"Servant, I'm starving—the hearth's cold and my belly's an empty drum. Hurry and make me something."

Morning mist still clung to me; I woke a little earlier than usual. By habit, I called the Servant to cook, like tapping a bell in a quiet courtyard. As a Sword Spirit, I could go ten thousand years without food or drink, like a stone under snow, but that would be far too dull.

Facing good food yet not eating is a grave loss, like leaving a blooming garden to wither unseen. Some self-styled lofty types sneer at human meals, their noses high as frozen peaks, but I pity them—they miss something truly beautiful, like dawn steam rising in colors.

"Hm? Servant, did you hear me?" My voice drifted like a ribbon through the room.

Half a minute stretched thin like a cold string; no reply, so I called again, a pebble dropped into still water.

"..." Silence pooled like ink. What was going on? A prickle of unease fluttered like moth wings as I sat up. I glanced to my side—no one; the spot where the Servant always slept was empty, and even Hill wasn’t there, like stars gone from a winter sky. Right—Hill was too badly hurt. I let her slip into painless sleep, like a petal sinking in a quiet pond. I placed her in a special space so her wounds wouldn’t deepen.

But what about the Servant…? I tilted my head, thoughts circling like snowflakes in wind. My long, white hair spilled down like fresh snow, veiling half my face.

Ah—yesterday I kicked the Servant down to Extreme Cold Hell; no wonder he’s gone, like a bird flown beyond the ice. After a long, long while, the fog finally lifted; I clearly hadn’t fully woken, memories blurring like breath on glass.

Wait. A sharp jolt ran through me like frost cracking—if the Servant isn’t here, no one is tending my daily life.

Habit is a fearsome vine; it wraps silent around the heart. I can’t recall how I lived before, like a page washed blank by rain. Since waking this time—one, maybe two years—the Servant has tended me every moment, like a steady flame in the night. I hate to admit it… yet I’ve grown used to his care. With the Servant gone, the emptiness bites like wind, and I can hardly accept it.

This thought is new and unsettling, like thunder in clear skies. What should I do… should I bring the Servant back at once? For me, it’s no more than moving a finger, like calling a breeze into a room.

No. I sent the Servant to brave the Nine Cold Labyrinth; how can I go back on my word, ice turning to mud?

I shook my head, confusion swirling like mist. Why does a master like me unravel after less than a day without the Servant? It’s absurd, like a palace fretting over a missing teacup. Yes, my food, drink, clothes, and daily needs are all handled by the Servant, like clockwork—but that’s only natural, isn’t it? A Servant serves the master; that order is as old as stones.

Creeeeak—yaa. Just as my troubles knotted tight, the door pushed open like a blade through silk.

"Xinuo Miss, what’s wrong?" Her voice carried in like a small bell.

A woman stepped in, dressed in a knight’s uniform; beauty gleamed on her like morning on steel. Golden hair flowed like sunlight, red eyes burned like embers, and she looked so much like the Servant it felt uncanny, like seeing a reflection in winter water. No surprise—she’s the Servant’s elder sister, Yumigawa Senki, a prodigy whose talent startles like lightning.

Huh? She looks so much like the Servant… the thought snapped like a twig.

"Yumigawa Senki, come here a moment." The command slipped out like an arrow leaving the string.

By the time I came back to myself, I’d already spoken; the word hung in the air like falling snow.