I spent the rest of the day in my humble abode, watching my lady channelizing mana on the hard cot. Her legs were dangling from the cot, moving to and fro rhythmically, and they reminded of a cradle. Somehow. There was nothing different about her, except that she occasionally opened her eyes and glanced at me before closing them with a click of her tongue. However, a faint blush accompanied her abnormal actions, but her expression said otherwise.

I was a minimalist, so my room had just necessarily furniture, except for that additional mirror which my lady had bought for me. I needed to look presentable when I accompanied her, she had said with a growl.

The closet hung closed right beside my worktable, so I reached for it and took out my diary, leaving a stack of twenty-six books by themselves. Suits and cloaks lined up methodically, just as you’d expect of a butler, as I needed fresh ones every day. Okay, maybe not cloaks. And yes, undead wear underpants. Not on the outside, if you are wondering.

My lips were bitten.

I wrote my new entry and closed it. If mages of this world got their hands on this diary, I wonder what kind of crazy things they would do in the same of deciphering ancient knowledge. The thought alone give me chills.

The sun had disappeared for a while, and it was time for me to pay my benefactor a visit. I was excited to see some blood, and you can’t blame that fact on me. The slaughter of kingdoms had kept me going for a millennium, so it should not come off as a surprise that undead love it. That and manipulations, and obviously bread. For this undead, these three things were irreplaceable.

I removed a clean cloak from the closet and placed my book back in its rightful place–on the left elevated shelf within the cabinet, just below the one meant for my underpants. I don’t use armor nor swords, but if you expect my sword skills to be rusty, you are in for a nice beating. And stabbing. I didn’t create [Blood Forge] to make bread, for blood bread doesn’t sound appetizing, but blood swords.

I placed the dagger used to skin the rabbit, along with its sheath, inside my coat, in the personally sewed emergency bread pocket. After debating for a while, I tore my eyes away from the lower compartment filled to the brim with bread packets preserved with [Garken] spell. That’s why I made it in the first place. Stopping aging just came in handy, for I hate beard, though it has the same letters as bread.

When I turned around, my lady stood up and walked toward me, and I closed the closet behind me blithely, facing her. She touched my lower lip, the cut lip that she had ordered not to heal, and ran her thumb over it.

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.

“No, my lady,” I said.

“Even if it does, don’t heal it,” she said. “Unless I ask you to.”

“Yes, my lady. But it will heal within tomorrow, nonetheless.”

She nodded with a grunt. “Return to me, mongrel,” she said, her neck strained to meet my eyes, “and anyone you touch with your bare hands needs to die.”

I nodded with a smile. She didn’t want my love, but I wanted her ruthlessness. As far as my goals were concerned, I was on the right track. Call me selfish, but that’s just what I am.

“Then, I’ll be back after having some fun, my lady,” I stepped around her and walked to the door.

The dark corridor beckoned me, the glaring eyes of the new spiders abetting, threatening to awake something primordial in me. The thirst for the bloodshed that had paled over the years. Just like sharp rocks, eroded by harsh winds, leaving out flattened land that enables succession of something new. But a rock, beneath everything, will still be a rock, and me an undead.

I didn’t look at the snickering maids while walking out today because they wouldn’t be able to bear my gaze. I pulled the cowl harder to cover my head and slashed my forehead with the dagger before placing it in its rightful place after freezing the blood on its sharp axis.

Blood trickled down my face, and I used [Blood Forge] to cast a mask, enough to cover my face in the dead of night. Killing a prince is easy, but facing the brunt of the situation the next day will be demanding, so I walked discreetly, keeping my face hidden beneath the red mask.

The streets were populated with drunkards as always, and I reached a deserted alley devoid of shimmering magic lamps before climbing over a ridge and onto the roof. Flat and slope, both mixed. The tiles almost gave away, but I used [Weightless] just in time to reduce my weight. The direction to the Forth bar was ingrained in my mind, thanks to the slight detour of a couple of days ago, so I rushed through the ledges, making sure to use my reduced weight to my advantage.

