I was fuming as I walked away from the colonel’s office. Dismissed—again. And then the civvie gets to attack me with no repercussions? What is going on here?

I needed to find another way to get the information. If the colonel wouldn’t assist me, I would gather it myself. The moment the B-ranker tournament started would be my best opportunity. The weapons the B ranks used would give it away—nothing else. If I observed closely enough, I could determine whether they found their weapon by chance or received it intentionally. That would tell me exactly who had the favor of those in charge.

I turned these thoughts over in my mind as I walked toward the high-rankers’ training area. It was conveniently close to B sector, meaning I could slip out later and review the video recordings again. Perhaps I’d missed something.

I arrived to a familiar sight—Calder running laps around the high-rankers’ training warehouse, already drenched in sweat. Ever since he ran with Boris, he had been pushing himself harder. Annoyingly, I had to admit—through gritted teeth—that the buffoon had accomplished something no one else had. He had made Calder try.

It was a good opportunity for me as well. I decided to join him, pacing myself alongside him as we ran the two-kilometer track.

Ten laps later, we came to a stop. His breathing was measured—mine wasn’t. He smiled at me, not quite panting, his shirt nowhere to be found as he took a long swig of water.

The sweat gleamed off his abs, and the unnatural glow from the tower’s artificial light only served to highlight each one, making them pop more than they actually did. The effect was... aesthetically pleasing. I had never thought much of our eventual marriage, but at least he took care of his body. That, at the very least, was acceptable.

He caught me watching, and I nodded, “I see you are working hard.”

“‘Course,” he said.

Then—he flexed his bicep.

A shiver of revulsion ran down my spine. Why would he do that? The sheer ego behind such an action almost made me regret stepping into the training grounds at all. This was a behavior that would need to be corrected—before it had the chance to repeat itself.

“What have you got planned for the day?” he asked, handing me a bottle of water.

“Ability training,” I responded, taking a swig.

He scoffed into his hand, nodding. And then—silence.

Why did he stop talking? I had answered his question.

Ten seconds passed before he finally spoke again. “So, uh… before you do that, I wanted to go through a few drills if you wouldn’t mind?”

I considered it. Was this a romantic gesture? A friendly gesture? Or simply practical, since no one else was here?

It didn’t matter. Each of those possibilities served my interests.

I nodded, walking toward the center of the mat.

After drilling double legs for a while, Calder rolled his shoulders and smirked. "Mind sparring with me for a few rounds? See if the drills actually took hold?"

I nodded once in affirmation, stepping into my stance. We circled each other slowly, both of us feinting, testing reactions, looking for patterns. His footwork was disciplined, but there was something predictable about his movement—he always squared up slightly after jabbing, just for a moment. An opening.

I waited, baiting him into throwing the jab. The second it came, I slipped outside and drove a stiff shot straight into his gut. A clean hit. But before I could capitalize, his hand shot up behind my head, grabbing it, yanking me forward. Annoying.

I dropped completely, shooting for a double leg before he could set his feet. My shoulder crashed into his hips, and I drove through, sending him backward.

We hit the mat hard, scrambling—his arms pushing against my shoulders, my hands fighting for underhooks, both of us angling for control. For a brief moment, I lost it. He rolled, shifting into my guard, his weight pressing against me, his hips locked between my legs as he leaned back slightly, trying to stabilize.

Then he paused. His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, and a small, knowing smirk flickered across his face. His gaze flicked downward, assessing the position of our hips—his expression turning coy.

Stupid. Why would you willingly allow yourself to be distracted? I decided to punish his lapse in judgement.

In an instant, my right leg snapped up, wrapping around his neck, my foot hooking behind his shoulder. I pulled his left arm through, pressing it tight against his own carotid artery, and hooked my left leg over my right, locking up a perfect triangle choke.

His smirk disappeared as his face became pink in colour, and he tapped three seconds later.

He stood up afterward, “How are you so good at this?”

“It is expected,” I replied.

He just nodded, as if that was enough to answer.

I turned away, taking a map off the weapon rack and heading toward the training town at the center of the base.

I wanted to scream.

If that were in the tournament, he would have beaten me. One activation of his ability and I would have been on fire, overwhelmed, dead.

No, I cannot allow him to get within even ten metres of my person. I am the daughter of Alexander and I made such a mistake?

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Stupid stupid stupid, my thoughts hissed at me as I arrived at my destination.

I unfolded the map of the dilapidated training town, scanning it, absorbing every detail, even as my mind churned through the weaknesses in my ability.

It was almost perfect.

Better than anything I had dared to hope for before I awakened.

And yet—it was still disappointing.

Because unlike Mother, I would never fight on the front lines.

I shook my head. No. My ability was a dream, perfect for nearly every battle, with equally powerful applications outside of combat. But there were two glaring problems:

* One-on-one combat. My ability lacked outright destructive power, and worse—it took time to take hold. A luxury I wouldn’t have in a duel.

