The m, I woke up in the worst possible state. Again. I brought this upon myself in the evening to have a few more hours for myself.

  “Good m, Miss Charlie,” my watch chirped, eoo smug about my suffering.

  I groaned, shoving my face deeper into my pillow. “Not yeeet...” I whined, voice muffled and pathetic. But no matter how much I protested, my body, traitorous as ever, started dragging itself out of bed.

  I was miserable.

  I hated being awake.

  I hated I had to fun.

  “You say that every m,” Jerry reminded me, utterly devoid of sympathy.

  “Because it’s true!” I snapped, rubbing the bleariness from my eyes. “And for the record, I recall telling you my social battery is low. No talking.”

  “You said you didn’t want to talk to people,” Jerry tered.

  “You also t,” I grumbled, trudging toward the shower like a ned prisoner marg to the gallows. The pod had auto-sanitation, sure, but there was something irrepceable about hot water. The way it scalded my skin awake, steaming away the st remnants of exhaustion—it was less about hygiene and more about survival at this point.

  Twenty glorious mier, I emerged, damp and refreshed, but still very muaked. Not that it mattered. I was just going straight bato the capsule, anyway.

  “Before you go,” Jerry’s voice chimed in again, ing from... somewhere. “I, um… thank you. For what you said earlier.”

  I paused, blinking. “What did I say?” My brain was still booting up, arievierday’s data was not in its priority queue. I sat down at the capsule, leaving the lid open while I tried to piece it together.

  Oh. He ts!

  I let that sink in for a moment before a small smile tugged at my lips. “Well, yeah. You do.”

  Jerry didn’t respht away, but something about the silence felt… pleased.

  I chuckled. “Bye, Jerry.” And with that, I climbed into the capsule, the world around me dissolving into the familiar hum of Rimelion.

  I slipped through the halls, careful to keep my footsteps light against the stone floor. The st thing I needed was someone spotting me and thinking I was avaible for versation. Or worse—paperwork.

  The corridors were quieter at this hour, the usual ctter of armored boots and hurried messengers reduced to an occasional echo in the distance. I hugged the walls, dug past open doorways, moving with the grace of someone who definitely wasn’t sneaking out of her own fortress.

  Almost made it.

  Then, right as I turned a er, I nearly collided with someone. My breath caught, but I pivoted at the st sed, pstering myself against the pilr as if I belohere. A soldier strolled past, eyes focused on whatever report he was holding. He didn’t see me.

  Perfect.

  I exhaled slowly, giving it a few beats before moving again. The entrance was just ahead, and—most importantly—there were no bureaucrats in sight. No o me baside with urgent matters that absolutely couldn’t wait.

  When I finally reached the entrance, ued and free, I grinned so wide I could barely tain it. A fwless escape.

  And then—

  “My Lady!”

  Two guards so attention, their backs straight as spears, their voices perfectly synized.

  My grin froze. Then twisted into something more pained.

  “At ease…” I muttered, giving them a half-hearted wave as I hurried past, my not-so-stealthy exit thhly ruined.

  I was nearly clear of the fort when—

  “Lady!”

  Alma’s voice rang out like my whip‘s crack, and I turned around with the slow, deliberate movement of someone preparing for impact.

  There she was, standing iraining yard—or whatever they called it here—looking positively thrilled. Behiood seven men and three women, all lined up in sharp formation.

  “I formed your personal guard!” she announced, practically vibrating with excitement.

  Smile. e on, me. Just... smile.

  “Alma! That’s wonderful!” I said, my voice a little too enthusiastic, a little too forced. But hey, I was trying.

  Alma practically skipped, her excitement rolling off her in waves. She bowed deeply before spinning on her heel and motioning grandly toward the assembled soldiers. “The best!” she decred, chest puffed with pride.

  And I had to admit, they looked the part. Their armleamed in the m light, a striking silvery-green that somehow was both elegant and undeniably intimidating. The craftsmanship was leagues beyond the standard imperial gear, each pte shaped for both mobility and defense.

