Thomas stood frozen for another ten seconds. The moonlight glinted off the scalpel in his hand, and I kept my body coiled, ready to `[Quickstep]` at the first sign of aggression. The `[HOSTILE INTENT]` warning on my System was still a dull, pulsing orange. He was still a threat.
Finally, with a sound of pure, unadulterated frustration, he clicked his tongue and slipped the scalpel back into his nightshirt pocket.
"Fine," he snapped, his voice a low, furious whisper. "Partners."
The orange warning box vanished. My `[Deceive]` skill pinged with a tiny, `[+2 EXP]` gain. I'd successfully sold him a threat I had no intention of carrying out... yet.
"Smart choice," I said, finally letting my posture relax, just a fraction. I sank down to sit on the edge of my bed, keeping the nightstand, and the fake-poison vial, between us. "So... who were you? Back in Japan."
He looked at me with open suspicion, as if I were laying another trap. "Why?"
"Curiosity," I said with a shrug. "You're the only other person I've met who isn't... you know. A puppet. So, who? Salaryman? Gamer?"
He let out a short, bitter laugh. "A med student. A university med student, in my third year." He ran a hand through his honey-blonde hair, his adult mannerisms looking utterly alien on a six-year-old's face. "I wasn't a 'gamer.' My little sister was. She was the one obsessed with `Radiant Crown`. I just... watched her play, sometimes. On weekends."
That explained everything.
He wasn't a "player" like me or Miki. He was just a reincarnator who happened to land in a game world he vaguely recognized. He saw everyone as "scripted NPCs." It's why he was so clinical. So ruthless. He was a med student who saw a "problem" (me, Gideon) and was moving to "excise" it.
"So you have no cheat," I stated. It wasn't a question.
"I have my mind," he spat, clearly insulted. "I'm an adult. I have a knowledge of chemistry, biology... that's more than enough to deal with these... medieval idiots."
I glanced pointedly at the spot on my mattress where he had just buried a scalpel. He had the grace to look annoyed.
"My plan was sound," he hissed, gesturing to the nightstand. "You were just an unknown variable."
My eyes followed his gesture, landing on the small, cork-stoppered vial of murky green liquid.
"The 'Feverfew Tincture'," I said, picking it up. "It really is a paralytic, isn't it?"
Thomas's cold, analytical smile returned. "Slow-acting. An acetylcholinesterase inhibitor I synthesized from local mushrooms. It would have started with a 'fever' and 'chills,' just like I said. By noon, it would have paralyzed your diaphragm. You would have... 'passed away peacefully in your sleep'."
I stared at the vial in my hand, my blood running cold again. He had, with a six-year-old's hands and medieval herbs, created a lethal, undetectable nerve agent.
This kid was terrifying.
"And you were just... going to let Gideon get blamed?" I asked.
"Of course," he said, as if it were obvious. "Mother is already convinced you cursed him. When you died, she'd have turned on you. Gideon would have been the obvious scapegoat for his 'revenge'. Two birds, one stone."
He was good. He was very good.
"But now that's useless," I said, stashing the vial in my own `[Inventory]`. It was too dangerous to leave lying around.
Thomas's eyes widened. The vial had vanished from my hand.
I just smiled, giving him no explanation. "My original plan is toast, thanks to you. I can't pretend to be sick, because my 'partner' just tried to poison me. So, we need a new plan. And you're going to provide it."
"What? I already..."
"You're going to get me out of the house," I interrupted. "Tomorrow morning. When 'Old Man Hemlock's' cart arrives in the village. I need a distraction. A big one. Something that pulls my father, my mother, and your mother to the other side of the house."
Thomas's analytical gaze returned. He was already calculating. "A fire...?"
"No," I snapped. "Too big. Too much risk of me getting 'trapped'. I need... an 'alchemical accident'."
His thin lips curved into that cold smile again. "Gideon," he whispered.
I nodded. "Gideon. His room is on the other side of the house, isn't it?"
"It is," Thomas said, a new, genuine enthusiasm in his voice. "And he's been complaining about the 'smell' from my room for a week. It would be a 'terrible shame' if one of my... 'unstable concoctions'... shattered in his room."
"A stink bomb?" I suggested.
"Oh, much better than that," Thomas said, his brown eyes gleaming with a dark, scientific light. "I've been working on a compound that combines sulfur, rotten bog-moss, and... well. The reaction is... violent. And the smell... it's unforgettable."
"Good," I said. "Just before sunrise. I'll be waiting."
"Fine," he agreed. "But... what's in Oakhaven? Why is it worth all this? What are you selling?"
I just gave him my best, empty "Useless Sidekick" smile.
"That, 'partner'," I said, "is my secret."
He didn't like that, but he couldn't argue. He gave me one last, suspicious look and slipped out of my room as silently as he'd entered.
I let out the breath I was holding, my entire body trembling. I had survived. I had an ally. A homicidal, sociopathic, reincarnated med student, but an ally nonetheless.
I looked at the folded traveling dress on my chair.
My plan was back on. And this time, it was going to work.
---
I didn't sleep. I couldn't.
I lay in my bed, fully dressed in my plainest traveling frock, with my thin nightgown thrown over it as a pitiful disguise. My leather boots were on my feet, hidden under the blanket. The `[False Fever Tincture]` was safely in my `[Inventory]`. My hand was clenched around the small, cold porcelain jar of `[Healing Salve]` Amaryllis had given me. It was my backup, my proof, my prop.
