The battle was only twenty-four hours away when Cyrus knocked on the door of Lady Goldith's private rooms and entered with his tail between his legs. The Lady of Vissart resided in the highest room of the Rodinia family castle.

Cyrus was not struck by the spartan aspect of the rooms, devoid of any charming decoration, but by their architecture. The walls were covered with minerals. Metals and gems, embedded within them, reflected the light in a myriad of colours and shines.

The walls then converged upwards in a conical ceiling, embraced and supported by a series of arches decorated with gold and silver.

Such a sight was enough to intimidate even the man who had once dominated Wall Street.

"Milady?"

Cyrus refrained from swallowing, not without a great effort.

It was the first time he had seen Lady Goldith wearing anything other than her legendary golden armour. The woman's short brown hair fell over her forehead, hiding the top of her head.

Her features, which rarely widened to make room for smiles, were just another memento of her harshness. They were sharp and straight, capable of freezing blood and stopping hearts.

Lady Goldith's stern appearance clashed, however, with the pink dress that descended in a cascade of tight frills, clinging to her muscular body.

And Cyrus was still a man. And as a man, he found a kind of charm in her hardness, in her straight, military eyebrows. How even her eyebrows could be so severe was a mystery to him.

"Some pimps have died because of less evident and brazen offences than the one you just caused me with your shameful glance."

Cyrus felt as if her aura had punched him in the stomach and tried not to stare at her. Spending all that time in close contact with a woman of great charisma and a certain charm was taking his toll on him.

"Milady, forgive me for the intrusion", he said meekly.

She waved her hand, ordering him to skip the pleasantries.

He went on: "The preparations are complete. Your general asks to confirm the attack strategy."

Attack.

The other cities on Kome would not bring war to the enemies, they would just defend themselves. The people of Vissart, on the other hand, were impatient to take their weapons and stick them into the Ahalis.

"You may tell [General] Lath the plan hasn't changed."

Cyrus nodded. Normally, the message would have been brought to the general by one of her attendants. Instead, the ominous task fell to him. In the whole city, there were only two women that somewhat scared Cyrus, and one of them was there in front of him. But in his relationship with Lady Goldith there was a certain intimacy, a mutual understanding. The second was Lath, Vissart's general, probably the person with the second highest rank in the city.

Unlike Lady Goldith, so stiff and austere, Lath was somewhat strange. Despite this, the [General] was extremely close to Lady Goldith. She could speak to the woman in front of him as one does in a tavern with one of the clients.

Worst of all, Lady Lath had developed a particular interest in tormenting the new [General Administrator]. Vissart's [General] had repeatedly pursued and threatened him in order to convince him to flirt with Lady Goldith.

If Cyrus found himself in his lady's rooms now, it was because Lath had ordered him to go and personally ask an absolutely unnecessary question.

Well, now that his task had been completed, he might as well leave.

"Milady, with your permission, I will now take my leave."

Cyrus began to turn around, before hearing the woman's determined voice: "Cyrus, please, sit down."

"Milady?"

He tried to play dumb.

"Sit down, Cyrus. Don't make me repeat myself a third time, please."

How much formality and how much terror could be put inside a single sentence.

Lady Goldith sat down in a blood-red velvet chair, soft and comfortable. She motioned for her [Administrator] to sit across from her in the other chair.

Cyrus immediately noticed that, if he were to sit down, he would be really too uncomfortably and embarrassingly close to Lady Goldith for his liking.

Don't make me repeat myself a third time.

Cyrus didn't have much choice: the last time he had made Lady Goldith angry he had been thrown into the dungeons for twenty-four hours.

"Milady," he bowed slightly before taking his seat. He saw the Lady of Vissart smirk and lick her lips in response.

Lady Goldith opened a rather long box placed on the table, pulling out an equally long object wrapped in black cloth.

“All women in the Vanedeni nobility are required to learn to play a musical instrument. This is a tradition dating back to when our people still lived on the continent of Teiko."

Lady Goldith removed the cloth and held up a flute, or something resembling it very closely.

"Milady, I am sure your melodies are as sweet as your sword is sharp in battle."

A servant knocked on the door and entered, with two goblets on a tray. In Vissart - as in the rest of Kome - there was no wine. And beer wasn't very popular either. The most popular drink was made from fermented berries, similar to blueberries, easy to grow in any weather. It was blue and tasted vaguely like wine.

Cyrus had already examined the production processes and planned to increase exponentially the cultivation and processing of those berries. Unfortunately, he knew he would never carry out his international export plan.

Lady Goldith raised the goblet to her mouth and took a sip, while her eyes continued to look at him from head to toe.

"Remind me of the movement led by the women of your world, Cyrus," said Lady Goldith.

He understood immediately.

"Feminism, milady?"

