A red flash, hotter than the sun, engulfed the entire mansion.
A whirlwind of flames erupted around Mia's room. As if hellfire had grazed the mortal realm, surrounding objects began to glow red-hot and warp. Could this be how the apocalypse foretold by the goddess begins?
Furniture vanished into the fiery light. The dying cries of insects within the mansion echoed through the air. Yet nothing burned, and no lives were truly lost. The goddess-granted power could simulate annihilation as masterfully as it mimicked life.
A servant collapsed with an agonized scream, curling into a ball and clamping her eyes shut in her final moments—as though paralyzed by the incomprehensible horror before her. When silence finally settled, only a blood-drenched corpse remained at Mia's feet. She coldly flicked away a droplet of blood trailing down her finger.
"Tsk." At this rate, even the laundresses will refuse my clothes. That's all I need—more complaints about a noblewoman being deadweight on the battlefield... Mia's irritation prickled like static.
Her last coherent memory was hauling dismembered body parts beyond her chamber. While dumping them unceremoniously lacked finesse, it was the best her depleted strength could manage. Any greater effort might have left her collapsed beside the assassins' remains.
Her eyes—shut in feigned unconsciousness—only fluttered open at dawn's first light. To think I remained senseless until daybreak.
Mia groaned through her splitting headache as she sat up. Though her memories blurred, the clammy sweat along her spine testified to a restless night.
Prying her leaden eyelids open, she groped along the bedside table until her fingers closed on a small vial. The container clattered noisily as she wrestled it free, sending pills cascading across her palm. She shoved the haphazard handful into her mouth without counting.
Blanchard's physician would've swooned at the sight, but Mia had long abandoned his "long-term health" lectures. Immediate relief was all that mattered. Whether this chemical abuse would kill her someday held no consequence on the battlefield.
The calculated overexertion formed part of her plans—she'd endure days of recovery if needed. Yet each use of divine power left her weaker than before. If this deterioration continues...
Don't tell me I've lost days again.
No use dwelling on spilled potions. Mia steadied herself against the bedpost and grasped the doorknob.
The hallway swarmed with officers. Mia cut through the crowd with practiced ease, cataloging faces: immaculate uniforms here, slouching figures there—and inexplicably, the quartermaster lurking in a corner.
This gathering's no trivial matter, she noted, settling beside Etienne with an expectant glance. The commander obliged smoothly.
"Last night," Etienne murmured, pitched for nearby ears alone, "an unidentifiable crimson light disturbed the troops. Too brilliant to trace, but it faded quickly. We dismissed it as inconsequential."
Mia nodded—precisely as intended. Her authoritative demeanor belied their inverted ranks, yet none batted an eye at the subordinate dictating terms.
"We believed the matter settled," Etienne continued, "until this morning's discovery of a servant's corpse in the hall."
"I encountered no body en route," Mia interjected.
"The baron was summoned but fainted immediately. Given the... visceral state, we conducted minimal examination before disposal with his consent."
"Disposal solves nothing," Mia countered.
"Agreed. We must bolster security—this attack's origin and method remain unknown."
"Troubling indeed."
"While personal grudges against the baron are possible," Etienne's gaze sharpened, "the unprecedented nature suggests the Holy Legion itself was targeted."
Mia feigned contemplation. "So our position may be compromised?"
"A possibility we must address."
Sudden warmth enveloped her hand—Etienne's fingers interlaced with hers in a playfully conspiratorial squeeze. He knows. Of course he did, having witnessed her divine manifestations firsthand. She interpreted the gesture as both tease and pledge of secrecy.
"Then we relocate," Mia declared, terminating the discussion.
Though obvious days prior, only she could voice the conclusion—officers had hesitated to outpace their commander. Stranger still was Etienne's complacent nod, as though the idea were novel. His puppet-like support grated even as it proved useful.
Why this excessive deference? Mia wondered, extracting her hand.
The baron entered the parlor with poorly veiled hostility, perhaps emboldened by Etienne's presence. Yet the commander remained silent, yielding the floor to Mia.
"Rufus," she began, "your surveillance has ended."
"Meaning what?"
"I thought you pragmatic."
"I'll take that as praise."
"Don't mistake this for alliance. You've a choice: your mansion is surrounded by Etallon's elite. Should I permit them to... interact with your citizens?"
The baron's sneer faltered.
