In ‘The Tale of Arrogance’, the King had turned against General Byrun too easily. All it took was an Unholy prisoner pointing a finger at Byrun, accusing him of raising a private army, for the King to order his surrender.

  The Unholy lost his life—a dubious suicide—a few hours after he’d laid out his confessions, and the General’s ‘private army’ was never found, leading Tyra to believe the General was unjustly accused. The web novel had rolled with that narrative.

  That narrative was false.

  To the best of Ell’s current knowledge, and per the documents she now threw onto the low table between them, the General was indeed raising a private army.

  The transcribed numbers were not adding up. Having studied Accounting for over a year at a humble college before transmigrating, Ell was familiar with numbers. And the numbers told her the Unholy prisoners transported to Blessark and distributed among noblemen and mines were missing in the thousands.

  The records at hand appeared to be a compilation of personal efforts, the officially submitted documents undoubtedly falsified.

  Once she was done with Byrun, Ell had to find out how Tyra had gotten her hands on the documents. The Crown Princess thought them suspicious enough to share with Ilai but not significant enough to look into herself.

  Had Tyra taken them seriously, the cousins’ dynamics would inevitably change. Rebels were either victorious or dead.

  The rustle of paper filled the study as Byrun examined the documents. The soft sound dampened Ell’s senses, lulling her to sleep as the adrenaline wore off. Her eyes narrowed tiredly, lids heavy.

  The decreased Stability, now at 78%, was not helping.

  “Where did you find these?” the General said, jolting her awake as she began to nod off.

  She dug her nails into her palms to stay awake. “I asked first, General.” She repeated, “Why are you planning to rebel?”

  The General set down the papers and sat up straight, face unreadable. “I am not. These are falsified.”

  Ell’s rising annoyance helped her sober up. “Whether they are false or not, as the one transporting the Unholies, you know best. Hiding away so many prisoners, is it that you are in need of slaves, or is it that your new wife needs to be worried?”

  The mention of Versan disturbed the General’s blank expression. “Ilai,” he called sternly.

  “Byrun,” Ell said mockingly. “If I ask a third time, it will not be you who I ask.”

  The General frowned, jaw set. Ell met his gaze with a sneer.

  With a deep sigh, he relented. “You must promise not to interfere,” he finally said.

  If she made such a promise, all of them would eventually die. “Let’s hear it,” she answered noncommittally.

  “I will explain everything once it’s over,” Byrun said, rising from his chair and heading to the door.

  Ell did not bother to move. “I suppose I’ll have Tyra look for the answer with me.”

  The hand on the door handle froze. Byrun kept his back to her as he said, “You will not like what you hear.”

  “I don’t like many things—Versan, the twins, you—but all of you are thriving.” Ell laughed lightly. “I’d say I can handle it very well.”

  Perhaps, Ilai couldn’t, but Ell definitely could.

  The General turned back, watching her hesitantly. He looked away. “It was the King.” He paused, and Ell waited. “He tried to kill your mother.”

  Ell was confused. Trying to kill Ilai’s mother was a terrible thing, but in the end, the King only tried. If she understood correctly, that meant he had failed. But the way the General had said it, the harshness of each letter, sounded like the King did kill her.

  No matter how hard she tried to recall how Ilai’s mother had died, Ell could not remember.

  Despite her attempts to avoid it, it was inevitable.

  [Impersonator Activated]

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  Ell stared at the General silently for a long time. He clenched and unclenched his fists before coming closer and gingerly placing a hand on Ell’s arm. She slapped it away the moment it made contact.

  ‘Ilai’ looked at him with wide unfocused eyes. Her voice was even and low as she spoke, “What are you waiting for? Kill him.” She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards the door. “Gather your men.”

  Byrun pried her fingers away. “I told you, you must not interfere. It’s not the right time.”

  Ell gaped at him in disbelief. “She’s been dead for ten years. Ten years!” her voice rose to a shout. “How much longer!”

  “When the time is right—”

  “When?”

  “We don’t have enough strength to overthrow him. We need more time—”

  “No.” Ell flung the door open. “He dies now.”

  Byrun grabbed her by the wrist, pulled her inside, and slammed the door closed. “Ilai Silva, enough!” his voice thundered through the room.

