Our King

The woman was there. And had always been.

She stood motionless, just a few meters away, as if her presence were as natural as the air

itself.

Her maid uniform—black with white details—did not hide but rather emphasized the authority

she carried in every gesture, every breath, every step not taken.

Her hair was tied in a perfect bun, not a single strand out of place. Her eyes were cold, gray,

like polished steel. And above all… they did not blink.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, oppressive, as if the very air understood that

something… predatory was present.

Her gaze swept across the arena. It moved slowly over the fallen bodies of the Ravencourt

siblings—defeated, humiliated—and then, without haste, drifted toward Lysielle.

The young woman was still on her knees, panting, her whole body trembling from pain and

exhaustion. Blood dripped from the corner of her lips, stains spread across her clothes.

For a moment… it seemed that this woman, this maid with an unshakable expression, could

have walked up to her and simply… snapped her neck. Without hesitation. Without changing

her pace.

The arena fell into an eerie silence when the applause stopped. The figure of the

maid—discreet, imposing, and wrapped in an air of silent authority—walked slowly toward

the unconscious Ravencourt heirs on the ground.

Her steps were light, yet each movement carried military precision, as if her very existence

imposed order upon chaos.

She knelt before Caine and Vellatrice. Her eyes, a tone between amber and wine, seemed to

weigh their bodies with a mixture of coldness and calculation.

— “The heirs of House Ravencourt… have gone through rather pitiful trials.”

Lysielle froze. The phrase echoed like distilled venom, but what hurt her most was what

remained unsaid.

She—the firstborn of the family, bearing the Ravencourt name—was ignored, deliberately

erased from the equation.

Fury rushed to her head like boiling blood. Without thinking, the crack of her black spear

echoed.

The blade cut through the air in a direct, violent strike—a pure reflex of wounded pride.

The maid rose calmly. Her hand lifted, meeting the edge of the weapon with absolute

precision.

The impact was muffled, as if Lysielle had struck a wall wrapped in velvet.

With a single, subtle movement of her wrist, the woman redirected the weapon’s path,

throwing Lysielle off balance.

The girl stumbled, her anger turning into confusion in an instant.

— “I’m a Ravencourt too!” — Lysielle shouted, trying to regain her footing.

At that exact moment, a golden light burst through the air, like a celestial spark.

— ~Pihh!

Auri appeared—a furious streak of light. Her wings shimmered with pure indignation.

— ~Pihh! ~Pihh! ~Pihh!

Like a small storm of glittering fury, the tiny being flew straight at Lysielle and…

headbutted her forehead with surprising force for something so small.

— “Ow! Auri?!” — Lysielle yelped, collapsing onto the stone floor, completely bewildered.

The little fairy spun around her like an angry comet, arms crossed, eyes blazing, screeching

a series of ~pihh! ~pihh! ~pihh! in an accusing tone.

Not knowing what to do, Lysielle fell into a seiza position, sitting on her legs, bowing her

head repeatedly.

— “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Auri! I… I won’t do it again!” — she pleaded, her voice increasingly

guilty after each ~pihh!

Auri tugged a lock of her hair with both tiny hands, fuming so much that she seemed to spark

golden static.

In a particularly dramatic moment, she bonked Lysielle’s forehead again, harder this time,

with a sharp ~pihh! of outrage.

The maid, who until then had kept a stone-cold expression, raised an eyebrow—a gesture

so rare it seemed to fracture her composure.

“What… what on earth is going on here…?”

Auri finally lifted her teary eyes, still holding onto the strand of Lysielle’s hair.

Her gaze was no longer angry, but deeply hurt.

Lysielle fell silent. Her eyes softened.

— “I… worried about them, but didn’t think about myself, huh?”

Auri released the strand, still sniffling a softer ~pihh…

— “I’ll be more careful… I promise.” — Lysielle said gently, caressing Auri’s tiny head with

her fingers.

She was still sitting in seiza, breathing heavily, when she felt a warm, soft wave touch her

skin.

Tiny golden fragments began to shimmer around her like enchanted pollen dancing in the air.

Auri, still with teary eyes, lifted her little hands to the sky.

A subtle golden ring formed around Lysielle. And then, particles of light began to fall upon

her.

Her wounds—the scratches, the bruises, the aching muscles—faded away like dust carried

by the wind.

But Lysielle frowned slightly:

— “M-my mana…”

She could feel it. While being healed, her own mana was being drained little by little—as if

Auri could only perform such magic by using Lysielle’s energy as fuel.

It was a powerful healing. Precise. Almost divine.

And impossible for something so small—at least, that’s what anyone would think until they

saw it happen.

The maid narrowed her eyes, truly surprised for the first time since entering the arena.

— “…Healing magic? Of that level?”

Her voice was low, but filled with genuine awe.

