''ve done is drink.¡±


    ¡°What has that gotta do with you? If you want to eat, then eat.¡±


    ¡°Mother will kill me, you boar headed fool.¡±


    ¡°Is this how you talk to your father?!¡±


    ¡°Is this how you educate your son?¡± Her mother interjected, disappointment evident.


    ¡°It''s not my fault he earned such a fucking mouth. I teach him, and he doesn''t listen,¡± the husband reasoned.


    ¡°How am I meant to learn anything if all you do is make me watch?¡± Ven answered back.


    ¡°Watch and learn, what''s so hard to understand son?¡±


    ¡°Do I look like a beggar? Am I not your son? A lord''s son. So doesn''t that mean proper education has to be done with words and patience. I think it''s quite obvious who''s lacking here,¡± Ven smirked.


    ¡°Ohhh, lookie here¡­ When the fuck did you get so eloquence my dear boy? So the only time you use your head is to burn my hand is it? We''ll see in the training ground.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ªfa-father please.¡±


    ¡°No no no, you insist, right? With words. I''ll make sure to yell the diction when I swing my stick.¡±


    ¡°Father, brother, if I may,¡± Elise intruded. ¡°I believe the food is getting cold.¡±


    "Right..." her father replied, reaching for a piece of beef with his chopsticks. He threw the piece into his mouth, and said, ¡°There you go, etiquette served, eat, eat. You don''t have to wait for me no more.¡±


    And with that, everyone began to eat. Elise wasted no time, eagerly reaching for the meat, her favorite, a luxury she hadn¡¯t often tasted in her past life.


    Her mother, however, didn¡¯t share her enthusiasm. ¡°Elise, it is good for a woman to have an imbalanced diet, preferably towards the greens,¡± she cautioned.


    ¡°It is good I''m not a woman yet, mother,¡± Elise smiled, her tone tender, snagging two more pieces of lamb. ¡°Father, why are we eating in the great hall? What''s the occasion?¡±


    ¡°We are about to receive guests in a few days¡¯ time. It is good to get accustomed to the hall before they come. And I like the change in scenery.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Commander Astraeus and a few other important guests. They bring a small army, same size as ours. It seems my request has finally been answered.¡±


    ¡°What is there to get accustomed to when they are military? I don''t recall a time when women were present in the greeting halls of warrior men,¡± her mother said dismissively.


    ¡°My dear,¡± he said kindly, ¡°having you here helps me get accustomed faster.¡±


    ¡°Talk to your wine, my lord and husband, your mouth displeases me.¡±


    Licia nearly choked on her food, struggling to suppress a laugh, while Ven grinned from ear to ear.


    ¡°Why have they come, father? I doubt the royal army would come without reason. Our territory isn''t known for leisure, nor stationing soldiers other than our own,¡± Elise said.


    ¡°My, Elise, you''ve been paying attention to the wrong subjects,¡± her father chuckled.


    ¡°I like to learn, father, I take after you. So if you''d allow me to peek upon your duties.¡±


    ¡°You have a way with words my daughter, Ven could learn a lot from you,¡± he smiled.


    ¡°What can I learn from her?¡± Ven said in irritation. ¡°She never had to learn anything in her life. Perfect this, perfect that.¡±


    ¡°Ven,¡± her mother scolded. ¡°You will not fight with your sister.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ mother,¡± Ven answered submissively.


    ¡°Father, please, I wish to hear,¡± Elise continued, re-capturing his attention, ignoring her brother''s words completely.


    ¡°Commander Astraeus comes to help us with the growing infestation. The monsters have been getting unusually aggressive, confident, making everything difficult, trade especially. Isn''t that right Licia?¡±


    ¡°I certainly haven''t been leaving this castle, that''s for sure,¡± answered Licia. ¡°I hear a few villages out west have found themselves wiped.¡±


    ¡°It is quite an issue,¡± her father added. ¡°The royal army will help exterminate them, from the important areas anyways. Plus this would be a good opportunity for the royal soldiers, they will learn to deal with monsters.¡±


    ¡°Does the royal army not deal with monsters?¡± Elise asked.


    ¡°Not to this degree, only our forces, the ruling lords, focus on the monsters. I would expect only a small portion of them to have any experience. Killing monsters is not their main role as core soldiers of Vela. This will help them greatly, a perfect substitute for war, I''m sure they''ll take a liking to our beasts, ours are more vicious.¡±


    ¡°How bad is the infestation? What areas are you focusing on?¡±


    ¡°My daughter, I believe that is enough. Girls should not learn of such things, especially mine, it does you no good. Monsters are unpleasant things that should not occupy you. I will keep you safe. You''ll never have to worry about any dangers while I live.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Elise said.


    While he lived, she wandered, the words burning into her mind. Though her former father had never offered such reassurances, they still rang true. Things hadn¡¯t gone wrong until his death, when the world outside intruded upon her sanctuary of peace, the moment her path altered, veering into darkness. It was then that the notion of fighting first emerged, that she herself could ever harm another, that she had any right to protect herself. But that notion didn''t come into fruition until much later. A lamb that didn''t know it could kill.


    ¡°Ven, have you been listening? I said Commander Astraeus is coming.¡±


    ¡°I heard, father. You don''t have to repeat yourself.¡±


    ¡°Then you should also know that his son comes too. Make good friends with him, it doesn''t hurt to have an ashik as your ally.¡±


    ¡°Isn''t their family just a hashy?¡± Ven scoffed arrogantly, ¡°not as important as ours.¡±


    ¡°Ven! When has your head started to rot? Hash or not they''re still ashik, a founding. Such a long standing family holds great influence, especially in the courts. He can help you when you get in trouble, not to mention his uncle is Lord Astraeus, a general. The boy has a bright future, do anything you can to honor him.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father,¡± Ven answered reluctantly.


    ¡°Enough talk,¡± her mother said. ¡°You''re barely eating, too busy waving your wine around. Eat in silence, we''ll be here for another hour with all this chatter. The day is short, and I have preparations to make for our guests.¡±


    ¡°I can eat and talk, it''s fine.¡±


    She glared at her husband.


    ¡°Bu-but just eating is fine too,¡± he stuttered.

 Chapter 4 - Twin

    ¡°Frey,¡± Elise called, her voice disturbing the quiet as she stepped into her sister¡¯s chamber. The mild scent of lavender, the room was dim, curtains drawn to keep out the midday sun.


    Instead of her sister, a young servant straightened abruptly, her movements stiff as she dipped into a hasty bow.


    ¡°Lady Kenjigawa,¡± the servant greeted, her voice tense as she gestured toward the bed. ¡°Lady Frey is asleep.¡±


    Elise¡¯s gaze flicked to the bed, where her sister lay motionless and serene. ¡°I can see that,¡± she replied, her tone sharp enough to cut. She turned back to the servant, her brows knitting in suspicion. ¡°Who are you? I don¡¯t recall seeing you before.¡±


    ¡°My name is Willow, my lady,¡± the servant answered, bowing her head once more. ¡°I am Lady Frey¡¯s personal maid.¡±


    ¡°Personal maid?¡± Elise repeated, her voice dropping to a whisper as her eyes narrowed. She glanced again at her sleeping sister, then back at Willow. ¡°Come. We¡¯ll speak outside.¡±


    Willow hesitated, her hands twisting the side of her skirt before she nodded and followed. They stepped into the corridor, where another servant, Elise¡¯s own attendant, stood waiting, her expression carefully neutral but her gaze flickering with curiosity.


    ¡°Quinn, do you know anything about this? When did my sister get a personal maid?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know, my lady?¡± Quinn replied, a look of confusion crossing her face. ¡°You see Lady Frey almost daily. I''d have assumed she told you.¡±


    ¡°If she did, I don¡¯t recall it. A personal maid? Before adulthood? Who asked for this?¡±


    ¡°The request came from Lady Frey, madam approved,¡± Quinn explained, her voice steady but cautious. ¡°But it was the mistress who found the girl.¡±


    ¡°Kishe did? Why?¡± Elise asked, perplexed.


    ¡°The mistress suggested that a girl close to Lady Frey¡¯s age would be ideal. But madam prefers experience, so we lack young servants. In the end, it was the mistress who found this one through recommendation. She has been with us for a month now, training, and was only made a maid today.¡±


    "A month you say? Does she already have experience beforehand? Or do we have so few chores to teach?"


    ¡°No, my lady. She will continue her training while serving alongside Lady Frey. We believe this is the best path for her development.¡±


    Elise turned to the new maid, studying her intently. ¡°I see, explains the young face. You must''ve been training her in private from the looks of it, I have yet to see her until now.¡±


    ¡°She has mainly been present in the surrounding buildings, my lady.¡±


    ¡°That would explain much, thank you Quinn,¡± Elise said, stepping closer to the girl with increased interest.


    The maid, stricken by fear, kept her eyes glued to the floor. ¡°I-I apologize, my lady,¡± she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I... I seem to have forgotten to s-spe-specify that my duties only began today.¡± The words spilled out in a nervous rush.


    Quinn resisted the urge to click her tongue, though her disapproval sparked faintly in her expression. ¡°Forgive her, my lady. She still has much to learn, particularly when it comes to speaking properly.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, I don¡¯t mind.¡± Elise gently lifted the maid¡¯s chin with a finger, coaxing her to meet her gaze. Her voice softened as she added, ¡°You don¡¯t need to excuse yourself. You¡¯ve done nothing wrong. You gave your name when asked, that was enough. Willow, as you called yourself, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the maid answered, her voice barely steady.


    ¡°An odd name. Is there a reason behind it?¡±


    ¡°There is, my lady, but I fear it might bore you,¡± Willow replied hesitantly.