"I had the impression that women in your world are tired of you men."

He sighed and nodded.

“In most countries, women have always been relegated to house work or less important roles than men. Before I got here, however, important steps had been taken. Only in the poorest and most unstable nations there's still real oppression. Women can't work, they can't choose who to marry and, in the worst cases, they can't even leave the house without a man by their side."

He had tried to explain the matter briefly and precisely, as Lady Goldith preferred.

“Among us, there is no custom of arranged marriages. But the idea remains that women must possess qualities of a certain kind,” Lady Goldith waved the flute in front of his eyes, "to attract the right suitors. My father loved to repeat that someday I would frighten all of Vissart's men so much that no one would want to marry me. He forced me to learn to play an instrument to make me look more appealing to men."

The woman put the flute close to her lips and began to play a soft melody. Cyrus was surprised at how delicate and how pretty Lady Goldith could be while playing with her eyes closed.

The sweet notes mingled with the alcohol that Cyrus was slowly drinking. He felt a certain warmth in his heart as he watched Kome's most powerful woman give him a private concert.

The music showed no sign of stopping and enveloped the room in a magical way. It was as if she had kidnapped him from reality, giving him a moment of unearthly calmness.

He forced me to learn to play an instrument to make me look more appealing to men.

After about ten minutes, Lady Goldith's words rang in Cyrus's head, and he felt his heart racing in his throat.

As if she had sensed it, the woman put down the flute, smiling at him. That unexpected smile was for him like an electric shock in his chest. In the curve of her mouth there wasn’t the temperate character of women he was accustomed to, but the terrible charm of a sharp blade.

"Women have problems that men do not understand." Lady Goldith put the flute aside and took the goblet again, drinking without restraint.

"I do not doubt that, milady."

Lady Goldith frowned.

“I think you do, Cyrus. But your skills are enough to overlook your ignorance."

He decided to remain silent. His lady seemed to want to say something and he had no intention of making her lose her temper.

“Women are the same as men, except when they have to learn to play the flute to be women. Without classes and levels, I dare not imagine what women in your world must suffer. I hope they're armed, at least."

Cyrus was about to intercept this new topic when his lady raised a hand and he felt her aura block his jaw.

“I don't need a man to explain to me how a woman lives, Cyrus; even if this woman comes from another world. Women are weaker, they have different duties. My father's words, not mine. I guess you were going to say something like that."

He was surprised how the other anticipated exactly what he was about to say.

Lady Goldith stood up and leaned on the arm of his chair, leaning her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure, Cyrus, that women are weaker than men?" Lady Goldith squeezed between his shoulder and neck with a little strength, just for emphasis.

He took a deep breath, trying not to moan for the pain. He also started to blush heavily. He felt his control on the situation slip more and more from his grasp. He needed to do something to reverse the situation.

The [Administrator] turned his gaze to Lady Goldith, ready to feign nonchalance and lay a hand on her hand.

[Sense of Danger]

His new classe had given him a very common skill in those whose classes require them to perceive incoming danger. As soon as he had thought to touch the hand of the Lady standing right in front of him, his skill had given him a strong mental shake.

Something made him think that if he would have lifted his hand, it would have gotten broken.

"Women don't need men, Cyrus. Men, on the other hand, I'm not so sure. You can’t go without overseeing, not even for a few minutes. Unlike you, I have spent sixteen years of my life not guided by anyone."

Cyrus nodded in silence, unsure of what to say. A life in the world elite hadn't prepared him to deal with a Lady who could break his neck with a snap of her fingers.

Speaking of his neck, he felt Lady Goldith's hand release its grip and move towards the back of his head, stroking his hair for a moment.

The woman paused on such an intimate gesture, while Cyrus held her gaze, the last act of independence he was capable of without ending up with some broken bones.

“Flutes, dances, children. There are things women are forced to do, while men laugh in taverns and harass waitresses.”

"Tell me, Cyrus, have you ever touched a woman without her permission?" Her hand moved a little bit downward, grabbed his neck and squeezed. "And remember: I know if you lie."

How could he forget such an important detail? Lady Goldith had some skill or artifact that allowed her to understand whether a person was lying or not. Maybe it was something linked to her aura. In any case, Cyrus could not tell lies.

"Milady, I have never forced my hand on any woman I can remember."

Lady Goldith seemed quite pleased with the answer as her keen eyes looked at the neat beard on his face.

“And tell me, Cyrus, have you ever used your position, your power, to convince a woman to warm your bed? A woman who, otherwise, would not have been interested in you?"

Lady Goldith's grip tightened like a steel vice around his neck and Cyrus really began to sweat.

Had he ever used his position to obtain sex?

Damn, he had worked on Wall Street! He had never indulged himself like some of his colleagues, but he had always lived in one of the most decadent environments of the first world.

