Chapter 2: Wishing You Sweet Dreams

“Miss Airandil, if you can’t muster your energy, you won’t be able to grasp the wonders of art.”

The painting teacher, Ross, smiled gently, pulling a thumb-sized glass vial from his vest pocket.

“This is essential oil from Sochi County. A whiff can refresh you. Would you like to try it?”

Since dawn, Kritiya had been training in swordsmanship and horsemanship, followed by noble cultivation lessons like etiquette, flower arranging, and music, with only a brief lunch break.

By three or four in the afternoon, her mental stamina was at its limit.

But she knew the old maid was waiting outside.

If she was caught slacking, the ruler would come down hard.

“If it can help me stay alert, please give me some,” she said, mustering her strength.

Ross nodded, unscrewed the vial’s cap, and held it under Kritiya’s nose.

I caught a sharp, pungent fragrance.

Then I noticed Kritiya’s body stiffen in the chair, as if her soul had fled.

It’s happening, I thought.

A black bead appeared in Ross’s palm.

Before I could make out its details, he pried open my mouth—or rather, Kritiya’s, since she was unconscious, leaving only me to feel his rough actions.

“Is this the Seed of the Evil God? So careless—no flavor at all,”

I thought, feeling the glass-like bead roll down her throat and dissolve without a trace.

Kritiya soon regained consciousness.

Her dazed expression turned to the painting teacher.

“Feeling more alert?” Ross asked.

“A little better, I think,” Kritiya said, still groggy.

“Then let’s continue the lesson.”

Ross clapped his hands with a smile, resuming his lecture on painting principles as if nothing had happened.

***

I realized a serious problem.

In my current state, tethered to Kritiya’s body, I can do nothing but share her sensations.

Right now, it’s just grueling cramming sessions, bearable for a human.

But what about the future?

When she offends everyone, gets transformed into a monster by the evil god, and lurks in the capital’s ruins, feeding on rotting corpses—am I supposed to endure all that too?

But what can I do?

I can only watch from the sidelines.

After painting, there was a two-hour literature lesson.

Thankfully, the teacher was a pedantic old scholar, droning on about long, tedious poems without caring if the student paid attention.

Exhausted, Kritiya finished the day’s lessons, ate the dinner left by the servants, and returned to her bedroom.

It was a spacious but starkly simple room.

The etiquette teacher had said that noble ladies in the capital had gilded dressing tables, wardrobes full of new gowns, velvet beds with flowing canopies, and ever-burning incense that seeped into their very bones.

But this room had only the barest furnishings.

No tapestries or paintings adorned the walls—just an axe and an iron sword as decorations.

The Duke of Airandil was bold and decisive in military matters but conflicted in family affairs.

He wanted Kritiya to become a captivating flower of the capital to secure a good marriage, yet he refused to let his heirs abandon the austere warrior ethos of their ancestors.

This left Kritiya living a rugged lifestyle while being expected to emulate the delicate manners of pampered noble ladies.

But today, amidst the room’s sparse furnishings, there was something new—something that didn’t belong.

Kritiya looked over silently.

On the bed sat a girl of about six, with deep black hair, dressed in thick cotton clothes, staring at Kritiya with eager eyes.

“Sister, will you play with me?” the little girl asked.

Klaire Airandil, the youngest daughter of the Airandil family, Kritiya’s little sister.

Kritiya said nothing, taking a candle to light the other candelabras in the room.

“Sister, I’m so bored. No one’s paying attention to me. Let’s go play!” Klaire persisted.

The room brightened.

Kritiya turned back to Klaire.

“Hasn’t Father arranged a schedule for you?”

Klaire nodded, then shook her head.

“Well… it ended in the morning. The afternoon’s been so boring.”

I knew why.

Klaire had a talent for magic, and the Duke had hired a magic tutor for her.

The master believed a child her age shouldn’t overtax her undeveloped magical potential, so her lessons were lenient.

A pang of bitterness welled up in Kritiya’s heart, and I felt it too.

But she spoke calmly.

“It’s late already. Next time.”

“But…” Klaire’s eyes blinked dejectedly, “but, Sister, you haven’t played with me in so long…”

Kritiya fell silent for a moment, then walked to the desk and picked up a storybook.

“Lair, how about I read you a story?”

Lair was Klaire’s nickname, a term of endearment used only between the sisters.

The girl’s eyes lit up like a bulb switched on.

“Okay!”

Kritiya sat on the bed’s edge, letting Klaire snuggle beside her legs, and opened the heavy book.

