A year before transmigration, Somewhere in Macau

Sachia Kiye languidly stretched.

“Chen?” she prodded the sleeping man beside her. “It’s morning.”

The man named Chen stretched, following the lithe, half-naked figure in rolling his shoulder in circles. His dark eyes scanned Sachia’s face, but was interrupted by a snort.

Sachia’s bemused snort. “Stop trying to read me, Chen,” she said, “nobody can.”

Chen blinked lazily. “A message came for you. Contacts suggest it originated in Country X-”

“Oh, him.” Sachia smiled. “It’s probably my husband that I stole money from. We’re technically not divorced yet, but he probably wants me to take custody of our kid.”

The man remained unfazed. “How old’s your kid? Your man have underworld contacts?”

“He has more money than I took from him,” she responded evasively, waving a hand. “It’s payment, for us never seeing each other again. What’s the message?”

“Did you love him?” Chen asked, his eyes glittering as he interrupted.

Sachia’s eyebrows twitched - a small twitch, barely catchable. “I did. I do,” she amended as she reached for a thin robe. Wrapping it around her body, Sachia grinned coldly. “But you’re getting soft, if you think love matters. I paid you an answer, give me the contents. It’s only fair.”

“A barter, between lovers?” Chen yawned. He paused, considering what he just said. “Yeah, I’m afraid I am getting soft.” Leaning against the headboard, he relayed, “it said that ‘she’s turning eighteen. Now or never, come what may.’”

Silence.

Sachia pondered the question.

“Take a paper, burn it, and send the ashes back to the messenger,” she responded, “and I’ll pay you well in return.”

Chen didn’t probe further. “Alright. Let me rest for a few more minutes.” And so he returned to sleep, and Sachia’s whispers floated in the wind.

“Come what may...Navven Ultra, you really are choosing the easy path, aren’t you?”

----

Currently, Anisan Continent

Aidann frowned.

“The camp we were supposed to wipe out,” he repeated, neutrally, “is on fire.”

The scouts nodded. One of them was trembling, as Aidann’s gaze remained unwavering. One carrot-haired boy spoke up. “Yes, it appears to be the case, Your Lordship.”

“It appears to be the case, or it is the case?”

They flinched, and another meekly replied, “It is the case, Your Lordship.”

“Stop interrogating them,” Bertram said, wearily.

“Magic word.”

“Stop interrogating them, please,” repeated the marquis’ son.

Aidann’s lips twitched as he stopped, satisfied. They were nearing the town of Rook, a couple stops away in an inn of the neighboring city of Jannen, and troubling news had arrived.

“Finally those buggers are dead!” the Marquis Vanahan cackled. “And I thought I had to kill them!”

“A fire might not pick off all of them,” Aidann corrected, and it was met with a hostile look from the old Marquis. Aidann’s apparently crude, snarky remarks - those were Antonio’s words, though, not his - had agitated the Marquis to the point where he didn’t even acknowledge Aidann’s presence. The most apt comparison of Vanahan would be, Dann thought, probably an aged codger in a magic world, always challenging him. The fact that the old man was a dual-elemental, though, made the transmigrator hesitate to provoke him physically.

Bertram shot Aidann a warning look, which Aidann took as an invitation. Stay in character, he reminded himself.

“My darling Bert,” said the duke’s son, a cold smile on his face, “I’m just stating the obvious. We’ll still have to head there, on the order of our greatest and most magnanimous King.”

His darling Bert sighed, but sent the scouts away, as he said, “Look, Lord Aidann-”

“Please, call me Dann.”

“Look, Dann,” said the marquis’ heir, obviously uncomfortable, “you are right, but I would appreciate a more diplomatic effort to increase our cooperation as a whole-”

“Magic word.” The transmigrator was trying to be difficult, as his rumors described him as, but it was hard to be coldly flirtatious with a creepy half-smile on your face.

“Please.”

Aidann shrugged. “Okay.”

Bertram looked surprised. His handsome face wrinkled. “Are you-”

The duke’s son blinked. “Don’t look the gift horse in the mouth, my darling.”

“He wouldn’t, if the person who sent the gift horse wasn’t a megalomaniac prick of a madman,” the Marquis Vanahan grumbled.

Aidann raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t acknowledging my existence?”

The old man’s mouth snapped shut.

The transmigrator could feel a prickle on his spine as his eyes flickered to the door. Footsteps. It had been hard getting used to his body’s heightened senses - and the loss of his colors - but Aidann knew someone was outside the door who shouldn’t be. The former idol drew his sword reflexively as Antonio followed, the guard kicking down the door and retrieving and wriggling Scout.