“Milady, I have met women interested in my money and my social position. They exploited me and I exploited them. But I never—"

Cyrus stopped abruptly. And luckily he did it before he could finish the sentence, because he had thought of not one, but three occasions in which he had hinted that he was ready to be very generous with women who had not been social climbers at all.

"Milady. This humble servant of yours made mistakes in his youth. I made three women believe that I was going to give them support, but in the end they didn't get it."

He would not have ruled out that the woman was ready to break his neck there and then. He had contributed so much to Vissart's growth in a month that, even if he killed him at that time, the city would thrive without problems.

"So, did you use force to get what otherwise would not have been yours?"

"I would not use the term force, milady, but it is only a question of semantics", said Cyrus, ready to face his destiny.

Lady Goldith tugged his hair lightly, and Cyrus had to hold back a moan.

“You see, Cyrus, my law is very simple. Give and you will be given. Take away and you will be taken away. I had thrown into the abyss those who protested, saying that law is much more complicated than that. Do you know what this means for you?"

He was about to venture an answer, but found two of Lady Goldith's fingers on his lips.

“It means, my dear [Administrator], that whoever takes by force should be taken by force, against their own will. If you have abused your position, why shouldn't I do the same to you? "

"Milady, are you perhaps suggesting ..."

At that point, Cyrus was not only worried and embarrassed, but he felt the blood starting to leave his brain.

"A lady does not suggest, she just takes what is hers by right."

To put emphasis on her words, Lady Goldith moved her thumb to his cheek, pushing with her the nail until he bled lightly.

However, Lady Goldith did not venture any further, but lifted her hands and sat down again. Her pupils were dilated and her cheeks slightly blushed. She had not remained unmoved as Cyrus had imagined.

“Cyrus, go to sleep. A tough battle awaits us tomorrow. I need to catch up on some sleep, too."

He heaved a big sigh of relief. He had already been prepared for the worst. Fortunately, his virtue would remain untouched for at least another day.

"Milady, with your permission."

Cyrus got up and headed for the door, not before making a last bow.

Just as he was about to cross the threshold, the words of his Lady reached him.

"Cyrus."

He stopped, still facing the door, but slightly turning his face, still marred by the wound left by her fingernail.

"Yes, milady?"

“Losing control isn't such a terrible thing, especially with someone who really knows how to handle any situation. My father forced me to learn to play the flute, but don't think I've never learned any other tricks. Vissart is a tough city, and this Lady also needs a person by her side. Now go”, she ordered him, “tomorrow evening, after the battle, we will celebrate as befits winners, you and me, in my private rooms. And say hello to your friend Giovanna for me, tonight."

…

Cyrus was walking briskly through the well-lit streets of Vissart. The great [General Administrator], famous for his seraphic calm, hopped from foot to foot, red in the face and obviously agitated. His breathing was very rapid: it was not possible to say whether it was for the brisk gait or for what had happened to him in Lady Goldith's chambers.

Lady Goldith was absolutely not an ugly woman. Her body was muscular, but not too much. Her real strength lay in her skills and class, not just her flesh. She could twist an iron bar with her bare hands as if nothing had happened; therefore, Cyrus did not even dare to imagine what she could do with him once she had him in her hands.

But another part of him had to admit that what Lady Goldith wanted to do to him after the battle was somehow exciting. He felt chills all over his body as he thought about the scenes that might take place in her rooms.

Who knows if the woman intended to apply the children law to herself as well, laughed Cyrus. He stopped laughing a few seconds later, after realizing that this was a possibility.

In Vissart, women and men without a partner were forced to find one, and families had to be as big as possible.

The application of this law was made easier by one of Lady Goldith's skills: it was said that couples who found themselves together unwillingly could also start a relationship just to give birth to new, young and fierce soldiers.

The effects of the law could already be seen.

There were hundreds of children in every corner of Vissart, playing or learning a trade. Most, however, were trained in a special military academy from the tender age of five. It was the closest thing to a school that existed on that continent, Cyrus thought, but also the closest thing to child exploitation and child soldiers.

Fortunately, Lady Goldith had direct control of the academy and had mandated that no one under the age of fourteen, except in emergency situations, would participate in a real conflict.

The people of Vissart hadn't taken the change very well at first. Then, after a large chunk of protesters were thrown into the Border, everything calmed down.

Few people were excluded from Lady Goldith's policies, because very few people had the courage to face the consequences.

Cyrus touched one of the rings on his hand, making sure he was followed by the spies that the other [Administrators] and Lady Goldith herself had put at his heels. Whenever his routine changed, he knew the spies were required to inform their masters. He knew this well because more than half of those spies had been bought by his money, one way or another.

Most of them sold two or three copies of their reports, to earn more money. So, Cyrus had had no problem in getting them on his side thanks to someone he trusted.

