CHAPTER ELEVEN : ABYSS (2)

Emilia sat on the edge of the now-collapsing dungeon, watching as the dark remnants of the corrupted space dissolved into nothingness. The knights around her collected the loot, their movements efficient, yet her mind was elsewhere. The system had just displayed something that made her stomach churn.

A new notification flickered in the corner of her vision:

[Side Effect: Great Sage of Wisdom]

Humans must not reveal the secrets of fate. Such knowledge is forbidden. Those who disobey shall face death.

The words felt heavy, ominous. She now understood why, in certain game routes, she—Emilia—suddenly fell ill and perished without warning before meeting the protagonist. It wasn't just fate being cruel. It was a punishment, a warning that she had crossed the line by revealing too much of the world's hidden truths.

As the red blinking notification pulsed on the edge of her vision, another message appeared, but this one was different—almost cheerful in tone:

[Don't worry, Player! While the body will face restrictions, you as a player enjoy certain perks! Abnormal alignments such as pain, poison, and injuries will decrease significantly. However,… physical and skin trauma remains. You're still fragile, after all!]

Emilia's fingers lightly touched her lips, where faint traces of blood still lingered. The system had been filtering her pain, lessening her suffering. But this wasn't her real body—it was simply a vessel. The blood she had coughed up earlier was a result of her altering fate, yet her soul remained intact because, in the end, this body wasn't truly hers.

Understanding dawned on her as she rose to her feet, her limbs feeling weak but still functional. She stumbled out of the cave, wiping the blood from her mouth, but kept her expression neutral. The system would force her to act holy no matter what.

As she emerged from the forest, the villagers were waiting at the edge, some bowing in gratitude, others in awe of her "divine" intervention. And there, standing with his arms open, was Raphael. His stern face softened for a brief moment as he quickly embraced her, pulling her close. Despite the confusion and tension between them, the warmth of his embrace was undeniable.

But just as quickly as he had pulled her in, the system forced her to part gracefully, her face serene, and her hands clasped in a delicate prayer of thanks for their safety. She felt Raphael's arms tense before he pulled away entirely, frowning. His eyes studied her as if trying to understand something that eluded him.

They left the villagers behind, making their way back to the carriages. Raphael, walking beside her, continued muttering under his breath—more to himself than to her. 

"You're too reckless," he said, his voice low. "Perseverance is important, but rushing into danger like that… it's foolish. You should know better."

Emilia, wanting to scream in frustration, felt the system filter her words yet again. Instead of lashing out, she spoke softly, with a serene smile. "Sometimes, Raphael, our actions are guided by forces beyond our control. We must trust that everything happens for a reason."

Internally, she was cursing the damned system. That's not what I meant at all! I'm not reckless, I'm trapped in this madness!

Raphael shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he walked ahead, leaving her behind. There was concern in his eyes, but also something else—a frustration that mirrored her own, though he could never know the true source of it.

As they continued their journey, Emilia could only wonder how long she could maintain this charade before the weight of it all crushed her. She had the knowledge of fate, but it was a double-edged sword. For every step she took to save herself and those around her, the cost of altering fate became more apparent.

*****

In the grand halls of the Vilheim Duchy, Duke Vincent stood near the window, arms crossed and brow furrowed. The sunlight filtered through, glowing his strong, stoic figure. Despite his composed exterior, the subtle shift in his posture—the slight tapping of his fingers against his arm—gave away his restlessness. His wife, the Duchess Natalia, watched him with amusement, her soft chuckles filling the room.

"For a man of such coolness and charisma, you truly are adorable when it comes to family matters, Vincent," she teased, her lips curving into a knowing smile. She had always been able to see through his composed facade, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

Vincent shot her a brief, unimpressed glance but didn't deny it. He wasn't used to such uncertainty in his life. When it came to politics, battles, or negotiations, everything was clear and calculated. But this—family, love, and especially the arrival of Emilia, his long-lost daughter—was an entirely different battlefield, one he wasn't as prepared to face.

The butler cleared his throat, breaking the moment as he began to read the letter from Raphael. "My lord, Raphael's letter explains their delay in returning to the Duchy. They encountered... some complications. It seems the journey to bring Emilia home has been more difficult than anticipated."

The Duchess leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Complications?" she asked. "Is Emilia safe?"

The Duke remained silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. "We must be cautious, Natalia. We don't know what kind of person Emilia has become after all these years. And," he added with a weight in his voice, "we can't forget who her mother was."