The carrot-haired boy.

“A traitor,” the duke’s son let himself observe, amusedly, as he relaxed. “Young.” Too young. I don’t want to kill him, but that’s what the other Aidann would do. I don’t want to torture him, either...man, I hate this body.

Bertram looked surprised. “I made sure I did a background check on all of the employees I hired,” he said, defensively, “it’s sure as Aera not one of mine.”

Aidann settled back on the chair. “It’s not one of mine, either. Can I, at least, interrogate him?”

The Marquis snorted, but Bertram gave the okay.

~

Aidann leaned closer to the carrot-haired boy’s ear. “Tell me.”

A stab from Antonio, and the transmigrator’s heart wrenched as the traitor scout screamed.

“No, I can’t,” the boy gritted his teeth. “Ev-” Then his eyes widened, and Aidann held up a hand for Antonio to stop.

“Evangeline?” Aidann let his other self speak.

Ah. A spy, the other Aidann thought. And so the former idol let the insane bit take over, and so there were screams once again.

The session ended with a severed head topped on a pike that was handed to the Scouts. A warning.

~

A distant town, sunlight streaming through the curtains, as the three nobles in the carriage shifted - the Marquis had first scoffed at having to share a carriage with Aidann, but it was fun watching the man squirm - as Aidann, in character, continued icily flirting with Bertram.

“You know, my dear Bert,” he said, pleasantly, “you-”

Bertram’s relieved expression as the carriage halted was priceless, and Aidann was tempted to let out a small snicker, but he abstained.

“Your Lordships,” said the coachman from outside, “we’ve arrived.”

Rook.

----

She smelled like smoke.

Evan King kept his fists clenched, but didn’t say anything.

“[Are you behind the fire]?” he asked.

His fellow transmigrator was pretty, he guessed, and she carried herself in that groomed, sharp type of way that he’d seen most wealthy children do. But there had been no trace of arrogance before - just a self-assurance that she was enough, and Evan did have to give it to her, she was competent - but now her shoulders were heavy.

Now here was a look in her eyes, and Evan recognized it - the type of haunted look that he himself had bore once, like she had looked at herself in the mirror and she didn’t recognize her reflection. That glint was in her gaze almost startingly easily, like a madman who was acting their part.

Her name was Novarra, and she had likely murdered more than a hundred innocents.

“[If I’m honest, will you strike me down right here and now]?” she replied, bemused.

Anger soared up in his veins, but that cold rationality that he always suppressed pointed out that back in her world she obviously hadn’t been a normal rich kid. There was a thin line between genius and insanity, and she was obviously neither. She killed people. She was dangerous, and there was something holding Evan’s impulses back.

What was it?

“[If I lie, will you stay still while I do it]?” Evan replied, his fist tightening.

“[I need to put on a show],” she replied, “[and if your playing hero helps it, I’ll stay still all you want].”

“[No. I’m done].” Evan could feel his lips forming the foreign words. “[I’ll stop. Playing the hero].”

It wouldn’t help. She was obviously uncontrollable, and Evan couldn’t stop her. There was that wild look in her eyes, masked by calm, or was it the other way around? Evan couldn’t get a read on her, and there were layers upon layers to read. Was it fear? No, it was resignation. It bloomed in his stomach, because everything about her screamed that Evan wouldn’t be able to do anything to keep her from doing whatever she wanted.

The cold rationality inside him laughed. This is what you get for not listening to me, and going off and being the ever-so-righteous hero. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Think - will that philosophy really run the world as you know it?

An eye for an eye doesn’t make the world blind.

It makes them trade eyes.

Evan couldn’t shut it up.

There had been PEOPLE in there, he argued back.

And so? it challenged.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

They had DIED-

And so?

Is that really me? Evan wondered. If that voice really is me - why do I care so little about death? Why do I care so little about the lives she’s snuffed out?

This isn’t about her, the voice laughed. It’s about YOU. It’s always about you. You’re selfish to the core, Evan King. Look at Rara - you abandoned her, and for what? Her own good? No, you just didn’t want to take care of her-

It was interrupted by his fellow transmigrator’s laugh.

Novarra raised an eyebrow, smiling. “[The persistent Kingbreaker, stopping? A surprise, but not an unwelcome one].”

They were in her bedroom, and her red-haired roommate was setting up breakfast, and so Evan used his Eyes again.

----------------------------------------

“[What play do you want to put on]?” Evan said. The question was said without hesitancy, but Evan recognized the notes of denial in it himself. Denial. What was he denying?

