Three days later, another unexpected piece of good news reached Cecile.

True Day Noah had fully recovered and could walk normally again.

This was essential for the upcoming Luminous Cathedral plan.

With True Day handling it, Cecile could focus on other arrangements.

She summoned Euphemia via projection.

It was time for her to fulfill her promise.

"Master, what dirty task do you have for me this time?" Euphemia didn’t even kneel, looking up directly at Cecile.

As a trusted aide to the Pride Witch, she’d grown tired of formalities.

She’d execute orders without caring about the consequences.

After enduring a series of brutal missions, she admitted she’d gone numb.

Especially after hearing whispers about the loyal hound under the Pride Witch’s heel...

"I don’t need you for anything this time," Cecile said, circling Euphemia. "But your attitude lately feels off. I don’t sense your loyalty anymore."

"Loyalty is for you to judge. I’ve done everything required. If it’s not enough, I’ll try harder."

"Really?" Cecile produced a chained collar and a modest maid dress—cut to barely cover vital areas.

She smiled, stepping close to Euphemia.

Euphemia flinched back at the sight.

"Master, what... is this?"

"Just clothes. Nothing obvious about it."

"Since I’m your master, isn’t serving as a maid only natural?"

"Don’t worry. I won’t send you to Aileen for etiquette lessons. A fighter like you doesn’t need such fuss."

Cecile’s voice dripped with persuasion.

"I must refuse, Master. This outfit... doesn’t suit me." Euphemia’s rejection was clear.

Look at what Cecile had prepared: a collar engraved with her name, a dress that seemed to cover the front but left the back nearly bare—just two thin straps—and white stockings she hated most.

This gear was useless in combat!

"What if I said we’re visiting your sister?" Cecile offered a reason Euphemia couldn’t refuse.

Sure enough, Euphemia snatched the clothes instantly.

"Must it be like this, Master? I... never told my sister I work as a maid."

"Did you tell her you’re a mercenary?"

"No."

"Would you rather tell her you risk death daily with blades, or that you tidy a master’s home and serve meals?"

"Maid... is better."

Cecile clapped. "Exactly! You don’t want her worrying about your safety."

"But if you insist, we could go now—"

"Wait a moment, Master. I’ll... change."

Euphemia surrendered to reality.

She put on the maid outfit Cecile had prepared.

When she reappeared, the once-stoic Radiant Sword Saint, fierce as a war god, now blushed like a shy girl.

She fidgeted uncomfortably in the clothes, especially the silver collar around her neck.

"Master, can... can this come off?"

"Sure. Prefer this one?" Cecile produced another collar with a bell.

Euphemia touched the bell.

*Ding! Ding!* The sound echoed through the hall.

"No, Master. This one is fine." She rejected the bell collar firmly.

As Cecile stroked her collar silently, Euphemia quickly gathered the dangling chain.

She bowed, offering it with both hands.

"Master! Please... hold my leash..."

Waiting idle usually meant she’d missed something.

If Cecile pointed it out, the punishment would worsen.

Cecile took the chain, praising, "Good girl."

As she walked ahead, she added, "I miss your rebellious side. Try acting like that again?"

"..." Euphemia straightened up.

Glancing at the chain linking her to her master, she knew she couldn’t be her usual self like this.

...

"How’s True Day’s recovery?"

"Perfectly normal." Abathur led them down a corridor to a room.

She ignored Euphemia’s maid outfit, silently performing verification.

"Are you sure you did nothing to her?" Cecile pressed, still uneasy after Witt’s resurrection.

She now believed Abathur could revive ancient gods with enough resources.

"Just... extracted blood. Tested it."

"I don’t believe you." Cecile grabbed Abathur’s wrist, stopping her.

Blood tests were routine for healers, but not for Abathur.

Cecile remembered her trembling excitement when shown True Day’s condition.

Abathur had called him "incredibly precious."

Precious for what?

"Tell me what you’re testing on True Day."

"Results... incomplete. Effects... explainable. No harm to her." Abathur admitted using his blood.

"I’ll hear your full explanation later. Every detail." Cecile released her.

"Understood, Witch." Abathur nodded.

Euphemia stayed silent.

Partly as Cecile’s maid, partly because Abathur—the Pride Witch’s chief alchemist—was a mad genius who cared only for research.

She had no say with her; Abathur answered only to her patron. To her, Euphemia was nothing.