Chapter 19: The Beginning of Involution

“Bang!”

The doors to the bedchamber were violently kicked open.

Avira’s excited, twisted face appeared inside. Her crimson eyes gleamed with the light of a predator.

“Sis! Are you awake?”

“I just caught a few Paladins—alive!”

“Let’s play the new hunting game!”

Again? Using Paladins as targets?

She’s going to die.

Not killed by the knights, but scared to death by this mad older sister! Her mind screamed and roared.

But her body made the only, most instinctive choice to survive.

Play dead.

Sylvia closed her eyes tightly, forcing her breathing to steady.

Slowly. Her body relaxed completely, motionless.

As long as I sleep deeply enough, trouble won’t catch me.

Avira rushed to the bedside, only to see her sister’s “peaceful” sleeping face.

“Sis? Don’t sleep, come play!”

She reached out and pushed Sylvia’s shoulder. The body only swayed weakly, showing no response.

Avira’s excitement faded bit by bit. Replaced by a trace of impatience.

She pushed again, each time harder than before. Sylvia still “slept” without a hint of awareness.

Just as Avira’s patience snapped, ready to yank her out of bed, she noticed her sister’s tightly furrowed brow.

A crease so deep it couldn’t smooth out even in sleep.

Avira’s movements froze.

The wildness in her eyes slowly shifted into a strange, pitying thoughtfulness.

Ah.

So that’s it.

Her sister didn’t want to play. She was just bored of my game, too repetitive, too dull.

Yes, it had to be that!

Last time it was Blood Livestock prisoners, this time Paladins—essentially still shooting at targets.

No novelty at all! She’s even started having nightmares!

Avira’s thoughts twisted perfectly into a self-contained loop. She felt she’d found the key to the problem.

She needed to prepare a grander, more novel “fun” for her sister.

Something that would truly bring her joy.

Just as Avira plunged into her feverish “project planning,” the light in the room dimmed briefly.

A shadow silently appeared behind Avira.

No footsteps, no breath. The shadow itself took form.

Ophelia.

Avira’s body instantly stiffened.

The madness frozen on her face.

She slowly turned around to meet her mother’s blood-red eyes, devoid of any emotion.

Ophelia didn’t look at her.

The queen’s gaze fell upon the small figure lying in bed.

She approached, pale slender fingers reaching out.

Gently tugged the blanket up, covering Sylvia’s exposed shoulder. Her touch was as delicate as possible.

Only after this did she look back at Avira.

An icy stare. Her words echoed directly in Avira’s mind.

“Avira, do not disturb Sylvia’s rest.”

Avira opened her mouth to retort.

To say her sister needed excitement, not this deathly stillness.

But facing her mother’s abyssal eyes, all words stuck in her throat.

Two utterly different obsessions.

One, wanting to use the most thrilling toys in the world to make her sister smile.

The other, wanting to shield her daughter from the world’s dust, letting her rest in eternal silence.

Before Sylvia’s “deep sleep,” two supreme beings standing at the pinnacle of the world, engaged in a silent confrontation.

In the end, Avira was defeated.

She sulked and retreated from the room, glancing back every few steps.

The bedchamber returned to silence.

Ophelia stood by the bed for a long time.

Only after confirming her daughter’s breathing was completely steady, did her figure slowly fade, merging into the shadows.

Under the covers, Sylvia exhaled a long, silent breath she’d been holding in.

She lived.

***

The disappearance of Viscount Lester Bruch shook the upper echelons of the Eternal Night Empire without a sound.

Prince Bruch Reginold hadn’t left his ancient fortress for three whole days.

Every noble who knew of the “Gentle Trap” plan felt a bone-chilling chill.

A conclusion took shape clearly in the hearts of all ambitious men.

That little princess was a forbidden zone shared by the queen and the eldest princess.

An absolute, untouchable, living Relic.

Any form of coveting her, whether with good or ill intent, direct or indirect, was tantamount to suicide.

That path was completely blocked.

But desire always finds new cracks.

A fresh idea quietly sprouted in the minds of some of the most cunning nobles.

Since she can’t be “won,”

then… “please” her?

Make her happy.

As long as that little princess showed a hint of a smile, she would surely gain the favor of Queen Ophelia or the Eldest Princess.

A much safer shortcut, but with equally astonishing rewards.

The first to try this was a Court Poet from the Toredo Clan.

He spent three days and nights composing a three-hundred-line ode.

In the poem, he compared Sylvia to the Tears of the Blood Moon, the softest heartbeat of the Silent Court.

He dared not disturb the little princess.

Instead, he sent his painstakingly crafted work through layers of connections directly to Queen Ophelia.

Silent Court, upon the throne.

Ophelia finished reading the parchment filled with ornate language.

Expressionless.

The nobles in the great hall held their breath, awaiting the poet’s fate. Would he be turned to dust, or thrown into the dungeon?

After a long pause, the queen uttered two words.

“Acceptable.”

Just acceptable.

The poet’s legs went weak with fear.

But the next sentence from the queen’s verdict plunged the court into dead silence.

“Grant him the tax rights on the western side of Sorrow’s Scar.”

Sorrow’s Scar!

A massive resource city housing over three hundred thousand Blood Livestock!

One poem, exchanged for an entire city.

The news swept through Nightfall City overnight.

The noble circles went completely mad.

Everyone understood.

War and political intrigue seemed so inefficient and foolish compared to the broad avenue of “pleasing the second princess.”

The code to the peak of power had been cracked.

***

Sylvia woke up feeling refreshed.

She had successfully avoided her sister’s hunting game and enjoyed a peaceful sleep.

Life seemed to be back on the path of lying low.

Yawning, she slowly climbed out of bed.

Ready to open the door and send for some breakfast from her maid.

She pushed open the heavy palace door made of obsidian and inlaid gold. The door only opened a crack before something jammed it.

Hmm?

Sylvia pushed harder in confusion.

The gap widened a bit. Then she saw the utterly surreal scene outside her door.

Her bedchamber’s wide corridor was completely flooded.

Piled mountain-high with all kinds of “gifts.”

Scrolls of poetry tied with silk ribbons, stacked taller than people.

Life-sized marble statues carved in her sleeping poses, all in various stances.

Oil paintings of her daydreaming while propping her chin, hanging on every wall.

Several court musicians holding lutes, sitting by her door.

Tenderly playing their newly composed Lullaby of Xierweiya.

And at the chaotic center of it all, a small black Ground Dragon, only two meters tall, stood awkwardly.

Around its neck was a huge pink bow.

Seeing Sylvia appear, a nearby Trainer poked it.

The Ground Dragon blinked.

Then clumsily bent its front legs.

Made a crooked bow toward Sylvia.

It was so nervous it puffed out two harmless little bursts of flame from its nostrils.

Sylvia stood behind the door, her mind blank.

She watched the madness before her.

Saw the nobles’ fanatical, expectant eyes.

A weariness and fear far deeper than facing an army overwhelmed her in an instant.

No.

Please. Don’t do this.

I just want to be a nobody, a waste no one knows or cares about.

Why is the whole world forcing me?

This is ten thousand times more exhausting than charging onto a battlefield!

Sylvia’s heart cried out in despair.

“Please…”

“I just want to be a waste!”