— “That… shouldn’t be possible.” — she murmured, unable to look away.

Auri gazed at Lysielle one last time.

Holding the end of her bangs tenderly, she let out a soft ~pihh… — no scolding this time, just

affection.

And then…

she slowly dissolved into golden particles, like a star fading into sleep.

The silence that followed felt sacred.

Lysielle rubbed her reddened forehead after the “cute scolding,” while the maid simply

watched.

She remained quiet… but something had changed.

Those gray, blade-like eyes were now slightly narrowed, as if analyzing a creature too rare to

touch.

The maid stared at the spot where Auri had vanished—her mind whirring like hidden gears.

“Spontaneous magical transference… high-level healing… no chant, no preparation… as if it

were natural.”

Then she looked at Lysielle, still sitting there, muttering softly while fixing her messy hair.

“…Could it be that all of this was calculated?”

She clicked her tongue lightly, uncertain.

“Maybe… she’s pretending to be impulsive. A disguise. The Ravencourts were like that, after

all.”

Her stance changed. Still rigid, but now with a trace of cautious respect.

She bowed slightly, eyes never leaving the girl before her.

— “Lady Lysielle… please, follow me. Lady Elowen awaits you.”

— “Huh?” — Lysielle blinked, still dazed. — “Ah… okay. Sure…”

And so, the two walked in silence through the grand, opulent halls of the Ravencourt

mansion.

Golden-thread carpets, crystal chandeliers, and tall mirrors decorated the place like a frozen

display of power.

Lysielle simply followed the maid—unaware of the subtle, slower pace, the cautious care in

the woman’s movements now.

The silence between them was almost unnatural. Even the echo of their heels felt too

disciplined.

Eventually, Lysielle, uneasy, tried to make conversation:

— “So… what’s your name again?”

The maid hesitated for a fraction of a second, then replied, her tone steady:

— “Myra, milady.”

— “Hm… nice. You’re like… one of my mother’s personal maids?”

— “I am Lady Elowen’s second personal assistant, milady. Responsible solely for her and…

by extension, you.”

— “Ah… got it.”

(Weird. She wasn’t this respectful before…)

Lysielle blinked, confused, but didn’t have time to think further. The massive double doors of

the main chamber loomed ahead.

Myra stopped before the grand door. After announcing Lysielle’s arrival in a composed tone,

she stepped back, pivoted gracefully on her heels, bowed, and said respectfully:

— “Please, enter. Lady Elowen eagerly awaits your presence.”

Far away, the wind whispered over a field suspended in the void, where glowing petals

floated like tiny suns and lakes hovered like celestial mirrors.

This was the Realm of Spirits—a world without time, where the oldest presences rested.

And at that moment, the silence broke.

From within the blue mist, graceful footsteps resounded.

A nine-tailed azure fox emerged, as light as the night wind. Her fur shimmered sapphire

under the eternal aurora skies.

She stopped, bowed deeply, and declared in a sweet, resonant voice:

— “I, Yari, the Blue Fox, Queen of All Foxes, sovereign of the Fox Clan, bow before the

Master.”

Then soft thunder rolled in the distance, like galloping silver hooves.

From the clouds descended a majestic qilin, its body gleaming like liquid steel. It landed

gently, as if solid mist.

— “I, Hanzhou, the Silver Qilin, Guardian of the Lost Realm and ancient patriarch of the

Celestial Vale, offer my reverence to the Master.”

The air grew denser, warmer. A fiery spiral descended from the heavens, and from its ashes

emerged a bird with vast wings and an ancient gaze.

Its feathers glowed with eternal embers.

— “I, Ravelyss, the Crimson Bird of Eternal Ashes, heir of the Primordial Flame, fold my

wings before the Master.”

The waters below stirred. A whirlpool rose from the abyss, and from it emerged a colossal

figure shrouded in mist. Its mere presence filled the spirit realm.

— “I, Vortex, the Mist Leviathan, lord of the sleeping seas and warden of the abyss, lower

my head before the Master.”

Flowers began to bloom from thin air, revealing a slender figure with petal-like eyes. The

breeze carried the scent of ancient lotus.

— “I, Lyllianne, Spirit of the Eternal Lotus, daughter of the Lost Season, bow humbly before

the Master.”

Lastly, faint steps echoed softly.

A spotless white deer walked slowly… until it bowed with reverence.

— “I, En’Vahar, the Ancient Stag, guardian of fate and seer of sealed futures, offer my

devotion to the Master.”

The spiritual realm fell into absolute silence.

Six divine entities—whose names were whispered by elders as myths—were bowed… all

before one being.

At the edge of the cliff, legs dangling lazily over the endless void, a small figure sat quietly.

And for an instant… the entire Realm of Spirits whispered in unison, in reverence:

— “Master… Auri.”