    ¡°Speak. I wish to hear it.¡±


    Willow drew a breath, steadying herself to reclaim her composure. ¡°I was born weak, my lady, my father had lost three before my birth, and so I remained his last hope. My mother grew sicker with each child, so an attempt for a fifth was not desired, for my father loved her much. The village healer claimed that I needed to be bathed in the shade of a willow every night, until I reached the age of six, cured of death. And so my father named me after the very tree that looked after me.¡±


    A lovely story, Elise thought. Though she cared little for superstition, she still had a heart for sincerity. The tale tugged at something within her, stirring an unexpected warmth. ¡°Willow, I will remember you, as I have the others. Take good care of my sister.¡±


    "Until ash, pass winter''s grace, when my blood runs dry, my lady,¡± Willow replied earnestly.


    Elise nodded. ¡°The two of you will remain out here. I wish to be alone with my sister.¡± And without awaiting a reply, she re-entered the room.


    Her twin, like herself, valued modesty, a trait reflected in the simplicity of the room. It held only the essentials, functional furnishings devoid of extravagance or ostentation. To the right stood a large, but simple bed, her sister nestled beneath a thick blanket, sleeping soundly on the soft mattress. Beside the bed sat a small table for personal items, while a study desk was neatly positioned by the window in front of Elise, where natural light could best illuminate. On the left, multiple shelves lined the wall, sparsely filled, and near the center of the room, slightly off to the left, stood a round table designated for social matters.


    Elise moved quietly across the room and perched on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on her sister. She watched Frey¡¯s sleeping form with a tenderness as if the moment could be stolen at any second, guilt twisting in Elise¡¯s gut. It was always like this, every time she looked at Frey, the same tight knot of shame tightened in her chest.


    Frey was timid, a quiet thing who fidgeted, stumbled over her own words, and more often than not, let others dictate her desires. But that hadn¡¯t always been her way. No, Frey had once been so full of light, a sharp and vibrant soul who could spark with laughter. When had that changed?


    Elise knew the answer all too well. It had started the moment she herself begun to change. The golden child. The title, so unwarranted, bestowed upon her by their parents, partly because of her eyes. She was always the one who shone, the one whose every action seemed to come effortlessly. The product of wisdom and confidence that belied her years, gained not only through time but by the experiences of a life lived before. She could not share this fact with Frey, could never tell her the truth, that she was not the perfect daughter they thought her to be, that she was not a sister to be envied. It would only make things worse.


    It had been so easy for Elise to play her part. The praise came naturally, expected almost, while Frey faded further into the background, her own brilliance dimming with each passing year. How could she not feel inferior? Elise could see it in the way Frey¡¯s shoulders hunched, in the hesitant steps she took, in the way her voice trembled with uncertainty. With each mistake, the comparisons between them grew more pronounced, and her slow comprehension worsened, not because of any fault of her own, but due to a lack of encouragement in an environment that never positively reinforced her learning. A lapse in etiquette, poor judgment, a failed test, Frey would receive nothing but a pointed finger toward her twin sister, how Elise had done it better, how she needed to try harder because her efforts were never enough.


    Elise had unexpectedly set an unrealistic standard, and their parents had unquestioningly accepted it. And so, Frey¡¯s silent struggle began. Time stifled her confidence, choked her spirit, and made every lesson feel so much harder than they were. A toxic cycle of self-doubt that Frey has to endure for so long as her twin lives. Elise knew it, and yet she felt powerless to stop it. She saw how it had silenced her sister, how it had forced Frey into a shadowed existence, living in the reflection of a life Elise had never asked for.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She reached out, brushing her fingers through Frey¡¯s dark brown hair. It was strange, how much Frey looked exactly like the version of herself from the life before. It stirred something sharp in Elise¡¯s chest, jealousy, yes, but also a crushing wave of shame. Had she stolen Frey¡¯s light? Her chance at a life of her own? If Frey had been born alone, and not as a twin, would she have been given the name Elise instead? Would she have been happier? Would she have felt more loved? The sole precious daughter of Taudi?


    Elise loved her sister. And that was exactly why it hurt so much. Frey stirred in her sleep, a soft groan slipping past her lips as she pulled the blanket tighter, seeking warmth and comfort, unaware of the turmoil in her sister¡¯s heart.


    Elise¡¯s hand lingered on Frey¡¯s cheek, her fingers tracing the soft skin as she fought the discomforting ache of rumination. If Frey had been born alone, would she have been better off? The question came again. The same question that haunted Elise all day: Would the future repeat itself? Would Frey¡¯s path be sealed in the same way hers had been? Was it already too late for them both?


    Maybe the reason she had come back, the reason she had become the twin of a girl who looked so much like her past self, was to ensure this girl would never know loss. Was there a better revenge than to protect her former self from a future tragedy? To make sure, at the very least, that the girl she had already taken so much from wouldn¡¯t lose anything more?


    Or was she just being delusional again, dreaming, lying to herself to ease the guilt of her past? Convincing herself that she could control events that had always been beyond her reach? To do good deeds now, simply to justify ignoring the mistakes of her past?


    ¡°I will protect you,¡± Elise whispered. ¡°As I protected myself. I will spare you from my existence. You will not experience the same pain I did, I swear on it.¡±


    ¡°Elise?¡± Frey stirred with a soft groan, slowly waking. ¡°What did you say? When did you get here?¡±


    ¡°I just came. Was about to wake you up,¡± Elise smiled. ¡°You beat me to it.¡±


    Frey yawned, her movements sluggish and her eyes heavy with the haze of half-sleep. ¡°I''m sorry. Shouldn''t have slept. You always visit me at this time, I should''ve stayed up. Studied instead.¡±


    ¡°Did you not get enough sleep?¡±


    ¡°Not really. Nightmares again¡­ I''m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Why didn''t you call for me if you had nightmares?¡±


    ¡°Didn''t want to bother you.¡±


    ¡°Silly girl,¡± Elise said, wiping Frey''s cheek and brushing away the remnants of her basal tears. ¡°Who do you take me for? It bothers me more that you don''t call for me in distress.¡±


    ¡°You know, you sound like mother sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Do I? She''s my exemplar. Is it weird I sound like her?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°You know what I find weird though. Your personal maid. Apparently mother and kishe already knows about your request, but you have yet to inform me?¡±


    ¡°Ahhh¡­.¡± Frey paused, a flush of sudden embarrassment. ¡°I''m sorry.¡±


    ¡°What are you apologizing for? Quit it. You''re not in trouble, I''m not looking for an excuse. Just curious as to why you didn''t mention such an important decision.¡±


    ¡°I didn''t want to disappoint you.¡±


    ¡°What''s there to be disappointed about? All ladies need a maid eventually. You got yours early. This is a key moment for you. I just wish you''d have allowed me to congratulate you beforehand.¡±


    ¡°But we''re not adults yet. I was told only improper ladies get theirs before adulthood. For bad behavior. Sometimes worse.¡±


    ¡°It''s not that serious Frey. It honestly doesn''t matter when a maid arrives. The custom states after adulthood purely out of tradition, not practicality.¡±


    ¡°But is tradition not why we do everything?¡±


    ¡°I guess so. But the issue of maids is even less important among our many customs. Don''t mind it. I mean, I technically also have a maid, it just isn''t formal. You could have done the same.¡±


    ¡°I know, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But what?¡±


    ¡°It''s just¡­ hard. Calling for someone every time. Telling people what to do. I don''t like it.¡±


    ¡°So you think having a dedicated maid will help with this issue?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Frey answered timidly. ¡°Bu-but I know that''s not a good enough reason.¡±


    ¡°What reason did you give to mother?¡±


    ¡°I, didn''t. I mean she did ask, but, I¡­ couldn''t give one. I didn''t think she''d approve.¡±


    Elise chuckled, lightly.


    ¡°It''s not funny Elise,¡± Frey voiced with unease.


    ¡°I''m not laughing at you dummy. It''s because you actually asked for something for once, that''s probably why mother approved. She loves you, you know that right?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know¡­ I don''t see it.¡±


    ¡°You''re actually being honest with me for once? Don''t tell me you''re finally starting to grow again?¡± Elise said with a brightening grin.


    ¡°I''m not a plant Elise. Don''t tease me too much, it''s embarrassing.¡±


    ¡°Give mother some time. She has difficulty showing care. Her love comes in less obvious ways.¡±


    Frey averted her gaze, ¡°But she treats you differently, doesn''t she?¡±


    ¡°She treats me the same. I''m not more favored than you are.¡±


    ¡°But she calls you more.¡±


    ¡°She does, but merely for work, I assist with the castle, but that doesn''t mean I''m better. I simply got nothing more to learn from the books, while you, sweet one, still have to study. You''ll be called to assist with the management sooner or later. Frey, listen to me, I want your eyes back here not towards the shelves. You''re the more delicate of us, it''s why everyone treats you with more care, it''s not because they dislike you, or avoid you. You exaggerate too much in that little mind of yours. I can see that.¡±


    ¡°You think so? That I''m just imagining all this?¡±


    ¡°You may not know it Frey but you''re the better pair, just a little too much fear in you to thrive. Don''t be like me, I might look pretty but I''m not lucky.¡±


    ¡°But I want to be like you.¡±


    Elise placed a hand on her chest, her golden eyes catching the faint remnants of light lingering in the room. The sun struggling to pierce through the thick curtains shrouding the window. ¡°Would being like me make you happier?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°Then the first step is to get rid of those assumptions of yours. We''re family, do not assume the worst out of your own blood, you can save that for our vassals. And, we need to boost this confidence of yours. How does that sound? Doable?¡±


    ¡°I guess. I just don''t want to disappoint. You think getting a maid was a good idea?¡±


    ¡°As I said, it''s not serious. We''ll be adults by the end of next winter anyways. You don''t even need a reason, nor give one. I know you have an issue talking to the servants. No matter how many times I remind you that they''re peasants, you still respect their age. Personally, about this maid thing, I think this is good. Once you are comfortable with the fresh maid, I''m sure it''ll greatly help your ability to seek more aid. It would get you used to ordering someone around. And you need a friend, a proper friend. Even better someone your own age.¡±


    ¡°Are we not friends Elise?¡±


    ¡°You need more than one. Many more than one. I can''t always be around when you need me.¡±


    ¡°Are you going somewhere?¡±


    ¡°No. At least not for now. But when we become adults, don''t you think the idea of marriage might separate us? Or maybe other responsibilities might require us to journey a few days away.¡±


    ¡°I don''t like that. Can''t we just stay together?¡±


    ¡°I don''t like it either Frey. But life isn''t about our wants.¡± Elise leaned in closer, taking her sister¡¯s hand in her own, gently caressing it. ¡°Do you wish to talk about your nightmare?¡±


    ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°Was this the same one?¡±


    ¡°No. I don''t know. Can''t really make sense of it. Just scared. Wake up in a sweat.¡±


    ¡°Same monsters? You can sleep with the lanterns on if that helps.¡±


    ¡°I want to get better. I think I''m sick.¡±


    ¡°You don''t have to get better. You''re fine as you are.¡±


    Frey turned away, her expression quietly wavering.