  The Father and the shell of his daughter faced one another, each trembling from anger. The General relented first. He attempted a gentler tone. “I have been preparing for a long time, we will take him down but now is not the right time. I promise, he will pay. But if you interfere now, everything will go to waste.”

  Ell stared at him silently.

  The General grew hopeful. “If you tell me who gave you those papers, this will help us take him down faster.”

  Ell blinked. “How long?”

  “Maybe in a few months, maybe in weeks. I promise to tell—"

  “No—how long have you prepared? Since when did you know?”

  Byrun’s eyes widened. “I…” He swallowed nervously, taking a step back.

  “It was before you found us,” said Ell.

  He did not refute.

  “Before you found us.” Ell nodded slowly. “You always knew. Always…”

  “Ilai.”

  “Shut up.” The sound reverberated with hatred. “I thought I was shameless.” Her laugh echoed coldly. “Byrun, you are far more shameless than I could ever be.” She walked past him to the door. “I will tear you apart along with this mansion if you dare stand in my way again.”

  The General watched her stiffly as she left the study.

  When Ell had made it back to her quarters, Selin swept in through the open window. She approached Ell carefully. “Your Highness.”

  Ell slipped on heavier outerwear. “Prepare the carriage. We’re leaving.” She paused then added, “Permanently.”

  The Princess’s quarters had a private entrance from where Ell left the mansion unimpeded. Selin drove the carriage steadily towards the periphery of the capital.

  In the enclosed space of the carriage, ‘Ilai’ wretched into a pot. Once she had emptied her stomach several times, she laid down on the spacious seat, exhaustedly drifting into sleep.

  The memories, buried for a decade, snaked their way into a nightmare.

  Ilai embraced her Mother closely. It had been over a week since they were stuck in the cave’s tunnels, and their storage of food and water had run out.

  Water would slip through the cracks in the stone above into dirty puddles that quenched their thirst, but there was nothing to eat in the dim underground.

  Soon, Ilai began to grow weak and hungry. Her Mother, blessed with a passive ability to heal herself, was still warm and soft to hug.

  She waited for her Father, praying the war would end sooner, and he’d come to save them.

  As Ilai waited, her Mother ventured deeper into the tunnels every time, trying to find food or a way out.

  On the thirteenth day, Mother came back with food. She had killed the animal while Ilai was asleep and roasted it over the fire they managed to keep alive from their ring storage. Ilai excitedly asked her Mother to share, but her Mother only took a small bite and gave her the rest.

  “Mama had already eaten,” she told her as she gave her head a gentle pat.

  And so, every day, Mother brought freshly cooked meat.

  Ilai disliked the taste, but Mother tried so hard to find her food, growing haggard in the process, so she always ate what she was given obediently.

  Soon, Ilai found that her Mother was growing sick, sometimes talking to air, sometimes tearing out her own hair. But every night without fail she’d pull Ilai into her arms.

  Ilai was worried, but whenever she would tell her Mother to rest, that she was not hungry, her Mother would reassure her, “Mama heals quickly.”

  One day, when her Mother stumbled away to bring her food, Ilai decided to go and help her. She knew her Mother would be upset if she went with her, so she remained a distance away.

  Once they’d reached deeper into the tunnels, her Mother stood in place for a long while. When Ilai decided to approach her, she saw her Mother pull out a knife and begin carving out her flesh.

  Blood dripped slowly.

  Ilai rushed to take the knife from her hands, but the woman, long driven crazy by starvation and overusing her ability, refused to let go. Her daughter was hungry, after all.

  Little Ilai fell to the ground, vomiting the little in her stomach.

  Her Mother seemed to realize her daughter was ill. She threw away the blade and pulled Ilai into her embrace, soothing her with slurred words and disjointed sentences. She held her tightly until Ilai had calmed down, and the woman drifted off into sleep.

  When Ilai found her sleeping, she burrowed deeper into the sparse warmth and slept next to her. When she woke up her mom was still sleeping. She did not want to disturb her Mother, so she stayed unmoving for a long time.

  When she was tired of sleeping, she tried to move away from her mom’s arms but was halted by an echoing crack.

  Her Mother’s arm swung at odd angles from the elbow.

  Ilai stopped moving. It was all right. Since her mom wanted to sleep, she could sleep with her some more.

  But no matter how many times Ilai woke up, her mother continued to sleep.

  When Byrun finally found his missing wife and daughter, Ilai was lying in the embrace of a rotten corpse.