I tried to get up, but something wet slid down my forehead and stole my attention. I reached up, expecting sweat. My palm came away slick with a bck-tinted liquid. It reeked—alcohol, sharp and putrid, with a sourness so strong I recoiled.

  What the hell…?

  In the space of a second, I was drenched. From my forehead to my chin, thick trails clung to my skin like I’d been drowned in a vat of booze and rot.

  “W—what is this?!”

  “My dy.”

  The voice beside me was calm and smooth.

  It was Elijah. He was finishing with the wardrobe, pcing folded clothes into the neatly arranged shelves before closing the closet door with quiet precision.

  “You fell into a dumpster st night,” he said. “After drinking heavily. Then, before colpsing on the bed, you poured more alcohol on yourself. You said it helps you think.”

  I blinked slowly. “Hmm. That doesn’t expin this liquid.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” he replied, expression unchanged. “Because I was the one—”

  I cut him off. “It’s fine.” I scratched my scalp, wincing. “Tch. I’ll wash up. Tell the Cn Leader I’m on my way.”

  Elijah let out a deep breath. His clenched fist released, and he gave a slow, deliberate bow. Then he left, his steps soundless. Once the door clicked shut, I fell ft on the bed, staring at the ceiling embedded with consteltion-like fluorescent beads.

  It sted only a few seconds, but time stretched unnaturally. The wind stirred the curtains, and the cacophony of birds outside filled the silence.

  “Time to wash this filth off.”

  I stood and walked to the door. It clicked shut behind me. The bathroom mirrored the bedroom—opulent and overdesigned, with a polished bathtub and rows of water-filled buckets. I peeled off the reeking clothes, poured cold water into the tub, and stepped in. The cold stung as it touched skin.

  And as I inhaled deeply and submerged, the memories came flooding in.

  Elsie Le Airgetiám. Nineteen. Heiress of the Airgetiám Cn of the Republic of Eucon. A leech. A spoiled brat. A freeloader. To the world, an absolute disgrace. And to me? A liability.

  But now, we were one.

  I let out a slow breath beneath the surface, only half my head exposed, bubbles oozing from my lips.

  Her grandfather—Charles Ruyan Airgetiám, the former Cn Leader, the Great Tactician. Her father, Victor, a knight of legend, lost on the battlefield. Her mother followed soon after. Her two brothers were both killed during the Eastern Nations Rebellion, leaving behind their fiancées. And her aunt—an ice-born knight, now a cripple.

  In short, the once-proud Airgetiám Cn had bled itself dry, leaving only Elsie behind. And she had been the absolute scum of society—before I took her name.

  I put myself deeper into the water, letting it swallow me whole. For a moment, everything stilled—quiet, cold, suspended. Then I emerged, clean but irritated, water trailing down my skin in restless rivulets. I flushed it all away without a word.

  There was a precision to the way I cleaned up, moving in silence. I dressed in a neat, dull pair of trousers and long sleeves—waiting for me like a silent judgment. Luxurious, in a strange, outdated sense. They clung to my skin like guilt.

  “Tch… what a crap legacy to inherit.”

  But something pulsed inside me, deep in the marrow of my soul.

  ‘Hey, bastard. You think I wanted this trash life either?’

  I grinned. “Rex. I heard you clearly.”

  I pulled on the slick boots and opened the door.

  Two maids stood waiting—tall, elegant. The hallway behind them stretched long and dim, descending like a throat, subtly revealing I was on the top floor. One was a high elf. Long, blonde hair shimmered like woven gold. Her posture was fwless, sculpted. At the sound of my voice, her sharp ears twitched—imperceptibly. The other was a nine-tailed fox-woman. Her tails moved with a quiet, unconscious rhythm. Her face was calm, unreadable. They bowed in perfect sync as I stepped through the door and closed it with a soft click. “My Lady.”

  I nodded and walked through the passageway, where translucent windows allowed thin streams of light to filter in, accompanied by the distant buzz of insects and the faint chips of birds that usually meant a garden y beyond.

  On the stairs, more maids waited—four this time—each a demi-human, each more dangerous than the st. Two bunny-eared women stood poised, their hidden bdes tucked beneath their sleeves and skirts, their gazes sharp beneath lowered shes. A wolf-eared assassin, her eyes shadowed and unreadable, rested against the banister, her bushy tail barely flicking as if suppressing some dark impatience. A cat-woman, her ears twitching and her skin faintly marked by scars, leaned idly against the wall, pretending to be bored, though her every muscle spoke of lethal readiness.

  None of them smiled. Each was a trained killer dressed in the trappings of servitude—the Cn Leader’s idea of mansion staff.

