Poison pen (^^)
The Sorcerer King, satisfied with her answer, turned and strode out of the hall, his dark robes swirling behind him. He left her standing alone in the cavernous space, a small, fragile figure in a world of overwhelming power. The weight of her new reality settled upon her. She was a ghost in a machine that wanted to kill her, and she had to survive for six long years without the one person who truly understood.
A small, translucent screen flickered into existence before her, a new kind of interface that was a stark contrast to the old System's vibrant colors.
"Task: Provide actionable intelligence regarding the northern rebellion. Failure will result in death."
The objective was clear, but the means were not. She had no access to the King's spies, no birds to gather intelligence, and no knowledge of this world's political intricacies. Her only weapon was her memory of the original manhwa plot, a faint, unreliable map of a world that was now her reality.
Her first move was to find a pen and paper. She was in a castle, a fortress of magical power and political intrigue. There had to be a library, a study, a place where a "seer" could write down her "visions." She found her way to a dusty, forgotten chamber filled with scrolls and ancient tomes.
The room felt cold and unwelcoming. She sat down at a small writing desk, the quill feeling foreign in her hand. Her mind, a machine of pure logic, began to sift through her memories of the manhwa. The rebellion was a minor subplot, a backstory for a hero who would appear later in the story. The leaders were three rogue mages, powerful but disorganized, who believed the Sorcerer King was an evil tyrant. Their plan was to destabilize the King's power by attacking his supply lines in the northern territories, using a network of sympathetic merchants.
But she couldn't just write down the facts. The Sorcerer King was a pragmatic and paranoid ruler. He would suspect a trap, a lie. She had to present the information in a way that would be believable, a way that would make him think she had some kind of ethereal, magical power. She had to become the role she had claimed.
She began to write, her pen scratching across the parchment. She wrote in a strange, almost poetic language, a style that was filled with cryptic metaphors and half-truths. She spoke of "the three ravens in the North," "the river of poisoned gold," and "the whisper of the merchants." She didn't reveal their names or their exact locations. She simply gave him the puzzle, the pieces he would have to put together himself.
Just as she finished, the heavy wooden door to the study creaked open. A tall, imposing figure stepped into the room. It was not the Sorcerer King, but a man dressed in the King's guard uniform, his face a mask of cold suspicion. He was not a character from the manhwa, but a random, unnamed guard, an obstacle the System had placed in her path.
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "The King has commanded me to keep watch over you, Cursed Princess. He does not trust you."
This was an unexpected complication. The guard was a new variable, a puppet the System had created to ensure she couldn't escape or manipulate the plot. He would be a constant presence, an omnipresent watcher who would report her every move to the Sorcerer King.
Selena, however, was not one to be intimidated. She gave him a small, polite smile and held up the scroll. "I have just completed my first vision for His Majesty," she said, her voice dripping with a subtle, icy sweetness. "Please, deliver this to him at once. I am sure he is eager to see what my foresight has revealed."
The guard, surprised by her composure, simply stared at her. He didn't move. She could feel the awkward tension in the air, a silent standoff between her confidence and his duty.
To break the tension, she took a step toward him, still holding the scroll. And in her new body, in a world where she had no grace or skill, she tripped. It was a clumsy, uncoordinated fall, and the scroll flew from her hand, landing on the dusty floor, unrolling to reveal the strange, cryptic words.
The guard's eyes went wide. He looked from her, a clumsy, embarrassed girl, to the scroll on the floor, a piece of prophetic and dangerous intelligence. The contrast was so absurd, so nonsensical, that for a fleeting moment, a flash of genuine confusion and surprise crossed his face. He quickly recovered, his face returning to its stoic mask, but the moment had been enough.
He snatched the scroll from the floor, his movements clumsy and hurried, as if he were trying to hide a mistake. He left the room without a word, his boots clattering on the stone floor. He was gone as quickly as he had appeared.
Selena stood up, brushing the dust from her dress. The fall had been a clumsy accident, but it had worked perfectly. It had made her seem like a frail, harmless seer, a woman who possessed a dangerous gift she couldn't even control. It had made the guard believe that she was not a threat, and it had made him rush to deliver the information, a small, panicked reaction to a strange, almost-comical moment. She had used an awkward, embarrassing moment to her advantage, a new kind of "creative villainy" that was all her own. Her survival, she knew, would depend on her ability to turn her weaknesses into strengths.