"?What Do You Mean?"
Mia's voice probably didn't waver. She swallowed dryly, relieved by that simple fact alone.
If Etienne truly knew something, this wasn't the time to leisurely investigate the enemy nation's drug distribution network. How much did he actually know? Could he remember his past life? And if so, why had he chosen to help Mia?... These were far more critical questions.
Etienne smirked playfully. "Will you keep pretending ignorance, Mia? You made a promise last time."
"A promise? Me?"
His phrasing suggested Etienne's motives differed from Mia's initial suspicions. Her thoughts began whirring like clockwork.
After further consideration, one memory surfaced. She'd once told him that if they wanted to maintain their lover charade, he should publicly confess their relationship. Official recognition required such theatrics.
She'd dismissed it as a joke at the time, but his earnest expectation for this staged confession seemed genuine now.
"Why bring this up now of all times?"
While relieved he wasn't pressing about her past life, his words carried heavier implications than mere playacting. What else did he conceal? An invisible weight settled on Mia's shoulders.
Their final day in Glen Glen approached. Soldiers gradually recovered from poisonings, and Mia had completed her objectives here. Remaining longer risked exposure—her next plans required constant mobility.
'They' would inevitably pursue her. Mia needed to maintain her lead.
Organizing military documents, Mia lit her bedside candle. The day's end brought unexpected tranquility.
"......Is he truly not coming? Problematic."
As anxiety about derailed plans gripped her, knuckles rapped against her door.
"Ah. Naturally."
Mia remained silent. Visitors could state their business without prompting.
"My lady, the Baron sends word."
"......"
"He requests immediate audience regarding urgent matters."
Mia snorted. If that man sought negotiations, he'd never send such crude envoys. True Galois emissaries wouldn't dare address her so familiarly either.
Baron Galois possessed sharper political instincts and cunning than her past life's memories suggested. No seasoned player would insult counterparts during disadvantageous negotiations.
"Enter."
The door creaked open instantly. A servant bowed deeply, eyes glued to the floor as he shuffled inside. His furtive glances studied Mia's expression.
"Well? What earth-shattering news justifies disturbing my rest?"
Mia examined her nails without turning. Her posture broadcasted blatant disinterest in the Baron's "urgent" message.
Perhaps interpreting her casual stance as vulnerability, the servant lunged—dagger flashing from his robes. The metallic shing! of drawn steel, battlefield-familiar to any veteran, sliced the air.
The blade only severed stray hairs as Mia tilted her head. Locks fluttered downward while she smirked.
"Galois sends this as his message?"
Her whisper dripped honeyed calm. The assassin's shoulders twitched—instinctual fear overriding training.
That momentary lapse proved fatal. A scream echoed as Mia twisted his wrist, sending the dagger clattering. Pinned against the wall by his collar, the man gaped at her with dawning horror.
Mia chuckled. Even her past self—who'd only known warfare through strategy documents—could've dispatched such amateur killers.
Insulting, really. After years evading elaborate assassination plots, receiving this incompetent whelp? Had they learned nothing?
"Still unwilling to name your employer?"
Her gaze bored into him. Whether demanding answers or deciphering microexpressions, he couldn't tell.
Mia frowned. His pathetic resistance confirmed he wasn't professional. Two possibilities remained: gross underestimation of her capabilities, or this outcome served someone's purposes.
Yet he lacked the visceral terror of condemned men. Only rookie panic flavored the air—no, less than that. Calling this bumbling fool a rookie insulted actual recruits.
Pretending contemplation, Mia glanced at the man quivering by her desk. Amusing how he awaited judgment like startled prey.
"Hmm... I find myself at an impasse." Her sigh dripped mock concern. "Perhaps you could advise me?"
Silence.
"Tch." She clicked her tongue. "Opportunity wasted through sluggish wits."
"You do hear me, yes?"
A halfhearted kick startled him into nodding.
"Regulations forbid killing subdued enemies unless necessary." Mia noted the hope flashing beneath his hood. 'Not a suicide operative then.'
Final confirmation obtained. No escape remained unless he welcomed death.
"Exceptions exist for classified intel carriers... but you learned nothing before capture. Code dictates your release."
Mia raised her hand slowly, his eyes tracking the movement.
"Yet I've trust issues regarding your kind."
Light erupted—searing retinas accustomed to dimness. When the man blinked away spots, a crimson sphere hovered above Mia's palm. Not held. Floating.
Even laymen recognized the menace of visible divine energy. The assassin's face paled as Mia smiled.
"Oops. This is classified." Her monotone belied any remorse.
"...You've seen state secrets now."
The sphere flared. From pampered noble girl to executioner—the transformation lasted mere breaths. Scarlet light engulfed his world.