The sky outside my window was a dark, star-pricked grey, the blackness just beginning to soften. It was almost sunrise.
My enhanced senses were stretched to their limit, listening. I heard the house settle. I heard the distant, nasal snore of my "father" from his room.
Then... tink... tink...
A tiny sound. Glass on stone. It came from the hallway outside, near the stairs. It was Thomas, signaling.
One minute later, the entire east wing of the house, where Gideon and Marie slept, erupted.
It wasn't a "boom" so much as a wet, violent FWOOMPH!
It was followed by a half-second of stunned silence.
Then, the screaming started.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! IT STINKS! IT'S IN MY MOUTH! IT STINKS!"
Gideon's shriek was everything I'd hoped for. It was pure, unadulterated, panicked revulsion.
"MY BABY! WHAT IS THAT?! THEODORE! HELP!" Marie's voice was next, a hysterical, gagging wail.
I was already out of bed.
"WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS IS THAT SMELL?!" my father bellowed from his room.
Heavy footsteps pounded in the hall. "Iris, with me!" That was my mother, Clarisse, ever-practical, already running toward the disaster.
This was my chance.
I opened my door a crack. The stench hit me even from here—a roiling, chemical wave of sulfur, rotten eggs, and something horribly, unforgettably... meaty. It was the smell of a failed, week-old barbecue. Thomas, you magnificent little sociopath.
The hallway was chaos. My father was running from his room, pulling on a dressing gown. Iris was running past my room, toward Gideon's, carrying an empty water bucket. My mother was already at the end of the hall, covering her mouth and nose with a handkerchief, shouting orders.
No one was looking at me.
I slipped out of my room and darted for the other staircase—the small, steep servants' stairs at the back of the house, the one that led almost directly to the kitchen and the front door.
I moved with my speed, my feet barely touching the wooden steps. I was a crimson-haired ghost. I reached the ground floor in seconds. The front door was right there.
"My lady!"
I froze.
Iris. She must have been sent back for more water. She was standing at the archway to the main hall, her eyes wide with shock at seeing me. "My lady, you must stay in your room! It's not safe!"
Think, Silvie!
I activated `[Deceive (E-Rank)]` at full power. I let my eyes well up with tears and forced my entire body to tremble.
"Iris, I'm scared!" I wailed, running toward her. "I heard a bang! And the smell! I was running to find Mother!"
It was the perfect excuse. A terrified child would, of course, run to their parent.
Iris's professional panic immediately melted into sympathy. "Oh, you poor, dear thing! Don't you worry, it's... it's just a... an accident in Lord Gideon's room." She pointed toward the main hall, where my mother's sharp, commanding voice could be heard. "Your mother is right there, see? Go to her. Hurry! I have to get more water!"
"Thank you, Iris!" I sobbed.
She gave me a worried pat on the head and then dashed into the kitchen.
The moment she was out of sight, my tears vanished.
I didn't go to the main hall. I darted to the front door. The heavy iron latch was stiff, but my `[STR: 10]` was more than enough. With a dull click, it opened.
I slipped out into the pre-dawn mist and pulled the door quietly shut behind me.
I was out.
I didn't just walk. I ran. My `[Novice Footwork]` carried me down the weed-choked path and onto the dirt road that led to the village. The air was cold, damp, and—thankfully—smelled only of pine and wet earth.
The village was a small, sad cluster of five houses, a tavern, and a smithy, all still dark and asleep. But at the crossroads, just as Thomas had said, was a lone, rickety cart, already loaded with crates and barrels, hitched to a sleepy-looking mule.
A man, old and grizzled, with a thick grey beard, was tying down a final canvas sheet. "Old Man Hemlock."
He heard my footsteps and turned, his hand instantly going to a heavy cudgel resting on the cart.
"Here now," he grunted, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. "You're Baron Briar's whelp, ain't ya? The red-haired one. What're you doing out here? It's not even sunrise."
I skidded to a stop, forcing myself to pant, to look desperate. `[Deceive]` was my only weapon now.
"Please, sir!" I said, my voice high and reedy. "You're... you're going to Oakhaven, aren't you?"
"What's it to you, girl?" he said, suspicious.
"My mother... the Baroness... she's very ill!" I said, holding up the one prop I'd brought: Amaryllis's ornate, B-Rank porcelain jar. "This is her special medicine, from the capital! She's run out! The apothecary in the village doesn't have it!"
The old man's eyes flickered to the expensive-looking jar. It was clearly an item of quality, something far too fine for a place like this.
"Please," I begged, "I have to get to the main apothecary in Oakhaven to buy more! I... I have money!" I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out a few copper coins I'd swiped from my father's desk weeks ago. It was a pitiful amount.
Hemlock looked at me. He looked at the fancy jar. He looked at the pathetic coins. He looked back at the Briar estate, dark and silent on the hill.
He let out a long, weary sigh, his breath pluming in the cold air.
"This is gonna be trouble," he muttered. Then he jerked his thumb toward the back of the cart.
"Get in. Hide under the canvas. And stay quiet. I'm not getting in a fight with the Baron over you."
My heart leaped. It had worked.
"Thank you, sir! Thank you!"
I scrambled into the back, burrowing under a stiff, musty-smelling canvas sheet, my small body fitting neatly between a crate of chickens and a barrel of what smelled like pickled fish.
I heard the thwack of Hemlock's switch on the mule's flank. The cart lurched, wheels groaning in the dirt.
I was on my way. I was finally, finally making my move.