“Good afternoon Gentleman. Introductions are in order, so I will begin first. My name, is Lucille Adrienne Goldcroft.”

She straightened up and observed the room and its inhabitants with narrowed eyes, still smiling. The room itself was circular, with no windows, and only a single light fixed to the roof providing visibility. The doors had already shut behind her. In the middle of the room was a small round table. There were five seats evenly spaced around it, four of which were occupied. She looked at the fifth seat, the one which had a yellow topaz embedded in its back and walked towards it.

“I suppose this seat is mine.” She said, sitting down, and none of the others moved to stop her. Vincent, after putting down the thick folder before her, walked behind one of the other people in the chairs and stood behind him. She nodded and looked around the room to observe the people within in clearer detail.

Vincent was standing behind a silver-haired man Lucy would place anywhere from in his late 50s to early 60s, although she knew visual looks didn’t reflect actual age in the Tower. The man had a short goatee and neat hair, his eyes reflecting a cunning glint as he analysed Lucy’s actions and behaviour. He was the Evisenhardt Count, dressed in a light grey suit and wearing a matching white diamond brooch to Vincent. He had a cane leaning against the table.

Left of Vincent was a stern man appearing like he was in his late twenties, and very visually similar to Vincent in appearance. His hair was more flat than Vincent’s however, he didn’t wear glasses, and his expression was a tad colder than the man by his side. She assumed that was one of Vincent’s older brothers.

Next to the Evisenhardt Count was a rugged man appearing in his 40s, with wild red hair and greying sideburns. His rough tanned skin bore the marks of several faded scars above his short beard, and his bulky frame was obvious as he crossed his arms, gazing solemnly at her with brown eyes. His scarlet hair made it obvious he was the Count of Chavaret, the clan famous for their blacksmithing and strong mercenary armies.

Behind him with a greatsword strapped to his back was a younger man in his mid-30s, a wild mane of red hair reaching the middle of his back visible from where Lucy was sitting. He wore a mixed assortment of hardy leather and red metal armour, and a thick scar could be seen on one of his forearms. She knew he was one of the sons of Count Chavaret. He appeared relaxed, but Lucille could see him gazing at the doors and other Counts, watching for possible threats.

The figure in the third chair was rather underwhelming compared to the people beside him, whether it be in looks or in atmosphere. Dressed in a deep blue jacket, the formal kind with luxurious tassels and clasps, the young man in his mid-twenties seemed to be rather nervous and fidgeted a bit in his seat, his skin tone slightly pale. The man had deep blue eyes, and his long blonde hair ended in blue tips, showing he had a strong water affinity. Behind him was a grey-haired man in blue mage robes holding a staff, smiling amicably. Lucy could see traces of a fine mist blooming around him, the elemental manifestation of a High-mage of water.

The last figure, on Lucy’s left, didn’t seem to have anyone behind him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was unaccompanied. Dressed in a plain, short-sleeved black shirt and black leather pants, the man in his late twenties had slicked-back black hair, dark green eyes and a small beauty mark under his left eye. His bare right arm had a thick black tattoo curling all the way up to his shoulder. He leaned one elbow on the table, chin on his hand. When he saw her looking at him, he smirked and gave her a wave. That man was the Count of Ravimoux. Lucille narrowed her eyes when she saw his reaction but didn’t say anything and returned her focus to the centre of the table.

All the people had been observing her during this time as well, and when it became obvious they had finished, the Count of Evisenhardt smiled jovially and stood up, holding out a hand to her. She mirrored his actions as she likewise stood up with a calm smile on her face, taking care not to seem too hurried, and shook his hand firmly.

“It seems promising times are ahead for the Faction.” Began Count Evisenhardt. “We haven’t had a Faction Head since the Founder. I must thank you for taking care of my youngest grandson during this time.” He said, smiling brightly. He took a step back and placed a hand on his chest, giving her a slight bow. “My name is Sevastian Edgar Evisenhardt.”

She gave him a wide smile and nodded back to him. “He can be a bit troublesome, but I’ve managed.”

Count Evisenhardt gave a light laugh as Vincent pushed up his glasses, giving her a slight glare. She noticed his brother was looking at him with an odd expression, and she smirked, but didn’t comment. Her perception field told her that the young Alichanteu man was about to get up off his seat, but the mage behind him put a firm hand on his shoulder and gently shook his head.