However, Lady Goldith's spies were probably incorruptible and very dangerous, which is why the [Administrator] had given orders not to approach them. But all the others were puppets in his hands.

Cyrus gave them what they expected. His routine, in fact, had not changed for about fifteen days.

He went into a restaurant - if that shack could be called a restaurant - Menaver's restaurant. It was his usual stop before going to bed for the night in the warehouse where Giovanna, Marina and Vanessa worked along with a plethora of other Earthlings.

Lady Goldith's spies must have told her that, since she had expressed what appeared to be jealousy towards Giovanna. Cyrus strongly hoped that his actions would not have tremendous repercussions on the Earthlings; unfortunately, he also knew that they would suffer because of what he would do in less than twenty-four hours.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Menaver! Your favorite customer has arrived!" he called, slightly later than usual.

A huge man, with so many muscles to put even Schwarzenegger to shame, pushed his way out of the kitchen.

“Cyrus, the kitchen is closed. You're late."

His words weren't friendly at all.

But Cyrus sure as hell wasn't going to sleep on an empty stomach before the most dangerous day of his life.

“I received a letter from your Lady. Are you telling me that Lady Goldith's name no longer commands respect in these parts?"

He immediately saw a vein throbbing in Menaver's forehead. The man hated being involved in Vissart's politics and was one of the few people who, for the time being, had received a temporary exemption from the fertility law.

"I don't think she ordered you to eat here."

No, she hadn't said it, thought Cyrus.

“Do you really want to find out? I bet you're preparing ingredients and food for tomorrow morning. What will it cost you to fill me a plate, my friend?"

The [Chef] sighed and shook his head.

"Cyrus. How many people already want to kill you in this city?"

"Not one more now, I hope", Cyrus replied with a big smile on his face.

Despite their squabbling, Cyrus and Menaver liked each other's company. The big man gestured for him to go to the back with him, where Vissart's [Administrator] was by now a known face.

Over the course of the month, Cyrus had often stolen some supplies from the big man's pantry and was beginning to suspect that Menaver had noticed. Still, it was impossible to blame his most loyal client without proof.

Cyrus, as usual, pulled aside the curtain dividing the counter from the kitchen and set foot in Menaver's empire. The thing that struck him most, every time he entered there, was the orderly arrangement of all the utensils. The [Chef] had hung pots and pans all over the granite-like walls.

Those walls, the [Administrator] thought, were his doing. Cyrus had some cement made thanks to the knowledge of some Earthlings who knew its production process. So, he had done Menaver a favour and the shack, that Menaver kept calling a restaurant, had been rebuilt with walls that would never catch fire.

Too many buildings in Vissart were made of wood.

Some were even made of metal. The Vanedenis were really crazy and had little common sense at times. If a fire broke out in the city, there was a hundred percent chance that citizens would be cooked inside their homes.

And as grumpy and obnoxious as Menaver was with anything other than food, now a fire in his restaurant would not burn him to a crisp. And it had been transformed into a luxury style venue.

Cyrus had begun to have the interior covered with red bricks, which in such a medieval city gave an exotic look to the place. The work was still in progress, but Menaver was already ecstatic with the special treatment he had received.

At first, he had tried to tell Cyrus that he would not accept his crazy proposals, that it did not seem like a good idea to start with him. All this because favoritism was absolutely not tolerated in Vissart.

But Cyrus had justified his choice by saying that they were experimental changes, so they were not sure of the effect that would be created.

Obviously, it wasn’t true.

When he had been on Earth, Cyrus had owned several luxury restaurants, so he had no doubt about the positive effect the new design would have on the clients. However, he had lied so that Menaver wouldn’t feel too much guilt.

And, coincidentally, the [Chef] was not very inclined to hand Cyrus to the guards for some missing food. He could take everything he wanted! If Cyrus was trying not to let his Earthling friends starve, then there was absolutely nothing to blame him for.

"What's on the menu today?"

He saw a pot too small to be involved in the preparations on the stove. Menaver had left something for him, and had kept it warm.

He would really miss the [Chef].

Menaver put two ladles of soup into a bowl and handed it to the [Administrator].

"Take this. [Just Like Freshly Cooked]."

One of Menaver's skills was to restore the same freshness they had when they had just come out of the pot to foods cooked the day before. It was a skill that made him feel slightly ashamed. To him it was almost like cheating, he had explained to Cyrus.

"Listen, young man, everything alright at the top?" Menaver asked watching Cyrus bring the spoon to his mouth.

Cyrus stopped with the spoon suspended between the bowl and his lips.

"Menaver, do you know that I am almost double your age?"

Menaver, who was thirty-two years old, continued to pose as a wise old man.