    ¡°It''s okay,¡± Elise reassured. ¡°We don''t have to fix it now. They go away on their own as you get older. I get nightmares too you know.¡±


    ¡°You do? But you never said anything about them.¡±


    ¡°I just don''t talk about them. But don''t get the wrong idea. It doesn''t make me any better by not talking about them. If anything, I''m worse than you by not opening up.¡±


    ¡°What are your nightmares like?¡±


    ¡°Mine? A long road.¡±


    ¡°That doesn''t sound scary.¡±


    ¡°Mines a long dark road, no one around for kilons, I search and search but I''m always on my own.¡±


    ¡°No one ever?¡±


    ¡°I find people once in a while, sometimes many. But they''re not the people I''m looking for.¡±


    ¡°But you just said there''s no one around no matter how hard you search?¡±


    ¡°My nightmares don''t make much sense either Frey. Guess we''re the same. Twins right?¡±


    ¡°Who are you looking for?¡±


    ¡°You,¡± Elise smiled softly, leaning in closer to embrace her dear sister. ¡°I don''t get nightmares as often as I used to. Yours will go away too.¡±


    ¡°On their own?¡±


    ¡°Yes, on their own. Now get up,¡± Elise said, her tone spiking, shifting the mood. ¡°We''re going. And I can''t believe you slept with your day dress on.¡±


    ¡°Going? What do you mean? Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°You stay in your room all day if not required. We''re going outside.¡±


    ¡°Doing what?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know. We''ll figure it out. Take a stroll on the castle walls if I wish, you need the exercise anyways. Hurry, get up.¡±


    Frey resigned herself, unable to oppose her sister''s desires. ¡°Yes, Elise¡­¡±

 Chapter 5 - Negotiated Deal

    Elise strode down the corridor, Quinn just ahead of her, leading the way as always. Eventually, the sight of a grand door, flanked by two servants and a solitary guard came within reach, their destination.


    The guard stood with relaxed confidence, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wore no armor, just a well-tailored tunic and boots, as though battle were a distant thought. The lines on his face crisscrossed like ancient maps, and his perpetually amused expression made him seem both ageless and impossibly old. As Elise approached, all three bowed in unison.


    ¡°Good evening, Lady Kenji,¡± the guard said, his voice warm and roughened by years of use, while his smile deepened the creases around his eyes. Somehow, every time she saw him, he always managed to look two decades older than his actual age. ¡°It¡¯s been a few days since we last crossed paths.¡±


    ¡°Keal,¡± Elise replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. ¡°How many times must I remind you to address me properly? My youth is no excuse for your familiarity.¡±


    Keal¡¯s smirked. ¡°Ah, but my blood, thinned by time as it may be, still grants me the privileges of my name."


    "Privilege and etiquette are two different things Keal."


    "And is laxed etiquette with excusable assumption not one of my privileges?"


    "Depends on the excuse."


    "Well, for one, I could say that for old times¡¯ sake, as a fool who watched you stumble through your first steps as a tyke, will you not indulge me? My show of affection, a slight adjustment in name. It''s not like I''m going around calling you false gold, or deceitful dove am I?¡±


    Elise narrowed her eyes, though the corner of her lips twitched in amusement. ¡°I wouldn''t mind earning the title false gold, but enough of that. Hearing you speak with such decorum makes my skin crawl. You¡¯re free to speak as you please, so long as you don¡¯t embarrass me in public.¡±


    Keal¡¯s grin widened as he dismissed her words with a wave. ¡°Me? Embarrass you? I don¡¯t even attend any prim waddler parties. How could I cause you shame without gracing them with my presence?¡±


    ¡°I don''t see why you avoid them so much. I heard you even convinced my father to leave you behind when he was summoned to the courts. Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s time you brought some pride to your name? We are all Kenjis here.¡±


    ¡°And what pride would I earn in a room stuffed with powdered aristocrats and self-important officials? They bore me to death, and I lack the eyes to appreciate their lifestyle. Aye, it may stain my name, but I find far more joy drinking with the lower men. Reputation is a coin I care little for, my lady,¡± he declared proudly.


    ¡°My, such bold words,¡± Elise replied playfully, her tone smooth as silk. ¡°I may not know how to answer that, but I suspect your wife might.¡±


    His smug grin faltered. ¡°Wha¡ªwhat do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, gesturing with a deliberate elegance that mirrored the courts he claimed to disdain, ¡°I hear your dear wife sent a letter of inquiry. She was quite concerned about your health and... actions. After all, the responsible father that you are hasn¡¯t seen fit to send word home.¡± The mockery in her voice was unmistakable, each word a needle piercing his confidence. ¡°And as you know, your antics have been wearing on my mother¡¯s patience. I¡¯m afraid your wife might hang you, good sir.¡±


    ¡°Hang me?¡± His voice cracked. ¡°Wait, are you saying the madam already replied?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And? What did the letter say?¡±


    She grinned, enjoying his growing discomfort. ¡°Can¡¯t say. Didn¡¯t read it. But judging by the sour look on her face while she wrote, I wouldn¡¯t hold out much hope for your wife''s clemency.¡±


    ¡°Bu¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t just me. Your father and I were together¡ªwith the others. Why am I the only one getting in trouble?¡±


    ¡°Who said it was only you? This morning was the last straw. Father¡¯s been banned from drinking until the guests arrive, and the household guards involved in your little escapade are training themselves half to death in the yard. Compared to them, I¡¯d say you got off rather lightly. Just one letter home. To your dearest love.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t even that bad. We just let loose in the city after a long hunt. What¡¯s so terrible about that?¡±


    ¡°Why are you trying to convince me?¡± Elise folded her arms. ¡°Talk to my mother.¡±


    ¡°Are you mad? How could I possibly talk to her? She¡¯s a lady of Wa, a gaze could kill me.¡±


    ¡°Then, by your reasoning, I, too, am a daughter of Wa.¡± Her eyes narrowed, glinting with mischief. ¡°Shall I kill you with my gaze?¡±


    ¡°Well, no, but¡ª¡± He stopped, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Look, could you at least ask your mother what was in the letter? Do me a favor?¡±


    ¡°And why would I do that?¡± Elise tilted her head, feigning innocence. ¡°So you can find out how you¡¯ll die when you get home? When was the last time you''ve seen your family anyways?¡±


    ¡°Seven months, I think,¡± he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ you deserve this. You can¡¯t even use the excuse of duty to save yourself. All you¡¯ve done lately is skulk around the castle like it¡¯s your own pigpen.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s an infestation issue,¡± he said defensively, straightening up. ¡°I¡¯m sure my wife will understand how difficult it¡¯s been for me to visit. My duties to the people simply prevent me.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°What do you think? Does that sound convincing?¡±


    She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. ¡°It might¡¯ve, if my mother hadn¡¯t already written to your wife. Oh, I''m certain she made sure to include all your heroic deeds. Let¡¯s see...¡± Elise raised a finger for each offense, ticking them off one by one. ¡°Slaying barrels of wine in Kasava. Protecting the city from disorder by horse racing half-wasted with my father. Damaging property. Guarding my father¡¯s office from grave threats like cold tea and an excess of desserts. And, of course, your infamous ability to instruct soldiers during training while snoring on the castle walls. Truly, your wife must be brimming with pride.¡±


    "I thought a certain someone said she didn''t read the damn letter."


    "Well this certain someone is quite good at guessing my good sir.¡±


    Keal¡¯s face drained of color. ¡°Could you¡­ could you send a letter of your own? Put in a good word for me?¡±


    ¡°You want me to contradict my own mother? Do I look suicidal to you?¡±


    Keal winced, his voice dropping to a murmur. ¡°At least speak to her, then? Please?¡±


    ¡°No. Do you think it¡¯s easy for me to talk with her? Especially on your behalf? There¡¯s no reward for me in that kind of misery.¡±


    Keal groaned and covered his face with both hands, his shoulders sagging. ¡°You tell me this just to watch me suffer, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t deny it¡¯s entertaining to see that smug face of yours crumble now and then. But no, that¡¯s not the reason. I just thought it¡¯d be polite to warn you before you¡¯re strung up by your beloved, with no time to prepare. As one might even say, despair is most potent in an execution when dread has been left to fester in the isolation of a cell.¡±


    "Such harsh words are hardly what I¡¯d expect from a young, well-behaved lady,¡± he said with mocking emphasis. ¡°You''re one step closer to earning the title of false gold. Tell me, where do they teach girls these things?"


    "I didn''t realize words of caution were considered harsh now. It seems you''ve misunderstood my intention, I was simply being considerate about your situation."


