The bedroom door resounded with a knock, accompanied by the soft voice of a maid."My lady, the hot water is ready. Shall we bring it in now?""Bring it in," she replied.
Zhang Lin set aside the book as two maids entered, pushing a great wooden tub.Pale steam rose in languid spirals, carrying the delicate fragrance of scattered crimson petals floating atop the surface. The water, carefully tempered, was warm but not scalding.
After positioning the tub within the chamber, the maids stood silently, holding bathing implements in their hands—clearly intending to attend her as she bathed.Had she truly been Freyja, perhaps she would not have minded. But Zhang Lin, unaccustomed to such aristocratic ministrations, found it difficult to accept.
"You may leave," she said evenly."As you wish, my lady."
Setting down their things, the maids curtseyed and withdrew, closing the door behind them.
The tub was not large—comparable to the bathtubs of her former world—though its depth rose to half her height. She shed her hunting garb and slipped slowly into the water, warmth seeping into her limbs. The faint floral fragrance lingered at her nose; closing her eyes, she felt at last the tension and bewilderment of her strange crossing ease into calm.
"I truly did… cross into another world…"
Her lips curved faintly as she lingered in thought.
After some time of tranquil repose, Zhang Lin opened her eyes. She rinsed herself briefly, then stepped from the tub. The youthful, unripe lines of her body were revealed to the air, golden hair clinging damp against her back, lending her an unpolished but rare beauty.
Curious, she brushed her fingers lightly over her still-budding chest, shook her head, then swiftly dried herself with a towel. She slipped into a white gown of noble fashion.
Upon the desk, the Comprehensive History of Byron still lay open. Taking it up again, she resumed what had earlier been left unfinished. Though the tome appeared thick, its pages were not so many, and she soon discovered her pace was swifter than ever before—not merely her reading, but her comprehension itself had sharpened.
Even passages dense and obscure unraveled themselves with startling clarity. The sudden quickening of intellect startled her."My mind… has grown keener?" Closing the book, she shut her eyes, and yet every word she had just read still imprinted itself vividly in her memory—even trifles she had scarcely noticed."Could this be some strange boon of transmigration?"
Though perplexed, she knew such a gift was undoubtedly to her benefit.
She finished the black-bound volume in short order. Its contents traced roughly three centuries of Byron's recent history—colored, perhaps, by the bias of scribes, but largely authentic. Through it, Zhang Lin began to grasp the world she now inhabited.
In simple terms: might is sovereign, and the strong rule supreme.
Here, no hint of firearms existed; it was a world bound wholly to cold steel. Compared even to medieval Europe of her former life, it was purer, harsher. The reason was clear: humanity here was hardier, stronger. In Byron, noble titles were not strictly hereditary; they could not endure without strength to defend them. Whether the power of armies or the prowess of the individual—it mattered not. Without it, one was fated only for conquest by others.
Thus had Freyja's father, Baron Green, and his house risen.With his formidable physique and mastery of the sword, he reigned unchallenged. Though cruel and imperious, none dared to oppose him, for sheer strength itself was the truest foundation of the Green Castle's dominion.
Zhang Lin walked to the window and pushed it open. Below, servants bustled across the courtyard. The sun had dipped toward the horizon; the amber glow of evening bathed her youthful face, and through her contemplative eyes flickered a subtle, incongruous unease.
She pondered the knowledge she had gathered.
In the distance, along the sole road to the castle, rode a troop of knights in gleaming formation. From her perch, she caught fragments of their voices carried on the wind. At their head rode a broad-shouldered man clad in silvered armor, a plain cross-hilted sword at his side. His golden hair, unbound by helm, streamed behind him; gloved hands held the reins with effortless authority. An austere face, shadowed by sparse stubble, bore the rugged dignity of a wild nobility.
It was her father—the Baron Green.
Sensing her gaze, he lifted his head. For a moment, the stern visage softened into a faint smile, and he raised his hand in greeting.
Within the resplendent great hall, though dusk had yet to fall, silver candelabra already flickered with light. Amid the dim glow, Baron Green strode in with two towering captains of the guard, their armor clattering in metallic cadence.
There waited Lady Mary, Zhang Lin, and an array of servants and retainers. Before them stood also a frail boy, pallid of complexion, with heavy shadows beneath his eyes. No more than eleven or twelve, his figure trembled though he struggled to stand straight. His features bore faint traces of the Baron's lineage, though his hair was flaxen, not gold.
This was Eric—the Baron's fourth son.
At a glance, Zhang Lin surmised he had not slept through the night; bloodshot eyes betrayed his exhaustion. Though nominally estranged from his father by the disgrace of his mother, in truth it seemed his own self-indulgent decline had sealed the Baron's contempt.
In Freyja's memory, she had seldom spoken with this brother beyond the barest courtesies. In a realm where only strength commanded worth, had Eric not been of the Baron's blood, he would long since have been cast out as refuse.
"Welcome home, my lord.""Welcome back, Father.""Welcome, Father…"
The voices of greeting resounded through the hall. Zhang Lin, too, lifted her skirts in a practiced curtsey, echoing the others' salute.