"Alice, wake up!"
"…Umm…"
Her eyelids fluttered open, vision blurry, neck aching as though someone had driven a stake into it.
"Amelia…?"
"Are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere else?"
Amelia's voice was soft, tinged with relief, the concern of a close friend. But Alice's mood plummeted cold and heavy despite that warmth.
"Did I… lose again?" she asked, her tone flat.
"Well… I don't know," Amelia admitted, shaking her head. "The mercenary who carried you here didn't say much. He just left you with me."
Alice shut her eyes tight, her pride twisting like a knife.
Julies. The demon. And now some thief. Not just any thief he was a demon thief—one who had the audacity to wear her attendant's face, mocking her with every strike.
It was the third time.
And even with her ancestral sword, even with the new power surging through it, she had still been crushed.
"…Faceless Imposter."
Her teeth ground together, fury searing through her veins.