“[I want to get Durendal, and get named an Elevyarian noble],” said Novarra brightly.

“[Excuse me]?”

----

A year before transmigration, Country X

“Oh, fuck off, Cheryl,” eighteen-year-old Novarra said calmly.

Cheryl Ultra Venn shrieked. “NO! FUCK YOU!”

“You can try, but that’s incest,” Novarra pointed out, “we’re cousins.”

“YOU BITCH!” The pretty dark-haired socialite was now dripping with water. “I SHOULD’VE DROWNED YOU WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE.”

“Well, now you don’t have the chance.” Novarra, still dressed in her school uniform marking her as an elite, was surrounded behind a group of security guards. “If you charge me, dear Rick here-” Novarra patted the shoulder of a nearby bodyguard, who remained stoic at the physical contact “-will restrain you. And I’m not certain you’d like to be dragged screaming out of a jewelry store - you do know how rumors spread in these circles.”

The heiress smiled. “It would be a pity,” she continued to drawl, “if the Cheryl Venn took to shoplifting.”

“YOU’RE THREATENING ME?” Cheryl continued screeching.

“Yes, I am,” the Ultra heiress replied. “What are you going to do about it?”

Her lips quirked.

“No, let me rephrase that - what can you do about it, cousin?”

The socialite’s eyes bulged, but the assistant behind her whispered something into her ear, and Cheryl calmed down. Her voice rang out, still as loud as ever: “You are only one against the entire family. Our branch will get the company, and when that day comes-”

“-And that day will never come-” Novarra interrupted.

“-And when that day comes, you bitch will be snivelling at my feet, begging me to give you money.” Cheryl’s expression contorted into a sneer, while Novarra’s face remained bland. “We’ll take all of your assets, your reputation, your possessions - which you never deserved to have in the first place, by the way - and we’ll watch you eat bread from the trash like good little beggars do.”

Novarra blinked slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I was just so taken aback that you knew words longer than two letters.” She turned to another bodyguard. “Did you catch that? Could you repeat to me, in a less screamy way?”

Before the bodyguard opened his mouth, Novarra turned back to the sneering socialite and smiled.

“Cheryl, Navven might be tolerating your nonsense, but he’s much too soft. Just because we’re biologically related, doesn’t mean you have the right to exist before me.”

“Exist? So I don’t have the right to exist, now?” Cheryl continued sneering. “What right do you have to judge me?”

“No right,” Novarra replied. “Just as you have no right to judge me.”

“Then why-”

“Don’t try to get under my skin, cousin,” said the Ultra heiress. “Rules are made to be broken, rights are meant to be judged.”

Cheryl snorted. “Even if you made them in the first place?” the socialite haughtily questioned.

“Especially if you made them in the first place. If it makes you feel better, I have no right to exist, too.”

~

Eyes. They existed everywhere. They liked to be discreet, darting, but they whispered. And the eyes knew. And oh, how the eyes liked to judge.

Novarra never liked judging. People liked to believe themselves judge, jury, and executioner - if they were not satisfied with how you met the expectations they set up for you, they would condemn you. Conform, or abdicate your place in my life, that was how some people worked. Sometimes, there came the rare person who criticized themselves - not to the point where they would crumple up in despair, obviously - a person who decided to not judge others, but judge themselves. The type who put others above themselves.

Novarra was not one of them.

She had always been watched. Always lingered after, always protected, always seen. A flowery metaphor, she supposed, would be that she was caged. Trapped, not in bars of public perception - she did care about what some people thought, but not many - but trapped in being seen.

It had taken a long time for her to realize that she couldn’t disappear. A longer time, to find a method that worked. Escaping, temporarily. Whether in the pages of a book, whether in the keys of a piano, or beneath a mask, the eyes would disappear. But temporarily meant temporarily, and beneath the moonlight, Novarra felt seen.

And of course, she didn’t like it.

The giver of the gaze was the person she had bumped into. She didn’t remember his name. A senior field trip, they said, Novarra said mockingly. It would be good for you, they said. I’m your father and you should listen to me, they said.

Novarra inclined her head in greeting, and was about to walk away - no one wanted to leave an elite unsupervised, and she would be chewed out by Navven if she was caught up in rumors again - when he stopped her.

“Who are you?” he blurted.

“Excuse me?” she raised both her eyebrows in an attempt to remain distant. Boundaries, Varra. Boundaries.