“I had to raise a rebellious sister and saw her best friend become the Lady of this city. You may be a hundred years old, but I'm older than you, inside, thanks to all the worries I've had to endure."

Cyrus laughed as he began to eat.

The food was nothing short of divine. Menaver was above level thirty, his talent for food almost as great as it would have been for war. At least according to his sister's and Lady Goldith's words.

The soup contained several pieces of meat and vegetables, accompanied by a multi-grain bread. It was toasted and brushed with a very delicate jam; every time he dipped it in the soup, it gained some of its flavour, exchanging its essence for that of the bread and jam.

“Anyway, nothing new with our favorite Lady. Tomorrow they will slaughter the enemies and that's it," answered Cyrus.

There was really nothing special to say. Winning was normal for the Vanedenis, and after decades of lost battles, Lady Goldith had recreated the older status quo.

"How are the enlisted Earthlings?"

Cyrus had to dissimulate a smile. "Well, I suppose," he answered nonchalantly.

"You suppose? Isn't it your job to follow everything that happens in Vissart, and especially your companions?"

He was right. He was totally right.

In fact, Cyrus knew the Earthlings' situation very well. He knew almost all their names, levels and classes.

He also knew that a lot of Earthlings had begun to go to Menaver's restaurant. Whether he liked it or not, Menaver came from a family raised on bread and swords; to put it simply, he was an expert of military science. Seeing those helpless youngsters who wanted to play war, he had given them not only a terrible scolding, but also a series of very valuable advice.

Lath had climbed many levels and had an innate talent, but the shadow of her older brother hovered over her even after he had left the battlefield forever.

The Earthlings had all taken a liking to the kind cook who had beaten them several times with a broomstick, to teach them the correct stance.

Judging by the attention with which he awaited an answer, Menaver was very worried about the Earthlings. He knew how hard and merciless war was: he didn't want his new and loyal clients to die in droves. But, above all, he didn't want them to lose the spark in their eyes, just like what happened to many soldiers who had idealized that useless bloodshed called war.

"They’re alright. Lath hasn't had time to instruct them personally, but Lady Goldith's instructors are certainly not idiots."

"And with your help," Cyrus teased him, "they will become war machines."

Before Cyrus could react, Menaver hit his hand with a large wooden spoon, making him groan with pain.

How that damned Menaver could be so big and as agile was a mystery.

Cyrus continued to whimper for a full minute, before taking a potion out of his bag and drinking a small sip.

"Maybe you shouldn't object so much to receive a partner," exclaimed Cyrus, to make fun of his friend. "Who knows, maybe a woman would also know how to tame that temper—"

This time he was prepared and literally jumped from the stool he was sitting on, flying across the table. He had heard an alarm go off in his head thanks to [Sense of Danger].

It was pure instinct. But he hadn't thought about the consequences of his reaction, too intent on not getting his precious hands smashed. He had done a jump worthy of an athlete, unjustifiable by his stupid class of [General Administrator].

"Ahem."

Cyrus straightened his wrinkled clothes as best he could, ignoring Menaver's astonished glance. He stealthily slipped on his favorite ring, which prevented the spies on his heels from listening to his conversations.

Menaver, this time, sat down too, changing his angry expression to a cold one, which then turned to weariness.

The cook put his elbows on the table and ran his fingers through his long beard; the small silver hairs within it seemed to have multiplied, giving him an exhausted look.

Cyrus had resumed eating his soup, in the silence of someone who can do nothing but wait for someone else to speak.

Menaver had just seen one of his skills.

[Acrobatics]

It wasn't something he could justify. The fact that he possessed a skill not belonging to his class could only mean one thing.

Cyrus had just revealed to someone that he had another class.

Menaver's eyes were small, but intense. His mouth opened several times, revealing teeth that were not pearly, but white nonetheless. The [Chef] was looking for words that came from another world - one in which he had chosen to meddle in Vissart's politics, to wield a weapon, to be just like his sister was.

He brought three fingers to his forehead, massaging it slowly: "Cyrus, tell me you're not a [Assassin]."

Cyrus, in response, breathed a sigh of relief.

“No, I'm not a [Assassin],” replied the [Thief].

“Tell me you have no evil plans to make tomorrow's attack fail or to kill people, let alone Lady Goldith. And tell me you are not an [Infiltrator]."

It was then that Cyrus was certain that if he lied to Menaver, the man in front of him would become the warrior he had never been and would cut him in two from head to toe with one of the very sharp knives in the kitchen.

“Nothing, Menaver. Nothing dangerous."

It was true.

Menaver breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.

“I'm really tempted to send my sister a message and have an investigation conducted on you after the battle. You know how that works. They throw you in jail and then specialists arrive and, if they can't see your class right away, they work on you. "

“I looked at the reports and records. Really scary classes, theirs."

