Using the tool I found and my finely honed lock-picking skills, I cracked open the cell door in a matter of seconds.
"That was the easiest lock I've ever picked," I muttered, almost insulted by how little challenge it offered.
I stepped out of the prison cell, turned back with a dramatic flourish. "Adios, my friend. Though our time together was short, I'll cherish every musty, moldy second of it. And I swear, I'll never come back—even if my life depends on it."
Confidence wrapped around me like a cloak as I strode out of the dungeon, boots echoing with careless bravado across the polished floors of the grand mansion hall.
I chuckled to myself, amusement bubbling at my lips. "My luck's turning around. I can feel it in my bones."
With a proud nod, I continued, "Didn't even get lost coming back from that dungeon. Not that it was hard—it was literally a straight path."
A graceful spin, the twirl of someone who believed the world had finally remembered to side with them. But the universe rarely stayed merciful for long.
One of the staff spotted me, eyes widening, hand already lunging for the nearest alarm.
Without thinking, I dashed forward and knocked them out cold. But victory was fleeting. Another staff member rounded the corner.
"The prisoner's escaped!" the staffer shrieked.
"Oui… how'd he know I'm a prisoner? Do they have some kind of facial recognition system here? Creepy..."
And just like that, the hunt resumed. Footsteps thundered behind me like an approaching avalanche.
I darted through corridors, up staircases that spiraled dizzyingly, flinging open doors at random. Finally, heart pounding, I ducked into a room and slammed the door shut, bolting it.
Panting, sweat dripping down my temple, I muttered, "Phew. People here are relentless. Now I know why some people doesn't want to be famous."
But the moment I turned around, triumph turned to shock.
A man lay in bed, pale and sickly, his gaze fixed on me as though he'd seen a ghost.
"Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you. I promise."
He mumbled something, voice thin as paper.
"What? Speak up. I can't hear you."
"Llyne!" he rasped.
I narrowed my eyes. "Okay, that's a little creepy. If you're a stalker, we're going to have a problem."
I raised my fists, ready to strike from a safe distance.
"It's me! Ronald!" the man wheezed, struggling to sit up.
"Liar. Ronald is huge like grizzly bear. I don't know how to describe him aside from that, honestly." I scratched my head, feeling a pinch of guilt.
"It really is me! I possessed this guy—Mr. Lerrington."
"Prove it."
"Remember when you snuck out during your trial, and Lady Nozomi caught you? She beat you to a pulp and dragged you back. Then Master Sylph gave you a few more rounds just for fun."
"Ugh, don't remind me. That was a nightmare. Why are you making it sound like I'm some kind of mochi getting pounded for dessert?"
"You never learned from it."
"It's called perseverance."
"You were smiling the whole time. Isaac said you were a masochist."
"Shorty talks rubbish all the time."
"He handles intelligence."
"He handles fact, not human emotion."
"At least the fact that you were smiling while getting beaten up is true."
"Like I said. It's not."
Ronald pulled up the system, a faint shimmer in the air, and played a video. Me, mid-beating, grinning like a lunatic.
"AAAHHHH! Stop the video!"
Ronald paused it.
"Now do you believe me?"
Arms folded, sulking, I grumbled, "I believe in the video. And the system."
Ronald patted my back gently. "I forgot you can't use the system yet since you're not Master Sylph's official disciple. Sorry, Llyne."
I growled while hugging the bed frame. "Screw those 444 trials. That number is literally a death flag."
Then—bang. The door shuddered under impact.
Ronald yanked the bedsheet up to his eyes. "What's that?!"
I scratched my head. "Oops. Might have been me."
"Huh?! Why?!"
"Long story short: to find you, I became a trespasser… then got accused of murder—"
"MURDER?!"
"Let me finish a sentence, Ronald."
He nodded, backing into the wall.
"You can't go any farther. You're already at the wall," I deadpanned.
Ronald whistled, looking away, caught.
"Anyway, it's a murder I didn't commit. So quit inching away like I'm a lunatic."
Ronald exhaled shakily. "Thank goodness. I wouldn't know how to defend you."
"You were ready to run!"
He looked away in guilt.
The door rattled harder. Both of us turned, tension snapping the air taut.
"Looks like the door won't hold on for long."
"I'll give it a proper funeral for its long lasting service," Ronald wept dramatically.
"...Sure."
"Ronald."
"Hmm?"
"Surrender your body to me."
Ronald froze. "Even though this isn't my body... I must refuse."
I blinked. "What?"
Realization dawned. "Oh. Oh! My wording. My bad."
I coughed, composing myself. "I meant: are you ready to go full Lord-of-the-Mansion mode?"