    ¡°How thoughtful of you¡­¡± Keal muttered bitterly, his words saturated with sarcasm.


    Elise finally veered her gaze toward the closed door, her demeanor shifting. ¡°Is my father in there?¡±


    Keal blinked, momentarily shaken from his morbid thoughts. ¡°Yes. He¡¯s been in there since midday. Hasn¡¯t even stepped out once.¡±


    ¡°Not even for a break?¡±


    ¡°Not once,¡± Keal replied, his voice distant as his imagination conjured increasingly dramatic versions of his untimely demise.


    Elise nodded, then turned to Quinn. ¡°Wait here.¡±


    Quinn bowed silently in acknowledgment.


    Elise approached the door, her hand hovering over the handle, yet she hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. A cold shiver traced its way up her spine, an old fear suddenly stirring. Why now? Why this unease, after all this time? She hadn¡¯t felt it in months, and had convinced herself it had disappeared entirely. But the moment she laid eyes on the door, the sensation returned, sharp and familiar.


    It reminded her of a time long past, when her memories first came rushing back, raw and overwhelming. Back then, she had been too afraid to even look her father in the eye. Fear had choked her voice, crippled her actions. But as the years went by, the courage had slowly returned, piece by piece, as she realized the truth, that this man, though bearing the same face, was not the father she had once known.


    The man before her now was nothing like the one from her past. He was affectionate, tender, even cheerful, qualities that had once been incomprehensible to her. He watched over her with genuine concern, asked about her health, and expressed his worries. The old father had been cold, distant, never sparing a glance, let alone a word. She couldn¡¯t remember him ever raising his voice, much less curse or drink; this man, on the other hand, would gladly insult the sun if it so much as irritated him. They were polar opposites, as different as night and day. One was clearly more caring, more alive, but Elise would be lying if she said she never missed the old one. Despite the distance between them, she had loved him, accepted him for who he was, a bad father. Perhaps that was why accepting this new version felt like an impossible betrayal. She was stuck in the past.


    Yet no matter how different he was now, the resemblance, his face, his eyes, brought her old fears back to life. It wasn¡¯t as intense as before, the nervousness, the icy pangs of dread, had faded over time. But every so often, they would return, unpredictable and unwelcome. It was as if the old wounds had never quite healed. Speaking her mind, voicing her desires, these were things she could never do with the old man. No... this one was different, she told herself. She had to believe it. It had to be possible now. She could speak, ask for what she wanted, claim some measure of freedom for herself. Because if she couldn¡¯t, if she remained trapped behind these walls, stuck in this new version of her life, this prison of dreams, then what was the point? Her world would burn down, just as it had before.


    ¡°My lady?¡± Quinn asked, a trace of worry played across her face. ¡°Is something the matter?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing,¡± Elise replied, her voice firmer than she felt. She turned the handle and stepped inside, determined to push away the doubts swirling in her mind.


    The office was brightly lit, with lanterns and oil lamps positioned strategically throughout the space. Her father sat behind a desk of dark, polished wood, its surface cluttered with parchments, maps, and the tools of governance: a wax seal, ledgers, and a quill balanced precariously on the edge of an inkpot. When his gaze rose to meet hers, the weariness carved into his face added a gravity that hadn¡¯t been there this morning. The cheerful father at breakfast was gone.


    Standing beside him was the head servant, a man whose age had not dulled the dignity he carried like armor. Long white hair fell to his shoulders, and his beard, neatly groomed, framed a face that seemed carved from stone. He offered her the barest nod, a silent acknowledgment of her presence.


    The air was a tame mix of leather, wax, and a faint spice that lingered like a memory. Elise hesitated at the entrance, the weight of her father¡¯s gaze pulling at her as though it could unravel her composure. Nervousness crept in again, the stiffness in his light brown eyes stirring memories of her lost father. A daunting sense.


    ¡°Come closer,¡± he said, his voice unintentionally a command wrapped in the softness of kinship.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She stepped forward, her shoes silent against the woven rug. Every movement felt magnified, almost as though the room itself conspired with him to measure her worth. The high-backed chair opposite his desk awaited, like a judgment seat, but she chose to remain standing.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I¡¯m interrupting, father,¡± she said, bowing her head just enough to convey respect without submission. Her voice was steady, though it carried the fragility of someone crossing a frozen lake, uncertain if the surface would hold.


    His gaze softened, though only slightly, like a blade sheathed but not discarded. His fingers lingered over the wax seal, poised to finalize yet another decision. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be here without reason. I heard the faintest trails of your voice through the door. I¡¯ve been expecting you for some time, though I suspect Keal¡¯s meddling ensured I was kept waiting.¡±


    "Keal makes for good company father."


    "He is a coarse man, my daughter, and his proximity would do nothing but tarnish your dignity. The mere thought of you two sharing any common ground troubles me deeply."


    "I was under the impression that you and Keal had much in common, more like brothers than mere friends. But you''ve always described yourself as noble, upright, and principled, someone whose company would only elevate my character. Has this view of yourself changed recently father?"


    The head servant stifled a grin, while her father nearly choked in response.


    "My dear, while it''s true that I may have much in common, it''s often the small differences that can make the greatest impact," he said cautiously.


    Elise¡¯s gaze swept across the room, finally settling on a small incense pot perched on a distant table near the shelves. The faint tendrils of smoke curled upward, carrying with them a scent she couldn¡¯t quite place. It tugged at her curiosity, grounding her in the moment. ¡°What is this scent? I don¡¯t think I recognize it.¡±


    Her father barely glanced up, his attention flickering toward the incense as he pressed his seal into the wax with practiced boredom. ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you. I don¡¯t remember the name.¡± He leaned back in his chair, his tone indifferent but tinged with the faintest note of interest. ¡°These came from Licia, a gift. She¡¯s been fixated with them recently. Apparently, they¡¯ve become quite popular of late, though I don¡¯t see why. Sure, they smell pleasant enough, but I hear they¡¯re absurdly expensive, even for the likes of us.¡±


    Elise tilted her head. ¡°How expensive?¡±


    Her father shrugged. ¡°Haven¡¯t a clue. You¡¯d need to ask Licia.¡± Reaching over a clutter of ledgers, he retrieved a half-full teacup from a small tray at the edge of his desk. The amber liquid swirled as he took a slow sip.


    ¡°They are called cloves my lady,¡± the head servant chimed in. ¡°A small box of those incense sticks is worth eleven gold, if I¡¯m not mistaken.¡±


    Her father froze mid-sip, his eyes widening in disbelief before he nearly choked on the tea. A fit of harsh coughing followed, his hand gripping the desk for support. ¡°Eleven gold? For a small box?¡± he rasped. "Ho-how small are we talking?"


    "I can''t say with certainty but I think no more than a handful my lord."


    ¡°A handful?! Who in their right mind would spend that kind of money on glorified sticks of smoke?¡±


    ¡°Kishi, apparently,¡± Elise replied with a knowing look. ¡°But she hates wasting money, so I doubt she bought them without reason.¡±


    Her father sighed, leaning heavily into the back of his chair. The wood creaked under the weight of his frustration. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true. Knowing Licia, this could be another trade opportunity. Forgot it, I will not give this another thought. You girls and your emphasis on smells, it''ll never make sense to me. But what brings you here my child? I can¡¯t even remember the last time you set foot in my office.¡± He placed the teacup aside with deliberate care, his hands clasping in front of him as his gaze pinned her in place.


    Elise drew a deep breath, her pulse steadying. The last of her nervousness fell away, burned to ash by a resolve forged in harsher fires. She had survived too much, lived through so many years that she was arguably older than her father ever was. But to think that all this hardened experience could be reduced to nothing more than a fearful girl purely because this man held the same appearance as the old. It felt disgraceful. A shame on her name.


    This wasn¡¯t the same man, and she wasn¡¯t the same girl.


    This fear of the past needed to be dragged out of her and executed on a stump, just like all the other fears she had once held. The only reason it had lingered, unlike the others eradicated in her previous life, was because it had become irrelevant after her father¡¯s death.


    ¡°Soya¡¯s rights. I want your permission Father,¡± Elise said, her tone dead serious, with no hesitation.


    Her father¡¯s gaze flickered briefly, a slow blankness overtaking his features before surprise and confusion set in. He turned to the head servant, a silent question in his eyes. The servant¡¯s response was subtle, a slight, imperceptible shift in posture, the barest tilt of his head, before he took a deliberate step away from his lord, signaling he wanted no involvement in this matter.


    ¡°But... why, my daughter?¡± her father asked, his voice cautious, almost strained. ¡°This is quite a sudden request. You¡¯ve shown no interest in the blade before. Why now?¡±


    ¡°Do I not have the right?¡± Elise pressed.


    Her father paused, looking at her for a long moment, the weight of his gaze softening, but the uncertainty still in his voice. ¡°Yes, but why? I don¡¯t understand why you would willingly take on such hardship. It¡¯s not like you.¡±


    ¡°I figured it would be good to know how to protect myself.¡±


    He shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. ¡°Elise, you are safe here. Behind these walls, there is no danger. There is no circumstances in which I would endanger my own daughter. It would be improper, and a waste of effort, for you to learn this.¡± His voice grew firmer, though his eyes searched hers for some sign of her reasoning. ¡°Look at the high nobles. Look at them and tell me, do their daughters learn the blade?¡±


    ¡°Have we ever followed the high nobles as examples father? Why bring them up now? And yes, there may be a stigma, but it doesn¡¯t apply to me, a lesser daughter.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m against this. You think this is a simple matter? Do you believe learning the blade is some child¡¯s play? It is harsh, unforgiving. It takes years of blood, sweat, and your hands will scar. And for what? It is useless to you.¡±


    ¡°I ask for your permission only out of formality, father.¡± Elise¡¯s tone softened, but the strength in her words never wavered. ¡°The Blades of Soya is law written in stone. And I¡¯m fully aware of the hardships required to learn, but I ask that you support my decision.¡±


    For the first time in her life and the past, she went against his wishes. A step toward independence.


