It was the next day—time to move. In the private storage room of the Collegium library, G6 geared up.
Her motions were tactical. A tug on boot laces, a test of fabric give, a final adjustment. This wasn't dressing. It was mission prep.
The belt wasn't just functional. Worn as a harness, it sharpened her silhouette into something lethal and elegant. She faced the wall mirror. The reflection wasn't Reise. It was G6, locked and loaded.
She tied her hair into a messy, secure knot, concealing the chain-rose tattoo. The final touch was a pair of simple, utilitarian clip earrings—stripping away the last hint of delicate nobility, replacing it with the sharp aura of a specialist.
"Now this doesn't feel strange," she told her reflection. A faint glimpse of her true self stared back. It was a good feeling.
She tapped her card. The hidden door whispered open.
Her trio—and a captivated Brenda—stared in awestruck silence. This wasn't the daring allure of the red gown. This was the quiet, deadly competence of a weapon honed to a perfect edge. She looked like someone who could receive an order and execute it without a second thought. The effect was mesmerizing.
"My… my lady," Brenda stammered, her composure lost. "You look… remarkably suited."
G6 offered a brief, calculated smile, reinforcing the bond she'd carefully planted. "The attire suits you exceedingly well, Lady Reise," Edmund agreed, his tone carrying genuine, impressed respect.
Tina adjusted her glasses and gave a slow, approving nod.
"Lady Reise!" Lilia chirped, head tilting. "You look so good! You look… beautifully handsome?"
G6 let out a short, amused scoff. "Then let's go." She was already moving. She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Brenda, her expression softening into that potent smirk. "See you around, Bre."
And with that, the Reaper walked away, leaving a wake of flustered hearts and bewildered admiration.
❈.❈.❈
As they entered the Bastion, the ambient murmur faltered and died. Every knight, clerk, and passing noble stopped to stare. She moved with a predator's grace, her attire sharp and utilitarian, making her look less like a visiting lady and more like an emissary from some formidable, unknown faction.
"Is that Lady Reise?"
"I heard a rumor…"
"By the skies, she is nothing like the descriptions."
"A completely different person."
The whispers grated. "Where's the training ground, Edmund?" Her voice cut through the noise.
"This way, my lady. The stairwell leads to the open arena." He gestured toward a stone archway.
G6 altered course without a word and descended.
She was two hours ahead of the high-rank schedule. This wasn't a social call. She had an objective, and she intended to acquire the necessary skills with maximum efficiency.
They emerged into a vast, sand-covered arena. The air smelled of earth and sweat.
G6 turned to her entourage. "Lilia, Tina. Return to the office. Edmund stays."
Tina's face showed immediate hesitation. "But, my lady—"
"Don't make me repeat myself." Her tone was flat and final.
Lilia, sensing the absolute command, gently touched Tina's arm. "If that is your wish, we shall prepare refreshments for your return," she said, her diplomacy a sharp contrast to G6's bluntness.
Tina looked from Lilia to Edmund. "Do not worry. I shall ensure our lady wants for nothing," Edmund assured her.
"Very well." Tina offered a curt bow and led Lilia away.
G6 watched them go. Then, without delay, she began a series of fluid, practiced stretches.
"Edmund."
"Yes, my lady?"
"What's the real reason you vanished from the villa for days?"
The question was a perfectly aimed strike. Edmund's composure shattered.
As if you could fool a pro. I've lived a life of lies; I can smell them on others.
"I… whatever do you mean?" he stammered.
G6 didn't look at him, continuing her stretches. "You told me most in the Adventurers' Guild specialize in Physical Enhancement magic."
"Yes…"
"You've been going outside the palace." It was a statement. "Your hands that day had calluses and dirt from a fight, not flower arranging. You used my seclusion as cover to slip away and enjoy your… filtered life." She cracked her neck, a sharp, unladylike sound.
Edmund stood stunned. How could she know?
"I'll keep your secret." Her tone was casual.
A man of the world knew a favor was never free. "What is the condition, Lady Reise?"
A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. "You'll know when the time is right."
Was this why she sent the others away? Edmund thought.
With that, she took off, beginning a long, steady run around the arena's perimeter. Her pace was controlled, her breathing even—the methodical stamina-building of a soldier.
Edmund remained rooted, his thoughts a whirlwind. What, and who, exactly are you? He watched her lap the arena, each stride purposeful and powerful, a complete anomaly in his ordered world.
❈.❈.❈
Keith whistled as he strode through the Bastion's halls. "A full hour early. Perfect."
He greeted passers-by with genuine smiles and nods. Keith De Lune was not the typical spoiled high noble. He was easygoing, thrived on drama, and possessed a playful, mischievous spirit. He was Prince Dio's childhood friend—and cousin. The Queen was his aunt, a fact that neatly explained his comfortable irreverence.