* Stamina. I could only activate my ability twice before it felt like I had run a marathon. Recovery took at least two hours. That meant, outside of emergencies, I could only use it once per hour. Unacceptable.

The first issue had no direct solution. My ability wasn’t designed for single combat. That meant I would need strong subordinates or better weaponry to compensate.

The second, however?

I could fix that.

I needed to push my endurance as quickly as possible. If I could increase my activations—if I could stretch beyond two, then three, then more—then the strategic and tactical potential of my ability would expand exponentially.

With it, I could reshape entire battlefields in an instant. Restructure the island itself, molding it into something prosperous, efficient, perfected.

No civvie would risk his life escaping a fortified zone just to find food—because no one would go hungry to begin with.

I studied the map in my hands, tracing the layout of the first town founded in the Tower—a place long abandoned, now repurposed as a training ground. Forgotten. Broken. Used only to teach close-quarters battle.

It was a town no one cared about anymore.

And that made it the perfect place to test my limits.

As I studied the map, it became clear that this town had been thrown together with no real thought behind it. Buildings were haphazardly placed, with little regard for practicality or efficiency. I decided to correct it using an economic approach.

The barber shop, for instance, had its main entrance facing a narrow alley rather than the larger road beside it—a baffling decision that limited accessibility. But the most egregious examples were the hospital and town hall.

The hospital—arguably the most important structure in any settlement—was positioned at the edge of town, near the outskirts, as if it were an afterthought rather than a vital necessity. If there were an emergency, people would have to navigate through the entire town just to reach it. What kind of fool designed it this way? The roads leading to it were narrow and winding, making it even more impractical for transporting the wounded. It should have been centrally located, near the main roads, easily accessible from any part of town.

And the town hall? It was smack in the middle of a cluster of low-density housing, as if it were nothing more than a glorified community center. It didn’t have a direct path connecting it to the main thoroughfare, forcing anyone seeking official business to weave through side streets and residential areas.

I tapped my left shoulder, directing my will into the tattoo—not just allowing myself to see the light but feeling it. My eyes glowed, my feet left the ground, and a perfect copy of the town map materialized before me.

I imagined…

A grand gathering—the entire town assembled in the square, waiting in hushed anticipation.

The mayor, dressed in his finest attire, would step forward, wringing his hands nervously. His voice would tremble as he spoke, carrying across the crowd.

"Lady Sofia, the town hall’s outer boards are falling apart. A minor issue, of course, but… would you grace us with your aid?"

All eyes would turn to me. Expectant. Hopeful.

I would pause, allowing the moment to linger—letting them feel the weight of my consideration. Then, with a gentle, knowing sigh, I would shake my head.

"No."

Gasps. Whispers. A ripple of uncertainty.

Then, before anyone could question me, I would stride past the mayor, past the gathered townsfolk, toward the heart of the settlement itself.

And with a mere touch of the map, I would fix everything.

The town hall would shift from its absurd location in a cramped district to the very heart of the settlement, where it belonged. The hospital would no longer be shoved to the outskirts like an afterthought but placed along the main road, seamlessly woven into the town’s new, perfected design.

I would widen the roads, straighten the alleyways, removing every flaw.

And as the changes took form—the silence.

Then, the roar of approval. Cheering. Praises. The people would rush to me, eyes wide with reverence, voices trembling with gratitude. “Lady Sofia! Lady Sofia! Only you could have done this!”

And at the edge of the square, just beyond the sea of admirers, mother would stand.

Watching.

But this time, her gaze would not be cold. It would be warm, proud. Her lips would part slightly, her eyes glistening. And then, for the first time, she would nod.

Not out of duty. Not out of expectation.

But because I had proven myself.

I let myself savor the moment, let myself bask in the—

A deep groaning sound cut through the air.

I blinked, heart hammering.

Slowly—so slowly—the hospital had begun to shift. It wasn’t instant. It was moving. Dragging, crawling across the ground inch by inch, as though the land itself resisted before finally yielding.

The road beneath it buckled ever so slightly. The structure crept forward like a great beast waking from slumber, windows trembling in their frames. Dust curled into the air where it had once stood.

At first, it was eerily quiet, just the faint, unsettling noise of friction between stone and soil. But then—

A hideous, scraping noise cut through the air, so loud I had to cover both my ears.

I snapped my head toward the town hall.

It was pushing into another building. The corner of its foundation had caught against a smaller structure beside it, forcing the wooden frame to bend. The slow, horrible sound of timber splintering filled the air as the weaker structure resisted.

My fingers curled into fists.

It wasn’t supposed to sound like that.

I had measured it perfectly. Planned every detail, down to the meter—even when the map itself spanned kilometers.

And yet—imperfection.

My jaw tightened. Unacceptable.

No matter. I would correct this.

The mistake was not mine. It was the world’s failure to obey.