In a vast meeting hall, six figures occupied a circular table carved from dark stone. The room was silent except for the faint echo of distant footsteps outside the heavy doors. The high-backed chairs they sat in, also stone, loomed over the table.
A faint golden light filtered through narrow stained-glass windows, casting long shadows across the floor and illuminating the table's surface, where engravings spiraled inward to its center. The figures sat motionless, their presence alone enough to fill the atmosphere with tension.
One of the figures tapped their fingers against the table, the soft rhythm breaking the silence.
"So, what do we think about this woman who has been recommended as a Duchess? She can't be inaugurated until we all agree on her position, correct?"
"Indeed."
"She cannot… but I have no complaints. A few new genes into the mix of the empire will surely bring about a great change."
"Do you know if it is a good or a bad change?"
"Whatever it is, I'm here for it."
"You sicko… what about the rest of you?"
"Well, I also have no complaints as long as she fulfills a condition of ours. This will also be a test to see if she is truly worthy of being a noble."
"And what might that be?"
"She has to personally declare war on the Kingdom of Nessigolopt as a representative of the Empire. She will take the brunt of the backlash… in fact, this could even be split up into two tests. The first being, whether she can actually go through with declaring war, and the second, since her requested territory is on the border between the Holy Empire and that kingdom of fools, we can see whether she can defend our empire."
"Does anybody have any objections to that?"
"None."
"None."
"None."
"None."
"None."
"Great."
…
Surviving in this place was going to be ruthless… and a ruthless environment means ruthless tactics in order to survive.
"I think it is about time I draw him out now," Ophelia muttered with a cold expression.
The evening was quiet, the faint crackle of a fireplace filling the air as Ophelia lounged on a velvet couch in her private chambers. The room was spacious but not overly decadent. A grand bed with silken sheets and a canopy stood against the far wall. A polished wooden desk sat in the corner, stacked neatly with papers and an inkpot. The warm glow of a chandelier bathed everything in soft light, casting long shadows on the embroidered carpet that stretched across the floor.
"Veronica! Come here!"
Ophelia leaned forward on the couch, her elbows resting on her knees, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders as she called for Veronica. A knock came at the door, and soon after, the maid entered. Veronica walked towards her new Mistress, her long black hair curling at the ends, and her gray eyes behind thin-framed glasses. She studied the room briefly before focusing on Ophelia.
"Come closer," Ophelia said, her voice calm but carrying a subtle command. She shifted to the edge of the couch, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp.
Veronica stepped forward, standing tall before her. Though her expression remained professional, there was a subtle hint of judgment in her stance. Her eyes seemed to look down on Ophelia, not just in their current positions—Ophelia down on the couch and Veronica standing in front of her—but in status as if silently questioning her worth. To Veronica, she was still just a soldier playing dress-up as a noble.
Ophelia let her gaze travel over Veronica slowly, taking in every detail of her appearance. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes briefly narrowed. There was a flicker of silent disgust in her expression before she let out a long, measured sigh.
"Are you not going to do anything about the pests?" Ophelia asked, her voice low.
Veronica's brows furrowed slightly. "Pests? What pests?" she replied, her tone even but with a faint edge of skepticism.
"The pests watching every inch of this mansion," Ophelia said, her silver eyes locking onto Veronica's face. Her words hung in the air like a challenge, daring the maid to deny what she knew to be true.
"I have no clue what you are—"
Ophelia's expression darkened, her features hardening into a sharp mask of annoyance. She rose from the couch in a fluid motion, her height suddenly casting a looming shadow over Veronica. The maid's confident posture faltered as she realized the disparity between them. Though Veronica was quite tall, Ophelia stood taller, about two to three inches above her.
Before Veronica could react, Ophelia's hand shot forward, gripping a fistful of the maid's dark hair. A gasp escaped Veronica's lips, but Ophelia didn't flinch. Without a word, she dragged the maid through the halls, her footsteps echoing sharply against the marble floor. The chandeliers above swayed faintly with each step.
The estate's entrance loomed ahead, its wide doors framing the open courtyard where the night air felt heavy with tension. Ophelia stopped at the center, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Gather! Now!"
