The Count didn't look like any Count I'd ever imagined.
No velvet robes, no crown, no smug air of aristocratic decay. Instead, he looked like a tax auditor who'd gotten lost and wandered into the wrong story. Slim frame, delicate features sharpened by a precision almost feminine, glasses perched on his nose like a shield between himself and the rest of humanity. His golden hair was combed so immaculately it looked as though even a breeze wouldn't dare touch it.
And his study? Not a throne room of grandeur and awe. No tapestries or chandeliers. Instead, it was chaos disguised as order: scrolls, ledgers, and parchment spilling across tables in teetering stacks, each pile no doubt part of some arcane filing system only he understood. The smell of wax and ink choked the air, heavy enough to make me cough.
When I entered, still shackled and dragged along by guards like a stray mutt, the Count barely glanced up. His quill scratched, his eyes scanning lines of cramped text. I could've been a chair creaking in the corner for all the attention he gave me.
"She's an odd one, yes," he muttered absently, almost to himself, "but handing her to the Church might not be the best move. Can't let them gain an unknown asset… but what use could she be?"
Wow. Nice to meet you too. Nothing like being treated as an unwanted delivery.
The elderly mage—the same one who'd shoved an orb in my hand earlier—took a step forward, but before he could open his mouth, the raven-haired knight-mage cut him off.
"Then what do you suggest we do with her?"
Her tone was crisp, drilled into shape like a sword honed by years of discipline. But beneath the iron there was something else—a quiet edge, a current of caution. Suspicion.
The Count finally looked up. His gaze met hers with an almost weary indifference before it slid to me. Brief. Clinical. Dispassionate. Like he was inspecting a smudge on his glasses rather than a person.
"Assign her to your unit. Let her train. Evaluate. And while we're at it… she can serve as Regina's maid."
The words dropped like a pebble into a pond, but the ripples they caused were immediate.
The knight stiffened. Her eyes narrowed, emotions flickering across them too quick to name—conflict, duty, irritation, maybe even… worry? All I knew was that this "Regina" name carried weight. Like a bell rung in a cathedral, it resonated through the room.
Regina? Wait—who?
I opened my mouth, lifting my shackled wrists in the universal gesture for hey, still chained here, could someone address that? Spoiler alert: no one cared.
Instead, I was dragged out again, the Count already turning back to his papers as though he hadn't just signed me up for a bizarre new job.
This time, they hauled me into a courtyard that looked like the lovechild of a medieval barracks and a modern military academy. Stone walls enclosed rows of steel-forged weapon racks gleaming with fresh polish. Dummies etched with glowing runes stood like frozen soldiers, their surfaces scarred with scorch marks and blade cuts. The air reeked of sweat, oil, and iron.
And everywhere—soldiers.
Rows of armored knights marched in lockstep, their boots striking the cobbles like war drums. Robed magi stood at intervals, their staffs raised in silent concentration as glowing sigils hovered above their palms. The whole place throbbed with rhythm, energy, discipline.
And then came the chant.
(Leader): "Aether flows inside your soul!"
(Unit): "Take control, and make you whole!"
(Leader): "Mana burns and magic strains!"
(Unit): "Hold the line through all the pains!"
(Leader): "Silence mind and focus will!"
(Unit): "We are soldiers, standing still!"
(Leader): "One a spark, but ten a fire!"
(Unit): "Reach the County, rising higher!"
(Leader): "Drill Sergeant's voice rings true!"
(Unit): "Through the forge, we're coming through!"
(Leader): "For the Lord and for the Light!"
(Unit): "We are magic, sharp and bright!"
The words slammed against the walls, reverberating like a living heartbeat. Every syllable struck with conviction, rattling through my bones until I felt like the chant itself was pushing me back.
I stood there, dazed. Shackled. Processing.
And then—finally—the voice returned.
[Snap out of it. You have better things to do. It's not like you have a choice, so use it.]
The System. Back again, smug as ever.
"Oh, so now you show up?" I muttered, my lips moving before I thought better of it.
[In your head, in the void, in your head that is a void… hard to say. Just finished an upgrade.]
I winced. "Explains why you sound clearer."
[Do you like it?] the voice asked, amusement dripping from every syllable.
"What," I deadpanned.
[Exactly.]
Of course, speaking aloud earned me a glare sharp enough to cut steel from the knight-mage, who was now in full command mode, discussing drills with what looked like her second-in-command. I shut my mouth.
Can you read my mind now? I thought sharply.
[Yup.]
Then why the hell did I have to talk out loud like a lunatic earlier?
[Upgrades. You're welcome.]
I was halfway through composing a very eloquent "shut up" when the knight and her second approached.
She looked down at me with that noble stoicism—like someone who'd buried too many soldiers and learned to drink their grief down with wine.
Her second, a man with short-cropped hair and the expression of someone perpetually unimpressed, gave me a once-over. I recognized him—one of the ones from the summoning chamber. His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in them.
"This her?" he asked.
"She's the Count's newest problem," the knight said without missing a beat.
"Great," he muttered. "Another mouth to feed. What's she supposed to be, a mascot?"
"No." Her voice cut through the noise like steel. "Regina's maid."
There it was again. Regina.
The name carried something heavy in it, something that made the second-in-command's smirk falter. Something that made soldiers nearby glance sideways.
Who was this girl? Why did the sound of her name coil tension into every conversation? And more importantly—
Why the hell was I now her maid?