Cyrus soaked the last piece of bread in the soup, which however left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He had sincerely hoped to leave Menaver on good terms. He stood up and winked at the [Chef].

“My place is not in Vissart, just like yours is not on the battlefield. Take care of the other Earthlings."

Cyrus was heading for the kitchen back door when he sensed an object being thrown at him.

He whirled around and grabbed him with one hand.

[Feline Agility]

[Deft Hands]

"Take it, it's a present."

Cyrus looked down and saw one of Menaver's kitchen knives - that wasn't really a kitchen knife. He noticed the subtle differences and the blade, too straight.

He recognized a very sharp-bladed dagger, covered by an Enchantment.

It was not the first weapon he had held in his hands: many he had stolen from the city treasure. Their disappearance had been cleverly hidden, but the knife he was holding in his hands seemed to be made just for him.

“A gift from my family. I don't think I'll need it."

Cyrus nodded, overwhelmed by emotion. He took a deep breath to calm down. Damn, the night had been the emotional equivalent of a roller coaster.

First Lady Goldith tried had almost assaulted him, then she told him that the next day she would have played his flute with great pleasure. Now, Menaver turned into a softie and gave him a dagger for no clear reason.

He thought of leaving without a specific greeting, with a dramatic exit. But he remembered that those were gestures of the person he had been in the past.

He went straight to the big man and hugged him, barely managing to close his arms around his massive girth.

Menaver smiled and dispelled the last doubts he had about Cyrus, returning his manly embrace.

The two separated and Cyrus greeted him for the last time. He had wasted too much time and had also spent too much time wearing the ring.

"See you next time", he said to the [Chef].

"Let's hope Lady Goldith doesn't catch you, Cyrus," Menaver replied seriously.

"I guarantee you she would do things to me you can't even imagine."

Leaving the [Chef] confused and giggling like a teen, Cyrus walked away from the kitchen and the shack.

…

Giovanna saw Vissart's administrator enter their warehouse.

She touched one of her hoop earrings with a frivolous gesture.

Cyrus was not the typical, impertinent Italian she was used to finding in the streets of Naples when she was growing up, or later in New York. Nor was he hot-headed or insistent. He might be arrogant, in his own way, but he was with the assurance of who knows what he is doing and how to do it.

None of the Earthlings understood how he had made such a meteoric and rapid climb to be the chief administrator of all of Vissart. He had requested an audience with Lady Goldith, and it was said that he had talked about plans until he exhausted her, and the woman, in a rush of the moment, had declared him her most trusted servant.

His accent was almost non-existent, but his tanned complexion and something in his features sang of his Neapolitan origins.

"Cyrus! At last! But where have you been? " Giovanna tried not to seem too happy to see him.

He raised a hand in response and winked at her.

“Menaver cooked too much stuff. I ate a lot tonight and couldn't finish it."

He couldn't give too much information, in case the spies were still following him.

“Oh well, Cyrus, listen to me for a moment. Vanessa was reading a book today, but at some point she went crazy and I don't know what to do anymore. Can you help me, please?"

He pursed his lips and nodded.

Giovanna led him through the mountains of cloth and the scattered beds of some Earthlings. While the women all slept in the same room, the only space with privacy in the warehouse, the men had been forced to find a random place to sleep.

“Basically, she started screaming about something I don’t understand. I don't really know what to do with her”, Giovanna said, hoping that the other would meet her gaze.

Everyone inside the warehouse was now making fun of her for her clumsy attempts to approach him. The truth was that she had never needed to woo anyone, least of all a person like Cyrus.

Giovanna had tried to explain a couple of ideas to improve their organization to him, but he had analyzed them and categorically rejected them. Cyrus had not laughed or made fun of her, but he had explained to her why they would not work.

From that moment on, Giovanna found herself more and more in difficulty with each of their interactions. It was impossible to find a crack to break his shell.

Or rather, almost impossible.

"Why is she screaming?" Cyrus asked, surprised.

“I don't know, Cyrus, you speak to her. You are better than me at doing that."

Giovanna paid him an ill-concealed compliment, trying to attract a minimum of attention to herself.

She saw him massaging his forehead with his fingers, preparing himself for the impending battle.

"Cyrus! Cyrus!"

The scream tore through the nocturnal silence of the warehouse.

In Vissart, people worked hard; this also meant that they needed many hours of sleep to function decently. More than half of the workers were already asleep or about to slip into Morpheus's arms.

"Vanessa, don't scream!" Giovanna shouted. "Cyrus, I no longer know what to do, really," she put a hand on his arm to seek comfort.

He didn't seem to care too much. Instead, he stared at Vanessa with a concentrated look.

"Vanny, what have you done?" He asked.

Giovanna heard him use a more informal tone very rarely, and only with the disabled girl: this made her almost jealous of their relationship.