The command carried through the mansion, and within moments, every servant stood assembled before her. They shifted uneasily, their gazes flicking to Veronica, who knelt on the ground, her usually pristine appearance disheveled.
Ophelia stood tall before the gathered servants, her hand still gripping Veronica's hair, forcing the maid to remain kneeling at her feet. The silver-haired woman's gaze swept across the rows of faces, her expression unyielding, a portrait of cold authority. The crackle of the torches lining the hall filled the silence, but the air felt oppressive, thick with tension.
"You all think you are untouchable," Ophelia began, her voice steady and sharp, carrying to every corner of the grand hall. "You whisper in the shadows. You scheme. You watch my every move, believing I do not see you, that I do not know. You dare to question my place here, to undermine the one who now rules this estate."
She tugged Veronica's hair sharply, making the maid wince but silencing any protest. "This woman before you, Veronica, your headmaid, has presumed too much. She believed herself above the laws of loyalty, above the order that holds this household together. She dared to think that my authority could be challenged, that my presence could be belittled."
Ophelia paused, letting her words settle over the group like a shroud. The servants avoided her gaze, their faces pale, their bodies stiff. "What happens to those who forget their place?" she asked, her tone colder now. "What happens to those who defy their duty, who betray their master?"
Her grip tightened, and Veronica let out a soft whimper. Ophelia ignored her, addressing the servants once more. "Let this be a lesson for you all. I do not tolerate disobedience. I do not tolerate insubordination. And I will make an example of her, here and now, so none of you ever forget where your loyalty must lie."
Ophelia's silver eyes gleamed under the torchlight as she released Veronica, letting the maid slump to the ground. She straightened, her gaze unwavering as she gave the order. "Kill her. Now. All of you."
The room froze. The servants hesitated, glancing at one another in disbelief. Ophelia's gaze hardened, her voice slicing through the atmosphere. "Do not make me repeat myself. If you value your lives, you will act. Show me that you understand what it means to serve."
A sudden ripple of crimson light fractured the tense silence, a swirling red portal materializing in the center of the grand hall. The air trembled as if reality itself bent to allow this intrusion. From within the portal emerged a man—Royal Attendant Stegertath. His dark cloak and armor clanked as he stepped forward, the edges of the portal collapsing behind him with a soft whisper.
Ophelia's grip on Veronica's hair loosened, and the head maid collapsed to the floor. Wasting no time, Veronica scrambled to her knees and darted toward the man, her hands trembling as they clawed at his legs. Her voice broke into a desperate cry.
"Please, my lord!" she begged, her words spilling out in panicked bursts. "You have to save me! This woman—this monster! She's gone mad! She's trying to kill me! She's not fit to rule! Please, my lord, I swear to you, I have done nothing wrong!"
Tears streamed down Veronica's face as she clung to Stegertath's legs, her pleas growing louder. "She's crazy! She's a danger to everyone here! You must stop her!"
The man's gaze did not immediately settle on the broken figure at his feet. Instead, his piercing eyes rose, locking onto Ophelia. He studied her in silence, his expression unreadable as the tension in the room shifted.
"What are you doing?" Ophelia asked.
"What am I doing? These servants that I have lent to you are now being harassed."
"According to the Holy Empire Book of Laws, Clause 19. All servants lent to somebody must give absolute loyalty to the recipient. Such a harsh rule. There is not even a hint of extended fine print for this clause. Does the empire see these servants as nothing more than disposable resources?" Ophelia's cold eyes extended even further across her face, turning the rest of her expression ice cold. "Well, seeing as how you do not care about the woman at your feet, I already have my answer."
The servants stood in silence, their heads bowed, their gazes fixed on the cold marble floor. Defeat lingered in their expressions as if the weight of their true master's presence crushed what little spirit they had left. None dared to lift their eyes, not even for a fleeting glance at Royal Attendant Stegertath, who had not acknowledged their existence for even a second.
Veronica whimpered at his feet, clutching the fabric of his robe with trembling hands. "Please, my lord! I—" Her desperate plea was cut short as Stegertath's boot struck her side brutally.
BAM
She was sent sprawling across the hall, skidding to a stop against the far wall. Her body shuddered, barely clinging to consciousness. Blood trickled from her mouth as her gasps for air grew ragged.