    ¡°Are you standing against me, my daughter?¡± He voiced with disbelief. ¡°What has gotten into you? Where has this sudden... urge come from?¡±


    ¡°Father, I do not wish to follow the courts, nor those higher than ourselves. Those women may feel disgust for the art of harm, but I find beauty in it. This desire comes from the fact that I do not simply want to be just a flower.¡± She bowed deeply. ¡°I beseech you Father, grant me your support. I will learn regardless, for it is my right. But if you see that I have no talent for it, or if I find it too harsh on my body, I will stop. I only ask for your blessing.¡±


    Her father exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple, weighing his decision.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said at last. ¡°Only because this is the first time you¡¯ve ever asked something of me that wasn¡¯t out of courtesy. But if it becomes too much, will you stop?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    His gaze sharpened. ¡°And your mother? Has she said anything about this?"


    ¡°I wanted your support first. So not yet.¡±


    ¡°Wise¡­¡± He gestured to the servant, who hastily snatched up the teapot and refilled his cup. Steam curled into the air, vanishing as quickly as it formed. ¡°Is that all? If so, you may leave. I am still not happy with this decision and need time to reflect. But you''ll see me come around eventually. I''d sooner be happier with a blade in your hands than I was your first words. But not now, my daughter. You worry me, I cannot even imagine a single wound on your body, even superficial.¡±


    ¡°There is one more thing, father.¡±


    He paused, cup halfway to his lips. ¡°Go on.¡±


    She took a breath. ¡°I do not wish to marry. I ask that you allow me to prove my worth instead.¡±


    The words had barely left her mouth when her father choked, sputtering tea across the desk. He coughed violently, eyes wide, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something closer to horror.


    ¡°What did you just say?¡± he rasped, almost yelling.


    ¡°Allow me to go outside.¡±


    ¡°Wh-wha¡ªno! Absolutely not. I will never allow this.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t even chosen candidates yet, and you¡¯re already declaring you won¡¯t marry? And now you wish to leave? To prove your worth? What madness is this?¡±


    ¡°Is it madness to desire independence? To earn enough standing to choose my own spouse?¡± Of course, she had no intention of marrying at all. But it was a convenient excuse to reject anyone who sought her hand.


    His fingers tightened around the porcelain cup. ¡°Have I not provided you with everything you need here? Is there something you¡¯re unhappy with? And if this is about future candidates, then I will even let you choose. There is absolutely no reason for you to leave.¡±


    ¡°I simply want to explore, outside, not in dreams, or in books, but beyond these walls, like kishe. To earn the same freedoms.¡±


    His lip curled. ¡°Did Licia pollute your mind? Is that it? She is a peasant, she has rights that you do not. A peasant¡¯s life is not yours to covet. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there? You are my daughter, my precious daughter.¡± He exhaled, trying to rein in his temper. ¡°Is this why you wanted to learn the blade? You don¡¯t understand. You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like outside these walls. It is harsh, nothing like whatever fantasy you¡¯ve conjured in your head. You would have to work, stain your hands, do everything yourself. Here, you have servants who tend to your every need. Out there, you lack the skill, the willpower to survive, and you don¡¯t need to. You are a noble. You shouldn¡¯t even have to lift a hand. Your duties are ledgers and management, leadership with your words, not out there.¡±


    ¡°If I lack the skills to survive, I will learn father.¡±


    His knuckles whitened. ¡°What would your mother say? Listen to yourself.¡±


    ¡°I will convince her, once I convince you.¡±


    ¡°You will do no such thing.¡± His voice was iron now. ¡°I will not change my mind on this matter. You will learn the blade, and that is the end of your desire, you will push no further. I will find you an instructor, and you will have all the equipment and time you need. But this idea of independence is out of the question. The only girls who need independence are peasants and those from fallen houses, I will not let you suffer such shame. One day, you will understand that I do this for your own good Elise, out of the worry of my own heart.¡±


    [Chant of Conquest: In effect].


    "Father, I wish to follow a different path. If I stay here, I''ll be miserable. If I marry, it''ll be worse."


    "Then don¡¯t marry. Stay as you are. This house has enough room and wealth to shelter you for a lifetime."


    For her father to say such a thing, it was unthinkable. An unproven daughter, to remain unmarried, would bring shame upon him, upon her mother. That he would rather see her caged, even if it meant breaking her spirit, than allow her to step outside, her hands clenched at her sides, irritation burning beneath her skin.


    It might''ve been an expression of love, how far he was willing to go to keep her safe, how much shame he was willing to bear for a daughter who could neither marry nor prove her worth. Yes, he meant it out of love. She knew that.


    But all she saw was the same twisted love one gives a beloved bird, clipping its wings, so that it may never fly away.


    Both genders had their birthrights, roles they were bound to fulfill simply by being born. For a noblewoman, that was marriage. The only way to escape it was to prove her worth, without that, she was nothing more than a cripple in the eyes of society.


    So her father truly prefers a crippled daughter over one who could walk? Would her past father have done the same?


    "And can you look me in the eye and tell me that this is truly what I want? To be caged here? That this would make me happy?" she said very calmly.


    Her father sighed, his expression heavy with concern. "You¡¯ve always been obedient, perfect, even. You learned everything you were taught, did everything you were told. Never once have you strayed, or caused trouble. Why this change? Why now? Help me understand."


    "You¡¯re not listening, father. My worth, let me earn it. If I fail, if I find myself in over my head, I will return. And I will never speak of this again."


    "That isn¡¯t a good enough reason. I want a proper one. I can¡¯t let you leave simply because you wish to. If the world catered to our wants, we would all live like kings."


    "And what reason could I possibly give, having lived behind these walls my entire life? If you won¡¯t even let me try?"


    "These are dangerous times. The roads are treacherous. You would sooner die out there than here. A man can be cut down before he knows to blink. Even veterans of many hunts die all the same to the wild."


    "If it''s the infection you fear, I will stay near the urbanscape and only venture out when times are safer."


    "Daughter¡ª" His voice softened. "I do this out of love. Can you not see that? Are you not listening to me? I worry for you."


    "There is a fine line between excessive concern and responsibility father. A bird would sooner starve frozen by winter if its parents never let it fly, and I do not see my wings here. Would you have stopped me when I took my first steps? Or did you hold my hand as I learned to walk? Did you prevent me from reading? Or did you allow me to learn of the world through books? Why stop me now? Before I even have the chance to see if the world outside is truly what I want? Would you mark the ground here to keep me? Or will you let me leave with your guidance, so that you may see the daughter you raised so well run, under your watchful eye?"


    Silence settled between them.


    For the first time, her father hesitated.


    Is the skill even working? Elise wondered, doubt creeping in. Chant of Conquest was a powerful persuasion skill, at least, according to the knowledge forced into her mind. But this was the first time she had used it. Maybe she should have tested it beforehand?


    Still, it was a skill she would rather not use unless necessary. It felt like pure manipulation. Unless¡­ her father¡¯s objection was simply that strong? Strong enough that not even this skill could bend him?


    Her father sat in silence, fingers drumming against his desk. His expression darkened, lips pressed thin, but true anger had yet to surface. That was something, at least. Then his gaze flicked to the head servant. ¡°Wilfred, help me out here.¡±


    The old man hesitated, staring at the floor. ¡°My lord, I am old, and my heart is weak.¡±


    Her father scoffed. ¡°Old fool, what good are you if you won¡¯t speak when I need you? You¡¯re my advisor, my right hand. So say something, answer her in my stead. Tell her how foolish this is.¡±


    Wilfred shifted uncomfortably. ¡°My lord, I fear my age has made me¡­ stale. As you know, I intend to retire soon.¡±


    Her father¡¯s patience snapped. ¡°What the hell are you saying? I told you to talk to her, not make excuses.¡±


    "Father..." Elise pressed, her voice devoid of warmth. ¡°I am not leaving as a mere traveler, but as a Kenji. That is my intention. I go with your authority, under your watch. My role outside will not be much different from within. Let me serve this house beyond these walls, as kishe does. I will never willingly put myself in danger. Let me have this chance.¡±


    Her father stared at her, lips pressed in a firm line, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled and relented. ¡°But I have a condition.¡±


    Elise straightened. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°Your mother must approve. If she allows it, I will speak with Licia and have her guide you outside. You will not go out unprepared. I will see to that. But if your mother refuses, this conversation is over.¡±


    Elise smiled. ¡°Done.¡±

 Chapter 6 - Theorycraft

    White hair. Gold eyes. A room steeped in silence, the air holding only the faintest trace of wax from scentless candles. Sunlight pressed against the closed window, bright but distant, casting sharp lines across the floor. For a long time there was nothing, no movement, no sound. Then, at last, the quiet stir of a page turning. Followed by another. A lone woman lay sprawled on her bed, a book open in her hands, her expression shifting from confusion to contemplation before settling into something unreadable. Beneath that mask though, something churned.


    She exhaled, pressing a hand to her eyes. When she lowered it, she turned another page. Then flipped back. Then forward again. Then back. Over and over, rereading the same lines in a cycle that led nowhere. The words blurred, meaning slipping through her fingers no matter how tightly she grasped. Eventually, she let the book fall from her hands, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in a pillow. A muffled sigh, drawn-out and heavy.


    And then, stillness.


    A knock at the door. Soft, polite.


    Elise bolted upright, a corpse revived. "Who is it?" she asked, voice quick, as if guilty.


    "It¡¯s me my lady," came a familiar reply. "The items you requested have arrived. Shall I bring them to your room now?"


    "The mana stones?"


    "Yes, my lady."


    "Then yes. Immediately."