There was a loud scraping noise as the tall Count Chavaret pushed his chair back as he stood up, towering over her. Count Evisenhardt moved out of the way to let the man hold out a large hand for her to shake. She took it and the man let out a low grunt, observing it with bushy eyebrows before letting go.

“Hmm. Not a warrior then. Donovan Raymond Chavaret.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Unfortunately, my talents lie in magic. Although, that might change.” She said, gesturing to the doors. “I have a pair of soulbound sentient weapons you might want to have a look at.”

“Oh?” he responded, looking at her curiously. “What kind?”

She grinned. “Demonic and spirit.”

That made him raise his eyebrows as he inspected her again, before the young man from Alichanteu came around him. He gave her a slight bow and smiled winningly at her.

“Artair Sandrell Alichanteu. As my grandfather is… otherwise indisposed, I have come as his representative for this meeting. Please forgive him for not being able to visit you during this time.” He said, giving her a deeper bow this time.

“I see…” she said, with narrowed eyes. Then she smiled and nodded back to him. “Well, as long as you have the authority to make decisions on his behalf during your visit here, then I suppose it will be fine.”

She pretended to ignore the way his smile became slightly strained after she had said that and smiled at the High-mage who had been watching them intently from behind him. The mage blinked and gave a slight bow when he saw he had her attention and then went back to his normal expression. The black-haired man behind her lazily stood up from his chair, and with one hand in his pocket, he held out the other for her to shake.

“And I am Regulus Fardevrio. I believe you are already aware of my last name, so I will avoid stating redundancies.” He said, smirking. She noticed the other Counts had interesting expressions to his sentence, Count Evisenhardt twitching an eyebrow and Count Chavaret just crossing his arms to gaze at the man.

Lucy smiled and shook his hand. “Well then, I’m glad to meet you Count Ravimoux.”

The man chuckled, while the others showed exasperation when she had her back turned. They made their way back to their seats, and Lucille leaned forward to clasp her hands on the table.

“Now then.” She began. “I’m sure you have many questions, so we should start with that.”

Count Ravimoux leaned forward and gestured to her right eye, smirking. “What happened to that, may I ask?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but calmly put a hand to her black mask and removed it, placing it down on the table. The others looked at her golden eye curiously, including Vincent, not expecting the unique colouration within.

“I have a foreign object within it I would rather not remove at this particular junction. It is of little consequence. Were there any other, slightly more important questions?” she asked wryly, returning the mask to her face. Count Ravimoux grinned but leaned back in his seat.

Count Evisenhardt spoke up first. “Well, It has been revealed to me that you have a number of interesting plans for the Commission, the specifics of which I am unfortunately unfamiliar with.” He said, shooting a pointed glare at Vincent, who avoided eye contact. He turned back to Lucille and gave her a cunning grin.

“I believe that is one question I would love answered.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, while Count Ravimoux leaned forward again. “What would I like to know is who exactly is Lucille Goldcroft?” he said, a slight smile on his lips. He shrugged when he saw her gaze. "There is frustratingly little information on you.”

They all turned to her, wordlessly asking for her answer. She leaned back relaxedly in her seat. “I have told Vincent of this before, but I come from an unassimilated world under a rather strong info lock. The most I can tell you is that I come from a family with a history of business, and that I am human. Anything beyond that will require your private investigation, because I’m unsure what will actually be revealed if I try to tell you about it.”

Count Ravimoux let out a hum and leaned back, eyeing her with an unreadable expression. He smirked and gave her a shrug once more, seemingly willing to accept her answer. The others slowly nodded, seeing that if the County responsible for information was fine with it, then they could be too. Count Chavaret grunted as he leaned forward, eyeing her with a serious look.

“I believe your actual origins do not matter, as long as you act with intentions to benefit the Faction. We won’t be able to discover anything more about you without seeing how you work, so let’s see these plans of yours.”

The others gave acknowledging nods, so Lucy smiled and opened the folder on her desk. She handed out forms to each of them, picking up her own to start explaining. “Firstly, let me begin by saying I am willing to invest 10% of the Founder’s vault into the businesses of the Commission over the course of the next five years.”

“Only 10%?” spoke Artair. The others looked to him for a moment, and Lucy tilted her head at him, eyes narrowed.