The other servants rushed to her, their faces pale with fear and concern. They knelt beside her, whispering frantic reassurances and checking her wounds. But Ophelia's expression remained impassive, untouched by the scene unfolding before her.
Stegertath turned his attention back to Ophelia. "You know too much for someone who was a soldier," he said, beginning to stride toward her. "I've been suspicious of you for some time. Even before our little meeting… but now..."
He stopped just in front of her, towering over with an imposing presence. Despite their difference in height, Ophelia's silver eyes met his with unshaken confidence. There was no submission in her gaze, no hesitation.
"Were you sent by the enemy to create chaos in my Empire?" Stegertath asked, his tone sharp as a sword.
Ophelia's lips curved slightly, a faint smile that carried no warmth. "I know you are not dumb," she responded, her voice calm but laced with a pointed edge. "You have already run a background check on me, I presume. So please, do not ask stupid questions."
"Tsk… you must have some plan for creating all this ruckus and calling me out here. Your meeting with the council is tomorrow and your inauguration is the following day. Why do all this? You would not have done all of this without some reason… correct?"
"Protect me from the watchful eyes of all the other nobles. These pests watching my estate are quite annoying."
"And why exactly should I do that?"
Ophelia lightly grinned. "Archmage Agueric."
Stegertath's expression remained generally unphased before he clicked his tongue.
Finally, he turned his attention to the servants still gathered around Veronica. Without any hint of sympathy or hesitation, he addressed them coldly. "From this moment on, you are no longer related to me in any way. Your loyalty belongs entirely to her." His voice carried an air of finality that left no room for doubt. "Do not test her patience."
He glanced briefly at Veronica, who still lay barely conscious on the ground, then back at the other servants. "Good luck," he said, the words dripping with mockery, before pivoting on his heel.
The crimson portal swirled open in front of him, its light bathing the room in an eerie glow. Stegertath stepped through without a second glance, his figure vanishing into the blood-red vortex. The portal collapsed in on itself with a soft hum, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.
"Now, the pests are still watching, unfortunately, but they will be gone soon thanks to your previous Master. However, it would be a waste to not show them a display while they are still here…" Ophelia's small grin dropped into yet another cold mask. "... right?"
The servants stood in a trembling line, their bodies stiff with fear as Ophelia's gaze swept over them. They shifted uneasily under her cold scrutiny, their hands clenched at their sides, their heads bowed in a mix of submission and dread.
Ophelia's footsteps echoed in the silence as she approached Veronica, who remained kneeling on the ground. The head maid stared at the floor, her body shaking, unable to meet the woman's unyielding gaze.
"It does not feel too good having nobody supporting you from the shadows now, does it?" Ophelia's voice was low, biting, as she stopped in front of Veronica.
Veronica's lips quivered, but she remained silent, her eyes still fixed on the cold marble beneath her.
"ANSWER ME! ALL OF YOU!" Ophelia's voice thundered through the room, making the servants jump.
A chorus of voices rose, shaking with fear. "NO MISTRESS!"
Ophelia smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. "I like that honesty. Now, break your ring fingers from both your hands. If not, leave this estate. I can assure you I will not send anybody after you…" Ophelia's eyes swept over them once again. "Although, I wonder if you will be able to find any work... who knows, you might even get disposed of by another outside force."
The air thickened with hesitation. The servants exchanged uncertain glances, but Veronica, her spirit already plunged into darkness and pain, snapped. With a quick motion, she broke both of her ring fingers without a single tear. Her voice, though strained, carried with unwavering conviction. "MY LOYALTY NOW LIES WITH YOU MISTRESS! PLEASE USE ME AT YOUR DISPOSAL!"
Ophelia's silver eyes never left her as the other servants, one by one, followed suit. They snapped their own ring fingers, the room filled with the sickening sound of bone breaking, yet none of them flinched, none shed a tear. They were still professionals after all.
Ophelia turned on her heel and walked back towards her room, her voice cutting through the tension that still hung in the air. "Do not go to the infirmary to get those healed. I want you to remember where your loyalty lies. Let your broken pride mend with your fingers, otherwise, get out of this estate."
The servants' voices trembled in unison. "Yes, Mistress!"