My blood mask glowed in the hazy moonlight, which scurried away behind the clouds soon, fearing the bloodshed of the lonely night. Cold wind glazed my exposed ears once the cowl couldn’t keep up against them. Hammering footsteps resounded right below in the city, guards running after muggers or petty thieves who dared to destroy the subtle tranquillity of the night. Kids shouted behind the closed doors, babies cried, mothers cradled them, and fathers wrecked things in a drunken stupor. This was the life of commoners, something I absolutely detested.

I had been one in the past, though I couldn’t quite remember when and how. I guess my father had been a drunkard who beat us because I strongly dislike fathers who drink. Then again, it might be my mind making things up to fill the void of human memories.

I didn’t climb down the roof when I reached the bar, instead, removed a couple of tiles and jumped inside, right into the attic. It was dark and dusty, so I crawled forward until the light from the room below entered my eyes through the small holes, thanks to the scavaging mice. I noticed the prince, and his concubines, and Marquis. Yes, the old retailer who had sold my lady.

I couldn’t hear their conversation clearly thanks to the hollers, in the name of singing, of the so-called beautiful courtesan. My [Devil eye] diffused through the wall, and I nudged it closer to the Marquis.

“No, your highness,” the Marquis said, with an acute shake of his head. “It was a curse. I even verified with the royal mage. The body convulsed in front of me, and I had my doubts about it right at that moment.”

“A mage who can cast curses,” the prince affirmed, though his hands were busy on his concubine. “Do you have a clue about their identity, Marquis? A Cognoscente mage is all I need now that I have Yvenaught bastards supporting me. And you, Marquis.”

Marquis paused as if in thought, and I wondered if I was one among his options. He shook his head after a while and said, “The king is more crafty than you could ever think, your highness. We may become in-laws in the future, but the king’s suspicion will only increase. It’s something we have to face either way, but you have better chances now that Baron Hesroeder is wrapped around your fingers.”

“True,” the prince paused. “Though, your daughter is quite fond of that peasant of her.”

“Do you mind?” the Marquis asked, his gaze sharp. Though, not as sharp as when he interrogated me.

“No,” the prince laughed. “If she can relieve this prince’s lust, then even her marred face would do the job. The scar is quite ugly, though.”

“That was her own handiwork,” Marquis smiled. “Make sure you see to it that she never attends the Academy again. She’s a disgraceful woman, just like that traitor. My hard-earned reputation has suffered quite a bit because of that insolent daughter. But I can’t chase her away, for appearances weigh more than my hatred for that traitor.”

“Don’t worry, Marquis. This prince,” he buried his face in his concubines bosom, and I swear I didn’t watch anything later. Except for visible walls and Marquis’s strange gulps. “Knows how to make her submissive.”

“Then, I will rescind, your highness,” Marquis got up with much hesitance and walked out of the room once the blue-haired bastard waved his hand. There were three women on him now, and I waited patiently for the loud voices to stop echoing.

When they did, I turned my eye around and saw the dressed-up prince, adorned in funeral clothes of royal gold, an embroidered dragon on his long coat that almost reached the floor. My eye didn’t wait for the prince to finish his final deed and reached the guards at the entrance of the room. The mustache guy was still around. [Fatigue] did the job, and they fell with a thud, sound incomparable to the noise within.

A punch laden with [Cardina Garch] was all it took for the attic to break open, and I descended to his room, casting [Ward] simultaneously. He was alone in the room with a dressed woman, who had probably stayed behind to help him get robed. His eyes narrowed watching my dark silhouette, and he removed his dragon robe immediately, getting ready for his death.

“Guards!” he yelled, but his voice hardly reached outdoors.

The woman sneaked around and tried to escape through the door, and I cast [Smoke] around her before lighting it up. Her horrid screams as she became burnt meat almost hurt my eardrums, but I stayed rooted before the prince and removed my blood mask, a smile dangling on my lips. One of annoyance because his words towards my lady weren’t supposed to be spoken.

The woman burned in hell flames that didn’t extinguish even when she rolled around the whole room. Glasses crashed on her as the legs of the wide tables stopped her, which only blazed the flames. Smoke covered the room soon, and the prince’s face grew ugly when he saw my face.

“Peasant!” he snarled.

“Nice to meet you, your highness. This peasant needs your head, since the gates lack decor,” I smiled, the usual one that Letitia preferred, but the man before me stilled.