He gently moved away from Giovanna and leaned against some wooden crates, continuing to stare at Vanessa.

"I did magic, Cyrus, I did magic!"

“Jamm' Cyrus, I can't go on like this. Do you hear her? But what magic could she do, she doesn't even want to learn sewing to obtain a class. Tell her, please!"

Giovanna was really desperate. She had nothing against people with a disability, but Vanessa was too difficult to handle. Going from university life between New York and Naples to this chaos and also having to look after a person who had become problematic was taking a toll on her mind.

He ignored her.

"What magic?" he said instead, with a too serious expression, according to Giovanna.

"A very strong magic!" was Vanessa's excited reply.

"Explain."

Giovanna wanted either to pull her hair out or strangle Cyrus. Vanessa spent all day reading and playing with dyes or hiding and reappearing saying, "I've learned a new magic!"

The first couple of times Giovanna had believed her, asking her to show what she had done. Unfortunately, Vanessa had never been able to replicate the aforementioned magic in front of anyone.

Cyrus brought the girl books upon books, justifying her extravagant reading to the guards as his own personal research. But Giovanna had noticed that some soldiers did not believe that and had made veiled allusions to the favorable relationship that Cyrus had with her, so much so that he gathered books to bring her: everyone in Vissart believed that she was the lover of their dear [Administrator].

How she would like that.

"I need to get something!"

Cyrus was still dealing with Vanessa's games. This time, Giovanna watched, knowing very well what would happen next. The girl had made a mess in the whole warehouse and then started screaming when no one had believed her.

In fact, Vanessa returned with some cans of paint that they used to dye the clothes.

"You see, Cyrus? Look at it, the magic," said Giovanna, laughing.

But he frowned and motioned her to wait with his hand.

"I have to paint your face and arms!"

Giovanna was ready to see his astonished face at the sight of the girl who was already putting dye on her hands to paint him.

Cyrus didn't flinch and nodded.

"Does it go away by itself once the magic runs out?" he asked.

"WHAT! But how did you know that? It's not fair!!!" Vanessa screamed.

During the exchange, Giovanna was confused. It goes away?

But what were those two saying? Could Cyrus be humoring her?

"Cyrus, you could just say no," she said, more and more upset and confused.

"Shut up."

Vanessa laughed at his reaction. Giovanna, on the other hand, felt tears appear in her eyes.

She remained silent while Vanessa put the dye on Cyrus's face. A delicate pattern, as if made by an artist, was taking shape on his cheekbones and neck. It was almost unthinkable that Vanessa had painted those delicate lines.

Cyrus was not surprised, nor amazed, nor incredulous. He was standing there, with the same expression as always fixed on his face, serious and composed.

Giovanna clenched her fists.

"Ehi, Cyrus, listen," she said through gritted teeth.

Living in Vissart had taught her to respect hierarchies and act with more wisdom than she had ever used on Earth. One day she had responded badly to a guard and had been slapped in the face. This had deeply affected her.

And so, she had also stopped Marina, the day when she had almost lost her temper. That day, a merchant had sold to others the groceries he had promised her. Giovanna had had to grab her by the hair before she would make a scene and get a kick from one of the soldiers.

The Vanedenis were out of their minds, but they were also much more polite than one would expect from a belligerent people. And they were so polite because no one liked to start fights that could lead to civil wars.

And yet, law in Vissart was even more severe than the Vanedeni tradition. Although they were almost mythological people, they were still human. Many said that in other cities crime was quite widespread, but they talked about it as if it were a myth; in fact, no one in Vissart broke the rules. No, the city guard in Vissart had several high-level special agents that could track down from the most powerful [Assassin] down to simple [Thieves] before they even committed any crime.

Lady Goldith had made sure that none of her subjects starved to death. And if someone wanted more without working hard, taking away what was not rightfully theirs, they would be punished.

And that had taught Giovanna a very important lesson: humility.

"Don't worry."

"Cyrus! Quiet, don't move!" screamed Vanessa in his ear.

The only reason why no one had yet started screaming at her, according to Giovanna, was the presence of Vissart's [General Administrator]. Cyrus had turned out to be cold as a piece of ice, despite the fact that he was always very worried about his companions. When some Earthlings had complained constantly and created problems, Cyrus had said nothing. But in the evening some guards had arrived and had taken them to the mines, having first scolded them on the importance of mutual collaboration.

Cyrus had a rather mafia-style behaviour. Not real mafia-style, but something more similar to movies. That peculiar way to deal with stuff, at the same time refined and violent, just like in popular Hollywood movies.

And everybody now kept quiet in order not to be put in the mines. Even if they would normally protest.

Vanessa had painted small lines on Cyrus's face, going from his eyes to his chin. And now was painting his eyelids black.

"Cyrus, take your shirt off!"

