With that, the third day after which Penelope Horne's soul entered this sacred world came to an end.

The air was crisp, and the sun had yet to fully crown the horizon. Our breakfast, as usual, had been distributed and eaten in a hurry before the maids kicked Alice and me out of the tent so they could dismantle it.

Alice left to help with the rest of the procedures before departure, while I sat on a small wooden chair, watching in boredom and getting my daily fill of disapproving and disgusted looks from the servants, as well as a healthy dose of insults here and there.

But today, they seemed especially eager... likely due to the whole shackles incident.

"—be so merciful," a whisper came from behind me as the stableboy passed by.

"Indeed. For a prisoner to be without shackles, how gracious of our Commander," a woman replied.

"I suspect foul play," someone else interjected. "She must have given him something in exchange for such a favor..."

"Dear Korpa, it can't be," another woman giggled.

I stiffened at the insinuation. Who said that?

As I turned to throw a glare at the offender, another whisper floated from my right.

"She must have earned the oh-so-dutiful Commander's kindness somehow, don’t you agree?"

"An outrageous notion, if proven true," they gossiped.

I didn’t need to look around. I could feel the weight of prying, judgmental stares surrounding me. If I confronted one, a hundred more would be ready to tear me down.

Fighting for my pride was one thing, but jumping into a losing battle would only make matters worse.

I was never the type of person loved by the masses, even in my past life as Senior Resident Penelope Horne. Being disliked was nothing new to me. If anything, it was better than attracting more attention from treacherous people. trash humans and backstabbers.

I observed Blert dispatching half his knights to scout ahead of the caravan, while the rest, including Truman, were told to prepare for our escort.

I leaned forward, trying to rest my head on my hand, but as soon as my mouth touched my palm, I flinched, remembering the dislocation. I remembered it, yet felt little, which made me frown.

Only slight pain lingered at the touch.

Hesitantly, I placed a finger on my chin, testing the sensation.

"Oh." A small grin tugged at my lips when I realized I wasn’t wrong.

I had suspected that my numbness was due to accumulated exhausion after slurping down my liquid breakfast with ease, but now that I was fully awake, the truth was clear. The dislocation had healed—mostly. A miracle.

I opened my mouth and slowly moved my jaw, confirming my discovery with quiet excitement.

"Alice!" I called out, startling Holison, who stood nearby daydreaming. "No lisp. Holy crap. Alice!" I called again, standing from my seat.

Seeing no sign of the pink-eyed maid, I turned to look behind me; still nowhere to be found.

"Miss Alice went towards the woods not long ago, Lady Prisoner," Holison offered, making me turn to him. "Please, return to your seat. It wouldn't do to disrupt the workers."

I glanced at the teenage knight standing straight, chin in the air, and chest puffed out. He seemed stiff, as if being watched, but his expression was genuine, his brown eyes glimmering with a juvenile sense of duty.

I nodded hesitantly and sat back down. After a moment’s pause, I remembered why I had been calling for Alice in the first place, and scanned the surroundings again.

What's Alice doing in the woods when we're about to depart? Answering the call of nature, maybe?

Well, it doesn't really concern me. I can just ask someone else.

"Sir Holison," I began. Holison looked down at me expectantly. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course." He nodded, throwing a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching.

There was a very brief mention of Marquis Vernon Ashdown in the book, this body’s father. He was noted to be on the Mages' side during the war—something many of his fellow nobles saw as treacherous. But regardless, the Ashdowns were on the frontlines, and the reason was never disclosed.

This rapid healing... it was something only characters with mana in their veins possessed. Namely, Elric Shaw, the Grand Mage and, well... Most blue-eyed people in the book.

"The Ashdown household... are they mana-blessed?" My eyes sparkled, a smile threatening to dawn on my expression.

Holison nodded, as though what I had stated was but an appetizer for my actual question. "The Marquis himself, yes."

"Okay." I smirked, tighening my lips. "Awesome." The word slipped out, my fists tightening over the ragged cloth on my thighs.

It was mentioned nowhere within the book, but I should have known that Penelope Ashdown must have inherited a mana blessing from her father given the fact that she was even capable of hurting Estelle in the original book.

