Consciousness drifted between chaos and reality, like sinking into the deep sea, then slowly being pulled back to the surface.
Sif slowly opened her eyes as her blurry vision gradually became clear.
What appeared before her was an unfamiliar wooden ceiling, and the air was filled with a faint scent of smoke and fire.
Her body was enveloped in warm bedding, her skin clearly feeling the comfort of the temperature.
Instinctive vigilance made her quickly survey her surroundings.
This was a wooden hut, its walls and beams were simple yet tidy, with a few basic wooden tables and chairs, and a fireplace burning warmly.
Thankfully, there were no imprisoning chains or obvious weapons.
Sif tried to turn over, but she immediately felt her body was unresponsive, so weak that even a slight movement was extremely exhausting.
Terrible! This body can't move at all!
This made her heart sink involuntarily.
Then the tragic memories surged like the tide.
The annihilation of the Cold Moon Tribe.
Brothers and sisters, parents all died miserably due to betrayal.
The last elder brother perished along with the enemy to cover her escape.
She closed her eyes, grief welled in her heart, her chest felt as though it was weighed down by a boulder, making it hard to breathe.
"At least I'm still alive, and have the chance for revenge!"
She gritted her teeth, forced herself to endure the soreness in her eyes, and tried to calm her emotions.
At that moment, the wooden door creaked open.
Sif suddenly opened her eyes, looking warily toward the door.
She thought she would see unknown soldiers, the nobility, or the murderers who slaughtered her tribe.
Yet it was a frail middle-aged woman who came in, appearing to be in her forties, with wrinkles on her face.
She was dressed in simple cotton clothing, holding a tray with a bowl of porridge and a cup of warm water, the steaming heat carrying a hint of food fragrance.
Seeing Sif awake, a flash of delight passed through the woman's eyes: "Oh, finally awake, you have such a big life, child."
The middle-aged woman gently lifted Sif's upper body, letting her lean against a soft pillow.
Then she picked up a cup of warm water, slowly brought it to Sif's lips, saying gently, "Have some water first, moisten your throat, you've been asleep for several days."
After hesitating for a moment, Sif eventually slightly parted her lips, allowing the woman to bring the cup closer to her lips.
Warm water slowly flowed into her mouth, finally somewhat relieving the fiery burn in her throat.
Sif couldn't help but swallow gently, her awareness slowly becoming clearer with the nourishment of the water.
"Slow down, don't rush," the woman spoke with some heartbreak in her tone, "Poor child, you've definitely suffered a lot..."
Sif's eyelids lightly fluttered, a faint shadow passing through her eyes, yet she didn't respond to the woman's words.
"If it weren't for the Lord sending people to save you, you'd probably have been carried off by wild beasts!" The woman patted her back lightly and started babbling to herself.
Upon hearing this, Sif faintly lowered her gaze, her fingertips quietly tightening.
The Lord?
Is he a Southern noble?!
Vigilance rose in her heart, yet her face continued to show silence.
The woman didn't notice her psychological change, continuing her chatter: "Don't be afraid. Although our Lord is young, he's an impressive person with a kind heart, who can't bear to see others suffer.
You might not know, he even rescues injured slaves, and we displaced people have received a lot of care from him."
She spoke easily, but Sif became increasingly uneasy inside.
She had been picked up by a Southern Barbarian noble!
Since childhood, she heard countless rumors about the Empire.
They were cunning invaders, each cold-blooded and ruthless, who liked to deceive the weak with lies, then mercilessly devour everything.
And now she had fallen into the hands of such people, Sif became increasingly uneasy.
Above all, she absolutely must not let them know her true identity.
Though her family was now exterminated, her former identity as a Cold Moon Tribe princess still held great value.
For those in power, she was a useful political pawn.
Might even be sent to the Empire's Royal Court, becoming some noble's plaything.
Sif could never accept such a fate.
So, what should she do now?
Her fingers curled slightly, her heart beating uneasily.
Escape directly?
Sif quickly dismissed the idea.
Currently, her body couldn't move, let alone her lack of understanding of the terrain here.
Running away recklessly would result in either dying on the road or being captured again, worsening her situation.
Pretend to comply?
Perhaps that was an option.
She could pretend to be obedient, secretly observing everything here, then find a suitable chance to escape.
But doing so would require cautious actions, never letting them know her identity, nor revealing her intention to flee.
Most importantly, she must learn who this "Lord" really was.
If he truly was as the woman described, a kind-hearted person, perhaps she could find some breathing space.
But if he was only superficially kind, while actually cold and cruel inside, then she must plan for the worst.
Regardless, she couldn't sit and wait for her doom.
While she pondered wildly, footsteps suddenly came from outside, accompanied by a guard's announcement: "The Lord is here."
Sif's body instinctively tensed up, fingertips gripping the bedding, holding her breath.
She was ready to face an overweight, leering, heavily perfumed Imperial noble.
She had even rehearsed numerous times in her mind the upcoming scenario.
If he humiliated her, she'd pretend to comply, waiting for a chance to escape.
Yet when the door opened, the reality completely caught her off guard.
Who walked in was a young man with dark hair and handsome features.
He seemed to be just over twenty years old, tall and straight, dressed neatly and elegantly, neither overly luxurious nor too plain, everything just right.
He had no intense pungent perfume scent, no exaggerated flashy jewelry, nor any aura of brutality or bloodthirstiness, even carrying a touch of refreshing neatness.
His gaze carried scrutiny, but not the kind of disdain from above, even with a hint of warmth in his eyes?
Sif was stunned for a moment.
This is... an Ironblood Empire noble?
This was entirely inconsistent with the education she received since childhood!
In her understanding, Imperial nobles were either fat, greedy buffoons or cold-blooded and ruthless butchers, bloodthirsty, arrogant, seeing Northern Alien Races as beasts.
Yet this young man in front of her looked nothing like that.
But she quickly pulled herself together, alarm bells ringing in her mind.
Don't be deceived by appearances!
This man perhaps was just more adept at disguising than other Southern Barbarians.
His appearance was clean, manners graceful, but that didn't mean he lacked ambition or schemes.
So she must be extra cautious!
Sif suppressed her doubts, lowered her gaze, discreetly observing the young man's every move.