A tiny, elf-like creature wandered Valencia's streets, prancing from shop to shop with her eyes aglimmer. Her chestnut brown hair fluttered in the wind with each step she took, as if to match the movement of her bright spring dress. The once-white cloth was covered in depictions of leaves and flowers, dyed by the girl herself to better match the season.

Normally, such freedom was never allowed. Even in a disguise, Rubia was unable to explore the city on her own two feet. Whenever she went anywhere at all, it was always by carriage, with Durham, her guard, performing any necessary interactions on her behalf. Naturally, the man in question was never quite inclined to follow through on all of her whims. Even at his best, he was a lazy oaf with no respect for his charge. He only served her because he had sworn his loyalty to her father.

Fortunately for the homunculus, the oaf, like most of the central government's high-ranking warriors, was out on business. A small handful of elites had stayed behind to steer the ship, but otherwise, there were nothing but lowly grunts present on castle grounds. There were a pair of training camps ongoing, both of which served as preparation for the busy summer ahead. One was for any champion candidates to further sharpen their blades, while the other was to better educate the security detail; their enemies were sure to take the opportunity to wreak any havoc they could.

Thanks to that, Durham's replacements, the two knights that worked as the temporary princess guard, knew almost nothing of protocol. They simply stood around and looked as intimidating as they could while Rubia did whatever she wanted.

It was fortunate then that Valencia was not the sort of place where trouble was rampant all over. Of course, her status as the nation's princess meant that she commanded all sorts of attention. Hence the need for her disguise. It wasn't the greatest costume ever, but it was certainly passable for something her maids had haphazardly put together. Her disproportionate ears were hidden beneath the braids that looped around to the back of her head and her slit-eyes were hidden beneath a pair of enchanted glasses. Her cheek scales were a little more difficult to mask, but there was nothing that couldn't be done with a little make up and fake skin.

It wasn't impossible to recognize her from her features, seeing as how her face's structure remained largely unchanged, but there was no reason to go any further. The townsfolk weren't so familiar with her appearance that they could pick her out from the shape of her cheekbones. Hiring an illusionist was, likewise, completely out of the question. Few could hide their spells quite as well as Sylvia; a face-masking charm certainly might have worked for those that relied strictly upon their eyes, but so too would it trigger a dozen red flags for anyone who was magically attuned.

Whichever route they took, there remained one small hurdle that was impossible to cover; neither magic nor make-up could mask her inability to speak. Rubia could have solved the problem herself, of course. It likely wouldn't have kicked up too much of a fuss, given her guards' lack of reputability, but she didn't want to deal with the aftermath. Any time spent convincing a fool was time not spent on painting or tea.

One could always make the argument that she simply ought to pretend that she was a completely different mute girl, important or otherwise rich enough to merit a pair of guards, but the condition was far too rare. Health regeneration ensured that such systems were never permanently damaged, lest the originating wound stemmed from a curse or something laced therewith. And even in such a case, interacting with a priest was all it took to see it resolved. There were other reasons for one to be mute, of course, and the system could do little to address trauma and the like, but at least in Cadria, they were effectively off the table.

The most notable group belonged to the church of tranquility. The highest ranking among their priests were sworn to eternal silence. It was only on the field of battle, for the purpose of spell chanting, that the vow was allowed to be broken, though it was treated as taboo even then, and high priests naturally trended towards death over possible dishonour. It didn't help that such priests were scarce in Cadria. They came primarily as missionaries from foreign lands, only for their non-existent words to fall on deaf ears. Cadrians very much adored the goddess of war, and the god of peace was her polar opposite.

At the end of the day, Rubia's silence affirmed her identity, rendering it blatant as the moon on a cloudless night. And the citizens caught on immediately. They spoke to each other in hushed whispers as they looked upon her with hopeful gazes. Some of the shopkeepers she visited even tried to give her special treatment, only to be whacked by their peers, who demanded that they use their heads—the princess was clearly disguised. Only a fool would miss the hint and overtly declare the observation.

That very same interaction played out at least three times while Rubia made her way across the town. She stopped at every booth, stall, and shop that caught her eye, much to her guards' chagrin. Though they set off early in the morning, it was already past noon by the time they arrived at their destination, just six blocks away from the castle's western gate.

The shop in question was a fancy new clothing store just outside of the city center. Rubia herself held little interest in its wares, but she knew better than to disregard them. Vivianne's was the talk of the town; it had exploded in popularity over the past few months and become one of the market's most dominating forces, not only for the quality of its goods, but its inexplicable ability to keep up with demand.

