It was the thirteenth day since Amora had been locked in the underground wine cellar by Mongel.
She was currently trying to stretch her leg toward the black bread that had fallen by the door. The iron chains on her wrists restricted her movements to an extremely small range. Around her were only half a barrel of wine and the cedar wine rack she would bump her head into if she looked up. Unfortunately, the young Amora's legs weren't long enough to reach the piece of bread. She stared at the dusty morsel, her eyes glinting with a wolfish green light.
She was starving to the point of madness. Just one bite of that bread, and she'd trade a piece of her own flesh for it.
Amora had long forgotten the last time Mongel had thrown her any food or water. Hunger was the only thing etched deeply into her memory over these days. She licked her lips, feeling the skin crack. Pressing them together, she quickly tasted the metallic sweetness of her own blood.
Faint footsteps sounded behind the narrow door, immediately reviving her spirits. She widened her eyes, staring at the doorknob, but it didn't turn.
"Am?" The voice was soft and cautious, like a wisp of wind that could be blown away at any moment.
Amora opened her mouth several times, but no sound came out. A collar encircled her neck. An expensive mithril collar, bright and intricate, like a work of art. The magical conductor in the collar recorded every vibration of her vocal cords and the surrounding air. Any sound she made, no matter how faint, would alert Mongel.
The person outside the door didn't give up and called out to her again, "Am, are you there?"
Amora remained silent. Her stomach was hollow, but she couldn't respond to the voice outside.
The person soon gave up after a few more calls. The consequences of sneaking into the cellar were too grave for anyone to bear.
Amora listened as the footsteps faded away and bit her lip hard. It had been Lian who had come looking for her. Perhaps that fool had been searching for her all over this old mansion. Amora was certain that Lian could never imagine the extent of Mongel's cruelty.
Lian was a young woman with golden hair as radiant as the sun. She had been bought by Mongel at the age of eight. At that time, Amora had still been lying in a cradle, forced to endure Mongel's senseless torment. Amora vaguely remembered that Lian had once sewn clothes for her and fed her milk. But not long after, Lian had been sent away to a noble academy in the city, gradually growing distant.
As a child, Lian had been bold and carefree, always swinging a sword and shield around. Mongel, on the other hand, was a reclusive, perpetually pale figure. This led young Amora to believe for a long time that men and women were supposed to be like them—until Mongel handed her the complete collection of noblewomen's etiquette manuals spanning nearly five centuries.
Amora closed her eyes, too hungry to sleep.
She recalled many things.
When Lian was nine, she had made Amora balance an apple on her head while she practiced throwing knives. That foolish woman had sworn nothing would go wrong, yet she still managed to graze Amora's face. After that incident, Mongel quickly secured Lian's admission to an academy and sent her off to the imperial capital's noble school by the beginning of the year. Once Lian left, the old house was left with just Amora and Mongel. He had no idea how to care for a child, and under his neglect, Amora suffered greatly.
On Lian's tenth birthday, she snuck back from the academy, hoping to celebrate with Amora. But she couldn't find her in the old house. That day, Amora had undergone Mongel's first experiment. She was forced to wear the collar for the first time. This beautiful, necklace-like object clung tightly to her skin, its intricate magical conduits connecting to her nervous system, broadcasting every subtle physiological change onto the scrying crystal in Mongel's laboratory.
Life after that became monotonous.
Lian usually spent her holidays in the slums of the imperial capital, following her former mentor, a Templar Knight, on various missions of goodwill. Amora, on the other hand, endured Mongel's increasingly frequent experiments and confinements while being forced to study even more advanced magical knowledge under his tutelage.
Recently, Lian had finally managed to secure a break to return to the old house. But before she arrived, Amora had already been locked away in the underground wine cellar.
To be honest, Amora still missed Lian. She was far better than Mongel.
"You can come out now."
Amora snapped out of her memories. She hadn't heard any footsteps, yet Mongel was clearly already at the door. His voice was deep and restrained, always maintaining the same monotone pitch with no inflection. Amora could hear it in every one of her nightmares.
The lock clicked open, the doorknob turned, and a tall figure blocked the dim, yellow light from outside.
"Stop pretending to be dead," Mongel said. He was dressed in a long white robe, looking like a mage straight out of an ancient tome. Though backlit, Amora could easily imagine his expressionless face.
"I didn't," Amora said, staring at her toes and trying her best not to sound timid. "I just don't have the strength to speak."
Mongel walked over, bent down, and unlocked the chains on her wrists. The strong scent of potions clung to him. Amora distractedly pondered the ingredients in the mixture, sitting still in place without moving.
Seeing her dazed state, Mongel frowned slightly and reached out to touch her forehead. His hand was icy, like a snake's scales, sending a shiver down Amora's spine. "No fever," he said coldly. "Get up and go back to your room. Remember to prepare breakfast tomorrow morning and wake Lian up."
Amora shook off the chains, crawled out from under the wine rack, and brushed the dust off her clothes. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she nearly collapsed again. Mongel caught her, checking her temperature once more. "Come to the laboratory. I can inject you with some necessary nutrients."