The chaos energy mentioned my the Crown Prince during the trial... He must have meant Mana...

Just off of the fact that my eyes are blue... I'm such a fool.

I snickered like an idiot at the thought of all the ways I can exploit this newfound talent within me once I start a new life for myself, outside of this hell.

"The Ashdown family is one of the most distinguished mana-blessed bloodlines in the empire, my lady. Their reputation precedes them, but... was that your question, my lady?"

"Yes." I nodded, my excitement bubbling over as I put one leg over the other and looked over the bustling camp with newfound relief. "I guess we’re a special bloodline or whatever," I muttered.

Holison looked over at me with a thoughtful look.

"Well... Calling mana-blessed people ‘special’ is a bit of an insult to the pure-blooded folk. You know...More than half the population carries mana in their veins; it is far rarer to find one entirely untainted by such… impurity." His voice softened slightly as he continued. He pointed to Blert, who sat atop his horse in the distance, conversing with another knight. "Commander Blert himself carries the blessing of mana, though I imagine you’ve never seen him stoop to using it."

These revelations served as a minor fall from heaven for my newly born hope. I looked down at my palms.

"No, I haven't," I lied.

"Precisely, my lady. I’ve known the commander for as long as I can remember. He is..." Holison leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a guarded secret. "He is my uncle, in fact."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Really? He never addresses you differently than the rest of his men."

"Yes, my lady, and therein lies his greatness. The second son of Baron Blach, and the pride of our household. I have never known a man more committed to his duty than Commander Blert," Holison said, his acne-ridden face brightening with admiration. "Despite bearing the weight of that cursed blessing, he rose through the ranks with sheer will and honor."

There was a pause as Holison’s face darkened, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. "His mana is the strongest in our family’s history, my lady. His mother, my grandmother, could scarcely bear the shame of it."

"Shame?" I repeated, perplexed.

"Indeed," Holison continued with a grim nod. "She despised him for it. Mana is a stain upon noble blood, my lady. A sin. I'm sure you're more than familiar with the feeling, Lady Prisoner." There was no offensive intent in his tone, so I didn't take any.

"I see." I paused before muttering under my breath, "Well, why he's a brute is no longer a mystery."

A troubled connection to his mother could explain his shitty personality, I guess.

"Ah, it is true the commander is... demanding of womenfolk, but there are reasons beyond that, I assure you..." He leaned in conspiratorially, as though eager to spill all the details.

"You see—"

"That reminds me, Sir Holison," I feigned surprise. Stop with useless information.

"What is it, my lady?" Holison's eyes glistened with curiosity as I leaned in closer, as though about to disclose a confidential secret.

“I have something curious to discuss with you."

"Do tell," Holison urged, his light browns gleaming with anticipation.

"The other day, I happened to see one of the coachmen sneakily stashing away what seemed to be valuable jewelry in with his clothes. Can you imagine? Such a risk!” I was spewing lies, but this naive-seeming little guy doesn't know that.

Holison's eyes widened, his interest piqued. “Jewelry? Really? Where did you see this?”

“In the coach, of course. I think it was behind the flap where they store their things,” I replied, feigning a casual demeanor. “But it seemed odd to me. I thought they would keep their valuables somewhere safer, do you not agree?”

Holison frowned, shaking his head. “Oh, lady Prisoner, that’s cannot be. Coachmen actually keep their clothes and things in a trunk at the back, underneath a flap. There’s no way he could fit anything valuable in there, let alone jewelry.”

My expression shifted to one of faux innocence, and I leaned back into place. “Oh... Is that so? I must have seen it wrong, then. It’s all so confusing sometimes. But I could have sworn it was a shiny necklace peeking out… do you reckon it was the way the light caught it, then?”

“Likely!” Holison said, scratching his head. “Coachmen are really careful with their stuff. They’d never put valuables in a place like that where they could get damaged or lost. I mean, the trunk is mostly for their spare clothes and blankets, and it is a shared space with the footman travelling with us.”

“So it was just a trick of the light?” I tilted my head. “All is well, then. I’d hate to think they’re not being careful with their belongings.”