    "Understood. I shall return shortly.¡±


    Elise dragged herself out of bed, sluggish and hollow-eyed, the leather-bound book clutched in one hand. Her bare feet slid across the wooden floor as she made her way to the center table, ignoring the slippers set neatly by her bedside. With a dull thud, she dropped the book onto an already precarious pile and forced herself to look away. She would not touch it again, at least, not for a while.


    It had consumed her all morning. ''The Lands Beyond the Ussari River'' a convoluted mess of personal accounts from adventurers and merchants, mythological fairy tales, and scraps of knowledge that seemed to contradict themselves as often as they enlightened. Even so, it wasn¡¯t the contents that unsettled her. It was the gaps. The things left unsaid.


    Ever since her conversation with her father two days ago, an idea had taken root in her mind, uninvited and relentless. At first, she had dismissed it, a passing jest, nothing more. But by next nightfall, it had gnawed at her, growing from idle curiosity to something sharper, something urgent. So she had gone to her family library, rifled through shelves, searched, read, and read some more, until a realization struck her like a mace to the ribs.


    Why had she never questioned this before? Had she been blind? Presumptuous? Too dogmatic in her thinking? Or was it something worse, arrogance, overconfidence, the kind that let her believe she already knew everything worth knowing?


    Perhaps it was all of these things. Or perhaps it was because, despite the subtle changes in her family and the world around her, the grand design of her life had remained eerily unchanged.


    Her homeland was the same. Her status was the same. The lesser lands of Lesh Taudi, the kingdom of Velanor, the rigid social structures that governed them, the very foundations of power, unchanged.


    Even her education was identical. She had been taught only what was necessary: etiquette, the intricate social hierarchies of her station, the land ownership laws of her kingdom. Everything else could be learned later, when adulthood came as she honed her administrative skills under her mother¡¯s guidance.


    And she had believed it. Accepted it without question. Convinced herself that whatever differences this life held would be minor in the grand scheme of things. She had been too focused on her immediate family, too anchored in routine to consider what lay beyond the borders of her homeland.


    Until now.


    Until her most recent resolve hardened into something undeniable.


    She would not repeat her past, to not repent.


    If one had to ask where it all began, the moment her suffering took root, the instant her innocence was torn away, Elise could name it without hesitation.


    The burning of Taudi. The fall of Bazeers Keep. The death of her father and brother. The separation from her mother.


    One event. One catalyst. A spark that had defined everything that followed, setting her on a path she neither chose nor wanted but had embraced nonetheless. With fury. With purpose. With the kind of resolve that carried her to the very day of her death.


    If one asked her to pinpoint the exact day when everything went wrong, she could do so without a moment¡¯s hesitation or doubt.


    The invasion of Velanor by the Holy State of Kinscar.


    That was the day. An event so deeply ingrained in her psyche that it became the foundation of her very being. To deny its existence would mean denying herself. And even if she somehow outgrew her pain, even if she shed beyond the person she was now, that day would remain, forever, the beginning of her story.


    A mere two days ago, when she finally resolved to end her tormented existence, she had awoken to an early morning like any other, paralyzed by indecision. And when that resolution came, the first thought in her mind had been this invasion. How to stop it. How to prevent it. How to make herself strong enough to fight alongside her father. Every plan she had made had been for this purpose alone. Convincing her father to let her prove her worth, to take up the blade once more, and to pursue the countless other dreams she had envisioned in preparation for this war.


    How many times had she dreamed of this in the old life? To be the hero of her own story. To prevent her own downfall.


    But what if it was all meaningless? What if someone told her that the invasion would never happen? That it couldn¡¯t happen?


    What would become of her resolve then?


    And what if that same person told her that the nation she had spent a lifetime hating, the enemy that had shaped her into what she was today, did not exist?


    The truth settled over her like a slow, creeping horror.


    The fact of the matter was, to Elise¡¯s great distress, the Holy State of Kinscar does not exist in this world. Not now, not ever.


    She was distressed in so many ways, none of which made any sense. In reality, she should have felt relief, comforted by the fact that the nightmare scenario she¡¯d feared could never happen. The spear could be laid down. She could look upon her family with a smile. This was a chance to live the very life she should have had. A noble girl, from birth, till death. No blade, no war, no endless training in the wild groves. No more dried beef eaten over a fire, forced to drink from a blood-dyed river that was her only source of water.


    But she couldn¡¯t. She just... couldn¡¯t. The past haunted her. Faces, too many faces, haunted her. Of those who had sacrificed everything, of those she had come to love, and of those who had died in her stead. Everything she had lived through, everything she had done, wouldn¡¯t let her go. Others might have laid down their swords, accepted their new lives, seeing it as a necessary shift from one extreme to another. But they were different. They could accept it, could make peace with that change in perspective. She couldn¡¯t. To her, it would feel like a betrayal. If she let go of the past, if she allowed herself to be content, it would be a lie. The years of pain, the sacrifices, everything would lose its meaning, even to herself.


    For what? To make peace with herself? To find contentment when she had witnessed so many others, with grander dreams, vanish in a pool of their own blood? To simply forget them? In a world where she alone carried the memory of their dreams, their hopes, their lives, would she let all of that slip away, swallowed by the emptiness of self-peace? There were so many who existed only in the quiet recesses of her mind, their faces, their names, haunting her with each breath she took. Could she really let go of it all for the sake of her own solace?


    There was a name for this, survivor¡¯s guilt. Elise couldn¡¯t claim to fully understand the weight of the term, but she knew shame.


    Her life as a noble had been taken from her, and it was a life she had no desire to reclaim. She didn¡¯t want it back. Her hand itched, her mind ached. She badly wanted to wield a blade.


    Elise exhaled sharply, her breath shaky as she fought for composure. A deep, heavy somberness settled over her, running her fingers against the book in front of her, the faint distraction of fingernails raking leather. She should have died back there, for her own sake. She hadn¡¯t asked for any of this. At least in that old world, even if no one had fully understood her pain, there had always been those who shared her experiences. She could have talked to them about the invasion, the aftermath, or literally anything, and there would have been someone who knew exactly what she was talking about. Even their mere presence was enough. They were there, same as her, someone... anyone.


    But here? She was condemned to a life of solitude, in every sense. She had been cursed with knowledge she could never speak of. To do so would invite madness in the eyes of others, they would call her insane and never regard her the same again. No friends, no comrades who had fought beside her in battles that no longer existed. Graves too distant to visit, because they had yet to be buried. Hell, she would even find comfort in an old tree under which she had once trained, she would travel halfway across the world just to sit beneath it again. To speak sweet words to it, for it had shared her strife, it had stood with her then, a witness to her life. But here, there was nothing, no soul in sight.


    So, what was she supposed to do now? Keep the resolve, to protect her family, her land, from a threat that no longer existed? Perhaps other threats might emerge, but what was she to do in the meantime? What was true, however, was that she could no longer remain confined. She was no longer someone who could be bound to just a noble''s life. So, the journey beyond awaited. The catalyst may be gone, but she had come to hate more than just the State of Kinscar in her later years.


    She sank into a chair with the weariness of someone who had just completed an exhausting exercise, resting her cheek against her palm as she studied the books before her. Naturally, one would be curious about what had replaced their archenemy. A nation didn¡¯t simply vanish without an equal replacement. And the answer? An entirely new race of people.


    When she first discovered that the State of Kinscar no longer existed, she had logically expected another state to take its place. An entire nation, along with its people, couldn¡¯t simply disappear, could it? That would be too drastic a change. She would have to question everything with suspicion when using her past memories as a reference going forward. Imagine her surprise when that was exactly the case.


    In Kinscar¡¯s place stood Sintra Minor. Not a human kingdom, not a successor state, but something entirely different. The lands beyond the Ussari were now home to the Qunnari, specifically a subset called the Bellissaries. She hadn¡¯t even known the race of iron had subsets, or if this was the only one. The books suggested the homanits of Sintra bore no particular hostility toward Velanor, beyond the expected seasonal raiding parties.


    The Ussari River served as a natural barrier, dividing Lesh Taudi¡¯s eastern border from Sintra Minor. The race of iron seems unwilling to cross it in force, at least not in large enough numbers to justify a war, whether out of pragmatism, disinterest, or internal strife, she could only guess. The books spoke often of clan wars and bitter infighting. Whatever the reasons, the river held. And as long as it did, the weapons trade thrived when one has Qunnari as neighbors.


    The door knocked again, pulling Elise from her thoughts.


    "It''s me again," came the familiar voice. "I have the stones you requested."


    "Wait," she ordered, rising from her chair. "I''m not properly dressed." She strode to the foot of her bed, slipping into her slippers and draping a dress coat over her chemise, the skirt brushing just past her knees. With a final glance to ensure modesty, she straightened. "You may come in."


    The door creaked open, and Quinn entered, a small wooden box cradled in both hands. She inclined her head in a brief bow before placing it carefully on the table, beside the stacked books.


    Elise studied her, sensing hesitation. "What is it?"


    "Nothing, my lady," Quinn said, though her tone dimly betrayed curiosity.


    Elise arched a brow. "You look like you have something to say. I hope I haven''t misjudged our friendship. I assumed we were close enough for you to speak freely, especially in private, where there are no prying eyes."


    Quinn averted her gaze for a moment before speaking. "You rarely make requests, if ever. So when you asked for these mana stones, small and insignificant as they are, I couldn''t help but wonder why." She lifted the lid of the box, plucking one of the stones between her fingers. It was a transparent silver, barely the size of a fingernail, faintly reminiscent of glass, with a pale bead of light flickering at its core. "You can''t do anything with these. The castle doesn''t even keep them in stock, I had to send someone to the city to get them. At best, they''re used for cheap jewelry, a child''s toy, or beast feed. At worst, they¡¯re worth less than dirt. These aren¡¯t even cut. If you need a new light source, I can fetch a brighter stone."


