CHAPTER 4- Retirement, not so smooth

The carriage came to a halt, and I peered out the window, my heart doing a little jig in my chest. There it was—my new home, a cottage-like mansion that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a dream. Or maybe a very expensive postcard. Either way, it was perfect. I could already feel the excitement bubbling up inside me, like a pot of soup about to boil over. A brand-new life, a fresh start, and best of all—no more Court of Ignis drama. Well, mostly.

The cottage was quaint but charming, with a whitewashed exterior that gleamed in the sunlight. Ivy crawled up one side, giving it that "I'm a mysterious yet approachable cottage" vibe. The roof was a deep, earthy brown, and the front door was painted a cheerful yellow, as if to say, "Welcome, but don't track sand inside." A small garden wrapped around the front, filled with wildflowers that swayed in the breeze. It was the kind of place where you could imagine sipping tea on the porch while plotting your next great adventure—or, in my case, my next batch of pastries.

I stepped inside, and the first thing that greeted me was the mountain of boxes I'd shipped ahead. Ah, yes, the remnants of my old life, neatly packed and waiting to be unpacked. The cottage was two stories, cozy but not cramped. The kitchen was a dream—small but efficient, with ocean-blue cabinets and a window that looked out over the sea. A small table for two sat by the window, perfect for breakfasts with a view. The living room had a plush sofa that looked like it had been designed specifically for napping and a fireplace that promised cozy evenings with a good book. 

But the real gem was upstairs. I climbed the stairs, my excitement growing with each step, only to stop dead in my tracks at the top. 

"Why the *fuck* are there two rooms here?" I muttered, narrowing my eyes. I opened the doors one by one, confirming my worst fears. Two bedrooms. Two. As in, one for me and one for... *him*. 

My idiot disciple's voice echoed in my head, loud and obnoxious as ever: *"MASTER, YOU MIGHT BE LEAVING THE COURT OF IGNIS AND RETIRING AS THE MATRIARCH OF NYXVEIL, BUT YOU ARE NOT GETTING RID OF ME! MASTER, I AM GOING TO SPEND AT LEAST 300 DAYS WITH YOU!"*

I rubbed my temples, already feeling a headache coming on. The future of House Nyxveil was in the hands of this lunatic? God help us all. Then again, my disciple—and Rheon's son—were two peas in a chaotic pod. The next generation of the Court of Ignis will be a circus, and those two were the star clowns. Magic lunatics, the both of them. 

But hey, at least they wouldn't have to go through what our generation did. Small mercy thanks to the hard work and pain we had to go through.

I shook off the thought and stepped into *my* room.

It was exactly as I'd imagined—a rich beach-life vibe, with walls painted a soft sandy beige and furniture in shades of white and blue. The bed was massive, with a canopy that let in just the right amount of light.

The balcony doors were wide open, letting in the salty sea breeze. I stepped outside, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled my ears. The view was breathtaking—endless blue stretching out to the horizon, with the occasional seagull swooping by. 

My heart did a little flip. This was it. My retired life. My perfect, peaceful, pastry-filled life. 

The cottage was in **Lusora**, the southern region of the empire, known for its stunning water bodies and some of the most spectacular beaches on the continent. The city I'd chosen was **Emerails**, a bustling tourist hotspot right on the edge of the **Sylvaris Sea**.

Legend had it that Emerails was once home to the **Leviathans**, those mythical sea creatures who'd supposedly moved deeper into the ocean eons ago. 

Did I believe in legends? Not really. In my 30 years of exploration and countless sea voyages, I'd never seen so much as a scale from a Leviathan. But hey, the tourists ate that stuff up, and where there were tourists, there was money. And where there was money, there was me, ready to open the best bakery in Emerails.

I couldn't help but giggle—no, cackle—at the thought. Finally, after decades of living like a frugal leader, I could let loose.

No more saving every coin, no more pretending I didn't want to splurge on that ridiculously overpriced seashell necklace. I was going to live my best life, and no one—not even my idiot disciple—was going to stop me. 

My feet started bouncing of their own accord, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt... free. The weight of being the "crookiest and coldest witch of House Nyxveil" lifted off my shoulders. Out here, no one knew my face. I was just another retiree, ready to live out her golden years in peace. 

Well, peace and pastries. 

I twirled around the room, my laughter echoing off the walls. Money, money, money! It was going to be glorious. 