“Nobody has checked the records of the Founder’s vault for a few centuries, so I suppose it is normal for you to not know, but the total monetary value of the contents of the vault is estimated to be about 100 million crystalline tokens, from the records I have seen. 10% is 10 million crystal tokens.”

“The equivalent of a decade’s worth of our annual income before expenses.” Said Count Evisenhardt, a hand stroking his goatee in thought.

Lucille nodded. “Obviously not all of the hundred million is in an easily transactional value, but that still leaves a quarter of a million in pure currency. A cash injection any higher than 10 million will be wasted on the Faction if it is used now.”

The three Counts made small noises of acknowledgement, thinking deeply, while Artair frowned. Then he looked up, a serious expression on his face. “The contents of the Founder’s vault are composed of the compiled profit of over a thousand years of the Faction’s operations. Why do you believe you have the right to dictate how this money should be spent?”

Lucy looked at him silently for a moment, while the other Counts and even the high mage behind him let out low sighs. She leaned back, eyeing him with an unreadable expression. “How old are you, sir Alichanteu?”

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He blinked at the unexpected question but answered truthfully. “Uh… I’m 26.”

Lucille nodded. “So, 8 years older than me. You’ve been an Ascendant for 10 years. Now, I have something to say about that.” She said, moving forward to look at the man with a serious expression.

“It is written, in the first Founder’s rules, that the contents of the vault are the private property of the Faction Head. Regardless of the Counties’ wishes. No one but the Faction Head, and Ashale’viaf’s incarnation, may enter it.” She shifted again and intertwined her fingers together, elbows resting on the table.

“I am not dictating where the money of the Commission should go. I am dictating where my money should go. And I’m doing this freely as a sign of goodwill. This is not a case of someone taking the Counties’ hard earned money and wasting it. I even specified for the next five years, and never told you what I’m going to do with the rest of the contents of the vault.”

They all watched as the young heir shrunk back a little in his seat, looking embarrassed. Lucy sighed and relaxed her posture. “I turned 18 a little more than two months ago. Is it because of my young age that you feel I should answer to you?” she said, pulling out the pocket watch and holding it up for him to see.

“N-No, that’s not it.” He said, shaking his head. She tilted her head.

“If so, then please remember something. You are not here to push your own agenda as a potential Count of Alichanteu.” They all took note of how he flinched when she emphasised ‘potential’. Lucy continued. “You are here to represent the intentions of the current Count and Alichanteu, making decisions that would benefit the whole County and improve its entire power and standing.” She narrowed her eyes. “Not to try play at being a Count.”

Then she leaned back with a smirk and shrugged her shoulders. “Of course, I haven’t yet received my position as an Honorary Count by the Emperor, so I’m not one to talk.”

They all looked at her closely when she said that, probably trying to work out what her meaning was. Count Evisenhardt waved a hand to get their attention and gestured to the forms before them all.

“Let’s leave the boy alone for now and get back to the matter at hand. What exactly do you intend for us to do with this money? It is surely not for free.” He said, looking at her curiously.

She nodded and gestured for them to open their forms. “What I want is your complete backing and support when implementing a restructuring of the Commission. This includes access to your employees or businesses, and accurately reporting to me the issues or progress of my plans in their implementation.”

They started flicking through the forms, and she left them to read them in silence. When they all put them down, most of them were deep in thought. Count Ravimoux was watching her with an intense gaze, his constant smile still there. Count Evisenhardt spoke up without looking away from his documents.

“A complete overhaul of the structure of the Commission that makes sure positions held within it are isolated from the status one holds as a noble, so one can advance their career purely on contribution, qualifications and merit.” He looked up at her. “You do realise this is taking away everything that holds us nobles together within the Faction?”

She closed her eyes as she reshuffled her forms. “I need to limit nepotism. Corruption is a normal event and can even be a tool in the right hands.” She looked up at him with a serious expression. “What I cannot allow to continue is the rampant suppression of talent that occurs due to the innate status restrictions between higher nobles and lower nobles, and between nobility and commoners. You don’t believe commoners could ever gain real power within the Empire, do you?”

Count Evisenhardt scoffed as Count Ravimoux chuckled and the Count of Chavaret shook his head. She smirked. “The strength-based system of the Empire, and of the Tower itself prevents them from rising on their own, and if they do, they get assimilated into the hierarchy set up by these main forces. They can never overcome the natural disadvantage in starting stats and resources to overtake any main noble clan. So, that’s not your issue, is it?”