Natalia sighed but nodded, understanding the unspoken warning. Rosalline, Emilia's mother, had left a dark legacy, and it was impossible to separate Emilia from that entirely, at least not yet.

"Even so," Natalia said softly, "we should not judge her too harshly before meeting her. She deserves a chance, Vincent. She's still your daughter."

Vincent didn't respond, but the tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly. He wasn't heartless, but the scars of betrayal and manipulation ran deep, and he couldn't help but be wary.

Meanwhile, across the room, Adelaide sat quietly, her posture perfect, her expression as innocent as always. But hidden beneath her serene facade, her fists were clenched tightly in her lap. She had overheard everything, and the mention of Emilia's return filled her with a storm of emotions. Fear. Anger. Desperation.

That wench is coming back.

Adelaide's mind raced. I've worked too hard to be displaced now. If Emilia returns, everything I've built—everything I've been promised—could fall apart.

But outwardly, she remained calm, her smile never wavering as she spoke in her usual soft tone. "It must be difficult for Father and Mother to balance all these emotions," she said gently, her voice full of sympathy. "But no matter what, I will accept Emilia. After all, she is family now."

Her innocent act was flawless, but deep inside, Adelaide's resentment simmered. She couldn't allow Emilia to ruin everything she had fought for. If Raphael—her closest ally—was starting to lean towards this new sister, then she would have to find a way to secure her place and eliminate the threat that Emilia represented.

*****

The moment the carriage halted in front of the grand Vilheim mansion, the Duke and Duchess stood at the entrance, their eyes fixed on the figure inside. Raphael, ever the dutiful son, stepped down first and turned to help Emilia descend from the carriage. Inside, the air was thick with tension—servants whispered, their eyes filled with curiosity and apprehension.

Rumors had spread like wildfire since word arrived that the Duke's long-lost daughter had been found. Yet, not everyone was eager to welcome her back. The mention of Emilia's connection to Rosalline, a name synonymous with cruelty and manipulation, had cast a shadow over the household.

Adelaide, who had conveniently excused herself, remained hidden within her chambers, her absence noted by a few sharp-eyed servants who quietly muttered that Lady Adelaide must be heartbroken. Some even speculated that her withdrawal was not sadness but fear. Despite her saintly demeanor, the return of the "real daughter" was a threat.

But as Emilia finally stepped down from the carriage, the whispers grew softer. She was not the intimidating figure some had expected. 

With her long, silky black hair tied simply behind her, and a calm, deep blue gaze that seemed to reflect the stillness of an ocean, Emilia approached the Duke and Duchess with no grand airs.

She wore an old but clean white gown, one that was practical and simple—far from the luxurious garments the nobility was accustomed to. In her hands, she carried a few worn books and a modest bag that seemed to hold only the bare essentials.

There was no arrogance in her demeanor, no sense of entitlement despite her noble blood. She looked nothing like the feared Rosalline, but rather like a girl who had lived a quiet, humble life. Her presence was almost divine in its purity, serene and unpretentious.

As she walked past the whispering servants, heads turned. The murmurs shifted from suspicion to curiosity, some even marveling at the grace with which she moved.

Emilia approached the Duke and Duchess slowly, her footsteps soft against the cobblestones. She stopped before them, unsure of how to greet these strangers who were supposed to be her parents. Calling them Father and Mother felt too strange, too foreign, especially after all these years of living a completely different life. 

So, with the system's help, her words remained graceful and formal.

"Your Grace, Your Excellency," she said, lowering her head in a respectful bow. Her voice was soft but steady, tinged with the unfamiliar awkwardness of meeting family for the first time.

The Duke and Duchess exchanged a glance. Natalia, ever kind, smiled warmly, though her eyes searched Emilia's face for any hint of resemblance to the daughter she never had the chance to raise.

Vincent, on the other hand, stood a bit more rigid, his gaze critical but also conflicted. He was a man used to dealing with political opponents and strategists, not with a daughter who had been lost to him for so long.

The system once again intervened, smoothing over the tense atmosphere. Emilia's smile was soft, and her calm presence exuded a quiet kindness that seemed to ease some of the uncertainty lingering in the air. Even though she could feel their hesitation, she remained composed, her demeanor as gentle as the ocean she resembled.

Raphael, standing beside her, observed everything silently, his own thoughts swirling. He had expected this moment to feel heavier, but there was something about Emilia's presence that made the tension bearable, even soothing.