Iris propped herself up and yawned. She had a somewhat peaceful sleep. There was no monster visiting her in a nightmare. Just Rioe, which might be due to how many times she got angry the last day. Who is Rioe? One of the Four key bearers/keepers of Strom’s Grave, First floor of the Sixth of the Greater Labyrinth. It used emotions to fight. The more she got angry, the stronger it would become.

“Good morning, Iris,” Diantha whispered. She was sitting at her desk.

“Good morning..." Iris paused, she was not sure what she was supposed to call her. At least, in front of the public, she was supposed to address her with respect.

“Just call me Diantha. There’s no need for formality when we are alone,” Diantha answered her unasked question. Iris wondered if she read her mind. Iris slid off the bed and bowed.

“Thank you for taking care of me last night,” Iris said in an utmost grateful voice. She couldn't believe she met someone so kind and warm just after escaping the Labyrinth.

“I did nothing; on the other hand, I should be grateful to you. What you did last night has greatly boosted my strength in the Court of Ira. Every news publication believed you’re one of my vassals.”

“Please don’t say that. I am forever grateful that you took care of me. I…” Iris's voice became heavy with emotions; she tried her best not to cry, “I never thought anyone would ever take care of me, someone so hideous.”

Diantha stood from her seat and took a long stride, standing in front of her. She gently grabbed her by the shoulder and lifted her from the bow. Those glowing eyes stared at her face.

Iris wanted to look away, to hide her eyes. She felt disgusted showing Diantha, who was so warm, her eyes. Yet, she could not look away from those warm eyes.

“Iris,” Diantha whispered, her tone was gentle.

Iris could not form words; she was not used to feeling this much emotion. Even breathing felt hard. Diantha lowered herself to her height and stared at her face.

“Iris, you’re not hideous, quite the opposite,” She smiled warmly, “You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, both in looks and soul.” She pulled her into a warm hug.

“Please, never say something like that again… I know something must’ve happened for you to feel like this. Just point me to whoever said something like this, and I’ll make them write 500 pages about how beautiful you are.” Her voice was warm, but Iris couldn't understand her words; they were alien, strange, spoken as if directed at someone beautiful and kind, like Hecate. Not her, she was hideous. She wanted to cry, yet she held back. She did not shed tears but blood, and she did not want to sully Diantha’s clothes. A soft hiccup still escaped her lips.

Let’s see if this hideous creature can cry. Do you feel pain?

How dare you stare at me with those hideous eyes?

Hey! I get to hit the inferior first.

Did you see? Hideous cannot breathe underwater.

Hein? You’re hungry. I don’t have anything rotten. Leave.

For your blood, I’ll give you this bread, what do you say? ‘I… am grateful.’

Diantha gently brought her hand behind her head and pressed her closer to her shoulder, “You can cry,” She spoke gently, her voice was warm and soothing. Iris could not hold back anymore.

Iris broke down crying, her hand held onto Diantha's arm as she quivered and shed tears. She did not understand why she was crying, and even more why Diantha was standing here letting her cry, why was she not pushing her away in disgust? She wanted to ask her, but she was afraid, maybe… maybe if she did not remind Diantha she could stay in this warmth a little longer.

“Uh..uh,” Diantha let go of her as she stopped crying. She stared at her bloody face, “S-sorry,” Iris said, her voice filled with guilt. She could see the patch of red on her white dress.

“I have to get changed,” Diantha smiled, “If you ever feel tense, you can come to me. I will be glad to lend you a shoulder.”

Iris nodded, feeling embarrassed and grateful at the same time. She wanted to escape and hide her face. And she wanted to express how grateful she was to Diantha for showing her kindness like this.

“I can read your mind, wash your face and go sit in the hall, I’ll get changed and meet you there.”

Iris nodded and rushed to the bathroom.

…

Iris sat in the mostly empty hall, there was no one here. Where was Hella? Iris wanted to know about her, or rather her outburst last night. She was not sure if it was appropriate to ask her.

