Self-Induced Torture.

After checking my status, I spent some time testing my abilities, cross-referencing the system data with Varian's memories to get a better grasp of them. Then I went to sleep—which, to be clear, Varian didn't need. I, on the other hand, was psychologically exhausted.

The next morning, the first person I saw was Morticia.

She was sitting on the floor, legs folded neatly beneath her, as still as a statue. She was staring at me with a look of pure innocence, one that others might find menacing, but I had a soft spot for her.

"W…" I spoke, still half-asleep. "What are you doing here, Morticia?"

Morticia lowered her gaze slightly. "Good morning, Your Highness. You ordered me to accompany you at all times, starting yesterday."

"Right, I did," I said, willing myself to get up and feeling the intense refreshment of [Divine Will] wash over me. "But why are you sitting on the floor like that? You don't have Aura; you could seriously hurt yourself holding such a demanding pose for prolonged periods of time."

"Please do not worry, Your Highness," she said. "I am very flexible." She then proceeded to swiftly perform a perfect split,,,with a dead serious face.

"Hah!" I laughed. "Good morning to you too, Morticia."

I got out of bed, washed up, dressed, and made my way to the breakfast table. As I ate, with only Morticia in attendance, she asked a question that made me pause.

"Your Highness, if I may," she began.

I took a bite of some poor magical beast's steak, Varian's muscle memory handling the cutlery with the practiced precision of an aristocrat. "What is it, Morticia?"

"Why have you not concealed your wings, Your Highness?"

"Hmm," I thought for a moment. "It's, uh, a fashion statement. Yeah, that's what it is."

"I see, Your Highness," she nodded, accepting my terrible excuse without question.

"Hey, new order," I said, only now realizing how cringeworthy 'Your Highness' sounded. "Stop calling me that." Technically, since both my parents were of royal blood, not calling me 'Your Highness' was a capital offense. However, "You're my personal maid. You may refer to me accordingly."

A strange glint appeared in Morticia's eyes. "How would you like to be addressed, Your Grace?"

"You tell me," I said, knowing full well she already had an idea.

"But it would be inappropriate for a lowly maid such as I–"

I shot her a stern look. "I asked for your personal opinion. Don't just be a yes-woman; be my second brain." Aw hell, I thought, she has no context for that. "Anyway, just tell me. Is there something you'd prefer to call me?"

"I, uhm," Morticia struggled with her words, a rare and adorable sight. "If… if you would allow it, I would be honored to call you… Master."

"Pfft–" I almost spat out my drink. "Master? Really?"

"Yes… With your permission, of course," Morticia said, but this time, her expression was almost pleading.

She must really, really want this, I thought, as deep existential questions about my own depraved morality peeked their ugly little heads within me. What was I thinking when I made her?

"Your Grace?"

"F-Fine," I relented with a hesitant sigh. "You can call me that."

"Hah," Morticia let out a soft gasp, her face instantly turning tomato-red. "M-M-M-Master, I-I think I'm going to faint. If you'll p-pardon m-me…"

"Huh?" I turned to her and saw her blushing, panting and barely steady on her feet. "Are you… okay, Morticia? Someone get her some water! She's burning up!"

——————

After the breakfast debacle, Morticia retired for the day, and I headed to my training facility.

The facility was a sprawling complex where nearly every combatant from the estate—more than half its total population—came to train at some point of the day. 

Now, you might think a medieval fantasy VIP like Varian would have a private training room, but he didn't, and for good reason.

My estate was home to high-level veterans with rare or epic combat classes; one of them even shared Varian's Slayer class. And Varian wasn't a one-trick pony with weapons. 

He was a weapon master, proficient with every major weapon type; something that was only possible by learning from a wide variety of combat experts, such as the ones living here. This was also his father's way of giving him perspective on life and people without letting him explore the world, since many residents were former "bigwig" adventurers who had seen it all in their heyday.

Usually, that's fine and chill. In fact, I appreciate a supportive gym environment. But today, it was a problem. I wasn't here to train in the traditional sense; I was here to relearn what Varian already knew.

Unfortunately, the only places on the estate capable of handling Varian's insane power without being completely decimated were his castle and this training facility. I would train in the castle, but the moment I inevitably damaged something, the countless defense mechanisms of the castle would be triggered. That was a mess I did NOT want to deal with, never, under no circumstances.

And so, I would have to practice retracting my wings and using my Soul Sense in front of the estate's most seasoned fighters. Talk about suspicious. Goddammit.

Well, at least my speed will make it difficult for them to see what I'm up to, I thought, waving at a man who greeted me.

After finding a relatively secluded spot and rejecting far too many sparring requests, I prepared myself.

Remastering every physical function you've known since childhood, short of walking and breathing, would be overwhelming for anyone. Thankfully, I had Varian's skills, and could manipulate his personal flow of time,effectively giving him—or me—far more time to act than an outside observer would perceive.

I took a moment to concentrate, then activated my trusty [Time] skill. To an outsider, nothing would change, but for me, the world around me slowed to a crawl.

Now then, I thought, let's start with these pesky wings.