### Chapter 25

At the out-of-nowhere assessment, Karr raised his index finger and poked Laren’s forehead to push her face back. A strange sensation instantly washed over Laren, making her knit her brows together tightly.

When he had been a young boy, even a gesture like that felt cute, but now it felt somehow infuriating. As Laren grimaced and rubbed her forehead, Karr pulled his exhausted body up from the bed.

“Is it a Physical-type Qualitas that lets you alter your appearance?”

“…”

“Karr, back when you were a kid, it was cute when you stayed silent, but not anymore. You’re not cute at all. Now hurry up and answer what I asked.”

Laren spoke sternly, even crossing her arms. Facing her fierce, menacing aura—which made it look as though she might pounce on him if he evaded the question—Karr reluctantly nodded. Seeing this, Laren’s eyes widened. A Qualitas that allowed someone to transform into a young child was every bit as rare as a Holy Qualitas.

“Don’t tell me… can you transform into other forms too? Someone who isn’t a child?”

Meeting her sparkling eyes, Karr shook his head. Annoyed by the feeling of being interrogated, he laid back down on the bed and closed his eyes.

“Wait! I still have so many questions!”

When Laren darted over and vigorously shook his body, annoyance flooded Karr’s face. Fatigue weighed heavily on him after days of barely getting any sleep.

“One.”

“Just *one* question? Hey, think about it—how frustrated do you think I am right now? Two… no, three!”

Seeing her behavior so starkly different from when he was a young boy, he let out a shallow sigh. *‘What a pain.’* Staring blankly up at the ceiling, Karr seriously pondered whether he should just transform back into a child.

“Three!”

A pair of rough hands grabbed Karr’s arm. Glaring down at her fingertips, Karr signaled his consent.

“Why were you in child form back at the slave merchant ring?”

“…Because it’s easier to win the sympathy of people like you.”

Flinching noticeably, Laren conceded the point on the spot. She herself had clutched her heart in utter devotion the moment she saw his young form. In truth, she was treating the boy Karr and the adult Karr before her eyes as completely different entities.

*‘What were you planning to do by winning people’s sympathy at a slave merchant ring in that form?’*

Questions bred more questions, but she only had two left.

“Then is your actual age how you look right now?”

Meeting her curious blue eyes, Karr nodded. That concluded the second question. Lips tightly bitten, Laren held back the overwhelming rush of questions she couldn’t voice. She stared intently at Karr with a hesitant look.

“…I don’t suppose you could stay in your little Karr form?”

The third question was not even worth answering. Flashing a look of utter disdain at her self-serving request, Karr pulled the blanket all the way over his head. Cut off completely by the thick blanket, Laren smacked her lips in disappointment.

To be honest, little Karr had been uncontrollably cute. His chubby cheeks, combined with that strangely subdued aura of his, had been captivating. She wanted to see it just once more… As Laren sat there feeling wistful, a chill crept up the spine of Karr, who was closing his eyes beneath the covers.

It was such a pity that Karr was not actually a young boy. It would probably be impossible to fawn over those chubby cheeks now, since he was fundamentally a grown man. As she sat slumped on the floor, the corners of Laren’s eyes drooped distinctly.

—

Biya’s even breathing settled over the training ground. As she channeled her mana with her eyes closed, the streams shone with a brilliant blue light.

“…Sword Emperor.”

Five years after first picking up a sword, pouring herself into training day in and day out, she clenched her fist at the thrill she was experiencing for the very first time. Sheathing her blade, Biya turned around at the presence rising behind her.

“Celebration drink!”

Along with a familiar voice, a red bottle came flying through the air. *Clack.* Catching it deftly, Biya opened the cap with a smile.

“Radiel, didn’t you promise our Lord that you’d cut back on drinking?”

“He gave me permission to drink on joyous days!”

“And why are *you* joyous?”

“Your joy is my joy, my joy is your joy. Ergo, today is a joyous day! Congratulations on reaching Sword Emperor.”

“Good grief.”

Biya let out a soft, helpless laugh at Radiel’s nonsensical toast. It was nothing more than an excuse to drink. Taking a sip of the fruit wine, Biya looked up at the night sky where the stars formed paths across the dark. Her heart swelled with the feeling that she had somehow taken another step closer to her dream.

—

In the Freikan Empire, drinking alcohol was permitted from the age of fifteen. Gulping down the liquor in one go, Biya let out a loud burp that sounded like something straight out of a drunkard.

