Chapter 61: Arya Benova

"Tch, that bastard Seventh Successor still hasn’t given me a single loophole to exploit..."

Arya clicked her tongue in sharp irritation as her soft leather slippers clicked rhythmically against the pristine marble hallway of Heaven’s Net Castle.

Her slender hands were neatly folded over the apron of her crisp, dark head-maid uniform, but beneath her tailored, immaculate exterior, her inner thoughts were a chaotic, burning mess of resentment.

Ever since she had been brought to the castle by Ser Hughway, capitalizing on the temporary absence of both the Viscount and the veteran Lord Commander, she had swiftly maneuvered her way into taking official command of the domestic staff.

She had stepped up as the Castle Head Maid, exerting absolute authority over every servant, cook, and cleaner within the inner keep.

As she rounded a high, sunlit corridor, three young maids carrying freshly laundered linens bowed their heads in deep respect as they passed her.

"Good morning, Head Maid Arya," they chimed softly.

Arya did not even spare them a glance.

She brushed past them in cold silence, her mind far too consumed by the harrowing ghosts of her past.

The agonizing image of her youngest brother’s lifeless, pale body was still brutally vivid in her mind, a agonizing scar that refused to heal.

She wanted this nightmare to end.

She needed to fulfill her mission, crush the Seventh Successor from within, and secure the release and safety of her last remaining little brother before it was too late.

From the very moment she had first laid eyes on Craig von Darkstar, Arya had felt nothing but deep-seated contempt for him.

Having spent her entire miserable life enduring the cruelties of absolute poverty, she viewed every noble with bitter disdain.

To her, Craig was no different from the rest of the arrogant, high-born tyrants who treated commoners like disposable insects.

Thus, when the Sixth Successor’s network had approached her with an offer to act as a hidden spy within the Lucerion territory, she hadn’t hesitated for a single second.

She had willingly agreed to poison Craig’s tea because the Sixth Successor had promised her a vast fortune—a sum large enough to buy her family’s freedom from the slums forever.

Yet, that plan had shattered into pieces.

Because the Seventh Successor had abruptly refused to drink the poisoned cup on that fateful afternoon, the assassination had failed.

And because of that failure, the merciless agents of the Sixth Successor had executed her youngest brother as punishment for her incompetence.

Arya hated Craig von Darkstar to the very core of her soul.

If she possessed the martial strength, she would not hesitate for a single heart-beat to drive a sharp steel dagger straight through his arrogant, dragon-blooded heart.

She knew better than anyone the sheer, unbridled ruthlessness of Lord Malcolm—the terrifying right hand of the Sixth Successor who held her surviving brother in iron chains.

Lord Malcolm was a butcher who treated human lives like cheap coin.

If she did not produce results and bring down Craig’s governance soon, her last remaining family member would be slaughtered without a second thought.

She needed to act quickly, desperately.

Yet... there was simply nothing she could do.

The moment the Seventh Successor had officially set foot within Heaven’s Net Castle, he had immediately cemented his absolute authority over the territory by executing a high-ranking official on the spot for insubordination.

That single, terrifying blood-spill had completely silenced the local bureaucracy.

Arya could no longer secretly incite corrupt noble administrators or court clerks to challenge Craig’s reign from within.

Then, before anyone could gather their footing, Craig had strategically launched a grand Harvest Festival, winning over the hearts of the common populace with food, games, and security.

Immediately after that, he had announced a massive wilderness raid to purge the Jeju Forest, rallying the entire military vanguard behind his personal leadership.

Every single path she tried to take was blocked by Craig’s swift, terrifyingly calculated moves.

Arya clenched her fists so tightly that her trimmed fingernails bit painfully into her palms.

Seeking a momentary reprieve from the suffocating pressure of her thoughts, she pushed open a heavy set of glass doors and stepped out into the castle’s private sanctuary garden.

The garden was an opulent, expansive display of botanical splendor.

Vibrant, multicolored flowers were scattered across lush green lawns, their sweet scents filling the afternoon air.

Intricate stone pathways wound through blossoming cherry arches, pristine fountains, and hedges sculpted into the likenesses of roaring mythical beasts.

White marble benches sat quietly under the shade of ancient, towering willow trees.

Walking up to a bed of pristine crimson roses, Arya reached out, grabbed a blooming flower by its stem, and crushed the delicate petals violently inside her fist, letting the red juices stain her skin as she gritted her teeth.

