The light of dawn filtered through the curtains, bathing Celeste’s room in golden hues that made the dust motes in the air shimmer. Emilia had barely slept, her mind caught in a whirlwind of ideas and risks. Port Shadow, Marcus the Blind, a slime. Each step toward her goal felt like a leap over an abyss, but the alternative—remaining trapped in the mansion, defenseless against the dungeons—was worse. She rose, her arm still sore but more manageable, and dressed in a simple tunic that wouldn’t draw attention. Today, she needed to be invisible, or as close to it as Celeste’s body would allow.

  The incident at training had spread like wildfire among the servants. Emilia noticed it in the furtive glances as she crossed the hallways: some curious, others mocking, a few tinged with what seemed like fear. The “Celeste” they knew would never have dirtied her hands with a wooden sword, let alone endured a blow that left her sprawled on the ground. But Emilia had no time to worry about rumors. She needed money, and that meant facing Baron Dietrich and Lady Isolde—a task as perilous as swinging a sword at a scaled wolf.

  Before plotting her move, she decided to dig deeper. She slipped into the library, taking advantage of the servants’ preoccupation with preparations for a banquet that evening. She found a dusty map of Eldoria, rolled up on a forgotten shelf. Spreading it across a table, she traced her finger along the route from the mansion to Port Shadow. It was a southern port, two days’ ride by horse, notorious for its docks teeming with smugglers and its alleys where the law held no sway. The book Compendium of Tameable Creatures mentioned black markets in those slums, places where slimes and far more dangerous beasts were sold for a handful of gold. But it also carried warnings: betrayal, traps, and an environment where a noble out of place was easy prey.

  Emilia frowned, pondering how to blend in. The idea of disguising herself as a man came almost instinctively. In the orphanage, she had learned to fade into the background, to be a shadow when she needed to avoid trouble. She could cut her hair—or at least hide it—wear loose adventurer’s clothing, perhaps a mask to cover Celeste’s face, too recognizable for its haughty beauty. The mansion had a storeroom full of old gear; she could raid it to cobble together a disguise. But first, the money.

  The opportunity came at noon, during an informal lunch in the garden. Baron Dietrich was in a particularly foul mood, grumbling about the costs of bolstering the mansion’s defenses after the creature’s attack. Lady Isolde, in a silk dress that seemed to float around her, sipped wine with studied calm. Lysa and Freya were present, trading barbs disguised as compliments, while Mina and the twins ate in silence. Elara, as usual, was absent, likely scheming elsewhere.

  Emilia bided her time, watching her “parents” like a hawk. When the baron complained about expenses, she seized her chance, adopting Celeste’s petulant tone. “If you’re so worried about gold, Father, let me do something useful. I want to travel to Port Shadow to buy supplies. I know a merchant who can get us equipment at a good price.”

  The baron stared at her as if she’d suggested burning the mansion down. “Port Shadow? You? Don’t be ridiculous, Celeste. That place is a rat’s nest, and you wouldn’t know a merchant from a thief.”

  Emilia bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she softened her voice, letting a hint of defiance slip through. “Maybe you don’t trust me, but I’m tired of being useless. Let me prove I can do more than spend your money on dresses.” She paused, glancing at Lady Isolde. “Mother, you always say we need to be more resourceful. A short trip, with an escort, won’t hurt.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Isolde raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “It’s an… unusual idea, Celeste. Not entirely absurd. If you insist on this nonsense, you’ll take guards and return in three days. I won’t tolerate scandals.”

  Lysa, who had been listening with pursed lips, cut in. “This is a joke, right? Celeste in Port Shadow, buying ‘supplies’? Next, she’ll be joining the dungeon adventurers.” Her laugh was sharp, but there was a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

  Emilia ignored her, keeping her gaze on the baron. “Give me the gold, Father. I won’t disappoint you.” It was a gamble, but Celeste’s reputation as a spoiled noble could work in her favor. A pampered aristocrat asking for money for a “project” wasn’t that strange.

  Dietrich grunted, clearly annoyed but too tired to argue. “One thousand gold coins. Not a single one more. And if you cause trouble, I’ll lock you in your room until you’re married.” He waved at a servant, who nodded and left to prepare the funds.

  Emilia bowed her head, hiding a smile. It had worked. But Lysa was watching her like she knew something was off, and that was a problem for another day.

  Training with Gavril that afternoon was an exercise in sheer willpower. The courtyard was slick with rain, and Emilia, her arm still tender, struggled to keep up. Gavril had swapped wooden swords for long staves, designed to mimic spears. “In the dungeons, you won’t always have room to swing a sword,” he explained, striking the ground with his staff. “Learn to keep your distance, or you’ll end up with your guts spilled.”

  The drill was brutal. Emilia dodged a blow that would have shattered her collarbone but lost her balance and fell into a puddle. Gavril’s staff stopped an inch from her throat, and he looked at her with a mix of exasperation and approval. “Get up, princess. Monsters don’t wait for you to wipe the mud off.”

  She stood, panting, and felt the aura flowing stronger than before, a warmth coursing through her arms. But the session was cut short when a scream tore through the air. It came from the edge of the courtyard, where a guard was grappling with something small but ferocious: a creature the size of a cat, with six legs and a shell bristling with spines. It had escaped from a broken cage, likely a specimen captured for study.

  Gavril ran toward the guard, but Emilia acted first. She grabbed a staff from the ground and struck the creature’s back, putting her full weight into the blow. The beast screeched, and a spine lodged in her forearm, wrenching a cry from her. Blood welled, hot and sticky, but Emilia didn’t let go of the staff. She struck again, crushing the shell with a wet crunch. The creature writhed and died, leaving a pool of black ichor.

  The guard, pale, stammered his thanks. Gavril arrived a second later, eyeing the mess with narrowed eyes. “Damn it, princess, who told you to play hunter?” But there was no mockery in his voice, only a sharp curiosity.

  Emilia yanked out the spine, ignoring the burning pain. “I’m not going to just stand there,” she said, wiping the blood on her cloak. The wound was shallow, but the encounter was a warning. Eldoria forgave no mistakes, inside or outside the dungeons.

  That night, in her room, Emilia reviewed her plan. With a thousand gold coins, she could buy a slime in Port Shadow’s black market. She had found an old cloak and a pair of boots in the storeroom, along with a leather mask the guards used for training in dusty conditions. She could cut her hair or tie it under a hat, and with some soot on her face, she’d pass as an anonymous adventurer. The journey would be dangerous—Port Shadow was a den of brothels, casinos, and traffickers—but the risk was worth it. A slime was her first step toward strength, toward a life where she wouldn’t have to fear every shadow.

  The mansion was silent, but Emilia knew Lysa’s eyes, and perhaps others’, were tracking her every move. She would have to be careful, more cunning than ever. Because in this world, surviving wasn’t enough. She had to win.