It was named after its owner—a water-striding arachne from the Ryllian Sea. Given her species, it seemed reasonable to assume that her goods were made from spider silk, but she forged them of hydrofleece instead. According to the owner, she harvested her threads from a species of mollusk whose precise identity she refused to disclose. Despite the seemingly endless supply, the fabric was rare and precious. Though fine, beautiful, and easily dyed, its strands were incredibly resilient, perfect for the sort of armour worn by someone in the level 200 range. As far as Rubia was concerned, the trend was utter nonsense. No ordinary noble lady needed anything so durable and cut-resistant.

The shop's popularity was obvious even from its exterior, not because there was a line outside, which apparently there often was first thing in the morning, but because of the sheer scale. Though it had started as an ordinary tailor shop no different from any other, it had grown to be larger than fifty such shops combined. It measured roughly a hundred meters in each direction, and it even had three stories, with the bottom two open to the public and the third for onsite manufacturing.

Much to her delight, she entered the building completely unattended. Her guards had camped out by the entrance, with one pulling a cigar out from his pouch, and the other joining him for idle conversation.

One of the many representatives standing by was with her in an instant. The employee in question was a rare sight in Cadria. The human's sex took some scrutiny to decipher. His face was impossible not to stare at, his bright pink ponytail was tied with ribbons, and he wore the same flowing dress as all the other clerks, but more closer observation confirmed that he was male. Listening carefully, one could hear a faint, otherwise inexplicable flopping sound sourced from between his legs with each step he took.

"Hi, good afternoon!" he said, cheerfully. His voice, like his appearance, blurred the line between the sexes, though that was perhaps a result of his age. He was only the slightest bit taller than Rubia. "Welcome to Vivianne's. How can I help you?" Though he was all smiles from start to finish, the warmth didn't reach his eyes until he took a closer look at Rubia's clothes.

The homunculus pointed at one of the displayers, prompting the boy to think for a few seconds before leading her over with his best customer service smile.

"Of course. We would be happy to help you put an outfit together. Is this for a particular event?"

Rubia shook her head.

"In that case, I'll start with our spring collection." The human led her to the right, into a part of the shop filled with sweaters and light dresses. "This is where you can find most of our seasonal casualwear. Formal outfits can be found two aisles over, and spring-themed lingerie will be behind that. We've got plenty of stock for St. Rema's Day. Would you like any recommendations? I can help you coordinate if you weren't already looking for something specific."

Stolen novel; please report.

Rubia paused for a second before giving her head a nod.

"Alright, follow me."

The clerk quickly walked down the aisle and collected a veritable mountain of clothing. He picked from all three of the sections he mentioned before leading her to the changerooms and setting the pile down on a bench.

"Stand on this, please."

He gestured to a small platform, which spawned a mannequin in Rubia's shape as soon as she stepped upon it. It even copied the arctic-blue hair that she would have had without the wig on top of it. The only difference was that it was stark naked, albeit without any of the details pertaining to her more sensitive bits.

The clerk dressed the mannequin in the blink of an eye, immediately throwing an outfit over its form without bothering to comment on its oversized ears.

"This would probably be good for sneaking into town," he said, as he stepped away.

The copy was dressed in an earthy green sweater made from a thick wooly fabric and sported an awfully fuzzy scarf that doubled as a cover for her cheek scales. Her ears were tucked under a hat, while her lower half was fully concealed by a pair of baggy pants. It was the opposite of a princessy look. Clothed in such a way, she would have perfectly blended in with anyone else in town.

"We could go for a different style if you'd like, but this is most likely going to be the most comfortable," he said. "Unless you're willing to look the part of a rogue, of course."

Rubia lifted a hand to her chin to ponder the results, only for a loud crashing to interrupt her thoughts. Snapping towards the source of the sound, she found one of the building's walls collapsed. A group of men dressed in bright yellow suits burst through the gap and dashed through the building's aisles. They had her surrounded in the blink of an eye, their blades drawn and at the ready.

Her guards were watching lazily from around a corner, more curious than worried or functional. The civilians were at least a bit more intimidated. They'd thrown a bit of a fuss when the intruders first burst through the wall, but they soon settled into their role as rubberneckers.

Customers and shopkeepers alike watched with bated breath, with most of the observers not even bothering with cover.

Though not quite Cadrian himself, Kit, the group's leader, could see exactly where they were coming from. Even greenhorns were well aware that looks were deceiving, but the target appeared as would a literal child. Were she an elf like him, he wouldn't have thought her a day past twelve.

