As Racheal heard the question, she paused mid-bite, her fork hovering just inches from her lips. A quiet sigh escaped her before she resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

'I expected this much,' she thought, her expression calm. 'After all, I'm not wearing my cloak.'

She'd taken it off earlier to wash up, and it hadn't dried enough to wear again. Besides, putting it back on would have defeated the purpose of cleaning herself. Back in Shantel, no one ever made a fuss about her being an elf, the cloak she always wore hid her features, and the people there had been too preoccupied with survival to care about what race she belonged to.

But the Imperial Guards were a different story. These were soldiers, rowdy, restless, and full of misplaced bravado. The kind that saw curiosity as entertainment.

Just then, a large middle-aged man approached her table. He had a scar across his cheek and the stench of alcohol clinging to his breath. Without a word, he reached for the cup of juice on her tray and lifted it to his mouth, downing it in a single gulp.

Racheal's brow twitched. 'Lucky for him I didn't lace that with anything today.' The memory of her little "incident" with Leon was still fresh enough to make her cautious.

The man slammed the empty cup down and leaned forward, a smirk curling across his lips.

"Well now," he drawled. "What's a delicate creature like you doin' all the way in the human domain?"

Laughter rippled through the cafeteria. A few of his squadmates, clearly men cut from the same cloth, joined in.

"Careful, Jeremy," one of them said between laughs. "I heard elves charm you and drain your essence when you fall into their trap."

"You dumb bastard," another chimed in. "That's a succubus. Elves are asexual!"

Jeremy's grin widened, eyes gleaming with mock curiosity. "Asexual, huh? That so? But I heard they taste real good." He licked his lips in an exaggerated motion, drawing another round of crude laughter from the men around him.

The air thickened. Racheal stopped eating. Her fork rested quietly on the table as her fingers tightened around it. For a brief moment, the emerald hue of her eyes sharpened, a silent promise flickering behind them. Just one arrow. Right through that smug face.

But she held herself back—barely.

Then a commanding voice cut through the noise.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Every head in the cafeteria turned toward the doorway.

Standing there was Agnes, her sharp gaze locked on the scene before her. And right beside her, dressed in his usual composed demeanor, was Adrian Peer, the prodigy whose name had spread like wildfire through the base in the short time since his arrival.

The laughter died instantly.

****

Agnes's boots clicked sharply against the stone floor as she strode across the cafeteria. The once-rowdy chatter died in an instant. Even the sound of spoons scraping against trays seemed to fade as every soldier in the room felt a chill crawl up their spine.

Jeremy and his friends froze where they stood. The moment they saw who was approaching, their faces went pale. Agnes wasn't just any officer, she was a First-Class Guard, one of the highest-ranking within the Imperial Guard hierarchy. Jeremy and his squad were Third-Class, several steps below her. That difference wasn't just rank, it was power, authority, and consequence.

Agnes stopped right in front of them, her expression cold enough to freeze the air. "Are you deaf?" she asked, her voice sharp and low. "What did you think you were doing?"

Jeremy swallowed hard, trying to muster some courage. "We were just… introducing ourselves," he said, forcing a grin that looked more like a grimace.

Agnes's stare didn't waver. For a moment, the silence stretched thin. Then she spoke again, voice calm but cutting.

"Three days' duty in Hell's Garden."

Jeremy's grin vanished. His face drained of color as he stammered, "P-Please, anything but that—"

Agnes tilted her head slightly, her tone still flat. "Next time you'll rethink your actions before opening your mouth. Now go, unless you'd rather make it four days."

That was all the warning he needed. Jeremy snapped to attention, muttered a hasty "Yes, ma'am," and all but sprinted out of the cafeteria. The smell of alcohol that clung to him earlier seemed to vanish with the speed of his retreat.

Agnes turned her gaze toward the rest of his squad. None dared to move.

As each man received a punishment of his own. And yet, they all knew Jeremy had drawn the short straw.

Hell's Garden.

The name alone was enough to make most guards shudder. It was a sprawling region just beyond the empire's outer walls, lush with vegetation, yet cursed in its beauty. The place was infested with low-ranked beasts that posed no real threat, but that wasn't what made it hellish.

It was the Nightmare Flower.

A pale, crimson-veined plant that grew only there. Its presence filled the air with a faint mist that seeped into the mind of anyone who stayed too long. When one tried to sleep, the flower's influence would twist their dreams turning memories into horrors, guilt into monsters, and peace into torment.

Few could last even a single night without breaking.

That was why the area required constant patrol: to make sure the flowers didn't spread beyond their borders. If they did, even the capital would know no rest.

Agnes knew that. Jeremy knew that. Everyone did.

Which was why when she turned away, the entire cafeteria remained dead silent.

****

As Agnes finished disciplining Jeremy and his squad, the heavy atmosphere in the cafeteria began to ease. The tension that had filled the room only moments ago slowly ebbed away, leaving behind awkward silence and a few wary glances.

Agnes turned to Racheal then, her expression softening slightly. "I apologize on their behalf," she said, bowing her head just a little, a rare gesture for someone of her rank. "Most of our people tend to get carried away with the privilege they're given."

Racheal smiled faintly, setting her fork down. "It's fine," she replied. "Thank you for your help."

Agnes nodded once, relief flickering across her face, but before the air could fully settle, Adrian, who had been leaning casually near the doorway the whole time, spoke up. "At least you handled yours well," he said, his tone carrying that hint of teasing pride that often accompanied him when recalling something amusing.

Agnes's lips pressed into a thin line as if she instantly regretted what was about to come next.

Racheal blinked, a little confused. "Handled?" she asked, glancing between the two of them.

Adrian chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, you see, the Imperial Guards are people who respect strength above everything else," he began. "So when someone young like me joined their ranks, not everyone was too happy about it."

Racheal could already see where this story was going, but Adrian continued anyway, his grin widening a little. "A group of them decided they'd… test me. You know, try to put me in my place." He paused, remembering the encounter vividly, the sneers, the mockery, the challenge.

"Let's just say," he added, his tone calm but edged with pride, "I enlightened them."

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