"Why can’t you just die, Seventh Successor..." she gnashed her teeth in a low, vicious whisper, her eyes burning with suppressed rage as she cast the ruined flower remnants to the stone path.

Just as she was desperately trying to force her racing mind to engineer a new strategy to destabilize Craig’s rule, the faint, joyous sound of melodic laughter echoed from behind a nearby hedge.

The unexpected sound immediately piqued Arya’s curiosity.

She quietly adjusted her apron, smoothed down her dark hair, and followed the sound around the curved gravel path.

Peering past a row of high rosebushes, her eyes landed on a young, black-haired girl who appeared to be in her middle teenage years.

The girl was wearing an elegant, flowing purple gown, twirling and dancing playfully among the blooming flowers without a single care in the world.

’Who’s this bitch?’ Arya frowned heavily, her eyes narrowing into cold slits.

Making no effort to hide her presence, Arya stepped out from the shadows of the hedge, walking directly toward the young girl who was enjoying the absolute time of her life within the noble garden.

However, the instant Arya crossed within a hundred meters of the girl’s position, the black-haired teenager stopped dead in her tracks.

Annie’s crystal-blue eyes flickered with a sudden, unnatural sharpness.

She spun around on her heel, her gaze locking dead-center onto Arya’s approaching figure.

The sheer speed and precise tracking of the reaction caused Arya to flinch internally, her heart skipping a quick beat.

’Fuck... this bitch is a Spirit Mage!’ Arya realized instantly, her instincts screaming.

Mana Apprentices were notoriously sensitive to shifts in the ambient spirituality around them, making stealth or surprise approaches nearly impossible within their sensory radius.

Quickly suppressing her shock, Arya’s face smoothed over, displaying zero emotion as Annie stared at her with a curious, wide-eyed expression.

"Who are you, ma’am?" Annie asked, tilting her head innocently as her sleek black hair swayed across her purple gown.

"I should be asking you that very question, little girl," Arya spoke, exhaling a slow, quiet breath as she expertly summoned a warm, gentle, and utterly fake motherly smile to her lips.

"My name is Arya Benova... I am the Head Maid of Heaven’s Net Castle. Who might you be?"

"Annie Blacksun," Annie answered naturally, folding her arms behind her back with an innocent, youthful grin.

"And who, precisely, is Annie Blacksun?" Arya raised a manicured eyebrow, her tone laced with polite curiosity.

"Well! My older brother and I are the absolute latest recruits brought in by the Lord Viscount himself!" Annie beamed proudly, her face lighting up with excitement.

Without needing much prompting, Annie eagerly began recounting everything.

She explained starting from the young Viscount’s sudden, unexpected offer at the Silver Feather Inn, all the way to her brother Damian being officially appointed as the supreme commander of Craig’s new private military company and being crowned as the First Dragonknight of the realm.

As Annie babbled on with absolute joy, Arya maintained her perfectly crafted, warm smile, repeatedly offering polite congratulations and quiet gasps of awe.

Yet, deep down beneath her calm surface, Arya’s mind was screaming with pure, unadulterated venom.

She wanted nothing more than to reach out, wrap her hands around this foolish girl’s soft throat, and strangle the life out of her.

The Seventh Successor was handing out elite titles, private army, and immense power to random street commoners, while her own family was being systematically butchered in the dark!

As Arya slowly closed the distance between them, Annie continued to smile brightly, seemingly thrilled to have found a friendly face inside the overwhelming, heavily fortified castle.

However, the very second Arya stepped close enough for their shadows to overlap, Annie’s subtle dark eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly.

Beneath the Head Maid’s warm, gentle smiles and soft, sweet words, Annie’s newly awakened mana senses caught a faint, cold ripple—a prickling, microscopic trace of hidden killing intent lurking beneath Arya’s aura.

Annie’s street-smart instincts, honed through years of surviving in the harsh lower districts alongside her brother, immediately raised an alarm in her mind.

Annie did not betray her discovery for even a fraction of a second.

Her genuine, naive smile seamlessly morphed into an equally fake, perfectly pleasant facade.

Arya softly bent down to Annie’s eye level.

Reaching out a slender, manicured hand, Arya began gently caressing Annie’s silky black hair with fake tenderness, her dark eyes gleaming with a calculating, predatory light.

"My, what an extraordinary story... your brother must be an truly incredible warrior," Arya purred softly, her voice dripping with artificial warmth as she began her subtle interrogation.

"Tell me more about your brother, Annie... where did he train? What are his habits? And... what exactly does the Lord Viscount plan to do with him next?"