  Elijah met me at the next nding with a curt nod and fell into step beside me, his presence unnervingly silent, almost as if he were part of the oppressive architecture around us.

  We descended the stairs, where dim fluorescent light spilled across polished stone floors, the sterile glow catching the gold trim along the blood-red rugs and turning everything cold, sterile, and museum-like.

  Then the main door opened, and a different world surged into view.

  The sun poured down over a courtyard manicured with obsessive precision. Trees were sculpted into the shapes of coiling dragons, their leaves shifting like living scales. Fountains whispered with eerie softness, and flowers bloomed in unnatural perfection, their arrangement so meticulous it stripped the scene of any real life.

  Everything was over-designed to suggest simplicity yet controlled with the same ruthless bance that infected every inch of this pce.

  Like everything else in this damn house.

  In the distance, roars, shrieks, and strange, guttural groans echoed, mingled with other unsettling sounds of movement.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

  “Watering your flower familiars, my dy,” one of the bunny maids answered before Elijah could respond.

  We moved closer, and a grotesque sight unfolded before us. Gardens of bizarre pnts, each with its own monstrous nature, stretched out in perfect, disturbing alignment. Some resembled sunflowers, their faces twisted with hunger, teeth bared like gaping maws. Others pulsed like veins filled with brain fluid, tentacles gnawing on boulders with mindless, slow deliberation. Some devoured each other, their jagged stems locking in grotesque combat. There were tall, spindly ones that preyed on insects and worms, their sharp tendrils reaching down with silent patience. A few emitted an oppressive, malevolent aura, their jagged teeth and fangs exuding an unnatural hunger. Mixed in among them, slimes slithered and bounced, leaving sticky trails across the earth.

  It was a grotesque menagerie—a spoiled brat's collection runs rampant—and it made my forehead twitch, and my stomach twist in revolt.

  “Catch them all. Sell them. Anything that can’t be sold… given away. I’m done with them.”

  The air froze. The stillness lingered, broken only by the cool breeze that fluttered across everything in its path.

  Eight maids, including Elijah, stood motionless, as though caught in some sort of suspended time. They seemed struck, stunned by the sudden harshness of my words.

  I turned to them, a cold gaze sweeping the group.

  “They were once favorites. Now they’re just clutter. I have no use for them.”

  A subtle tension rippled through them. Their gazes met briefly, and the fox-woman’s tail stilled, the bunny maid flinched, and the cat-woman’s tail curved upward slightly. The unspoken weight of my command seemed to hit them all at once, and after a moment of stillness, they bowed in silent understanding.

  “We understand, my dy.”

  I was already walking when those words dropped, and Elijah followed without hesitation. We moved past gazebos and overgrown training fields where knights swung their swords, sweat dripping from their faces. Some dueled, their strikes sending shockwaves rippling through the air, while others sprinted across the grounds. I gave it all a single gnce before pressing on. A pond shimmered nearby, teeming with iridescent ducks, and copper-winged birds cried out from the tall pines.

  The stillness in the air, broken only by the wind, shifted suddenly. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement—a shadow slipping between the distant, well-aligned trees. It wasn’t one of the maids from my mansion. Their gaze lingered too long.

  I’m being watched.

  Elijah noticed as well. His hand twitched near his hip, where no weapon was visible. I didn’t acknowledge it, keeping my pace steady, unhurried.

  The journey took nearly an hour, the path winding through a kilometer of rugged terrain. The grounds were infamous for their defensibility, scattered with array formations and defensive positions that deterred any unwelcome entry. In this unfamiliar expanse, it was just me and Elijah.

  “How many presences so far?” I asked quietly.

  “I count five watchers,” Elijah murmured. “Three assassins, two hidden Bdes. Likely Airgetiám shadow security Guards.”

  So, they wanted to see why the parasite had come so far as to reach the Cn Leader’s estate. No matter.

  “Let them watch,” I said.

  Elijah gave a subtle nod, and we continued without further exchange.

  When we reached the estate, we stood before its massive ironwood doors.

  “Young Lady Elsie has arrived,” Elijah announced, his voice steady.

  For a moment, there was only silence. The stirring wind seemed to die, repced by an eerie stillness that cwed at the air.

  “Come in.”

  The voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that was colder than calm—a chilling tone that could wither even the most jaded flower.

  Elijah pushed the door open, the creak echoing like a judgment bell. I drew a breath and stepped inside.

  And so began the next phase of this farce.

  In front of an endless stretch of bamboo forest that shouldn't exist, the Cn Leader sat behind a low table, his double-yered robes with crimson linings draped regally over his form. The oversized haori only added to his intimidating presence as he sipped tea in lotus position, exuding the quiet authority of a man prepared to judge a traitor.

