Heena looked at System 427 like he was a particularly slow child. ’What did she expect from a little lion cub?’ she thought. Did he forget she’d played villainesses in multiple martial arts worlds? Of course she knew how to fight.
The system’s ears perked up as mory flooded back. Oh. ’Oh’. There ’had’ been worlds where Heena was a demonic sect master, a sword immortal, an assassin guild leader... She’d accumulated dozens of fighting styles across her missions. The only limitation was that if the body she possessed didn’t know martial arts, she couldn’t reveal that skill without raising cosmic flags.
But Celeste Ravencourt? The original Empress had been trained in swordsmanship since childhood. A war hero. Using those skills wasn’t suspicious at all.
"But—" System 427 ventured, "don’t you already ’know’ who hired them? Why bother interrogating?"
Heena just rolled her eyes and gestured with a slight tilt of her head toward the unconscious assassin.
The system looked.
His jaw dropped.
The figure wasn’t unconscious anymore. They were ’dead’. Foam flecked the corners of their mouth—the poison capsule had been bitten through the mont Heena’s grip loosened even slightly.
"Damn," Heena muttered, genuinely impressed despite herself. "These bastards have the dedication to kill ’themselves’ but not the sense to just... quit the assassination business and work for instead?" She sighed dramatically. "I’d pay them ’so’ much better. Benefits, retirent plans, dental..."
System 427 stared at her. "You’re thinking about ’recruitnt’ right now?"
"Always recruiting," Heena said, already pulling on a robe. "Loyalty like that is rare."
’’’
anwhile, in five different corners of the empire, five n waited.
Kieran paced the stone battlents of his northern fortress, eyes fixed on the horizon. Nothing. No ssenger. No signal fire.
Adrian sat rigid in his manor study, ledgers untouched, listening for hoofbeats. Silence.
Lucian stood in the western garrison’s war room, arms crossed, jaw tight. His officers kept their distance, sensing the storm.
Damien haunted the shadows of a southern port tavern, contacts whispering rumors. None ntioned a dead Empress.
Raphael knelt in a rural temple’s prayer hall, rosary beads clicking through his fingers like a countdown. No news was... good news? Bad news?
Hours bled into a full day. Then night. Then dawn again.
’Nothing’.
No declaration of mourning. No chaos in the capital. No panicked imperial summons.
Just... silence.
Finally, they convened via encrypted ssages. One of them had to go back and ’check’. Confirm. Make sure.
The unlucky volunteer? Raphael. As High Priest, he had the perfect excuse—spiritual duties, blessing the Empress, tending to her soul. No one would question his presence at the palace.
So he went.
’’’
Raphael arrived at the imperial palace just past midday, white robes pristine, violet eyes carefully neutral. Servants bowed as he passed. Guards nodded respectfully. Everything seed... ’normal’.
Too normal.
He made discreet inquiries. A chambermaid ntioned the Empress had taken a "slight injury" during her bath—sothing about slipping on wet marble—and was resting in her quarters.
’Slight injury’. Not ’assassination’. Not ’death’.
Dread coiled in Raphael’s stomach.
He made his way to the Empress’s private wing, each step feeling heavier. Two imperial knights stood flanking her door—elite guards, the kind who could cut down a platoon without breaking a sweat.
Raphael stopped before them, inclining his head politely. "I’ve co to offer blessings for Her Majesty’s swift recovery."
The knights exchanged a glance.
Then the one on the left spoke, voice flat. "Her Majesty is expecting you, High Priest. She requested you be sent in imdiately upon arrival."
The words hit like a blade between the ribs.
’Expecting him’. Not surprised by his visit. Not caught off-guard.
’Expecting’.
Raphael’s blood turned to ice, but he kept his expression serene. "Of course. The Empress’s summons is my honor."
The right-hand knight pushed open the heavy door.
Lamplight spilled out. Incense smoke curled lazily. And sitting in a high-backed chair near the window, bathed in afternoon sun, was Empress Celeste Ravencourt.
Alive. Whole. Smiling.
"High Priest Raphael," Heena greeted warmly, setting down a teacup. "How kind of you to visit. Please, co in. Close the door behind you."
Her tone was honey.
Raphael stood frozen just inside the threshold, violet eyes locked on Hina lounging against the pillows like a cat in the sun. His soul seed to shudder inside his body.
’Why is she alive?’
The Crimson Veil were the ’best’. The empire’s most lethal assassins. He’d already ntally prepared the mourning prayers, rehearsed his grief-stricken expression for the funeral announcent.
So how the ’hell’ was this woman still breathing?
Behind him, the door clicked shut.
His blood went cold. Trap. This was a ’trap’.
"You—" he started, voice trembling despite himself, turning back toward the exit—
’BAM.’
Sothing ’massive’ slamd into the back of his skull. His vision exploded white, thoughts scattering like startled birds. The world tilted sideways and he hit the floor hard, white robes pooling around him.
System 427 hovered behind where Raphael had been standing, panting hard, tiny paws gripping a comically oversized hamr that shimred and vanished back into inventory space.
"If we ever get ’caught’ doing this," the lion wheezed, glaring at Hina, "you’re taking full responsibility."
Hina stretched lazily on the bed, utterly unbothered. "If we get caught, I die and you go to system prison. Then your dear Lord God can handle this collapsing world himself—’if’ he has the guts."
System 427’s mouth snapped shut. He had no counter to that.
Hina swung her legs off the bed and padded over to Raphael’s unconscious form, nudging him with her toe. "Out cold. Nice hit."
The system puffed up slightly. "I’ve been practicing my physical attacks. Bureau recomnded cross-training after World 9."
"Good investnt." Hina crouched down, checking Raphael’s pulse. Still alive. Just deeply, deeply unconscious.
System 427 floated closer, eyeing the priest warily. "So... are you going to drug him with that aphrodisiac again? Sa treatnt as last ti?"
Hina looked up at him, genuinely offended. "Do you think I’m such a ’cheap’ person that I’d just poison and confine people over and over? How boring. How ’predictable’."
The system muttered under his breath, "Well, you’re more crazy and bitchy than that, so I wasn’t sure..."
"I ’heard’ that."
"I know."
Hina stood, brushing off her hands. "No, this ti we’re trying sothing different. Sothing more... ’educational’." Her smile turned sharp and unpleasant.
System 427 tilted his head in confusion. "Educational? What do you an by—"
Heena smiled, that dangerous curve of her lips that ant soone was about to have a very bad ti. "What’s this? Do you like this world so much you want to stay here forever?"
Before he could answer, she grabbed Raphael by the collar and ’dragged’ him across the floor to her bed. With surprising strength, she hauled his unconscious body up onto the silk sheets and let him drop unceremoniously.
The system watched, bewildered, as Heena reached beneath the bed fra and pulled out a set of ornate handcuffs—clearly prepared in advance. She secured one of Raphael’s wrists to the bedpost with practiced efficiency, then the other. His arms stretched above his head, white robes pooling around him.
"Wait—" System 427’s eyes widened. "You’re not taking him to the secret chamber this ti?"
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