The next day, dawn broke with an ominous reddish hue on Oakhaven's eastern horizon, as if the sky itself were bruised. Lyra Kenet blinked her eyes, which felt as heavy as lead. The first thing she felt was the hard, cold wooden surface beneath her body, and a throbbing pain in her temples—a harsh reminder of the high-quality liquor bottles she had spent the entire night consuming in the entertainment district.
She groaned softly, trying to sit up while clutching her head, which felt as though it had been struck by a sledgehammer. As she looked around with still-blurred vision, she realized she was not atop her rose-scented silk bed. She was in the villa's backyard field, curled up on a rough soldier's bench.
"Damn it... what did I do last night? How did I end up here?" she muttered in a raspy voice that was nearly gone.
Her swaying gaze caught a silhouette in the center of the field. A young man, shirtless, was swinging a wooden sword with a constant and terrifying rhythm. Swish. Swish. The sound was sharp, slicing through the morning silence with a precision possessed only by those who had discarded their humanity for the sake of power.
Lyra stood up with great effort, straightening her silk dress which was now rumpled, soiled by the field's dust, and reeking of pungent alcohol. She staggered toward the villa, trying to summon her fragmented memories. However, her recollection of last night was a total blank after she had passed the front gate. She didn't remember how she got to that bench, let alone the shameful incident involving her lips and that slave.
But Lyra stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a sight far stranger than herself sleeping in the field.
At the edge of the field, sitting under a large velvet umbrella with a porcelain cup in hand, was Elara. The youngest, known as the "Sleeping Beauty" or the hopelessly lazy one of the Kenet family.
Lyra frowned, her bewilderment overriding her headache. She looked toward the youth practicing, then back at her sister, who usually wouldn't leave her room unless it were a matter of life and death. She began to recognize the boy now—a body beginning to fill with tight muscle yet covered in scars, and the clearest sign of his low status: the iron collar and shackles wrapped around his neck and wrists.
"Ah... Lunate's slave," Lyra murmured. She recalled how Lunate often showed the boy off as her new toy. But why was he training? For what purpose would a slave swing a sword until his muscles trembled like that? Did he dream of becoming a soldier or a knight?
Lyra chuckled cynically, a demeaning laugh characteristic of the nobility. A dream far too high for an insect born in the mud. She intended to ignore Alaric and head inside for a bath, but her curiosity shifted to Elara.
Why would the lazy Elara—a girl who considered even breathing a chore—bother to leave her room like this just to watch a lowly slave?
Lyra knew her sister's secret well. Elara was considered "sane" and "innocent" by the outside world only because she was too lazy to leave the house and show her dark side. Elara was the definition of advanced laziness; she preferred rotting in her room with stacks of books and snacks over socializing with other humans. So, what did this slave have that could drag the lazy one out of her "paradise"?
What is so interesting about this slave that it made Elara leave her bed? Lyra thought silently.
She watched Alaric from a distance. The youth appeared intensely focused, his eyes staring straight ahead as if the world around him—including the Kenet ladies—were mere empty air. Alaric's physical endurance, the way his muscles contracted under the morning sun, began to trigger the predatory instinct within Lyra.
That curiosity was like a fire igniting Lyra's wild and impulsive soul. She immediately ran into the villa, ignoring the dizziness in her head. She bathed hurriedly, washing away the scent of alcohol clinging to her skin, and changed her clothes. She chose tight black trousers that accentuated her long legs and a ruffled white shirt that gave an impression of toughness yet remained provocative—standard training attire for a female knight. She tied her red hair high in a ponytail and applied only a light touch of makeup that highlighted her lips.
After a few hours of preparation, she returned to the field. With an elegant flick of her fingers, she used a low-level spatial displacement spell—a natural talent of the Kenet bloodline—to appear right beside Elara's lounge chair.
Zzap!
"Sister, why are you here? It's rare for you to breathe the outside air," Lyra said with a thick, mocking tone.
Elara flinched in surprise, nearly dropping her cup. She turned toward Lyra, but her gaze didn't dare meet her sister's eyes. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Lyra's lips. The memory of last night under the moonlight—the accidental yet lingering kiss—hit Elara's head like a magical blast.
Elara's face instantly turned crimson. She quickly averted her gaze back toward the field, her fingers gripping the teacup so tightly the porcelain creaked.
"I-it's nothing! It's none of your business if I want to sit here!" Elara snapped back in a sharp tone that trembled violently with nervousness.
Lyra narrowed her eyes, looking at her sister scrutinizingly. Elara's reaction was far too excessive for a simple question. She then turned her attention to Alaric in the center of the field, who still hadn't stopped swinging his wooden sword.
"You like him? But you know, don't you, that he's Lunate's slave," Lyra said in a provocative tone intended to goad her sister's emotions. "If you mess with him, Lunate might explode in rage and won't forgive you when she gets back."
Elara turned sharply, her eyes flashing with a rare anger. "What is it to you? If I like him, then so be it! If Lunate is angry, let her be angry. Just because she's the ruler of the city now, it doesn't mean she's the head of the family. If she dares touch me or take what I want, Father won't stay silent!"
Lyra chuckled softly, the sound of her laughter melodious yet laced with poison. That answer confirmed one very interesting thing for Lyra: her quiet little sister was truly obsessed with that slave. And for Lyra, anything liked or desired by others always felt more tempting to "taste" or ruin first. That was her natural character as a wild Kenet.
Ignoring Elara's sharp glare, Lyra stepped forward. She walked with a slow sway of her hips, straight toward the center of the field where Alaric stood.
What is she trying to do? Elara thought with deep anxiety.
Lyra Kenet was a very different soul from Lunate. Where Lunate was a burning rage and rigid discipline, Lyra was an uncontrollable wildness full of deceit. Among the nobility of Oakhaven, Lyra was known as a woman who loved playing in bars and occasionally provided special "services" to noblemen for personal pleasure or political connections. To her, family dignity was not a priority compared to momentary satisfaction.
She... surely she wouldn't... Elara contemplated the worst possibility a woman like Lyra could commit. She wouldn't actually do 'that' with a lowly slave in the middle of this field... would she?
Elara knew her sister had no clear moral boundaries once her instincts spoke. However, what happened next truly made Elara's eyes widen with pure, hot fury.
In the center of the field, Lyra stopped right in front of Alaric, only a few centimeters away. Alaric was forced to stop his 8,000th swing. The youth's breath was heavy, his sweat-drenched chest heaving rapidly. His eyes stared sharply at the woman who, last night, had turned him into a "living sofa."
Without warning and without shame, Lyra reached out her delicate hand. Her fingertips touched Alaric's hot chest, then slid down slowly toward his tight abdominal muscles, as if inspecting the quality of a piece of merchandise. She then brought her face close to Alaric's ear, letting her red hair brush against his shoulder, and whispered in a tone loud enough for Elara to hear from a distance.
"Decent muscles for a slave... How about it? Want to play with me for a bit?"
Hearing that, Elara stood up from her chair instantly. Her hands trembled violently with overflowing rage until the teacup in her hand fell and shattered into pieces on the grass.
HOW DARE YOU....! Elara screamed in her heart with a fury that shook the earth.