“Exactly!” Holison agreed, puffing up with confidence. And then, he hiccuped, his grin dropping as he stiffened, eyes redirected towards an approaching figure.

"Commander!" He shot upright, saluting the approaching man on horseback.

"Put her in the carriage," Blert ordered, not sparing me a glance. "And get on your horse. We depart in five minutes."

"Yes, Commander!" Holison went back to being stiff. His forehead was sparkling with sweat.

"Between duty and personal interest, which do you think Blert would choose?" I asked Holison, watching the commander’s retreating figure.

"Duty," Holison answered without hesitation, signaling me to stand so he could escort me to the carriage.

"Right," I muttered, looking down at my palms. "As he should."

~

"So you're saying he's useless?" I repeated, mirroring Alice's flat expression as she sat across from me in the carriage.

"Yes, my lady."

"So all that talk of my dearest father appointing a physician to ensure my well-being was nothing but a ruse?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It must have been for appearances only. The physician claimed he had no cure for discomforts such as yours, my lady."

A light but sharp pinch of disappointment stirred within me, unwelcome and mildly infuriating. As if I ever expected anything from the Marquis.

"It matters little. The discomfort is fading at a rather fascinating speed. I don’t seem to need those potions anymore." I clicked my tongue, crossing my arms tightly over my legs.

I could feel Alice’s long, lingering stare at the side of my face.

"... I can still acquire the potions, my lady," she muttered cautiously.

"No need." I waved a dismissive hand. "I only requested them because I expected the healing process to take longer. I’m speaking perfectly fine now—I don’t need it."

"Alright." Alice's posture was stiff, as if wanting to say something.

I clicked my tongue, turning to her with an annoyed expression and a furrowed brow.

Her eyes slightly widened at my silent offer for her to talk, but she only stared back at me instead of speaking.

I shook my head, turning to look at the window.

"You know," I snapped my head to her with a glare, fixating her pink pupils. "People who neither know how to hide their thoughts or say them. They irk the shit out of me." I ended up unable to hold my tongue.

"... Apologies, my lady." Alice said, seeming a tad taken aback. "I did not mean to irk you with my face."

"Try harder not to, then." I muttered, turning to the window.

Exhaling slowly, I brushed my fingers over the bandages at my neck, an unease creeping through me like a shadow I couldn't shake.

Tomorrow was D-Day. We would be reaching that cursed lake in about forty-eight hours.

My plan was almost complete. The only unchecked boxes on my list were:

[] Truman’s help (Reliable?)

[] Fake blood

[] Coachman's clothing location

[] Kitchen knife

[] Money

[] Shackle keys

The plan was simple;

Tonight, if Truman proves to be useful after my test, I'd explain the impending disaster to him and coordinate with him. If he believed me—or, more likely, believed in the wealth I would promise him—he would protect me and help me slip away during the chaos of the monster attack.

Using the items I’d gather, I would stage the 'death' of Penelope Ashdown.

The fake blood would serve as the base. I would cut my long hair with the kitchen knife and leave it as proof—the only woman here with such hair would surely be presumed dead.

As a final touch, I would rip these ragged, disgusting clothes from my body, don the coachman's garments, and toss the old rags into the mess of blood.

And voila.

In the case where Truman does not join me—reaffirming my instinct which prompts me to act alone as it is the most comfortable option, or some unexpected event occurs, I would use up my Bait List until I create an opportunity in which I can flee, and then I will make a run for it, heading for my new-life destination: Jozdem Village.

I had complete trust in my plan. My faith in my ability to avoid the looming danger, however… Well, it was decent, at best.

"—dy." A voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Lady Penelope." It was Alice.

I blinked, redirecting my gaze from my whitened knuckles to Alice, her pink eyes fixed on me. Relaxing my hands, I offered a faint smile. "What is it?"

"We have arrived." She nodded toward the open door of the carriage, the chill of the night air seeping in. "It’s time to set up camp."

The sound of cicadas filled the darkened sky, the cold wind biting at my skin as I stepped down.

The carriage had stopped, night had fallen, and I’d barely noticed.