  But the actual star of the show?

  My snowfke crest, engraved across the upper half of their backs in bold, icy silver.

  Ah, yes. Nothing inspires fear and respect like a bunch of battle-hardened warriors rog an aggressively decorative snowfke.

  I folded my arms, nodding as if I had desighe whole thing instead of just existing as the inspiration. “That’s wonderful, Alma,” I said, keeping my tone measured, like I wasn’t totally surprised by how actually petent she was. “I will personally appoint you and the guard in ceremony this evening.”

  Alma beamed, practically glowing. I could almost hear the pride swelling in her chest.

  She was about to say something when I quickly added, “Now, I have to… i some things.”

  I waved my hand vaguely toward everything and nothing, because frankly, I had no idea what I was iing. But it sounded important, and more importantly—it gave me an out.

  Alma, ever eager to fulfill her role, straightened immediately. “Do you need an escort?”

  Oh, she was really itted to this.

  “No hank you. Keep up the good work. Bye.” I turned on my heel, making my escape so abrupt it robably rude. But hey, I was a noble now.

  A little etricity is expected.

  Somehow, the pyers seemed more alive than the NPCs. The area in front of the fort was a chaotic mess, absolutely teeming with activity. Makeshift stalls stretched out like some bizarre medieval flea market, but the real monstrosity?

  The tents.

  Massive, wooden-framed monstrosities, the kind of over-the-top beer hall setups that screamed Oktoberfest. At least the germans at the bar cimed their tents were as big as these. But it was as if their Oktoberfest had been raided by an ambitious, wood-obsessed carpenter with no cept of restraint.

  Weird.

  My clerks—arently worked for me now—were manning the stalls like diligent little merts. little price tags in crisp Imperial tral adorned every good, their pristine anization in direct trast to the utter anarchy surrounding them.

  System transtion kicked in, and I was immediately bombarded with an overwhelming wave of numbers.

  We were buying everything.

  And I meant everything.

  People bustled around, trying to sell literal garbage—useless wares, miseous tris, bdes so rusted they were probably biological hazards, and grass. Yes, grass.

  Na?ve pyers.

  I smirked, dug and weaving through the madness, but damn it was hard to push through. Someoually had the audacity to try selling me a rock.

  Just as I he edge of the market, a voice cut through the noise.

  “… So much mud. Pelt ruined…”

  Mud?

  Wolves!

  “HEY!” I spun on my heel, instincts kig in before my brain could catch up, and within seds, I was baside, charging through the market like a ossessed.

  Tens of clerks sat behind their wooden ters, dutifully manning their stations, their ste crates ly stacked behind them. This was a well-oiled mae, a—

  Don’t get distracted!

  “Why aren’t we buying mud wolf pelts?!” My fury crackled through the air as I stormed toward the table.

  The poor clerk, a thin young man, froze, caught red-handed, rejeg a pelt that very clearly beloo one of those stupid, mud-obsessed gray wolves.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a guard he entrance—who I hadn’t even noticed existed—snagged my sleeve with all the enthusiasm of a man who had lost the will to live.

  “Excuse me, adventurer, but—”

  “Mud wolves are the enemy!” I snapped, wreng my arm free like I was about to decre war right then and there.

  “Out.” The guard grabbed me again, this time with actual i, and my brain finally caught up with my body. I blinked, just staring at him like he’d insulted my entire lineage.

  Nearby pyers either giggled or muttered something about noobs. “We go out,” he repeated, as if I had the processing speed of a turnip.

  “Yeah, yeah, I follow,” I murmured, allowing myself to be dragged along with all the enthusiasm of a cat being forced into a bath.

  It would probably be a terrible idea to decre war on mud, right?

  …Right?

  But damn, was it tempting.

  I had specifically told myself no drama or social iions this m. Yes, there was the afternoon pn: attend the teleport event, get Lisa her fire css, maybe enjoy a peaceful moment of… filing the paperwork.