Cyrus took it off, leaving Giovanna peeking at his slender but muscular body.

"Vanessa, what does this... paint do?" Giovanna was starting to doubt her behaviour. If Cyrus treated the girl with such care, perhaps there was something of value about her.

Vanessa started drawing lines on Cyrus's body, too, going from his chin to his shoulder and to his hands. Then she kept drawing on his chest, and after covering her hands in dye, she left two handprints on his pecs.

Giovanna was now boiling with jealousy.

"Can't say! Can't say!"

Giovanna raised her hands and resigned to waiting. The only good thing was that, at least, Vanessa was making Cyrus undress. With a little luck, to make this "magic" work, it would have been necessary to get him completely naked

…

Cyrus felt the magic flow through the dye that Vanessa was using.

The others didn't believe her and he didn't want to correct them. Vanessa was astonishingly talented, even more so considering her disability. According to some, she was mentally underdeveloped, but instead she had already received three classes so far.

Cyrus's main class had continued to level up, with all the work he had done. Not even the penalties received for being a [Thief] had countered the meteoric rise of his levels.

[General Administrator - Level 28]

[Eye for Talent]

He used his skill to observe Vanessa as she finished painting his skin.

He could no longer see three classes, but only one.

He took a deep breath.

Vanessa had been [Scholar], [Mage] and [Bookworm].

Somehow, by spending her time playing with mana and reading the books Cyrus had given her, she had managed to consolidate her classes. To put it simply, the three classes had now merged into one, more powerful, class.

How that girl, with a brain like hers, could have worked in a McDonald's was a mystery.

Vanessa didn't just have Down syndrome, according to Cyrus. If he had to guess, she might have been autistic too. A high-functioning autistic.

In any case, if Vanessa had acquired new skills to help him in what would have been his suicidal endeavor, so much better.

Cyrus suddenly felt a burst of heat go through his skin and penetrate into his muscles and bones.

[Temporary Skill - Shadow Look]

"Done!"

"Eh, Cyrus, at least the paint looks good on you!" Giovanna said, glancing at him covertly, thinking he hadn't noticed.

The girl was half his age and Cyrus was romantically more disabled than Vanessa was genetically. She had no hope with him, even if she didn't seem to have understood the signs.

"Giovanna loves Cyrus, Giovanna loves Cyrus!" laughed Vanessa.

"Vanessa, shut up!" Giovanna screamed.

Cyrus got dressed and asked Vanessa a question.

"After the skill is used the paint just goes away?"

"Yes!"

"Excellent."

Cyrus looked at his arms and what he could see of his chest, then stood in front of a mirror that was inside the warehouse.

The lighting of the place consisted of several balls of magical light. Before his arrival, the building was lit with torches - real fire - which could easily have set fire to the abnormal quantities of textiles in the warehouse. It seemed that the Vanedenis had no problem living with the constant risk of burning buildings.

To avoid the Earthlings to be burned to crisps, Cyrus had changed every single torches indoors with those magical globes. The [Wizards] hadn't been at all happy to work on such a low-skill job, but had changed their minds after a few lashes.

This thing about lashing people was really getting out of his hands. But he had to admit that it turned out to be very effective.

Someone stops doing their job and starts being a nuisance? Lashes.

In an ultra-capitalist world, it was a wet dream for any entrepreneur.

Giovanna approached him, distracting him from his thoughts, so much that she was just a couple centimetres from his nose. It was really too long since Cyrus had gone back to Italy and he was no longer used to the behaviour of Neapolitan girls.

Looking at Giovanna so closely, an immediate comparison emerged in Cyrus's mind: if Lady Goldith had a sharp beauty, almost like a blade, Giovanna could easily have been a model, with her slender body and her smile that could melt the glaciers in Antarctica. She was one of the most genuine and effortlessly beautiful girls the [Administrator] had ever seen.

It had not been difficult, therefore, to endorse the gossip that Giovanna was his lover: it served as an excuse to visit the warehouse and work out his plans.

"So, Cyrus, what does this skill do?" asked Giovanna.

"It's a secret between me and Vanessa."

“Ahah! We have a secret, Cyrus and I! Next time you can touch him if you want, though! I already have a girlfriend and I'm not interested in him."

Giovanna blushed hearing Vanessa's teasing.

"Vanny, come on, stop it. Let's go, you and I have to talk."

Cyrus took Vanessa by the arm and led her away from Giovanna.

They walked together towards the furthest area of the warehouse, the one where they kept the offcut. Generally, nobody was there. Not even Lady Goldith's spies would follow him there, deeming the place too dirty for high-ranking guards like them.

Cyrus was free to speak.

He grabbed Vanessa by the arms and looked her straight in the eye.

“You, here, are wasted. It's time to leave this doghouse."