Inside the Archisorte family manor, in the private chambers of a certain blonde, scheming young lady.
The pampered noble girl lay sprawled across her bed like a beaten dog, listening to the report her maid delivered.
"Kenneth… is dead?"
Her voice brimmed with shock—yet carried another shade of feeling as well.
Joy. Relief. A hunger slowly waking.
As the so-called "tragic news" for her family sank in, the corners of Reines El-Melloi Archisorte's lips crept upward. The radiant smile that blossomed on her face gleamed with a chill far colder than grief.
Reines was a "prodigy" among magi. Even by Clock Tower standards, her talent ranked in the highest tier. But Kenneth had always stood one step above her, making her the pitiable spare by comparison.
The only reason she hadn't been married off to another noble family as a pawn was her formidable talent in Magecraft and her skill in politics. That, and her family hoped her worth could fetch a higher price.
But Reines was no fool who'd let herself be sold and thank the seller. Through shrewd maneuvering, she'd cultivated her own network and resources. To the Archibald main family she might still seem weak—but for a branch family like Archisorte, her power was significant.
And beauty only strengthened her position. Her soft, lustrous blonde hair wasn't the dull flaxen shade common to Europe, but a dazzling gold that gleamed like metal. Though only fifteen or sixteen, her figure was already refined, her posture proud, her face still touched by youth yet radiating iron resolve. A girl like her inspired both admiration and the desire to pin her down and utterly conquer her.
But Reines was no mere ornament. With superior Magic Circuits and sharp instincts for both politics and commerce, she stood far above ordinary magi. Many noble heirs fawned over her—not out of love, but for what she represented.
Because what they truly wanted was her womb.
For magi, Magic Circuits passed down through bloodlines. Families that preserved their blood purity for generations produced offspring with far greater talent than commoners.
To the nobility, Reines was the perfect bride—no, the perfect breeding vessel.
She had refined beauty, unshakable composure, and Magic Circuits perfect in both quality and quantity. She was a noble's dream uterus.
Yes. Only her womb mattered. No other value. No meaning. Certainly no love.
That was the world of magi: cruel, pragmatic, mercilessly real.
"Haa…" Reines gasped sharply, her breath ragged. She forced herself to stay rational—but the exhilaration was overwhelming.
Kenneth might have been a scholar more than a fighter, but he was still a colour-ranked magus, second only to the Crowns, and one of the Twelve Lords of the Clock Tower. His death should have been impossible.
And yet the report lay before her. His corpse returned to the Archibald estate. His belongings gathered. His end, by all accounts, gruesome.
"Leave me." Reines waved a dismissive hand at the maid who lingered in place. But the maid didn't move. She just stood there, stiff, like a clock whose gears had stopped.
"Hey…" Reines froze, unease stabbing her chest as she stared at that slack, lifeless face. A chill shot up her spine. "Who are you?"
She shouted, springing off the bed. In a single leap she vaulted toward her desk, where Mystic Codes lay ready. Defensive Magecraft flared around her body. Communication spells linked her instantly to every magus loyal to her, sending out an urgent alarm.
She did all this in seconds. Yet still the maid just stood there, motionless. A Doll without a master.
"An Automaton…" Reines's eyes widened as the realization hit her. And then—
Her body was suddenly wrapped in something soft. The strength she'd gathered drained away in an instant.
It was her own silk bedsheets. Incredibly, she was back on her bed, cocooned like a silkworm, despite the fact she'd already leapt five or six meters across the room toward her Codes.
"What the hell—" Cold sweat broke out across her skin. Her eyes darted around the chamber, only now noticing glowing runes etched in the dark.
Wards to cut communications, dampen sound, even sever space itself. A trap long laid.
Her maid had already been replaced.
"Good evening, Lady Reines."
A mocking voice rang out as the crimson carpet rippled like water. Two figures rose from the shadows.
One was a boy in a tailored suit—Anderson & Sheppard bespoke, no less. Obviously wealthy, perhaps even noble. But Reines's eyes snapped instead to the girl standing just behind him.
She radiated purity like a blooming lotus. Pale skin against a faint gray dress, plain yet elegant. She embodied the principle that a maid should never outshine her master.
"The Doll here is mine," the boy said lightly. His childish tone dripped with cruelty. "A defective little creation. Raw material courtesy of your late maid's corpse." He smiled. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Rhodes. Just an unworthy practitioner of Arcane Magic. No need to glare at me so hatefully."
"Otherwise—"
Swish!
The maid behind him vanished in an instant, reappearing as she slammed into Reines. A jet-black scythe bit against her throat, leaving twin red lines.
Only then did Rhodes chuckle, slow and easy.
"Don't blame us for being impolite."
"Cry, scream, beg all you want! Even if you shred your voice—no one's coming to save you!"