He blinked. “I mean...I know your name but-”

“And I do not know yours, and I do not wish to,” Novarra replied icily. Being seen made her feel uncomfortable, but, then again, it always did. If she looked closer, she could see the tears brimming on his face. God, he was crying?

Ai.

“But-” the boy closed his mouth. “Somebody asked me that question, and I didn’t know the answer,” he said, sadly, “I’m sorry for interrupting your time.”

“My answer is not the same as yours,” snapped Novarra, as she tried to avoid the boy’s gaze. “And you should not value it so.” Hesitation. Why was she hesitating? “But if you must know it,” she added, “I am me.”

The boy remained silent, but his eyes expressed interest.

“My promises are me, my likes and dislikes are me, what I will not stand for is me, and my beliefs are me.” Novarra paused. “Perhaps, sometimes,” she admitted, “I will compromise myself, but that does not mean I am not me.”

“But...how do you know?” he insisted. “How do you know where you end and others begin?”

“It’s simple.” The Ultra heiress shrugged. “Don’t let them get to you.”

It probably wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and she could see the crack in the boy’s eyes.

“Don’t you think I’m trying?” the boy cried, half-cry and half-yell. “Obviously you wouldn’t know, your life is so perfect-”

And so the heiress hardened, and put on the mask back on the raw self she had displayed. Never again, Varra. Why don’t you learn? She scolded herself. Nobody wants to see the face behind the mask.

All they ever see is the mask.

Novarra said in a clipped tone, “My life is not perfect. You know nothing. You understand nothing.”

A pause.

“Do rein in your emotions, you look unsightly.”

----

“She’s coming,” the Ultra Enterprises employees whispered. The new interns were confused.

One bold intern dared to ask, “Who-”

But they were cut off, as an evil laugh ricocheted off the office building’s pillars and echoed through the hallways.

“She’s in a good mood,” some of the experienced ones said, “thank god for that.”

“It’s probably the board meeting,” one agreed. “She always shows up to those.”

“I heard she destroyed a socialite’s reputation again,” another gossiped.

All them were interrupted, as the pretty eighteen-year-old in the school uniform dramatically stalked the hallway, while cackling.

“Guess who’s back, you old fuckers?”

One of the employees belatedly answered the intern, “The boss’ daughter.”

----

Novarra Ultra burst into the board of directors’ meeting.

None of them looked surprised, and one of them even gestured towards an empty seat. The platter of refreshments - which consisted of barely palatable fruit juice and a few cheese squares - were immediately pushed towards the empty seat, like an offering to a god.

“Is Navven here?” she demanded.

All of the old men shook their heads.

“Please lower your voice,” one of them pleaded. “Old Fr-”

“Old Fred’s having a sensitive heart again?” Novarra frowned, obviously annoyed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just using Old Fred as an excuse to make me shut up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The board of directors shook their heads. “No, Miss Novarra,” someone said meekly, quaking, “we would never.”

And so the Ultra heiress headed towards the seat of the head of the committee, slipped off her entertainer mask, and put on her Ice Queen one after propping her feet up on the multimillion-dollar empire’s board meeting room table. “I’ve just came back from a school trip,” she said blandly, “and I’m in a terrible mood. Secretary Lindus, please read out last meeting’s minutes. Cranus, stop hitting on McSweeney’s wife, rumors are starting to spread. MC’s stocks show promise so if anyone wants to take a break from the meeting and invest online, feel free.”

She paused, frowning at an elderly man.

“Old Fred, don’t clutch your heart like that; Father has a doctor on standby so if you die of a heart attack, at least you’ll go out in style,” she reprimanded “And Rhine, I have Father’s permission to terminate the contract between my uncle since we have proof of his embezzlement. And-”

She discarded her facade and smiled.

“Also, I’m taking a gap year, yay!” she announced brightly.

The board meeting erupted into chaos, just as the heiress put on the mask once more.

Aish.

“Shut up, everyone,” Novarra said. “Also, Cranus, stop hogging the cheese squares. I swear, I don’t know what you all are going to do when I’m head of the company.” Massaging her forehead, she continued. “I’m sure half of you here are spies for Uncle Ferdinand, and the other half for Aunt Liz, but really, couldn’t you at least pretend to listen? I’m your boss’ daughter, not your mother.”

A silence, as the board members looked ashamed.

Novarra turned towards the secretary. “Apologies for making you wait, Secretary Lindus,” she said, sincerely. “You really are the only sane, dependable person here. Hand me my meds, and we can get started.”

----

Novarra first had thought that it would be strange of her to want power.

