The First Thing Upon Returning to the Manor

Lenna headed straight to the study, fetching paper and pen to draft a letter on the spot.

As she hesitated over whether to send it, a family portrait on the wall caught her eye. "What’s this?"

She took it down and brushed off the dust.

In the photo stood a gray-haired man in a crisp military uniform, his posture rigid and authoritative. Before him was a little girl with matching gray hair. His large hands rested affectionately on her shoulders—a leader’s aura radiating even through the frame.

Behind the man stood two middle-aged figures: General Adelaide and his wife Juliana, the true power behind the Falmore Family.

Lenna’s eyes glistened. Her nose stung.

She covered her mouth, her first emotional collapse since rebirth...

"You old man... your daughter’s alive, yet you don’t even come to see her."

Her voice cracked with what began as a grumble. Lenna gripped the wall, sinking to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Who understood the agony of fighting alone?

Only Lenna knew how she’d survived over a decade as the Gray Robe, hunted relentlessly by the Empire...

"At least... seeing you both safe and sound is all that matters now."

After the Falmore Family’s fall, her father Adelaide had been beheaded by the Empress herself—a legendary general who conquered nations for the Empire, only to fall to his own people. The irony cut deep. Her mother Juliana vanished, likely perishing in the flames.

Lenna tenderly stroked the photo, whispering to her loved ones: "But as long as the Hero exists, the Falmore Family is doomed to fade. We’re all chosen by fate... we can’t escape our ends..."

She believed this truth without doubt.

All she could do was delay it.

Buy time. Savor every heartbeat spent with family before the inevitable day arrived.

"Grow stronger. Build connections... Then drag that hypocritical tyrant down from her throne. Let her taste the blade too."

They said beheaded souls witnessed their own severed heads. Lenna would stain the First Empire crimson beyond cleansing.

But first—

"Miss Lenna! Miss Lenna! Angela’s here! She brought a big black sack!"

Lingling’s voice rang out, punctuated by the thumping of her excited fox tail against the door.

Foxfolk loved using their tails for everything—as if they were their true limbs.

Lenna opened the door, handed Lingling the letter with strict instructions, then hurried to the courtyard.

Tonight was pivotal.

Her long-awaited vengeance would finally begin—and her power would leap forward.

Everyone knew the divine artifact *Narcissus King’s Sacred Chant* boosted its wielder’s class tier by one. A permanent passive aura amplifying all stats—utterly broken.

The ring on Lenna’s finger was the genuine ancient relic. Though damaged, it could be restored overnight by a pure maiden’s sincere offering of primordial blood essence.

Currently fourth-tier, Lenna had barely scraped fifth-tier after using the Deathbane Stone. With the *Narcissus King* repaired, casting the sixth-tier magic *Raise Dead* to revive that boy would be effortless.

Her plan clicked perfectly.

She’d counted on Angela’s kindness—no way the girl would abandon someone in need. And the artifact *needed* exactly such a selfless soul.

A perfect sacrifice!

Conveniently, some arrogant fool had insulted her. Killing him would shatter the gentle angel’s heart.

Once the Holy Maiden’s compassion wavered... the deed would be done.

The key was *sincerity*...

"Lenna!"

"Fancy meeting you~"

Lenna adjusted the artifact ring, smiling down at her.

So small. Her head barely reached Lenna’s waist—nothing like the towering figure who’d slaughter legions of skeletons a decade later.

Rebirth before everyone’s growth spurt was pure luck—Lenna had thanked fate countless times.

Angela looked freshly arrived, exhaustion and worry etching her face. She paced until spotting Lenna, then rushed over without pause.

Breathless. Pink bangs clinging to her damp forehead.

Beads of sweat glistened like dewdrops, making the little nun’s brow look plump and alive.

Lenna gently brushed aside the sweaty strands, then lifted Angela’s chin with two fingers. "Ready?"

"Bring it on!"

Angela jerked her head away, dodging the lavender-scented fingers.

She didn’t know what awaited her. Fear coiled in her chest—but she’d steeled herself to face the devil!

"Wait—what are you doing?"

"Wet wipe." Lenna meticulously cleaned her fingers, lingering between thumb and forefinger until the entire premium pack was gone. "Want one?" She offered another pack from her pocket.

"Antibacterial. Hemostatic. Skin-repairing... A Falmore Family specialty. Our unique mana-infused craftsmanship makes them exquisite."

"I didn’t come for your marketing pitch..." Angela took the wipe, tore it open, and sniffed.

A mix of floral perfume and chemical tang.

Not unpleasant—but far from lovely.

"So. Guess the price per pack?"

Lenna chuckled, unzipping the giant black sack.

Angela’s answer was as predictable as the corpse inside.

"One silver coin?"

"Bolder."

Lenna rummaged through the body, finding what she sought:

A spent magic scroll. Crafted by an Archdruid of the Ancient Tree Forest—rare, high-grade, pulsing with youth-preserving life energy.

Now useless scrap. Rougher than sandpaper. Good for nothing.

Lenna didn’t mind it being used. In fact, she was pleased.

Warehouses of Falmore held mountains of such unsellable "treasures." To her, this scroll was trash—but it had served its true purpose: preserving the corpse’s integrity and warmth.

Perfect for

*Raise Dead*.

...

"Hold on—slow down! You never told me the price of the—" *yelp!*

The bedroom door clicked shut, a "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging firmly. The tall gray-haired beauty tossed the petite nun onto the bed. As Lenna leaned in to kiss her, Angela ducked away, panic flashing in her eyes.

She lowered her gaze, voice trembling with plea: "How much? I’ll pay you back... please, don’t do this..."

"We’re saving a life, Miss Angela. And per our contract—call me *Master* once you step through this door."

Lenna shed her clothes with solemn focus, revealing deep cleavage and long, smooth legs.

Her lingerie was elegant—a black butterfly clinging delicately, accentuating full curves. Her stockings gleamed, silky to the touch, the kind that would drive foot fetishists wild.

Slowly, Lenna guided the inexperienced Angela to touch her. Like Adam and Eve beneath the apple tree, they intertwined—tasting forbidden fruit for the first time.