He was almost tempted to think that they had the wrong mark—their target was eighteen years old, almost nineteen—but her gaze refuted his doubts.

She thought nothing of them.

The attack that they had launched was met with indifference. Her eyes were cold, empty, uncaring; the only fear reflected within them was theirs.

But of course it was.

She was the monster who had slain a god and turned the world on its head. To her, they were but a collective pebble on the side of the road, not even remotely worth her attention. She was probably an aspect at least, or perhaps more likely a celestial. Their only solace stemmed from the system-wide announcement's confirmation; she was not yet divine—not that it made much of a difference. The higher ups were expecting them to fail either way. At the end of the day, Kit was merely the first name on a long list of sacrifices, an offering that the organisation threw her way in order to determine her weakness—the weakness that Kryddar had exploited to wound her.

It depended heavily on the nature of her power, but there was a solid chance that, if they threw enough bodies at the problem, they would eventually find their solution.

His fate was the opposite of glamorous, but it wasn't like he had been forced to make the sacrifice. If anything, it was the opposite. He had explicitly volunteered.

He wanted to kill her, and failing that, to set off the chain of events that would bring about her end.

He was supposed to be married and retired. Out of the game for good. Free to live as quiet a life as the city could offer until Xekkur finally claimed him.

But her thoughtless actions had torn his plans apart. By killing the goddess of weights and measures, by completely ruining the economic system, she had caused their bookstore's ruin. People stopped coming in. The shop soon lost the ability to pay the bills, and then the property's mortgage. And with their house used as collateral to secure the loan, they were left without a place to call home. And they weren't the only ones.

The hotels were flooded, and all of them had heartlessly jacked up their prices to match the ridiculous demand. His wife had whored herself out to the landlord, just to secure a place to stay. And they had even sold off their son; the life of a live-in servant would no doubt prove better than that of a vagabond.

Their whole lives had been turned upside down overnight.

All because of her.

Perhaps if he were Cadrian, Kit might not have suffered so greatly. But as a citizen of Loanndark, a small country that had long joined the Obloyd Alliance, he had no social security net, no choice but to fall back on the one trade he'd mastered.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to end her quite at that moment. But if he paved the path, then perhaps one day, things could at least seem to go back to normal.

It was only as he reviewed his determination, as he called his family to mind again, that Kit was able to spring to action. He aimed his blade straight at her throat, engaged every skill he had, and charged at his maximum speed.

His focus was at its peak. Not even the slightest motion was able to get past him. He knew for a fact that she didn't move. She didn't even seem to notice him.

But he couldn't reach her.

Something stopped him dead in his tracks. He wasn't quite sure what it was. But it felt like his body was stuck in a vice grip. The pressure ran along his form in a helix-like pattern. The feeling of being strangled by a snake.

There was nothing there.

He couldn't see anything around his body. But neither could he move to confirm that it was more than a phantom sensation. Both his arms and legs were bound.

There was suddenly a sharp pain in his chest. Several sharp pains, like knives biting into his flesh. And surely enough, looking down confirmed that he was bleeding. Somehow, she was strangling him, stabbing him without moving a muscle or looking in his direction. The thought was only reinforced when he realised that the teeth went all the way through, that suddenly, everything above his chest was lifted into the air and flipped upside down.

He would never know that it wasn't her doing.

All he could do, as he met his fate, was desperately deny the possibility that she was truly divine.

Even though it was the only explanation.

Of course, the ability to see Headhydra might have given him a fresh perspective, but the three-headed servant was visible only to those with the phantom blood. In her unsummoned form, she shouldn't have been able to affect the world around her. At most, she should have been able to speak.

But all the rules had changed when Greymane sang his swan song.

Fully under Claire's dominion, Headhydra, Farenlight, could freely determine when she was and wasn't corporeal. She could freely expend mana from her own separate pool and refill it through the link that she shared with Claire. She could do everything she could in life. She had even grown stronger, benefiting not only from her host's experience and proficiency gain, but also her own activities.

She could still progress. Just as she had in the phantom's realm whenever she picked up her controller.

In the time that Claire had become an aspect, she had learned to embody the true dying light.

And as long as she could give herself form, Rubia would be protected.

That was how they both saw it.

But the guards, the public, and the would-be assassins were entirely unaware. All they saw was death. A series of inexplicable executions conducted without even a hint of effort.

Both the lazy guards gulped.

They had let the men through to test her.

They had wanted to see her violence with their own two eyes. But all they found was fear.

She was looking at them, coldly, silently, heartlessly as ever.

As if to say that, if they continued to refuse their work, they would certainly be next.

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