After breakfast, I strode toward the colonel’s office. I had planned to speak with him last night, but he dismissed me right after we restrained and punished the civvie. Apparently, he had urgent matters to discuss with Lieutenant Zenzele. I failed to see how anything could have been more important than speaking with me.

I am under his command for the next two years, but I will remember this moment. If it happens again, it will undermine my eventual authority. I must find a way to return the favor over the coming years—to remind him that I am not someone to be dismissed so easily.

As I walked past a group of low-rankers, I noticed they weren’t training. Curious. Still, I did not chastise them, for the salutes they gave me were razor-sharp. This behavior will need to be corrected in the mines—thoroughly—but a touch of leniency in this introductory period might endear them to me.

Rounding the final corner to the colonel’s office, I slowed my pace. No particular reason, of course—merely an opportunity to gather intelligence on how the lower ranks spoke of their superiors. So I flattened my back against the wall and tiptoed back to where I could hear them.

“Man, Sofia’s scary,” one of them muttered, letting out a low whistle.

“Yeah, no shit.” Another snorted. “She’s like a walking execution order.”

I allowed myself a small smile. As I said—respect is what matters.

“Yeah, yeah, who cares? You hear what happened to Boris?” someone else whispered excitedly.

…This stupid civvie. Why is it that wherever I go, he seems to cause problems? And why were the lower ranks discussing him with such fervor? He was just another B-ranker.

“Cale said Boris was running all the way to Alexandria and breaking out of the tower each night! Even fought off the guards at the gate—all of them.” The speaker sounded as if he were grinning, relishing the absurdity of the story.

I wanted to correct them. That wasn’t what happened. Did they truly believe he could break past the tower’s most fortified entrance? The fact that he wasn’t caught while scouting is already an anomaly—one I will need to discuss with Mother when I leave next week.

“No way, dude. Do you know how many Blessed guard the front gate? At least a hundred! And where would Cale even get this story from?”

“Cale said he was called into the colonel's office yesterday, and something huge went down. Apparently, Boris was almost executed, but Sofia saved him. He’s gotta be related to them somehow—I don’t care what Theo says. I mean, what, he breaks out, and suddenly it’s fine? And then she steps in to save him? Nah, I thin—”

I kept walking, my scowl deepening. First, they spoke about him as if he were anything more than a murderer from the township. Then, they had the audacity to suggest I was related to him? The very thought of my name being uttered in the same breath as his was an insult. I would be less offended if they had slapped me in the face.

I wanted to turn back, to lecture them until they understood the error of their ways—and then lecture them some more. But I didn’t. I had put off this matter for too long. It was time to deal with it.

I hesitated before knocking on the colonel’s door, the memory of his expression flashing in my mind—the way his face had twisted when Lieutenant McGill begged, the emptiness in his eyes as he executed the other men on the stage. As if it were routine. As if he were used to it.

I schooled my expression, putting the mask back on as his voice rang out.

“Come in.”

I stepped inside. He barely looked up from his desk.

“Yes? What can I do for you, Sofia?”

“Sir!” I snapped a salute.

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he waved his hand, dismissing military protocol like it was beneath him. I swallowed the urge to lecture him.

“I wish to know who is being groomed to win the B-ranker ascension tournament,” I said, keeping some of the papers hidden behind my back.

The colonel finally looked up, and gave me a long, unimpressed stare.

“And, pray tell, how is that any of your business?” He leaned back in his chair, hands resting behind his head.

I met his gaze evenly. “Sir, my mother has discussed at length with me who would win the last two ascension tournaments. I believe it is not just important—but vital—to know who will be joining the high rankers this year. Ensuring there is no discord among my subordinates, while maintaining the balance of the top-down hierarchy, is my responsibility.”

I placed the papers on his desk.

“Marnus Grobbler,” I began. “A strong B-rank whose only flaw is timidity, but his ability is unquestionably high-rank material. Not only does it make him deadly in combat, but the versatility it provides is nearly A-rank in its own right.”

I handed him the sheet detailing Marnus’ full name, parentage, and a few strategic ideas for his potential use.

The colonel simply watched me. I hesitated—he wanted me to lay out my full assessment. I pretended to oblige, while keeping two key papers in reserve.

“Richard Parker,” I continued. “A strong B-rank. His combat ability is formidable, and from my observations, he commands respect among his peers. Unfortunately, the civvie—”

“Boris,” the colonel interrupted flatly.

I gritted my teeth but kept the mask on. “Boris slapped him near the beginning of the introductory period—in front of the entire mess hall and all the B-rankers. Not one lifted a finger to assist. I believe this indicates division among them, especially where he is concerned.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The colonel just stared at me. I almost faltered. I needed to know who they intended to let ascend. But he was waiting—forcing me to lay out everything.

The two other candidates I had considered, Zach Mitchel and Kate Lodwick, were not ideal. Their abilities would be atrocious to work with, but their parentage was too prestigious to ignore.