"Wonder if she's here," he mused, changing course toward G6's office. He pushed the door open without a second thought.
The scene made him pause. Tina and Lilia were lounging on the couches like friends crashing at an apartment. For a moment, all three just stared.
"Hmm… is Reise here?" Keith asked, utterly unconcerned with their informality.
Tina snapped to her feet. Lilia followed. "G-good morning, Lord Keith. Lady Reise is already at the training ground."
"Ah. Later, then." He closed the door, a wide smile spreading across his face as he headed for the arena.
❈.❈.❈
Descending the stairs, he spotted Edmund in the shadows of the archway. "Edmund! Where is she? Sitting around waiting for me?"
Edmund gestured with his head toward the arena floor. Keith followed his gaze, and his eyes widened.
There was G6, finishing a set of push-ups, her body glistening with sweat. But her form was all wrong—or far too right. It wasn't a beginner's shaky motion. Each movement was precise, controlled, and spoke of deep, ingrained experience.
"Is that… her?" Keith asked, his voice hushed.
G6 finished and sat back on her heels, showing no discomfort with the gritty floor. Edmund moved toward her with a towel and water. Keith followed.
"Lady Reise," Edmund said, offering the towel.
"Thanks." She glanced up at Keith. "Oh, you're here." Casual, as if she'd seen him five minutes ago.
"You look hot… I mean, hot, in those clothes." He corrected himself with a grin.
G6 wiped her face. "I know I'm hot," she answered flatly, leaving it deliciously ambiguous.
Keith's grin widened. He deliberately sat on the ground near her, curling his knees up. He'd been told she valued personal space, but he learned more by breaking rules. "So? Are we starting?"
G6 turned her head. Suddenly their faces were inches apart. Edmund, standing between them, felt his heart hammer.
"I am…" G6 whispered. Then, in a flash, she leaned forward and bumped her forehead against his—not hard, but enough to make him yelp and tumble back onto the sand. "Not too close, perv." She stood, handing the towel back and taking the water.
She took a long drink, then pointed the bottle at them. "You two. Spar. Show me."
"Pardon, Lady Reise?" Edmund repeated.
"It's not a problem, right?" The question demanded one answer.
Edmund hesitated for only a second. He removed his watch, loosened his tie, and rolled his shoulders. Keith got up, brushing sand off, a new spark in his eyes. He shrugged off his coat. "Edmund, practice swords are in that closet."
G6 settled onto a bench to cool down. Fuck. In my old body, this would've been a warm-up. This vessel is pathetic.
"Hey," Keith called, walking over. He stopped a respectful distance this time, his look thoughtful, assessing. "Those moves… that's not standard noble training. Where did you learn that?"
The question hung in the air, a direct hit. G6 just looked at him, her grey eyes calculating. He's more observant than he acts. Good. A stupid partner is a liability.
She took another sip of water. Play it off. Not a lie, but not the truth. Something they can swallow.
"Where does anyone learn discipline?" she finally said, her voice cool. "From being bored out of your mind for eighteen years in a gilded cage. You find ways to pass the time." She gestured toward the arena. "This just happens to be more productive than arranging flowers or sighing over portraits."
It was a perfect answer. It acknowledged a past of frustration they all knew about, hinted at secret rebellion, and revealed nothing real.
Keith's assessing look softened into a smile, though the curiosity didn't fade. "Well, it's a hell of a way to pass the time."
"Don't be impressed yet." G6 stood as Edmund returned with two practice rapiers. "Save it for when you show me something that actually impresses me." She nodded toward the arena center. "Now, get to it. I don't have all day."
❈.❈.❈
Edmund accepted the practice rapier, its weight familiar. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he moved to the center. Keith mirrored him, falling into a relaxed but ready stance, a playful glint still in his eyes.
"Don't hold back, Edmund. The lady wants a show."
"I would not dream of it, Lord Keith." Edmund's voice took on a formal, focused tone. The air around him shimmered faintly. Physical Enhancement: Full-Body Enhancement. His posture straightened, muscles coiling with suppressed power. He was no longer a butler; he was a combatant.
Keith's smirk didn't fade, but his eyes sharpened. A concentrated glow enveloped his arms and blade. Physical Enhancement: Focused Striking. A swordsman's approach—precision and speed over raw power.
They moved at the same instant.
Edmund was a blur, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His enhanced strength fueled explosive footwork. He didn't slash; he thrust, the practice sword a piston driven by immense force. "Piston Drive!" The attack was simple, direct, incredibly fast.
Keith didn't block head-on. His enhanced speed let him pivot, deflecting the thrust with a sharp crack of wood. He used the momentum, his blade whipping around in a tight, elegant arc. "Rippling Counter!"