    "No, that would be wasteful, and potentially dangerous for what I intend to do with them. These will do fine."


    Quinn tilted her head, frowning. "Dangerous?"


    "Sit," Elise said, lowering herself into the chair at the opposite end of the table.


    Quinn hesitated, before complying, though unease flickered in her posture. Sitting at the same table as Elise carried implications, repercussions she was keenly aware of. It suggested a kind of equal footing, a position too precarious for a servant. Even with her aristocratic lineage, she remained far beneath Elise in status. To sit as her equal was a privilege. To assume it was a risk.


    "Quinn, I owe you an apology," Elise said, her voice measured but sincere. "For putting you in such a position, and for the sudden shift in mood. But I want us to have a serious conversation."


    "There is no need for you to apologize, my lady. But¡­ what is it you wish to discuss?"


    "How long have you served this house?"


    "Since my thirteenth winter," Quinn replied, reticence creeping into her tone. "I''ll see my twenty-first in service before this winter ends."


    Elise assessed her, noting the careful way she spoke, the modest dip of her head. "And in all those years, you''ve gathered more experience in your role than I''ve had years to live."


    "It is nothing worth praising my lady."


    Elise exhaled, half a sigh, half a quiet laugh. "It''s hard to take pride in your accomplishments when you view them as mere duty, isn''t it? But I think you''ve severely underestimated your value to this house, and to me."


    A flicker of something passed over Quinn¡¯s face, unreadable and fleeting. Then, a subdued smile. "When I speak to you, I sometimes feel as though I¡¯ve wasted time. That I¡¯ve grown too accustomed to my place, too settled to seek improvement. You are so... articulate, my lady. I often find myself at a loss for words."


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "You''ve been with me since I was a child, a baby," Elise continued, her voice softening. "My mother placed you in this role on a whim when the older servants bickered over rank. By sheer luck, you excelled. Since then I''ve never required anyone else. And now, though your position is unofficial, everyone knows you''re mine. No one dares burden you with tasks that would pull you away from me. But what I want to know, is whether you wish to remain in this service."


    Until now, Quinn had mostly avoided her gaze, eyes darting to the floor, the table, anywhere but Elise. But at those words, she lifted her head, her dark eyes locking onto Elise¡¯s for the first time that noon.


    "Now listen, before you say anything. I''m not demanding an answer, nor should you, if you don''t wish too. Even at your age, you remain unmarried. Girls younger often leave service to start families, others divide their time. To be a servant of the Taudi is a great honor, and I''m sure you''re never short of suitors. I just wonder, what are your goals?"


    "Are you¡­ asking me to be your personal maid?"


    Elise almost laughed, unable to hide the warmth in her smile. "Why do you sound so surprised? Everyone already knows my opinion of you. No one dares challenge your place. There was never any doubt about who my maid would be. But that doesn¡¯t matter if it isn¡¯t what you want."


    Quinn moved as if to rise, hands twitching toward the folds of her dress to steady herself for a bow. But before she could, Elise raised a hand, stopping her mid-motion.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that, Quinn. Again, we¡¯re alone.¡± A pause, measured and deliberate.  ¡°But if you truly wish to be my personal maid, understand that it will be nothing like what you¡¯ve been told. So listen carefully, hear my terms before you commit.¡±


    Quinn lowered herself back into the chair, nodding once. ¡°Speak... I will listen, my lady.¡±


    "I know the title itself implies as much, but let me make it unmistakably clear, I require absolute secrecy and loyalty. You will serve me and me alone. Even if my family questions you about what you''ve seen, you will not speak, no matter the consequence. I may ask you to take great risks, to carry out tasks without explanation, to act in ways that may seem senseless. Still, you must obey."


    Quinn¡¯s expression did not waver. ¡°You need not explain this. It is a given. I will do what is required, until ash.¡±


    Elise regarded her for a long moment, then shifted her tone. ¡°And your desires?¡±


    ¡°My desires?¡±


    ¡°There may be things you want that I cannot provide. I cannot promise to look after you, despite taking you as my maid.¡±


    ¡°You know of my desires?¡±


    ¡°I can only guess. Marriage, for instance, if that is something you wish. For the foreseeable future, I will demand your full attention. And by the time I allow you to seek a husband, you may have lost your flowering years. Many do not seek the old.¡±


    ¡°Oddly enough, my lady, union in trust has never been something I greatly desired. It always felt like an expectation, something I would eventually have to do, but no longer. I have many nephews. My bloodline will continue even without my contribution, and my parents do not pressure me. It is good to have the privilege of worth.¡±


    ¡°And your other desires?¡±


    ¡°Do I have others?¡± Quinn smiled gently. ¡°If I do, they are minor. Nothing outweighs my wish to remain by your side.¡± She paused, a slight nervousness. ¡°You may not realize it, but it is difficult to leave someone you have watched for so long. I have spent my entire adult life at your side. It would be painful to see another take my place. If not me, then someone else would serve you, and I do not think I would have the strength to bear that.¡±


    ¡°You''ve always given me the impression that nothing could break your act. I never imagined you had boundaries, let alone ones so¡­ territorial.¡±


    ¡°Do I seem so different in your eyes my lady?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I know anyone calmer than you. It would be nice to see Willow and my sister share such a bond one day.¡±


    Quinn¡¯s composure returned. ¡°I still do not understand why Madam agreed to take on such fresh blood. Many of the older servants whisper among themselves, their jealousy plain. They say a lady¡¯s maid is a position of immense importance, that it should not be given to a child, least of all one who does not yet grasp its significance.¡±


    ¡°Have there not been kings crowned in adolescence? They may not understand their role at first, but in time, they grow into it. All that is needed is a good teacher. And with the head maid guiding her, Willow will manage.¡±


    ¡°Madam is not one to break procedure so easily. To allow her daughter to take on such a maid is¡­ unusual. That they are of the same age, is that enough? If I had no one to serve, perhaps I too would feel as the others do.¡±


    Elise stared, thoughtful. ¡°I believe I understand my mother, at least, in part. Or perhaps this is only my assumption. I suspect her instinct in nurture took over, thinking that a naive little duck would fare best with a timid but growing silk. And I would agree. Willow may not suit someone like me, but for my sister? She is the perfect fit. They will learn the world together, and perhaps, in time, grow as close as kin.¡±


    Quinn sighed. ¡°Whenever you speak, I can¡¯t help but think about your age. You sound old. Some might think you''re putting on airs, but I know this is just how you are, and it perplexes me. If your words were written in letter, even the gifted wouldn''t guess your age. But if you exchanged enough letters, they¡¯d start making assumptions. Still, I''d have to guess as to where you get your knowledge. But that''s an entirely different matter."


    ¡°Old in a good or bad way?¡±


    ¡°Ever heard the folk tales about the Lying Hare? I distinctly remember an old man in that story, the one who warns the child about her actions. He comes off as pedantic, presumptuous, overbearing, and, dare I say, even verbose.¡±


    ¡°I suddenly have the urge to forget your answer.¡± With a dismissive flick of her hand, she pushed herself up from her chair. ¡°But enough of this. I¡¯ve said what I wanted.¡± She circled the table, stopping in front of Quinn, her gaze lowered. Reaching into the small wooden box, she plucked out a rough, faintly glowing stone and held it out. ¡°Now, it¡¯s time for a test.¡±


    Quinn frowned. ¡°A test?¡±


    ¡°Yes. For you. And while I know you¡¯ll do well, it¡¯s less about passing and more about understanding how things will be between us from now on, more or less...¡±


    Quinn eyed the transparent stone warily. ¡°What test could you possibly give that I haven¡¯t passed already?¡±


    Elise¡¯s lips curled in amusement. ¡°Secrecy.¡± Without hesitation, she tossed the stone into her mouth and swallowed.


    Quinn shot to her feet, her pulse spiking. ¡°My lady! That¡¯s dangerous! How could you¡ª¡±


    Elise firmly placed a finger against her maid¡¯s lips. ¡°Quiet,¡± she whispered. ¡°Unless you want someone to hear and come investigate.¡± Her voice was calm, her gaze unreadable. ¡°Stand still and watch. I can¡¯t explain, but you¡¯ll have to trust me. This is what you must grow accustomed to. Understand, my dear unanointed maid?¡±


    Quinn swallowed hard, unease twisting in her chest. But she obeyed.


    She watched in tense silence as Elise stepped into the center of the room, sank gracefully to the floor, closed her eyes, and settled into meditation.


    Mana stones were poisonous to any being that consumed them, except to those they came from. For the bright races, any form of mana that did not originate within their own bodies was not just harmful, but potentially corrupting to those with weak minds. A force that twisted and burned from the inside out. So why did Elise swallow the stone, knowing the agony that awaited her?


    The answer was simple. She had a goal. And that goal demanded an extreme solution given her situation. She wasn''t patient enough to wait, nor creative enough to devise a better alternative.


    Strength ruled the world. Authority, influence, these were just softer manifestations of the same force. When all else failed, when words and reasoning collapsed under the weight of reality, only one truth remained: strike first. Strike hardest. That was the purest form of justice in this world.


    It didn¡¯t matter if a man was wrong in words, in morals, or in intellect. If he was strong, he was right. The dead could not argue. Philosophy, courtesy, codes of conduct, these were fragile things, dependent on the illusion of safety. If a man they rejected for immorality came with a blade and none could stop him, what value did these ideals hold? None. The world does not care for societal decency.


    Towns did not exist without guards. Kingdoms did not stand without soldiers. Wars were not won without heroes. Trade could not flourish in chaos, scholars could not study amidst fire, and justice did not survive in the wake of destruction. Civilization itself teetered on a fragile foundation, held up by those willing to stain their hands so others could keep theirs clean. It was the warrior class that ensured the privileges of civilization remained intact, that the world''s cruelty did not breach their societies.