She transmigrated into an incompetent Queen? Fine. Fake her death. Run away. Hightail the hell out of Resilia without a bunch of assholes on her trail screaming for bloody revenge. Power was meaningless if you didn’t want people fighting you for it, and all Varra had wanted was peace.

Peace.

Sure, maybe here they didn’t have web serials, or the bands that she liked, or the internet. But it was a small sacrifice in the scheme of things - a village. A job. Food. Maybe stumbling over a novel cliche or two. That had what she had been expecting

But of course, she had now burned down a camp full of hundreds of people, the voices were back along with two transmigrators, and she had no time to feel guilty.

Time was of the essence.

Time was needed to save herself.

The Kingbreaker - no, Evan - had agreed to help her put on a play. There were two options available to her - scare everyone into leaving her alone, or play the knight-in-shining-armor and get hailed a hero.

The scaring option was much easier.

Wave a shiny sword around.

Get stabbed? Fine. She couldn’t die, anyways.

Ignore the fact that she wasn’t entirely sane.

She would be alright. She would become the OP protagonist that always turned out alright in the novels.

“Souveraine,” she called out. “I’ll accept your offer.” Laying on her bed looking at the ceiling, Novarra felt useless. Belluse and Evan were dealing with the situation outside, and she was just praying. “I’ll take your shiny sword in exchange for some banter. Unless you’ve changed your mind. That’s okay, too.”

{Ah, so you’ve finally made a decision}, the elf king said, almost immediately.

Lingering around?

Ah, he can read my mind, so-

{I was not, in fact, ‘lingering around’}, Souveraine replied, as if the mere statement offended him. {I-}

“Am a busy man,” Novarra finished. “Or elf. Probably dead souls and all that stuff. I gotcha on that end. Are you going to give me like any blessings? Any sage words of advice? It is in the Frosthold of Elevyar. I would appreciate it if you don’t let me go in blind.” She almost frowned. “I’ve had pretty bad experiences, getting in over my head. Even if I can’t die, I don’t want to feel any unnecessary pain.”

Souveraine sounded almost sympathetic. {Tell me about it}, he said. {Yuxue likes to be cryptic, with her heroes - and don’t even get me started on Jacques. But never mind that}. A pause. {The Frosthold...hmm}.

A count rank and above.

That and the protection of a Holy Sword, was what drew Novarra.

“Mm, the Frosthold,” the former heiress said conversationally. “You know, the North of Elevyar that supposedly no one enters because of its treacherous winds and weathers? Ring any bells, Your Majesty?”

{It does seem to}, he replied dryly. {Ignoring your attempt at a sarcastic remark} - Novarra was offended, attempt? - {I suggest you find a guide}.

Varra raised her eyebrows “A guide,” she drawled. “And where do you suggest I find someone crazy enough to do that?”

{I’ll take care of it}, Souveraine assured. {Just be at the Pig’s Wart by a month from now. Make sure not to meet any trouble, and pack warm}.

The inn Evan had stayed in.

“How many companions do you suggest I bring?” she asked. “And how do I recognize the guide? And please don’t tell me some obscure shit like ‘you’ll know them when you see them.’”

The elf king paused. {Bring Yuxue’s favored}, he finally said. {Your redhead will be better left to her own devices here. Speaking of which, the townspeople of Rook won’t blindly follow your lead. If they make the connection to the fire and you, and…}

Novarra blinked at the ceiling. “That was what I was going to ask you,” she said. “The System won’t help me. They could, but they won’t. I’m pretty sure they’re working against me, at this point, really - it’s not even funny, how I get the paranoid feeling that everything’s going according to someone’s plan.” She sighed. “Might be yours, might be anyone’s, but-” Varra closed her eyes.

“The main thing is,” she said, “that I request you to ask Xuena to put out the fire that I just started. Not metaphorical, of course, but that’s out of my hands, but-”

{You’re asking a favor of a world’s god}, Souveraine responded. {I don’t think you’re the type to get a big head because you were favored once, but-}

“If I don’t get the favor,” the former heiress said with a sigh, “the voices will tell me things. Things that will get me killed - but I don’t die, Your Majesty. I’m sure I don’t want to find out what happens if I threaten a god. Maybe I’ll get tortured, then.”

The Hero paused, before saying lightly, {You overstep}.

“I know.”

{Yet you still continue}.

A beat.

{I will ask Yuxue}.

“Thank you.”

{Goodbye}.

And then the elf king’s voice disappeared, and Novarra stood up from her bed. “Belluse,” she called. “We have a lot of things to do.”

----