She was a complete orphan. Pitied while barely surviving on begging in the market, she had been taken in and raised by an old woman who ran a fruit stand.

Even she had passed away when Biya was ten years old. Forced to find a way to survive, Biya had drifted from one mansion to another from a young age, working as a maid.

“Biya, it’s been a long time since we had a maid as meticulous as you. The master was full of praise.”

She had learned the maid trade after entering the estate of a wealthy merchant. Though she was somewhat clumsy at first, her adept hands allowed her to adapt quickly.

However, the master of the mansion had a lewd, depraved taste for young girls. The way his gaze slithered over early teenage girls was sinister beyond belief. On the night the senior maids tried to shove her into his bedchamber, Biya fled.

The second place was the mansion of a baron who held a small fief. Unlucky as she was, Biya’s thin brown hair and round features caught the eye of the baron’s heir.

“You filthy creature!”

Under the pretext that Biya was seducing her precious son, the baroness whipped her at every opportunity. It was nothing more than stress relief disguised as a plausible excuse.

Unable to reach her back to properly treat the wounds, they became infected and gave off a foul, rotting stench. The moment the wooden club turned into a horsewhip, Biya fled from the baron’s estate as well.

Fortunately, amidst her misfortunes, she had a place to return to: the shabby shanty left behind by the fruit-stand grandmother. Yet even that would disappear in a month. They were planning to demolish all the shanties in the area to build a massive merchant guild complex.

It was miserable. She hadn’t asked for much. She had simply wanted a warm meal and a warm bed where she could fall asleep without worries.

Was that really such a difficult thing to ask for? Because power struggles existed even among maids, the young Biya had never had a single proper friend.

On the day she was notified to vacate the shanty within a month, she touched alcohol for the first time in her sixteen years of life. Bringing it to her mouth, it had a strange, pungent aroma that pricked her nose.

“Ugh, so bitter! How do people drink this stuff?”

One sip, two sips… as the alcohol took effect, her mood gradually lifted. A young girl wandering around in broad daylight with a liquor bottle drew disapproving glances from passersby.

Biya walked toward a secluded spot. In the shabby alleyway, stray dogs with nowhere to go—just like her—were bounding around. Their overgrown coats were rough, and they even smelled musty.

“Don’t you have a home either?”

When she squatted down in a corner, the dogs wagged their tails. Up close, the dogs were adorable—their lapping tongues, their tails wagging at a stranger.

One of them was limping on one leg. Had it been kicked by a passerby? Despite being in a dire plight herself, pity welled up inside her for the stray dog.

*‘A stray.’*

*Rustle.* She pulled out the paper bag of bread she had kept tucked carefully in her breast. They were croissants, the kind the fruit-stand grandmother had loved in life—an impulsive splurge seduced by the rich, buttery aroma wafting from the bakery. Tearing off a few pieces and placing them on the ground, three or four dogs rushed over all at once, every single one of them skin and bones.

“…I just want to die.”

“Why?”

It was a muttered comment with no expectation of an answer, yet an out-of-the-blue question came back in response. Since the dogs obviously couldn’t talk, she whipped her head around from her crouched position, only to find a hooded figure sitting in the exact same stance as hers. Though the face was obscured by a robe, she could tell the figure was smaller in build than herself.

“Just because. I don’t have a home, I can’t go back to the estates where I used to work, I don’t have any friends… I just don’t see any reason to keep living.”

“Hmm.”

It was a bright, cheerful girl’s voice. Could she be about her age? She could only guess from the voice alone. Rummaging beneath her robe, the girl pulled out a paper bag of bread. Judging by how the dogs swarmed around her while wagging their tails furiously, it seemed she came by often to feed them.

“Is that your reason for wanting to die?”

“I don’t want to live like a victim anymore. I hate the tyranny of the estate masters, I hate the daily beatings. I hate being too weak to fight back… There’s just no point in living through all this.”

Why was she babbling all this to a total stranger? Biya felt her face flush hot. Was it the alcohol? It wasn’t exactly a pleasant topic, but somehow, talking felt good.

Under normal circumstances, she would never have bothered dealing with such a mysterious stranger, but right now, it felt strangely comforting. Opening her heart like this was something she hadn’t done since the fruit-stand grandmother had passed away.

“Is that so? Don’t you have anything you like, then?”