  Charles Ruyan Airgetiám. The name carried weight—etched onto maps, whispered in war rooms, and immortalized on battlefields. They said he had crawled out of the slums in “District 98” with nothing but his sharp mind and unyielding will, carving his path through mud and blood to earn the title of “Great Tactician.” A former Cn Leader, a war legend who wielded clones, fire, talismans, and array formations to dismantle enemies with surgical precision. Perhaps he was a monster cd in accodes and propaganda, or perhaps the stories understated his brilliance.

  None of it mattered now. One look at him, and I understood one thing—

  He hated my guts.

  The door behind me slid shut with a quiet finality. The sound jolted me, and I stumbled forward, the strangeness of the scene crashing down like a wave.

  This is strange. No—this is wrong.

  My boots crunched softly against the grass underfoot. Grass? Indoors? What the hell was this pce?

  The bamboo swayed gently in a nonexistent breeze, a vivid, endless sea of green. The air carried a faint trace of incense, threading through the eerie stillness. Every detail, from the flicker of sunlight filtering through the leaves to the hum of distant crickets, was too vivid. I gnced up. A perfect blue sky stretched above.

  An illusion array? Probably.

  I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus. Across from me, Charles sipped his tea with the same deliberate calm as a predator waiting for its prey to falter.

  Meanwhile, I stood there—a mess of dull attire, unkempt hair barely restrained, and whatever scraps of dignity I’d once possessed scattered somewhere near the gate. His jaw tightened, and his fingers flexed on the table before settling again, a motion so subtle it felt calcuted.

  The silence thickened, oppressive and heavy, wrapping around me like a tightening noose.

  Finally, he exhaled, setting his cup down with the soft clink of porcein.

  “I heard you fell into a dumpster the other night,” he said, his voice ft and cold. “And then again onto the floor after marinating in booze. Is that correct?”

  I blinked. “False accusations…”

  The words spilled out before I could think, pitifully weak. My mind scrambled for anything better, but the truth was—a truth I couldn't say—I had no idea how I’d ended up here.

  One moment, I was knee-deep on a battlefield, drowning in the chaos of steel, screams, and betrayal. Death had come swiftly, unexpectedly. The next, I was here.

  New body, new voice, new sins.

  I gnced at the mossy floor, taking in the absurdity of it all. This pre-adult girl—Elsie—had managed to die by rolling off her bed. Maybe she hit her skull on the headboard. Maybe she simply fell too hard. Either way, her end was defined by fatal stupidity.

  Indeed, a true champion among trash.

  The Cn Leader—or should I say, Grandpa Charles—smmed his fist on the low table. The clearing around us trembled under the force, but the delicate porcein teacup before him remained untouched.

  “What do you mean by false accusations, you worthless scum?” he growled, his voice rough with fury. “Do you not even realize someone tried to assassinate you? If it weren’t for Elijah, whom I ordered to monitor you at all times, you’d already be having tea with King Yama! And now you stand here as if it’s all a joke?”

  I blinked, slow and deliberate, processing his words. Assassination? So, it wasn’t just a ridiculous accident. Huh.

  I almost ughed. Almost. Guess the assassins had been a few seconds too te. She was already dead by the time I checked in.

  But I kept quiet, wearing a carefully composed frown. The air shifted, thickening with a palpable weight. The once-muted presence of his aura suddenly fred to life—sharp, crimson tendrils snaking through the illusion like a tightening net. The warmth in the clearing began to build, searing and suffocating, though whether it was raw killing intent or something else, I couldn’t tell. This body was too frail to discern the difference.

  Still, I didn’t flinch.

  If it had been Elsie, she would’ve been on her knees by now, crying and trembling, sweat pouring down her face. Maybe she’d have fainted like before. Or screamed like a banshee, breaking another priceless vase in her panic.

  But I stood firm. Pale? Sure. Sweaty? Of course. But solid nonetheless.

  That made him pause.

  The oppressive heat that threatened to suffocate me seemed to still, allowing me to catch my breath. His crimson eyes narrowed as he studied me again, his gaze lingering on the set of my shoulders, the sharpness of my silence, and the way my expression remained unyielding.

  “Why are you so calm?” he murmured, more to himself than to me. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Did you bathe already?”

  The question threw me. Bathing? Was personal hygiene suspicious now?

  I didn’t respond, letting his confusion linger. Let him wonder. Let him stew.

  He leaned forward slightly, his frown deepening. The heat in the air, which had briefly receded, climbed again, creeping with controlled precision, deadly in its subtlety.

  Was he testing me? What now, Grandpa? Trying to fry your granddaughter?

  I stayed motionless, the tension stretching thin, suffocating the clearing like a vapor that refused to disperse. And then, slowly, as if daring him to react, I smiled. Just a little.