Yawn... Crack.
I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the satisfying pop of vertebrae realigning. Sunlight—late afternoon sunlight, judging by the angle—streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
I looked to my left. The arm was there.
It wasn't the pale, withered twig it had been last night. It was thick, corded with muscle, and humming with mana. The blue tint of my skin looked vibrant, healthy.
Clench. Relax.
Perfect.
I looked at the bed. It was a mess of tangled sheets, smelling of sweat, pussy juice, the ocean, and the musky sweetness of the Queen's Milk. But I was alone.
The memories of the night were a blur of flesh and fluids.
Round one with Kara to establish the connection. Round two with Pearl to stabilize the flow. Then Kara again to provide the raw nutrition. Then Pearl... or was it both?
I remembered a vague, exhausting threesome near dawn—Pearl guiding Kara's hips, Kara crying out in gratitude, and me drowning in the combined mana of a Mermaid Queen and a fanatic mother.
Grumble.
My stomach roared. Mana restores the body, but it doesn't fill the belly.
I washed up quickly, threw on my robe—enjoying the feeling of filling both sleeves again—and headed downstairs.
The villa was quiet. Too quiet.
I wandered into the garden, following the scent of grilled fish.
"Ah, Priest-san. Good Afternoon."
Gaston was there, kneeling by a bed of hydrangeas with a trowel in hand. A small table was set nearby with a plate of grilled trout, bread, and fresh fruit.
"Good afternoon, Gaston," I said, sitting down heavily. "Where is everyone?"
"The Lady and the sofia went to the hospice early," the old man said, wiping his brow. "Said something about 'New arrival of fresh patient.' And the other two—your nun and the kara went to the slums to accompany Chip back home. Regarding Chip by the way, thank you for giving him his leg."
"No worries all for everybody happiness," I replied, tearing into the fish. "Nice."
Chomp. Swallow.
I ate with the voracious hunger of a predator who had burned too many calories hunting. Gaston nodded kindly and went back to his flowers.
I was halfway through an apple when the temperature dropped.
Click. Clack. Click.
The sound of heels on stone. Precise. Angry.
I didn't turn around. I took another bite of the apple.
Crunch.
"Enjoying your meal, 'Priest'?"
Rose stood behind me. Her shadow stretched over the table, eclipsing my food.
"It is delicious, Madam Rose," I said, not looking back. "Gaston has a way with the grill. Care to join me?"
"I am not here to eat with you," she said, her voice like cracking ice. "I am here to warn you."
She walked around the table, positioning herself directly in front of me. Her arms were crossed, her face a mask of severe discipline.
"I have written a letter," she announced. "To the Master. To Lady Julienne's husband."
I stopped chewing. I looked up at her. "Is that so?"
"I have detailed everything," she continued, her voice dropping to a hiss. "The 'miracles.' The cult you are building in the slums. The way you have corrupted the Lady... and the staff."
She leaned in, her eyes narrowing. "I know what happened in the bathhouse last night. I heard the screams. I saw the maid, Kara, walking like a broken doll this morning—yet smiling like a lunatic. You are running a brothel in a noble house."
"I am saving lives, Rose," I said calmly.
"You are a parasite," she spat. "The Master fights on the front lines to protect this domain. When he hears that a charlatan is seducing his wife and turning his home into a den of sin, he will return. And he will hang you from the gate."
I placed the apple down gently.
Thud.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. I looked at her—really looked at her. Beneath the starch and the anger, I saw the fear. She was the final wall. The last obstacle.
And thanks to Kara, I had the wrecking ball.
Last night, during the height of the transfer, when I was buried deep inside Kara and her soul was wide open, I hadn't just taken mana. I had absorbed memories.
I saw the past. I saw the truth of this house.
"Tell me, Rose," I said, my voice low and dangerous, dropping the pitch just enough to vibrate against her chest. "When you write to the Master... will you ask him about the price of gold?"
Rose blinked, initially confused by the sudden shift. "What?"
"The slums," I said, leaning forward. "Why are they kept outside the walls? Julienne thinks it's to protect them from a siege. But that's a lie, isn't it?"
Rose stiffened. Her mouth opened to recite the standard excuse, "It is strategic—"
"It is a farm," I cut her off. "A farm for spare parts."
The color didn't just drain from her face; it vanished.
For a split second, the Head Maid—the woman of iron and starch—was gone. In her place stood a terrified accomplice. Her eyes darted frantically to the open windows of the villa, then to the garden entrance, checking if anyone else had heard. Her breathing hitched, a sharp, ragged intake of air that betrayed absolute panic.
"I saw it," I lied—well, half-lied. I tapped my temple. "Kara saw it. She eavesdropped on them, didn't she? Years ago. Her husband and the Master."
Rose took a step back, her heel catching on the stone. She gripped her own elbows, her knuckles turning white, as if trying to physically hold herself together.
"You... you..." she stammered, her voice losing all its icy authority.
"Chip didn't lose his leg in a training accident," I said, standing up slowly. My chair scraped against the stone.
Scrrraaaape.
The sound made her flinch violently.
"He fainted during training. He was weak. So they dragged him to the Altar of the War God. And the Master... he sold the boy's legs."
I took a step toward her. She didn't stand her ground this time. She shrank back, her eyes wide, pupils dilated in sheer terror. She wasn't looking at a heretic anymore; she was looking at a mirror reflecting her deepest sin.
"He exchanged a child's limbs for gold coins and a 'Blessing of Strength' for himself," I hissed. "That is the man you serve, Rose. A man who chops up the children of his own people to buy power. The slums aren't an alarm system. They are livestock."
"Stop it," Rose whispered, her voice cracking. She wasn't commanding me to stop; she was begging. "Please... if he hears you..."
"Kara confronted her husband about it," I continued, relentless. "And do you know what happened? He beat her within an inch of her life. He told her if she spoke, they would take the rest of the boy."
I towered over her now. I let my aura flair—not the warm, inviting aura of the Priest, but the cold, crushing pressure of the Kraken.
"Does that sound like honor to you, Rose?"
She looked away, her breath hitching, tears of fear stinging the corners of her eyes. "The... the war requires sacrifices. We... we must be strong to survive."
It was a weak defense. A mantra she had repeated to herself a thousand times to sleep at night.
"Is that what you tell yourself?" I asked softly. "When you sleep alone in that cold bed? When you wear lace underneath that uniform just to feel something other than the guilt of knowing?"
She flinched as if I had slapped her. Her eyes snapped back to mine, wide with shock.
"How do you..."
"I see everything," I whispered. "I see a woman who has convinced herself that order is worth any price. But deep down... you are terrified."
I reached out. I didn't grab her. I just brushed a stray lock of red hair from her shoulder.
Rustle.
She didn't pull away. She was trembling too hard.
"You know that a house built on the bones of children will collapse. And you are terrified that when it falls, the blood will be on your hands too."
Rose stood frozen. The letter she had threatened to send felt heavy and invisible in the air between us.
"Send the letter if you wish," I said, stepping back and picking up my apple again. "But ask yourself... are you protecting the Lady? Or are you protecting the butcher?"
Crunch.
I took a bite, watching her crumble.
She didn't scream. She didn't fight. She simply turned around, her movements stiff and robotic, and walked back toward the house.
Click... clack... click...
But the rhythm was gone. Her steps were hesitant.
As she disappeared into the shadows of the villa, I swallowed the bite of apple. It tasted sweet.
The final wall had cracked. Now, I just needed to push.