Zach’s power—intangibility—was impressive on paper, allowing him to phase through any attack. But in reality, it was a liability. It made formations difficult, and while he could flank well and serve as a psychological weapon, he lacked the presence of a true leader. His father, however, was a well-connected B-ranker, elevated to captain—the highest rank a B-ranker could achieve. That alone made him a contender.

Kate, on the other hand, had the ability to create living puppets. Under different circumstances, she would have been the obvious choice. Her power was extraordinarily useful. If not for the long cooldowns and severe material limitations, she would be my first pick. I had observed her training, both alone and with a team. While she was physically fit, she was not yet at the level required for the Black Cloak. Her mother, however, was an A-ranker. That meant she had to be considered. If she were to ascend, I would need to push her training to the absolute limit to reduce her cooldowns to an acceptable level.

“The tournament is fair,” he said at last, once he was convinced I’d revealed all my candidates. His smirk betrayed the lie. “No one gets special treatment.”

I almost laughed. Fair? Maybe in principle. But in reality, certain people needed to win. Otherwise, what was the point of the tournament in the first place?

There was a knock at the door, which he dismissed with a loud, “In a minute!”

I raised an eyebrow. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Well,” he continued. “If I had to pick, it would be Boris. So, he will ascend.”

I couldn’t stop myself. The mask slipped. “Excuse me? The civvie? A high ranker? Absolutely not. The fact that he is a B-ranker is already a travesty. And besides, I will make sure he doesn’t even win his first match.” My voice rose slightly, despite myself.

The colonel simply snorted. “Okay. Then I will make sure he loses and assist you in elevating whichever B-ranker you prefer.” He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze sharpening. He had been waiting for this blunder since the moment our conversation began.

“But,” he said smoothly, “I need a favor in return—similar to the last one you did for me. Contact your mother. Get her permission for me to execute Lieutenant Daniel.”

“And then, I will make either Marnus or Richard win the tournament. Just as you’ve asked.”

His words dragged me back to that moment—the sound. The sickening squelch of a man being crushed to death. I could still hear his begging every time I closed my eyes, still see his severed head lying on the stage, his face contorted in an eternal scream.

I knew Mother had people executed. “A calculated display of ruthlessness can do far more good than haphazard displays of mercy,” she always said. The words echoed in my ears, and for the first time, they rang hollow.

Because I remembered the look in his eyes.

Lieutenant McGill had said he hadn’t raped her, and the colonel had killed him anyway. Just like that.

I… I couldn’t watch another man die.

“I watched you kill five men because of that last favor. I will not be a part of that again. You will give me the informa—”

My order died on my lips.

The colonel’s expression hardened, his gaze pressing down on me like a weight.

“You forget, Sofia,” he said, voice flat, both hands resting on the table. “This is not your house. I am not your subordinate. Do not—ever—speak to me that way again. Am I clear?”

I swallowed hard, nodding once.

He held my gaze for a moment longer before leaning back in his chair. “I don’t see why this bothers you so much. You helped me execute the others.”

He shook his head, sighing. Then his tone shifted, turning cold. “I see you need motivation. If you refuse to secure permission for that thing’s execution—then I will simply ensure Boris wins the tournament.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “And it wouldn’t even be difficult. He’s powerful, after all. Not even one of my ace squadrons could stop him. And they’ve served with me for nearly a decade.”

I… I was a failure.

“N—” The denial barely made it past my lips before I clamped my mouth shut. If I refused, I wouldn’t get the information. I needed that information.

The colonel raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let you think on it. Dismissed.”

And just like that, he leaned forward and returned to his paperwork. He had dismissed me. Again. Like I was nothing. Like I was just some soldier.

I am the daughter of Alexander himself.

Fine. Let him think he’s won. Let them all think they’ve won.

I saluted sharply, turned on my heel, and wrenched the door open—only to come face-to-face with the bastard.

Boris.

We stood there for a fraction of a second, staring at each other. Then, before I could react, he lunged, going straight for my throat with his cuffed hands.

He didn’t make it.

A moment later, he was on the ground—again—a seemingly recurring theme in his life. He struggled violently against the weight holding him down, snarling, “Let me go! Let me kill her!”

I make sure he isn’t executed, and this is how he repays me. This is what a civvie is.

I glanced over my shoulder. The colonel stood behind his chair, watching Boris with a mildly annoyed scowl even as his tattoo glowed while he pointed at him. I briefly wondered why he had even called him here. Then I stepped on Boris’s back and walked out the door.

He dismissed me. Again. And he dares to admonish me—me—for not wanting to execute a man, as if there would be no repercussions?

Who does he think he is? Who does he think he’s talking to?

My nails dug into my palms. I am not some low-ranker to be ordered around. I am the daughter of Alexander. The future of this tower.

So why did I feel like a pawn?

My stomach twisted, and I forced the thought away. No. I will show him. I will show them all.

I don’t need his help. I don’t need his assistance. I will figure out who is being groomed for the tournament myself. If they are not to my liking, I will make sure they do not ascend.

Because I am not just my mother’s daughter. I am not just some piece in their game. I am the one who moves the pieces.

And I do not lose.