Within the Archisorte family estate, inside the private bedchamber of a certain cunning blond Miss, the pampered young noble lay sprawled across her couch like a defeated hound, listening to the intelligence delivered by her maid.
"Kayneth… is dead?"
The words carried shock, yet something else threaded through them.
Relief. Delight. A long-suppressed hunger stirring awake.
As she listened to this "terrible news" befalling the main family, the girl known as Reines El-Melloi Archisorte found her lips curling upward without realizing it, forming a brilliant smile edged with cold menace.
Reines was a magus of extraordinary talent. Even by Clock Tower standards, her aptitude placed her among the elite. Yet Kayneth had always stood one step higher, and because of that single difference, she had been reduced to a tragic spare—waiting in the wings for a role never meant for her.
The reason she had not yet been married off to some other noble lineage, reduced to a disposable tool of alliance, was not kindness. It was because her mastery of magecraft and her deft handling of people made her valuable.
Not irreplaceable. Just expensive.
The family intended to sell her at the highest possible price.
Unfortunately for them, Reines was not the sort of fool who counted money for the person who sold her. With political finesse and social instinct, she had accumulated her own network and leverage. To the main branch of the Archibalds, it might seem laughable. To a cadet branch like the Archisortes, it was power enough to matter.
No matter one's taste, no matter one's standards, anyone who laid eyes on Reines was drawn in by her beauty and soon became her devoted admirer.
Her soft golden hair was not the washed-out blond common to Europeans, but a rich, lustrous gold, like polished metal catching the light. Though only fifteen or sixteen, her figure was already graceful and poised, her youthful face carrying a stubborn vitality that stirred base urges—an impulse to pin her down and conquer her utterly.
She was beautiful, yes—but never a hollow ornament. Her exceptional Magic Circuits, her political acuity, her commercial instincts all surpassed those of ordinary magi. That alone made her the object of fervent pursuit among the noble heirs.
Of course, what those nobles truly desired was her womb.
Among magi, Magic Circuits were inherited through blood. Ancient families guarded the purity of their lineage across generations, ensuring their descendants far surpassed commoners in magical aptitude.
To those nobles, Reines was the ideal match.
Or rather, the ideal breeding apparatus.
Elegant beauty. Exceptional mental fortitude. Magic Circuits perfect in both quantity and precision. She was everything they dreamed of.
Just a womb. Nothing more. No value beyond that. No meaning. Certainly no love.
The world of magi was cruel.
And brutally honest.
"Hah…" Her breathing came fast and shallow. Her mind told her to remain calm, but the shock of this news overwhelmed restraint.
Kayneth was no combat specialist, but as a researcher he had reached the Rank of Color, second only to the Crown. One of the Twelve Lords of the Clock Tower. His death should have been impossible.
Yet the report lay before her. His body had been returned to the Archibald main house. His possessions recovered intact. The rumors said his end had been grotesque.
"Leave," Reines said, waving a hand irritably at the maid still standing nearby.
The maid did not move.
"Hey—" Reines stared at the stiff, vacant expression and felt a chill surge up her spine. "Who are you?"
She shouted, springing from the couch in one fluid motion and lunging toward the desk where her Mystic Codes lay. Defensive spells wrapped around her body. A communication working flared to life, warning every magus loyal to her within the family.
All of it was completed in seconds.
The maid remained motionless, like a doll with its spring unwound.
"A doll…" The realization struck her—
And then something soft wrapped around her body. The power she had gathered dissipated at once.
Silk sheets.
She was back on the couch.
Moments ago she had leapt five or six meters, nearly reaching the desk. Now she was inexplicably returned, bound tightly in the bedding, cocooned into a humiliating, wriggling bundle.
"What is this—" Cold sweat burst from her skin as she scanned the room.
Runes emerged from the shadows.
They severed communication, suppressed sound, even blocked space itself. A meticulously prepared trap.
There was no doubt. The array had been laid in advance. Her maid had been replaced long ago.
"Good day, Miss Reines."
A teasing voice echoed through the room. On the crimson handwoven carpet, a shadow rippled like dark water, and two figures rose from it.
One was a young man in a tailored suit, clearly a bespoke piece from Anderson & Sheppard. Wealth or status was obvious—but Reines' gaze locked onto the girl standing behind him.
She possessed a purity like a lotus bloom. Pale skin contrasted with a light gray gauze dress, simple yet elegant, perfectly embodying the principle that a maid's presence should never eclipse her master.
"The doll you saw was my handiwork," the boy said lightly. "A crude prototype. The material was your maid's corpse."
His youthful voice carried a casual cruelty as he smiled.
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Rhodes. A rather unimpressive Arcanist. Please refrain from glaring at me like that."
"Otherwise—"
In an instant, the maid vanished.
The next heartbeat, she slammed into Reines' bound body. A dark scythe locked against Reines' throat, leaving two red marks where the blade kissed skin.
Only then did Rhodes laugh softly.
"Don't blame us if we get rough."
"Go ahead. Cry. Scream."
"Even if you scream yourself hoarse, no one is coming to save you."