Count Evisenhardt shook his head and gestured to the document. “Of course not. No, my issue is that this restructuring of yours will ruin cohesion and loyalty within the Faction and introduce conflict. It has many advantages, I can easily see that, but it’s too risky.”

“This isn’t to cause conflict between the Faction’s nobility.” She leaned forward to gaze at each of the four. “This is to protect them from it.”

“Sorry?” frowned Count Evisenhardt. Count Chavaret crossed his arms and Count Ravimoux straightened up, watching her actions intently. She picked up her pocket watch and pointed to it.

“It is highly difficult to keep a Faction completely neutral when most of its members are part of the Empire, a Supreme Institution.” she said to them. Instead of responding, they only raised eyebrows at her, so she continued.

“The Faction is only called ‘neutral’ because it’s never expressed any outwards stance on how it interacts with certain races or realms, always saying it is willing to trade with any group. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t privately have any opinions that influence our decision.” She placed the pocket watch back down. “All noble clans have their own agenda, which unfortunately means private interests get mixed up when it makes decisions to trade with certain groups, such as the necromancers, undead, demons, or the ‘uncivilised’ beast clans, even though they have immense power and resources.”

She leaned back to look at them. “This restructuring will protect the noble families from being influenced by the wishes of stronger nobles, when it’s not what they want. By making sure only the businesses owned by the nobility, and not the clans themselves, are under the authority of the Faction, they can keep their interests while allowing the Faction to remain uninfluenced by political bias. We need to change from just a loose alliance of merchant nobles,” she said, waving the form, “to a true merchant union.”

“But how will you deal with the loyalty of the lower nobility once this restructuring has occurred? Or the interests of the commoners encroaching on the interests of nobility?” asked Count Chavaret.

She smirked. “That’s easy. After all, their oaths of loyalty to Evisenhardt, Alichanteu, Ravimoux and Chavaret are completely unrelated to their decisions to have their businesses join the Faction. It’s an Empire oath and not a Faction oath after all.”

Count Chavaret gave a hearty chuckle at that. Typically, it was normal for nobility to make an oath of allegiance to one of the Counties when they joined, to gain their protection and use some of their authority. Over time, this basically became mandatory, but by highlighting the fact that they used an oath from the Empire to express their allegiance, she can separate the Faction from the fact they must continue to serve their lieges.

She tapped on her chin. “As for the commoners… let them join a new force under my name.”

They went silent as they processed this. Count Ravimoux leaned forward with a raised eyebrow. “Are you planning on forming a force to counteract the Counties? I’m not worried, but the vassal clans could be.”

Lucy gave him a dismissive wave. “Pfft. Not at all.” She put down her form. “No, this is because of the method by which I plan to expand the Faction. Have a look at the fifth page.” She said, bringing her own version to the front of her pile. They looked at their own, reading it with raised eyebrows.

“Huh.” Count Chavaret said, scratching his greying beard. “This is… certainly something new. A standard noble hierarchy definitely wouldn’t work too well with this.”

She smiled at him. “Once the basic structure is in place, then the nobility can start involving themselves once more, and the Faction will settle into a new status quo. You can use my power as Head for all this if you wish. In fact…” she said, leaning forward with a grin. “Why don’t we pretend I’m a puppet leader.”

They all looked up, blinking, and slightly stunned. Count Ravimoux held his chin. “A puppet leader…” He looked at her oddly. “You’re an…. interesting type of person for suggesting this. And you’re willing to just accept this?”

She shrugged. “The truth would come out eventually, but probably not until the five year period I set is over. Nobody is going to believe you’re willing to accept listening to an 18-year-old girl. Just spread the word I’m a specially curated candidate you planted in the Inheritance Trials, and I managed to get the item. It’s a common enough occurrence, and it will distract the outside forces until we’ve consolidated our power after the restructuring.”

“So that’s why you suggested I become your aide…” murmured Vincent. Unfortunately, due to the small size of the meeting room, everyone heard him. They all turned to him in surprise, and he awkwardly adjusted his glasses as he avoided eye-contact, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“You suggested to my grandson to become your aide?” Count Evisenhardt asked, looking at her curiously. She nodded and he turned to his grandson with narrowed eyes. “I’ll hear more about that later.”