"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"
"Don't you trust me?"
"With my life on the line... maybe."
"Perfect! That's a yes."
The door burst open, splinters flying. The butler stood tall, guards fanned out behind him.
I grabbed Ronald, lightly circling my hand around his neck. "Come closer and I'll end your master's life," I threatened.
The butler's smirk barely twitched. "Try it."
I frowned. 'That's not the line. Are we in a different story now?'
I squeezed just enough, Ronald yelped. Guards shifted, muscles tensing, but the butler only seemed amused.
"Ronald, you're good at acting," I whispered.
"You're actually hurting me," he hissed back.
I winced at the bruises blooming on his neck. "Oops. Hold on a bit longer."
"Llyne, this plan won't work."
"You never try, you never know."
"The butler wants to kill me and take over as lord."
I froze. 'Oh... That explains a lot.'
"You should've said that earlier. My plan's ruined now."
"You never told me the plan!"
The butler tilted his head, watching our argument unfold like theater. "Well, well. What will you do now?"
I dragged Ronald toward the window, glass glinting with promise.
"Ronald, brace yourself."
"For what?"
"We're going to be fugitives."
His face turned ghostly pale, dread written across every line.
I hoisted him onto my shoulder, smashed through the window, and leapt into the night.
"HELP MEEEEE!" Ronald wailed before fainting, a puff of spiritual smoke drifting from his mouth.
Across rooftops I bounded, the mansion shrinking behind us, guards barking orders below. After what felt like an age, I finally shook them off.
Back at the shed, I gently laid Ronald beside my hidden loot.
Breathless laughter spilled out. "That was fun! Right, Ronald?"
No answer.
I looked down. Ronald had fainted, face slack.
"Doesn't his face look kinda green?" I poked his cheek.
A quick mental diagnosis. "Yup. Must be because he possessed such a weak body that even a light push made him faint."
I wiped away tears of laughter. "Of course! That explains why I could carry him with ease. If it was Ronald's actual body, I'd be flat like a pancake."
When Ronald finally stirred awake, night had draped itself fully over the world. We traded stories, voices low against the dark.
As I spoke of the witch, Ronald's face drained, eyes wide. "Witch? Witches exist?"
I shot him an incredulous look. "Ronald, we were nearly murdered by a vengeful ghost. How is it that you don't think witches exist?"
"But... But... Weren't you scared, Llyne?"
A sigh long enough to carry a lifetime spilled from me. "I've encountered unspoken numbers of life threatening situations —even on so-called safe routes. And with my Master, there's always more to come. So I'm fine, Ronald. I'm fine."
Ronald watched me, pity softening his gaze. "Are you cursed, Llyne?"
I blinked. "Sometimes I wonder if you say things like that on purpose or if you're just hopelessly oblivious."
Ronald tilted his head, innocent confusion writ large.
Rolling my eyes, I carried on, recounting my run-in with the heretic. Ronald clapped his hands over his ears, face scrunched like a child forced to hear ghost stories.
Eventually, my tale ended.
"The end," I declared with a flourish.
I tugged his hands from his ears. "You may clap now."
Ronald clapped, though half the time he'd been hiding.
Then it was his turn. He spoke of waking as Mr. Lerrington, the family he barely recognized, the suffocating etiquette.
When he mentioned the Madam, I raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me the way you said 'Madam' is suspicious."
Ronald's eyes widened. "No! I don't like the Madam! She's not my type. My type is like—"
"Rona," I interjected.
Without thinking, Ronald answered, "Yeah."
Silence.
Then—
"HIIIEEEEKKKK!" Ronald squeaked, turning crimson, face buried in his hands.
I grinned, fangs of mischief gleaming. Revenge tasted sweet.
"You know," I teased, "I heard the Madam is considered... smexy. Imagine combining both Rona and the Madam. You'd be flying to the moon and back."
Ronald's face burned red, words stumbling.
"I-I-I'm not—"
I waved dismissively. "Why're you acting so guilty? It's not like you're dating anyone."
He froze, completely disarmed.
I giggled, perfectly satisfied.
Night deepened, the shed silent save for our breathing.
"This reminds me of the time we spent together in The Trial," Ronald murmured softly.
I grumbled. "I thought we promised never to speak of The Trial."
"It was really terrifying."
Memories surfaced, sharp as broken glass. We both shuddered.
"That's one trauma I'd rather die than relive."
Ronald nodded, solemn.
Silence settled. The cold pressed in.
Slowly, sleep crept over us, soft and heavy as a winter blanket.
And so, in that quiet darkness, fugitives and friends both, we drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber until morning.