  Okay, maybe being noble isn’t that good. But being physically escorted like a troublemaking child was kinda fun. On the plus side, I now had six glorious, unscheduled hours of freedom. The universe had gifted me a miracle.

  “How am I supposed to walk in mud?” I muttered, mostly to myself.

  “Girl, you’re already doing it,” the guard chuckled as he kept draggihrough the crowd.

  I gnced down.

  Oh.

  He was right.

  My heels weren’t sinking into the mud. They weren’t stig, slipping, or making that horrible schlop sound that usually apanied ill-advised footwear choices.

  I opened my mouth, then s shut, my gre dropping hard onto my glorious heels.

  “Fwless Grace!“ I hissed.

  What evehese stats?! “No stopping, or I’ll use force,” the guard warned, clearly unimpressed with my revetion.

  “Sorry,” I fshed him an overly sweet smile, deg to lean into the absurdity. “You take your duty very seriously. Is the owhat bad, or are the rumors just exaggerated nonsense?”

  People saw a guard esc me and moved out of the way far faster than they would have otherwise, so I let him keep up the heroic rescue mission.

  No sense in fighting venience.

  “I haven’t seen her yet,” he admitted with a casual shrug. “But… yesterday, she formed her personal guard by andeering doan personnel.”

  I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest with mock offense. “Hey! I do that!”

  His expression remained ral.

  “Okay, teically I should’ve asked first,” I ceded, rolling my eyes. “But it was just a feers.”

  He eyed me—really looked at me this time. His gaze swept over my outfit, lingering for a moment on the subtle embroidery, the rich textures that definitely screamed not a random ohen his eyes locked onto my .

  And stayed there.

  His entire posture stiffened, like someone had just yahe rug out from under his brain. His hand twitched ever so slightly, a subtle tremor betraying his sudden uainty.

  “What do you mean by… you should’ve asked?” His voice wasn’t quite steady anymore.

  I sighed, already regretting this iion. With a casual fliy wrist, I held up my ring a a trickle of mana surge through it, making the insignia pulse with a soft glow.

  Not a definitive proof, but good enough.

  “I’m Princess Charlie. Don’t worry about it,” I said, keeping my tone light, almost bored. Like this wasn’t the fiftieth time someone had just realized they were manhandling a noble.

  He froze on the spot.

  Gulped.

  Visibly recalibrated his entire existence.

  I smiled, just enough to let him know I wasn’t actually pnning to throw him in a dungeon. “Just ese out of the market like an unruly kid, and everything’s fine. I’m not mad. You’re just doing your job.”

  He swallowed hard, then gave the stiffest, most awkward nod I’d seen all week. “Yes, Lady,” he said, his voice suddenly a lot more careful. His grip on my arm instantly softened, shifting from firm authority to something closer to… fear?

  The crowd thinned out the moment we crossed an invisible dividing line—one of those unspoken, social physics things that pyers and NPstinctively obeyed. No more shoulder-to-shoulder jostling, no more pushy merts hawking overpriced junk. Just space. Blessed, breathable space.

  The guard, sensing the shift, released his grip like he’d just realized he was holding a live grenade.

  I exhaled, stretg my arms dramatically. “Thanks for the escort. And, uh… sorry for my outburst. Bye.”

  No ceremony, no lingering awkwardness—I just turned on my heel and booked it before anyone else could decide they needed something from me.

  I shouldn’t be awake so early. Especially ter on diplomacy quests.

  Joggi good. It shook off the m grump, helped clear the lingering irritation of paperwork, and—wait.

  I blinked.

  Where the hell was I going?

  Pulling up my map, I squi the blinking marker. Right, right—Ngogeon. Solo practice time. No people. No distras. Just me and whatever poor creatures lived in there for a few hours.

  A grin stretched ay face as I picked up the pace.

  “Alright. Let’s go break some things.”