But as I glanced out at the sea, a flicker of curiosity tugged at me. The Leviathans... were they really just a myth? The sea stretched out, vast and unknowable, and for a moment, I wondered what secrets it might be hiding. 

Then I shook my head. Nope. No mysteries, no drama. Just me, my bakery, and the sound of the waves. 

Retirement was going to be *perfect*.

Clapping my hand, I excitedly looked at my room, which I needed some adjustment with my old belongings in it. And that's how the renovation for my new cottage began.

Moving back and forth between downstairs and my bedroom, unpacking those boxes, arranging my clothes, counting the huge amount of money I brought with myself... just in case, not because I am obsessed with money, yeah, that's the case.

I arranged the books in the bookshelf in the living room, cleaned the mess created from unpacking the boxes, and before I knew it, it was night time.

I dragged a hand through my hair, shaking off the unfamiliar feeling of contentment, and turned my attention to dinner. Something simple. Quick.

Grilled salmon, chicken breast, and a sandwich. My hands moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over as I seared the salmon, watching as the flesh darkened to perfection, the rich aroma filling the air. The chicken was next, seasoned with an absurd amount of spice—just the way I liked it. Then the sandwich—thick-cut bread, toasted lightly with butter, layered with crisp lettuce, slices of perfectly grilled chicken, and a smear of mustard for a sharp bite.

A meal worthy of a war hero. Or a retired one, at least.

I poured myself a glass of wine, swirling the liquid, watching as the deep crimson color caught the dim candlelight. A gift from my disciple—an annoying brat, but a thoughtful one. I took a sip and sighed, the sweetness coating my tongue.

Then the pain hit.

It was sudden, sharp, a thousand daggers twisting inside my chest. My breath caught, my glass slipping from my fingers and shattering against the floor. My body convulsed as I dropped to my knees, clawing at my throat, at the fire burning inside me.

Poison.

I forced my aura to the surface, but it barely responded, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind. My veins felt like they were filled with molten lava, searing through me with an agonizing intensity. My vision blurred. My mind screamed.

Then the door burst open.

Boots stomped against the wooden floor. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, curling and writhing like living creatures. And through the haze of my pain, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

"You look miserable, Madam Nyxveil."

Arthur Christian.

I forced my head up, my eyes locking onto the man standing before me. Cloaked in deep purple, long crimson hair tied into a loose ponytail, those damnably sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. A viper in human skin.

I spat blood onto the floor and let out a hoarse laugh. "Ha! Is this the best you could come up with, you fucker?"

Arthur tilted his head, his lips curving into a smirk. "You're holding up better than I expected, Selantia."

My fingers tightened around the hilt of my sword. Slayer. A divine weapon, stolen from a Grand Duke who had been foolish enough to think he could outmaneuver me. Its blade, black as night and etched with silver runes, thrummed with a hunger I knew all too well.

Arthur flicked his fingers, and the shadows answered. Soldiers rose from the darkness, their forms twisting and shifting, hollow eyes locked onto me. Twenty. Thirty. More than enough to overwhelm even a seasoned warrior.

But I wasn't just any warrior.

I grinned, despite the blood dripping down my chin. "You think you can stop me by poisoning my aura? You really are a dumb fuck."

Arthur merely waved his hand, and the shadows lunged.

I moved. Slayer sliced through the first soldier with ease, the divine metal parting shadow like flesh. Another came at me from the side—I twisted, dodging, bringing my elbow up to crush its featureless face before driving my blade through its chest. They were fast. I was faster.

A dagger of darkness carved through my side. I hissed, kicking the attacker back, ignoring the warmth of my own blood seeping into my clothes. My body ached, poisoned, damaged—but I was not beaten.

More came. I cut them down. The floor slicked with black ichor, the stench of magic thick in the air. My muscles screamed. My lungs burned.

But I was still standing.

Arthur watched from the kitchen, seated as if he were enjoying a performance at the opera. His fingers tapped against the wooden table, his expression unreadable.

I licked the blood from my lips and pointed Slayer at him, my grin widening despite the fire consuming my insides. "Enough of the child's play, Arthur."

His jaw tightened. His fingers stopped tapping.

I took a step forward, barely holding myself together, and sneered. "Come at me yourself, you fucker."

For the first time that night, Arthur looked truly, genuinely displeased.

Good.

Even if I am dying, you are fucking dying with me.