Vincent grimaced slightly and gave a nod, likely worried about the grilling he’ll receive by his grandfather. Artair looked at the forms with a slight frown, before looking up.

“But these ideas… it’s hard to believe an 18-year-old girl came up with them. Were you some sort of genius in your home world?”

She blinked. “Genius? Oh.” She shook her head in realisation. “Of course not. I never came up with these ideas. These are all products of my home world.” She got a few raised eyebrows when she said that.

“It’s hard to believe your nobility let these type of policies be allowed if that’s the case.” Count Ravimoux stated.

She grinned. “When did I say we had nobility?”

They all straightened up, confused by her statement. Artair looked at her curiously. “Is it similar to the Coalition? Where your status is determined by your craftsmen ranking?”

Lucille considered it but shook her head. She gestured to the form on her table. “Not quite. It’s not specific to craftsmen for us. Our whole world functions like this contribution system I’ve suggested here, from the governing bodies to privately owned businesses.” She smiled. “Although, my world is similar when you compare us to their magitech. I have a few plans that make use of my knowledge of my world's engineering skills. Including advancing those airships the Supreme Institutions are so fixed on being the first to create.”

She waited as they drew in startled gasps, most of the people standing behind the Counts going wide-eyed. The Counts had no reaction, however. They shared a glance, and the room entered a strange silence for a while.

“Hmm.” Count Ravimoux mused. Then, his dark-green eyes narrowed, and his face went deadly serious as he gazed at her. “And why do you think we’ll just listen to you now that the item has been removed from the Inheritance Trial? We could just kill you here, right now, and find someone more appropriate to bond the token.”

“Indeed.” Count Chavaret growled, looking at her with furrowed brows. “It’s a threat to the Faction to have someone so young, and so weak as our leader.” The man behind him reached for his greatsword.

“Now, now.” Count Evisenhardt said. His eyes glinted as he looked at Lucille. “We don’t need to be so violent. I’m sure she can just bestow us with authority and leave the Faction to us. We don’t need to get rid of her. She’s only Rank-0.”

Artair just gazed at her with a complicated expression, not making any move, while Vincent looked worried as he watched their interaction. Lucille looked at them all with a tilted head, her face expressionless. Then she tapped on the pocket watch on the table.

“Show Sevastian Evisenhardt, Donovan Chavaret, Artair Alichanteu, and Regulus Ravimoux the Main Total Faction Authority page.”

Above the watch, a semi-translucent white screen appeared. She poked it, and it enlarged itself so they could all see what was written on it. She smiled widely as they stared at her.

“Would you look at that! Mental Activation is enabled for the instant destruction of all County inheritances and businesses. I wonder who put that there.” She said brightly, like she wasn’t threatening to destroy the very foundation of the Counties.

There was a tense silence as nobody knew how they should react, the sound of Lucy putting the pocket watch back in her chest pocket being heard by all present. It was broken by Count Ravimoux letting out a wry chuckle and tilting back in his chair. “You said it earlier Artair.” He said. “She doesn’t seem like any old 18-year-old in the slightest. Old men, your ploy failed.”

Count Chavaret scowled at the man while Count Evisenhardt just clicked his tongue and shook his head, frustrated. After glaring at the Ravimoux Count, he turned to her and smiled. “I suppose we have no choice. The Evisenhardts are willing to proceed with these plans.” He said, holding up a hand.

“The Ravimoux are willing as well.” announced Count Ravimoux, holding up a hand too.

“A-As are the Alichanteu, on behalf of the Count.” Said Artair, after a poke in the back by the High-mage behind him.

There was only the Count of Chavaret left watching Lucy. “Three of the Counties have already given you their vote, so my vote is rendered useless either way. However, what I want to know is this. As the leader of an immensely large Faction in the Mystical Realm, you will be up against the political schemes of ancient individuals thousands of years old in age, while only being 18. Do you have the confidence to stand up against them, and not fail under the pressure?”

They all waited for her answer, varying levels of interest present in their body language. Lucille looked at them all with narrowed eyes, before turning to Count Chavaret with a mischievous expression.

“I believe I’ve heard that you’re around 500 years old, Count Chavaret. You must have had some experience with spiritual energy.”

He frowned but nodded. Lucy grinned and leaned an elbow on the table. “I can understand your fears. I’m young, and youth brings weakness. But there’s a much simpler answer to this than you’d expect.”