As if on cue, Hella entered the hall, running behind a grey-haired middle-aged woman who had a plate in her hand. A plate with something that Iris had seen Hecate steal from another one yesterday.

“Don’t think I cannot catch you!” Hella pounced at the woman, who very swiftly turned, spinning the plate as she did, making Iris doubt her eyes. What kind of situation was this?

“You’re 100 years too young to catch me, little girl,”

“Iris! Catch that old hag,” Iris did no such thing. It was fun seeing Hecate try and fail at getting her dessert.

“Even she knows it is bad for your teeth. Give up, Hella,” the old lady stood in front of the main door as she taunted.

Hecate bulldozed toward her with all the speed she could put behind those legs. The old lady smirked, stepped aside just as Hecate reached her, and opened the door. Like a bull running at a red cloth, Hecate sped past the door and collided with something or someone.

The old lady looked at her, smiled, and gave a graceful bow, “Thank you for watching the show; there are, of course, no charges. I shall take my leave.” And with the grace of a princess, she vanished.

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A minute later, Hecate came inside, floating like a hook was holding her by the butt. She had her hands folded in front of her, and a frown on her face as she looked at Iris.

“Betrayer, wait until I get my revenge, you hag!” Hecate screamed and flailed her hands and legs wildly, as if to show how serious she was. Then Hecate’s attention shifted to her. “Iris!” Hecate tried to move again but was still stuck on the invisible hook.

“I won’t let you off the hook until you realize what mistake you have made,” Ilona calmly spoke as she stepped in.

“Good morning, Lady Ilona,” Iris greeted her.

“Good morning…” Ilona stared at her for a long pause, “Are you alright?”

“I’m quite all right; thank you for asking.”

“Hm… If you find yourself troubled, you can always talk to me,” Ilona added before shifting her attention to the hung Hecate.

Iris nodded, feeling like she was in a dream. Everyone around her was worried about her well-being. Yet, that thought was scary. What if they were pretending to be kind so that when she lowered her guard, they could carve a slave rune on her? It was a possibility. But, Diantha had that chance last night, did she not know? Or did she know but did not want to? And Lady Ilona could have easily taken Winny hostage, yet she did not.

She wanted to believe they were just kind, yet why would they be? She was inferior to them. She could understand Hecate, she was simple, unlike Lady Ilona or Diantha.

Iris shook her head, she was going down a negative spiral. They were kind because they were not from her village. It's just that simple.

“I get it, now let me down,” Hecate whined and flailed her arm towards Ilona, who stood just at the right distance to escape Hecate.

“No, you don’t, but this punishment is too light for you. You’re forbidden to eat any more chocolate cake for the rest of the day.”

“Whaaaat! No, you can’t do that,” Hecate whimpered powerlessly and slumped. “I’ll reflect on what I did wrong; just let me have my cake.”

“No,” Hecate fell on the floor, her butt up and face down, her eyes filled with tears.

“I want my cake,” Now she was screaming like a four-year-old child. Iris could not help but giggle at her antics. That's why Hecate was so easy to trust. She was so open about what she wanted. She could not imagine any other Level 4 sitting on the floor with tears and screaming for cake.

Her laugh did shift the attention of Hecate, a wide smile spread on her face as she almost floated from the floor and rushed at her, “Did I make you smile?” And she squeezed her into her tight hug. A painfully tight hug.

“Y-yeah,”

“Woo-hoo, mission failed successfully.” Hecate let go of her, “I saw you here, all gloomy and fidgety, and thought maybe cake would brighten your mood, but that old hag,” Hecate said "old hag" like she ate something bitter, “she thinks I would use your name to get the cake. Do you think I would do something like that?”

“Thank you, Hecate, for caring about me,”

“Hey, no need for the emotional gratitude, I hate that stuff. Anyway, now that you’re in a good mood, mind sharing what made you so down and gloomy,”

“Nothing, really— I was just remembering my time in the village.”

