The castle loomed under the misty gray sky, its once-proud spires now dulled with time and neglect.
Luna stepped quietly beside Isabella, her small figure dwarfed by the massive iron gate that creaked open with a groan of rusted metal.
There was no grandeur in this place, no golden chandeliers or embroidered tapestries...
The Velmora estate, while still noble in name, had long since shed its luster.
The grand entrance was narrow and unswept, the once-polished floors dulled to a grimy sheen.
The servants were conspicuously absent.
Inside, the scent of old wood mixed with the pungent sting of spilled wine.
Luna's sharp gray eyes fell upon the Duke middle-aged, dark-haired, and with a hollow gaze that spoke of years dulled by alcohol.
His eyes, the same color as pitch, didn't even flinch at the sight of her. He lounged in his cabin like study, bottle in hand, murmuring only to Isabella, who leaned over him like a dutiful lover.
Luna stood quietly by the door.
"She's here," Isabella finally said, glancing over her shoulder. "Go wait in the living room. There are no maids, so behave yourself."
There was no warmth in her voice. Only calculation.
Luna gave a polite nod, not bothering to speak.
She turned and walked away with obedient steps but inside, her mind was already at work.
An assassin never forgets a map.
From the moment she entered the gate, her senses sharpened. Two entrance gates, one from the west facing the town, the other a lesser-used servant path from the east that cut through the overgrown orchard. Three main halls, eight smaller chambers, and four stairwells, two of which led underground. The Duke's office was directly above the western corridor. Her room, she noted, was far from the main quarters a quiet, forgotten wing.
Good. Easier to move unnoticed.
She wandered the dusty living room for a while, acting like a confused little girl. No one offered her food. No one even looked at her.
It reminded her, almost fondly, of the Count Alaric's dorm .
But at least here, the walls weren't cold stone, and the windows weren't barred. This place was neglected, yes, but it was not a prison.
Later that day, Isabella returned and brought her to her designated room.
"It's not much," she said with false sympathy, "but it's better than what you had before. Make the Duke like you, and maybe " Who knows , he'll give you his last name."
Luna blinked innocently. But inside, her mind was racing.
He's too drunk to notice a child. The adoption is her idea. Why? Political leverage? Emotional manipulation?
She smiled sweetly and nodded. "Thank you, Lady Isabella."
But she said nothing about her engagement. No need to bring up her fiancé now. Timing was everything. And Luna reborn assassin, calculating mastermind was patient.
Two Days Later
The library was small but rich in history. She read every book she could get her hands on, learning about this world.
Magic, it turned out, was a rare gift only a few people in all of history had ever manifested it. The male lead, Ivan, was one of them. And the Crown Prince's younger brother, second in line to the throne, was another.
They would be important later.
But tonight, her focus was on something else.
The Duke's office.
She moved like a shadow, her steps silent against the floorboards. The drunken man snored heavily in his quarters.
No guards. No maids. Just stacks of dusty ledgers and unlocked drawers....
She slipped inside and lit a single candle.
Tax records. Loan repayments. Property titles.
Her eyes scanned line after line.
Something wasn't right. Numbers were off. Investments that made no return.
Tax money that was "collected" but never made it to the estate vaults.
Names she didn't recognize signed off on documents. Payments routed to dummy accounts under noble-sounding houses that didn't exist.
The Velmora Duchy is bleeding. Not because of war or famine....
Because of leeches.
Corrupt office workers.
Greedy accountants. And the Duke…
She glanced at the nearly empty bottle on his desk.
A drunken fool too blind to see the rot beneath his feet.
She closed the book and blew out the candle. Her face gave nothing away.
No rage.
No grief. Only the glint of cold resolve in her jwell eyes.
They think I am just a child.
Let them.
She slipped back into the corridor and into the night.
Tomorrow, she would smile again. Innocent. Obedient.
But the spider had already begun to weave her web.