Her face became expressionless. “You see, I’m not actually 18.”

There was a moment when they all looked perplexed, staring at her confusedly, before they felt it. Lucille unfurled her spiritual energy, spreading her soul power throughout the small room they found themselves in. The air rippled as something similar to a shockwave moved through it, and there were strangulated gasps as Count Evisenhardt put a hand on his chest, trying to calm his pulsing heart. Artair had his hands around his neck, feeling breathless, and Count Ravimoux scrambled to get out of his chair.

Lucy raised an eyebrow when she saw the man behind Count Chavaret try to draw his greatsword, and the pressure intensified, pushing down on the room’s occupants. The wild-haired man dropped to a knee, struggling against the weight, and the high mage behind Artair tried to use his staff to keep standing. Vincent had gone pale and was already on the ground, his brother barely kneeling too.

Only Count Chavaret remained still in his seat, but Lucy could see he had gritted his teeth with clenched fists, his vessels bulging as he strained against the pressure. She could see his brown irises had gained a red rim around them, so he was likely trying to resist the energy by enveloping himself in his battle intent, a form of killing intent. Unluckily for him, Lucy didn’t use killing intent in her spiritual energy, so it was ineffective. He growled as he tried to stand up to resist it better. Not wanting anyone to collapse, she snapped her fingers and before they could react the spiritual energy withdrew inwards, her overbearing presence gone.

Everyone just stared blankly at her for a moment. She smirked and leaned back in her chair, doing nothing else. There were a few sighs of relief as the invisible dizzying force was gone, and Artair weakly climbed back into his chair that he had fallen out of.

“What… was that?!” He suddenly exclaimed, his skin pale and clammy.

Count Chavaret grunted as he sat back down in his chair. “Soul pressure.” He spat.

Count Evisenhardt fumbled with a white handkerchief he had drawn out of a pocket, trying to stem the blood flowing from his nose. “Didn’t have it in you to give an old man a little mercy?” he muttered, grimacing at his dishevelled state.

“You’re that weak at Rank-3? Ha, I’m sure your grandsons are so proud of you!” mocked Count Ravimoux, although he wasn’t looking to well himself. The tattoo around his arm kept writhing and twisting, and his skin had gone a tad green.

Vincent, his brother, the High-mage, and the wild-haired man behind Count Chavaret all looked worse for wear. Vincent looked at Lucille with a complicated expression, which she understood. Who wouldn’t have mixed feelings if the young girl they thought they knew somewhat went and did this to several Rank-3 and 4s?

They all flinched as Lucy spoke up. “Do you need an explanation from me?”

The greatsword wielder behind the Count of Chavaret stared at her warily, but internally, she rolled her eyes. If she wanted them dead, they wouldn’t have survived her soul pressure. Count Chavaret gazed at her under bushy eyebrows for a bit, but eventually nodded. “I know what you meant to show us, but I’m not sure the others understood.”

“Yes… I’m rather lost.” Count Evisenhardt added dryly, watching them interact while appearing unamused.

She nodded as she pulled out her pocket watch, spinning it around by its chain. “Soul pressure is obviously something gained when you have a strong soul. Having more spiritual energy increases the intensity of it. Cultivators are famous for using it as an area-of-effect ability on weaker cultivators. The average User definitely does not have a soul pressure with the strength of mine.” She said, smiling. “But some races, such as the celestial dragons, are born with incredibly vast souls, so it’s not a physical impossibility that a Rank-0 User could have such strong soul pressure.”

She kept silent that she didn’t even use a tenth of her soul pressure on them, or the fact that she had to limit herself to using 20% of her energy at any one time so her body didn’t collapse under the weight of the feedback. Seeing them understand, she leaned forward and gave them a wide smile. “But one other lesser known feature of soul pressure is this: it contains small pieces of the numerical history of the user.”

She leaned back and shrugged. “This only increases according to the flow of years in the main realms. No pocket dimensions under an increased time ratio can increase the ‘depth’ of my presence outside what the equivalent would be in the main realms. So, while it's harder for those less familiar with spiritual energy to understand the tiny pockets of information revealed through my energy, Count Chavaret here,” She said, gesturing to the bulky man, “Has probably battled a few cultivators in his time, and knows what I tried to impress upon you with my presence.”

He gazed at her with an unreadable expression, before answering.

“You’re definitely not 18.”