    They fought so that creativity, learning, and peace could thrive, so that more subtle ideals like ethics, politeness, and empathy could endure. And no one understood the value of peace more than those who fought in a world that sought to strip them of it.


    Thus, these warriors pursued the purest forms of violence to protect the abstract. They threw themselves into an existence where only the fittest survived, not for its own sake, but so others wouldn¡¯t have to. Because they understood what the weak had that they did not. The blade drew blood so merchants could trade. They bled so scholars could teach. They fell so their children could grow.


    And if Elise had to burn herself alive from the inside out to reclaim that strength, then so be it.


    For a warrior, one of the purest paths to strength was through leveling up. But leveling, in and of itself, was no simple task. There was no clear method, no map to follow. No one could teach it, and those who had achieved it could only offer vague, inconsistent guidance. Ask any veteran how to gain levels, and you''d receive a dozen different answers, each shaped by their personal journey. Yet, despite the differences in answers, all of them shared one consistent theme.


    Survival. Suffering.


    It was impossible to level up without breaking something, bones from a brutal blow, spirit from unbearable stress, achieving personal enlightenment, or sheer grit. Struggle was the only path to growth. Killing in a world that wished you dead was the ideal environment. A warrior¡¯s true choice was to step feet-first into hell, embracing a place where nothing but strength and willpower remained. Elise had grown to know that place well, and even, in strange moments, missed it. Especially now.


    In battle, time was measured not by minutes or hours, but by seconds. In that fleeting span, everything was focused on the present, on survival. Flowers that took years to bloom could be crushed beneath boots in an instant. Decades of experience could vanish in a single corpse. For those who wanted to mourn the loss of wealth or luxury, a battlefield was the place to go. Thousands of bodies littered the earth, sacrificed so that a few lucky souls might gain strength, though it was never guaranteed. Levels, after all, were fickle things, bestowing their rewards with maddening inconsistency.


    So how could Elise hope to level up in an environment where she could barely take a step, let alone fight? The answer was simple, she couldn¡¯t.


    But there was an exception to levels, and it only applied to the first. If someone could gain their own mana and learn to control it, they would achieve their first level without struggle. Still, such knowledge didn¡¯t make the process any easier. Levels, at their core, were a reflection of the mana within, a symbol of the latent power someone possessed. It made sense, then, that one could bypass the trials of survival and attain their first level simply by gaining the ability to wield mana. The problem was how.


    So Elise had a theory. A stupid one, admittedly, but a theory nonetheless.


    She had the benefit of memory, a master¡¯s understanding of mana, and decades of experience. She knew the sensation of wielding it, knew it in her soul. So she reasoned, if she consumed mana, ignored the consequences, and focused solely on feeling its source, she might make it her own. And in doing so, would achieve her first level.


    Was this a potentially groundbreaking method? Yes. Could anyone else do it? Probably not. She had the advantage of past experience in a body that never crossed the boundary, making this method useless to veterans, who already acquired mana, and suicidal to novices, who lack sensation.


    Even if she shared her theory, she sincerely believed it would be impossible for others to replicate. For those who had never wielded mana, its sensation was indescribable. Even veterans with decades of experience couldn¡¯t articulate it, herself included. One couldn''t accurately convey something so intuitive to someone who had never known it. That was why she was the only one foolish enough to test this method.


    Mana, like a skill, became second nature once acquired, like a limb, used instinctively, requiring only momentary focus for execution. But describing it? That was another matter. She couldn''t explain how her brain moved her hand, it simply did. Most of the time, she didn¡¯t think about her arm, only about the object it held. A hammer striking a nail, a blade cutting through the air, these were actions, not conscious thoughts. It was easy to explain to someone with arms of their own, but to someone without? Nearly impossible.


    Without direct exposure, some experiences could just never be described, like explaining dye to someone who is color blind, the taste of a fruit to someone who has never eaten it, or emotions like love or grief to someone who has never felt them. Without a frame of reference, how could the ignorant truly understand?


    A blind man had once told her he could never grasp the concept of a horizon. He understood the words, knew that it was a place always far away, out of touch, the idea that one could walk forever without reaching it, or that objects grew smaller as they receded into the distance. He could vaguely imagine it, but he admitted he would never truly understand.


    And so, Elise would attempt to gain sight in a body that had none.


    How long had it been since she consumed the stone? A few minutes? Time had become a blur, stretching and warping as she sat, cross-legged, silent, and still. Her focus sharpened, every sense honed on the task at hand, waiting for the stone to begin its insidious work.


    And then, it came.


    A wave of nausea slammed into her. She fought it, clenching her jaw, resisting the primal urge to vomit. Her body, realizing the poison it had swallowed, began to rebel, desperate to expel it. The sickness was instant, sharp, nauseating, a twisting churn in her stomach that felt almost grotesque in its intensity. Yet, she remained still, forcing herself to ignore the waves of discomfort, her mind reaching for that elusive source of energy she had hoped to connect with.


    Her skin began to burn. It felt as though her flesh were being seared, a cruel, blistering heat radiating outward from the core of her being. Her breathing hitched and faltered, erratic for a moment, but she forced herself to steady it, drawing deep, steady breaths, one after the other.


    Mana, in such sparse concentrations, shouldn''t be able to cause permanent harm, but that doesn''t mean it wouldn''t make this unbearable. The low mana concentration was why these stones were deemed almost entirely useless, and also why she considered them the safest option for her theory.


    Minutes passed, stretching on and on. Her body felt as if it were slowly being consumed by flames. If she had ever imagined what it might be like to burn alive, this was it. Her mind splintered, her focus beginning to falter under the weight of the pain. The urge to vomit had subsided, but that was only because the mana had fully saturated her system, and still, nothing, no surge of power, no flicker of energy. She could not feel the mana. Only the distracting agony of her body rejecting what it didn¡¯t understand.


    The pain was all-consuming. It gnawed at her from the inside out, relentless. Sweat dripped down her face, and her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. Her body trembled with each breath, her nerves alive with an unbearable tingling sensation, sharp and persistent like a thousand needles beneath her skin.


    This was fucking stupid. The thought flickered through her mind, sharp and clear, as the tremors in her limbs grew more violent. This whole idea was insane. But still, she forced herself to stay still, to hold on, even as her consciousness swayed, threatening to slip away.


    Weakness washed over her in waves, draining her of all strength. She opened her eyes and her vision immediately blurred, her balance slipping. She began leaning to one side, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse, to succumb to the dizziness wishing to take her.


    And then, as if from nowhere, a hand grasped her arm, steadying her, lifting her to her feet.


    Quinn leaned in, her stomach twisted in anxious knots as she examined Elise¡¯s pale features. ¡°My lady? My lady?!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t yell,¡± Elise barely managed to say. ¡°My ears are ringing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting a doctor.¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± Elise took a step, then staggered. Her legs felt like lead, refusing to move the way she wanted. She clenched her jaw. ¡°No one must know of this. Do you understand?¡±


    Quinn hesitated, torn between duty and instinct. Then, reluctantly, she nodded and moved to support Elise, unsteadily guiding her toward the bed. ¡°My lady, this is beyond reckless. What are you even trying to do? Everyone knows not to consume these.¡±


    ¡°Cover for me. Say that¡­ I¡¯m sick.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Quinn swallowed hard, keeping her voice measured. ¡°You can¡¯t do this again.¡±


    Elise attempted a laugh, but it crumbled into a coughing fit. With effort, she pulled herself onto the bed, her limbs trembling. ¡°I asked for a small box full. How many stones do you think that is? I won¡¯t know for sure unless I attempt this multiple times.¡±


    ¡°B-but why? What would compel you to do this to yourself?¡±


    A drop of red splattered onto the white sheets. Then another. Warm liquid trickled from Elise¡¯s nose. She pinched it shut with a shaky hand, but the sight made Quinn¡¯s stomach lurch.


    ¡°Trust me,¡± Elise whispered. ¡°That¡¯s all I ask of you. I fear to explain, and you wouldn''t understand.¡±


    "You shouldn¡¯t make such assumptions of me. I didn¡¯t live my years just to disregard yours."


    "I¡¯m sorry, but I do. I assume many things. But this isn¡¯t about you, it¡¯s about me. I''m the problem. So please, grant me this silence my dear maid."


    Quinn stood frozen, watching as Elise settled against the pillows with the sluggishness of someone far older, more exhausted. This wasn¡¯t just dangerous, it was madness.


    Why was she doing this to herself? The sight of Elise, weak and suffering, sent waves of unease through her. If there was even the slightest chance Elise could die here, Quinn would never forgive herself. The only thing stopping her from running for help was Elise¡¯s unwavering command.


    She had no idea how lethal mana stones truly were, only that people had died from consuming them. But if Elise asked for silence, then silence she would keep. There was a fine line between blind obedience and taking initiative, and Quinn¡¯s intuition told her that, in this case, obedience was the wiser choice.


    ¡°I¡¯ll consult a doctor,¡± Quinn murmured, as if to soothe her own conscience. ¡°See if I can find a way to help without raising alarm. If not, I¡¯ll search the books, with your permission. And if you insist on continuing this idiocy, you¡¯ll do so under my watch.¡± She exhaled sharply. ¡°But you will owe me an apology when you recover.¡±


    Elise¡¯s lips curled into a ghost of a smile. ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured.


    This was worse than she had anticipated. The pain was unbearable, searing through her like fire. She had grown soft without realizing it, and now her body made her pay for that weakness. She would need time to recover, and redevelop a tolerance to struggle. It seems she could only attempt this once every week or two, maybe longer. Any more than that, and she¡¯d be a fool in the truest sense.


    Her vision blurred further. The pain somehow grew deeper, she could feel it in her bones. And then, inch by inch, breath by breath, without her notice, Elise slipped into unconsciousness.