Amora nodded obediently.
Mongel likely let her out because the food supplies were running low, and the thought of cooking himself had never crossed his mind.
He often stayed in his laboratory for weeks at a time, sustaining himself on nutrient injections and Amora's clumsy attempts at mashed potatoes. He looked gaunt, his cheekbones sharp and prominent, but he appeared far younger than his actual age. Amora suspected that his taste buds had completely deteriorated in the complex magical environment of the laboratory. Her suspicion turned into certainty the moment he managed to swallow her horrifyingly bad mashed potatoes.
Amora missed Lian's roasted rabbit legs and cream cakes. But as she indulged in the memory, Mongel had already led her to the third-floor laboratory.
The old house had four levels. The first floor was an unused space with a grand ballroom and a parlor. The second floor was the main living area, where Amora and Lian's bedrooms were located. The third floor was Mongel's private domain, housing over a dozen laboratories dedicated to potions, alchemy, and magic. Lian had never set foot there, while Amora had practically lived there since she turned ten.
The fourth floor was unoccupied, filled with vegetables and greenery. The plants served to absorb the residual magical radiation from the third-floor experiments while also masking any signs of activity. Amora's potatoes were planted there, and she occasionally went up to check on them.
The underground wine cellar was connected to the ground level. A small gap between the kitchen and the storeroom concealed its entrance, hidden behind an illusion spell. If you dispelled the magic, the entrance would appear. Before Lian went to study in the capital, she had snuck into the cellar to steal wine. Mongel had scolded her harshly and forbidden her from entering the area again. Since then, the wine cellar had become Amora's confinement room.
"You're distracted again," Mongel said with a frown, a deep crease forming between his brows. He seemed somewhat displeased. "A magic user must possess immense mental strength and an unwavering focus. Any lapse in concentration could lead to your death at the hands of an enemy."
"This is a time of peace, and I'm not a 'magic user,'" Amora replied calmly. She walked over to the potion storage cabinet, peering through the glass at the nutrients she needed. She didn't look like a child, likely because Mongel had never treated her as one during her upbringing.
Mongel handed her a pair of gloves. "Don't stare directly at the windows of cabinets holding magical potions. I've reminded you countless times—some potions emit light that is contaminating."
Mongel was an incredibly taciturn man. If the topic didn't involve his area of expertise, he could remain silent forever. But once the conversation turned to his field, he could talk endlessly.
"Why do you store contaminating potions in a cabinet meant for nutrients?" Amora asked flatly. She put on the gloves Mongel had given her. They were a size too large but didn't hinder her dexterity.
Mongel stroked the black jade ring on his middle finger, speaking in a tone that carried a distinct edge of danger. "Don't talk back…"
"Can you start a sentence with a word other than 'don't'?" Amora said as she retrieved two vials of dark blue potion. Judging by the labels, they were already prepared and ready for use.
Mongel raised his voice, the black jade on his finger glinting dully as he said sharply, "Listen, I'm starting to think your thirteen days of confinement weren't worth any sympathy!"
Amora wanted to retort, "Exactly, which is why you've locked me up for 130 days this year alone," but before she could, Mongel grabbed her wrist. His long, bony fingers clasped her tightly as he took the potions she intended to use from her.
"If you're so dissatisfied," he said, his tone icy, "then go prepare your own potions. Don't use the ones I've already mixed!"
"How old are you?" Amora asked mockingly. Mongel might have been incompetent in daily life, but that didn't mean he could tolerate being questioned by a thirteen-year-old. He quickly shut the potion cabinet and cornered Amora against the wall. "Don't make me hit you."
Amora thought he must have never used violence on Lian. Lian could take down ten men of his size with one hand. But Amora wasn't Lian. She lowered her head, finally giving up on a confrontation she knew she couldn't win. "Oh, sorry."
Mongel was usually good at controlling his emotions. If he didn't frequently use hallucinogenic potions and if Amora didn't provoke him countless times, their relationship might have been much more harmonious.
"Your hand." Mongel drew the dark blue liquid from the vial into a syringe and said coldly, "Stop wasting my time."
Amora rolled up her sleeve. Her pale skin revealed a network of veins, and her upper arm was covered in a dense pattern of needle marks. Mongel's experiments were often harmful, and a recent potion seemed to slow wound healing, leaving those marks permanently on her arm.
Amora was so small and thin that Mongel had to kneel on one knee in front of her to level the syringe with the vial. His movements were precise and professional, quick yet steady. In no time, he had injected both vials of liquid into Amora's veins.
She was too weak from hunger to resist. But something about the potions felt strange. As the liquid coursed through her veins, her mind became foggy, and she felt as if her blood had turned to ice. Every breath seemed to crystallize into shards.
She cursed under her breath, muttering a string of profanities. "Mongel… damn you… you lunatic… what did you just inject?"
Mongel's lips curled into a faint smile, an expression that looked stiff from years of disuse. "You said I wouldn't store contaminating potions in the nutrient cabinet. Now you know you were wrong."
This childish psychopath.
That was Amora's last coherent thought before she passed out.