Things she liked? She had never really thought about it, nor had she ever had the chance to. She did have something she was good at, though. People always praised her for brewing a good cup of tea.

“Things I like… well, I do have something I’m good at. People say I brew good tea.”

The old woman at the fruit stand used to love the tea Biya brewed. Biya had climbed the mountain often just to find the tea leaves the old woman favored. *Things I like…* Biya stared blankly into the empty air.

“To be honest, it’s a bit embarrassing, but… I like swords. Aren’t they cool? Whenever I saw the knights wielding swords at the estates where I worked, I couldn’t help but envy them.”

It was just a rambling confession. She hated those days of being helplessly subjected to people reaching out dirty hands toward her. She hated her own weakness, being unable to shake off the grip dragging her into dark corners.

“Swords?”

“Yeah. I loathe all those days I suffered without the strength to fight back.”

“I see.”

The girl’s reaction was somehow odd. For a conversation topic that was heavy, to say the least, her reply was thoroughly casual. Was she simply uninterested? Then again, Biya wouldn’t want to listen to such gloomy venting either.

“So? What do you plan to do now? You said you have nowhere to return to.”

At the girl’s question, Biya’s shoulders drooped heavily. *I don’t know.* She simply wanted to live in a place where she didn’t have to worry about whether someone might open her bedroom door in the dead of night, or whether someone might raise their fists against her. Biya’s dream was modest, yet immensely difficult to achieve.

“Well, I suppose I’ll try applying wherever they’re hiring maids.”

“Hmm.”

Uttering a brief murmur, the girl petted the dogs in front of her. Her hands were fair and delicate. As she stroked the strays, smudges of dark dirt stained her fair skin.

“Should I recommend a place to you?”

“Where?”

Biya didn’t expect much. All those estates were practically the same anyway. Hiring notices were rare during such a warm season. A place posting a recruitment ad usually meant maids were constantly fleeing—making the nature of the master at such a mansion all too obvious.

“The Mercantia Ducal Estate.”

Biya gasped.

*‘What is she talking about?’*

The Mercantia Ducal House was a place that *never* recruited maids.

It was a baffling thing. She had heard that the Mercantia residence was grand enough to rival the Imperial Palace. Surely they required a massive staff, yet they hadn’t posted a single maid recruitment notice in the last six years.

She had occasionally spotted Mercantia maids buying goods in the market—neatly dressed, with bright, happy smiles. She had no memory of ever hearing about a maid running away from Mercantia.

“…You’re lying, right? Are you making fun of me?”

“It’s true. Give me your hand.”

Watching the girl rummage through her robe, Biya felt the heat of intoxication flush her face. Was she hallucinating from the alcohol? Was this what alcohol did to a person? Entertaining these absurd thoughts, she reached her hand out, and the girl placed a flower-shaped badge no bigger than a fingernail onto her palm.

“What’s this?”

“If you’re interested, take that and go to the Mercantia Ducal Estate.”

The girl took the liquor bottle from Biya’s hand, declaring it an exchange for the badge. It was a strange sort of logic. With her robe fluttering, the girl melted away into Biya’s hazy vision.

—

Biya’s eyes flew open. Light seeped through the sparse gaps in the roof of her dilapidated shanty.

*‘Was it a dream?’*

Groaning as she sat up, Biya clutched her throbbing head. Drinking out on the street… Reaching into the pocket of her worn clothes, her fingertips brushed against a small badge rolling inside.

“Ha…”

Had she been bewitched by a spirit? Strapping her worn cloth bag tight, Biya stood staring up, her mouth agape. Golden iron gates rose high toward the sky.

At the entrance of the Mercantia Ducal Estate, the sharp, formidable gaze of a guard knight tracked her every move.

Seized by sudden terror, Biya shrank back. A knight standing nearly two meters tall approached her.

*‘I’ve lost my mind! What was I thinking, coming all the way here on that girl’s word?!’*

At the knight’s stern expression, her legs trembled uncontrollably. What if they dragged her away as a suspicious intruder? She squeezed the badge in her hand tight. Watching Biya’s skittish behavior, the knight narrowed his eyes.

“Open your hand.”

“Y-Yes?!”

“What is that in your hand?”

Spurred by his overbearing tone, she reflexively threw her hand open. *Clink.* The knight picked up the small badge that fell with a tiny metallic ring.