“Once upon a time… there was a princess…”

The story had been told countless times, but Klaire leaned against Kritiya, listening raptly, her chin propped in her hands.

Bedtime stories are meant to lull the listener to sleep, but it was Kritiya who dozed off first.

“Sister? Sister?”

Klaire called softly, waving a hand before Kritiya’s face, realizing her sister had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

“Alright…”

Muttering, she climbed up, pulled the blanket over Kritiya, and quietly left.

***

My consciousness doesn’t fade when Kritiya sleeps.

But usually, when she closes her eyes, I can’t do anything either—can’t see, can’t move—just urge myself to sleep too.

Today was different.

Ross planting the Seed of the Evil God in Kritiya—a pivotal plot point from the novel—had unfolded before me.

It hit me that her destined path was starting, and no matter what, I couldn’t fall asleep.

Plus, her sleeping posture was awful—my neck was killing me!

“The Seed of the Evil God… the Seed of the Evil God… what do I do…” I lamented in the darkness.

The Jiye Cult worshipped an ancient entity called the Abyss, an undeniable evil cult.

But as per typical settings, where there’s an evil cult, there’s an opposing holy church—the Radiant Church, the Empire’s only recognized religion, worshipping the Creator God, Danno, their sole true deity.

“The Seed of the Evil God is a fragment of the god itself. Ordinary clerics lack the power to detect or remove it…”

I mulled over the novel’s lore.

But a high-level Radiant Baptism might work.

“Ugh… but Airandil doesn’t even have high-ranking clerics, and who’d undergo a Radiant Baptism for no reason?”

I thought in frustration.

Doing so would be like announcing to the Radiant Church, ‘I’ve been touched by heresy.’

Lost in my worries, I instinctively rolled over.

I froze.

Wait—rolled over?

Hardly believing it, I slowly raised the slender girl’s arm before my eyes, flexing the fingers to confirm.

For ten years, I could hear, see, and feel, but control of this body belonged solely to Kritiya.

I was powerless.

“Why… can I suddenly move?”

No time to think—I leapt from the bed with a carp-like flip.

Without a doubt, this was my own will in action, not Kritiya’s.

“Phew—I can move! The most important thing now is to expose Ross’s plot—”

Yes, I thought, this must be my purpose.

Barefoot, I ran out of the room with this frail young body.

“Right—who should I tell? The Duke’s away on inspection. The local priest? But the church is in the city outside the castle…

Who else? My brothers? No, they’re all muscle, no brains—they’d probably think I’m joking.”

Heart pounding, I raced through the castle corridors until a cold voice stopped me from behind.

“Young Mistress, it’s late. Why are you running about? Can you explain?”

It was the old maid—I turned around.

“I… I… I had a nightmare…”

A spark of inspiration hit me, and I tested the waters.

“The Airandil family’s heirs shouldn’t be frightened by nightmares,” the old maid said, holding a lantern, her brows furrowed.

“Now, Young Mistress, go back to bed. You can still get four hours of sleep.”

She’s not giving me a chance to speak, I thought, but I pressed on.

“I feel like the nightmare might be related to something from today…”

“What do you mean?” the old maid asked, looking at me.

“Well… during painting class, I wasn’t feeling alert, so Teacher Ross had me smell something strange. It made my mind go blank, and I felt energized, but tonight, my body started feeling off.”

I spoke vaguely, like a child would, but every word was true.

The old maid’s expression darkened subtly.

After a moment’s thought, she took my hand.

“Young Mistress, thank you for telling me. For your health, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

She led me to the castle’s first floor.

The stone floor pricked my bare feet—I regretted not wearing shoes.

She brought me to a small room lined with shelves of glass bottles.

I knew her background: she was once the Duke’s field medic, injured in battle against demons, and now served as the castle’s housekeeper.

She lit an oil lamp and had me sit on a stool, checking my eyes, tongue, and pricking my finger for blood, mixing it with a reagent to observe the color.

But such tests wouldn’t reveal anything.

“You show no signs of poisoning,” she concluded.

“But I’ll report this to the Duke.”

I hesitated—should I spill everything?

If I couldn’t convince the adults and they dismissed it as madness, it might provoke Ross prematurely.

I needed the right approach.

At the very least, I had to wait for the Duke’s return—without someone strong enough to confront Ross, it was too risky.

In the novel, he was a mastermind behind many schemes, even troubling the protagonist’s party in the later stages.

Caught in this hesitation, I was led back to my room.

“Wishing you sweet dreams, Young Mistress. Rest assured, everything will be fine.”

With that, she closed the door.