“Ooh…” Hecate awkwardly let go of her, “Are you missing them?”

“Whom?”

“Your village people, of course.”

“Why would I?” Iris tilted her head in confusion.

“Hey! You just said you were remembering the village.”

“I did. I did not mean I was missing them.” Iris vaguely clarified. She was realizing she should’ve made another excuse. She did not want to speak of her village's past to Hecate.

“Hella,” Ilona called, “I need to talk to Iris.”

“Ohh,” Hecate realized she was still almost sitting over Iris and scooted to the side.

“Iris.”

“I’m listening.”

“Today, you have three fights— one of them is against Ianthe, she is an apprentice of Isolde, a Level 5.”

Iris nodded, waiting for the next piece.

“I have a wager with Isolde.”

“A pointless wager,” Iris said. She could not help but feel that whoever the other person was, they were mentally retarded.

Ilona smiled at her assessment, “It would be, but the wager would only be valid if you agree to restrict your mana level and skills to level 5.”

“Still pointless,” Iris slid off the sofa, “Is my opponent titled?” Iris questioned.

“As of now, no.”

“Perhaps, battling me is her master’s idea of pushing her to her limit.” Iris wondered aloud.

“She is far too crude to think that deeply.”

“I see, regardless, it is unfair to her apprentice to fight me with a burden such as a wager. The only thing she will leave with is depressing scars for the rest of her life as a mage unless she is a Lightning mage, then she would forever be incapable of using magic.”

From the way Hecate’s eyes shined, Iris assumed that what she said sounded cool.

“Is that the prideful Lightning Lord speaking?” Ilona asked with a smile like a proud mother.

“No, this is me being considerate. If I must speak like a prideful Lightning Lord, then even at Level 4, Ianthe won’t be able to make me move from my spot after I allow her to attack me without hindrance for five minutes.”

“Really?” Hecate asked, excitedly.

“Yup.”

“Are you sure?” Ilona asked. Was she asking her if she wanted to back on her words?

“If I have to think twice about fighting a Level 5, then I might adopt the title of worthless.”

“I never thought you would have a superiority complex,” Ilona said, her eyes filled with amusement.

“I do not believe myself to be superior to her, as a human, I’m sure Ianthe would be capable of many things, far better than me. I’m a superior mage, but as a human—I’m inferior. If I am not a superior mage, then what even is the worth of my existence?” Iris monotonously replied; she did not think much of her words.

Ilona’s eyes, however, were dim, barren of all the mirth and amusement. They were filled with grief and guilt. Slowly, she approached Iris, placed her hand on her shoulder, and stared at where Iris’s eyes should be.

The next moment, the whole of Gracia shook. Every blessed, be it human or monster, in Gracia, felt their chest tighten, their minds becoming numb and hazy, and their knees quiver as they resisted the urge to fall to them.

And at the center of that storm, on whom this storm was directed, was Iris. She fell to her knees, her face covered in sweat, her chest rising and falling with each laborious breath. Her mind was ringing in pain. She had never felt this kind of pressure before. She barely held onto her consciousness. She wanted to vomit. Her insides were twisting and churning.

“Iris, you will never again refer to yourself as inferior, and if someone ever says that to you, you will tell me.” Ilona stared at her as if expecting an answer.

“Y-yes,” Iris could not imagine denying her. Everything felt too heavy, even the words made her want to pass out from exhaustion.

Hecate was sitting on the sofa, pale and lightheaded. She made no attempt to move; the primal fear of death spares nothing that has mana, even the apprentice of Witch of the Roundtable.

“Good, because I have said— you’re as much human as me, nothing in Ira has the power to deny that,” Ilona said and let go of her.

“You went overboard, Lady Ilona,” Diantha said, the only living thing in Gracia that had remained completely unaffected by Ilona’s presence.

...