Crack. Thwack. Crack.
The sounds echoed. Edmund was relentless advance, each step kicking up sand, each thrust a potential fight-ender. Keith was fluid evasion, his movements economical, his parries precise, turning defense into instant offense.
G6 watched, utterly still. But internally, her mind was a whirlwind.
<
Subject: Edmund. Style: Overwhelming Force. Relies on Kinetic Augmentation for speed/power. Leaves recovery windows. Weakness: predictability.
Subject: Keith. Style: Duelist's Finesse. Uses Enhancement for precision/reaction. Wastes movement on flourishes. Weakness: cannot withstand overpowering strike.
<
It wasn't enough to watch. She needed to feel it.
<
No grand light show. No roar of energy. A silent, internal shift. One moment she was G6 in Reise's weak body. The next, every muscle fiber, every nerve, every synapse was perfectly aligned under her absolute control. The lingering ache vanished. The world became calculable data. She saw the micro-tremors in Keith's wrist before a feint, the slight shift in Edmund's weight before a lunge. This was her true self.
The match ended a moment later. Keith slipped past Edmund's guard, his practice rapier tapping the butler's ribs. "A fine match, Edmund!" Keith said, breathing heavily but grinning.
"Indeed. Your skill is as sharp as ever," Edmund replied, conceding with a slight bow.
They turned, expecting to see G6 on the bench.
Instead, she was standing, holding a practice rapier of her own. Not with noble grace, but with the cold, efficient grip of someone who knew how to make a tool lethal.
"My turn." Her voice was flat, devoid of casualness. A command.
Keith and Edmund exchanged a worried glance. "Reise, these can still bruise—" Keith started.
"I am aware of their function." She didn't move. "Edmund. You first."
"My lady, I must protest—" Horror on his face.
"Your protest is noted. Now, attack me. Use your Piston Drive."
The fact that she knew the name of his technique froze him for a second. Swallowing his hesitation, he nodded. He would make it slow, controlled—
<
The moment he lunged, G6 moved. She didn't retreat. She flowed inside the thrust, her body a shadow passing through the space his attack occupied. Her blade didn't parry; it tapped his wrist with pinpoint accuracy, right on the nerve cluster.
Thud.
Edmund's practice sword dropped into the sand. He stared at his numb hand, then at her, dumbfounded. Disarmed in a blink.
"Keith." She turned her head. Her grey eyes were chips of ice. "Your Rippling Counter. Now."
Keith, now completely serious, didn't hesitate. He knew a predator. He lunged, blade moving in that fluid, deceptive arc.
<
To G6, his attack might as well have been moving through syrup. She saw every adjustment. She didn't block or counter. She leaned back, letting the tip pass millimeters from her nose. As the force of his swing carried him forward, off-balance, she took a single, precise step and pressed her practice sword tip against his throat.
He froze, eyes wide. The entire exchange: less than two seconds.
G6 lowered the blade and stepped back. The intense focus faded, replaced by analytical satisfaction.
<
A wave of fatigue washed over her, but she locked her knees, refusing to show it.
"I see," she said, as if to herself. She looked at the practice sword, then dropped it onto the sand. "The principles are transferable."
She looked at the two stunned men. "Thank you for the demonstration. That will be all for today."
❈.❈.❈
G6's heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the alarming void spreading through her limbs. The power was gone. In its wake: a body screaming in protest. Every muscle felt shredded, every bone turned to lead.
Shit. It doesn't drain mana; it burns through the host's fuel. This vessel is junk. Can't handle the software.
She couldn't let them see. Weakness was a vulnerability she could not afford. Without a word, without looking back, she turned and strode for the exit, her pace deceptively steady.
But with every step, the world tilted. The grand arches swayed. Her vision tunneled, edges blurring into fuzzy grey static. She focused on the doorway—her extraction point.
Just get to the stairs. Get to the office.
She pushed through the main hall, ignoring the stares, her expression a mask of cold indifference hiding the system failure within. She reached the bottom of the stone staircase. It looked like a mountain.
Gripping the cold railing, she forced one foot in front of the other. Halfway up, a wave of dizziness washed over her so violently her knees buckled. Her grip slipped.
This is so uncomfortable. Her last clear thought—a distant memory of childhood training fatigue.
Before she could crash onto the steps, a pair of strong hands caught her, stopping her fall effortlessly. The scent of sandalwood and old books filled her senses. Through the blurring haze, she registered the fine black fabric of a sleeve.
Her head spun, too heavy to lift. The last of her strength evaporated. The mask shattered. Her body went utterly limp, consciousness fleeing as if a switch had been flipped, leaving her a dead weight in the stranger's arms.
—To Be Continued…—