"Are you heading to town?"

After finishing breakfast, Lyasis elegantly dabbed her lips with a napkin and asked Suran, who stood respectfully beside her.

"Mm, I need to buy a few things," Suran replied. "Today’s ingredients, and gear for future adventures with you, Miss."

"Oh my~ The latter’s the real priority," Lyasis said, eyes lighting up. "Suran, why the sudden urge to prep gear?"

"After waking, Miss stepped out of the manor into daylight—completely unaffected," Suran explained. "I estimate you can now stay active for ninety percent of daylight hours. We’re one step from fully conquering the sun. Time to prepare."

"You’re as observant as ever, Suran," Lyasis murmured, chin resting on her palms, eyes slightly narrowed as she gazed at Suran like a mischievous little imp. "Truth is, I noticed it too—but stayed quiet. Good thing *you* spoke up. I’d have been upset otherwise~"

"It is my duty, Miss," Suran said with a respectful bow.

"Hurry back then~ I’ll be waiting!" Lyasis added, voice brimming with anticipation.

...

Harmon Town.

A human settlement built on an island, cradled by lake waters on three sides. The only road in and out led straight to the famed Harmon Forest.

Harmon Forest was exceptionally safe—patrolled by the Solflare Legion. Monsters had long been purged; only harmless wildlife remained.

Every day, adventurer parties flowed into Harmon Town to resupply or rest. All entrants underwent Solflare Legion inspection.

Suran was no exception.

Closest to the Crimson Garden, Harmon Town had been Suran’s go-to for supplies for eight steady years. Though visits were infrequent, nearly everyone—from forest-stationed Solflare soldiers to townsfolk—recognized her (save the ever-roaming adventurers).

Which explained the newcomers’ reactions:

"A goddess… an actual goddess…"

"So beautiful… How does someone like her exist?"

"I… I just wanna say *hi*…"

"Hmph! Pathetic men. She’s only *slightly* prettier, *slightly* bustier, *slightly* more graceful than me. Big deal?"

"*Slightly*?"

"O-of course! …Ugh, fine—I give up! I wanna be Miss Maid’s pup too, ahhh—!"

In the inspection queue, Suran became the undeniable focal point. Silky black hair, doll-like serene features, a figure so flawless even the modest maid uniform couldn’t hide it—every gesture radiated elegance and impeccable etiquette. All gazes, regardless of gender, were utterly captivated.

Normally, Suran would ignore such chatter.

Not today.

Feeling their wandering stares, she stiffened, then shot them a sharp glare over her shoulder.

*Such vulgar eyes… such crude words…*

True to her training, she held her tongue.

*Elegance. Composure.*

"Huff… huff… That glare—like we were trash—was… *chef’s kiss*!"

"This aura… so dominant! I wanna be Miss Maid’s pup too, ahhh—!"

Suran: "..."

*These people… hopeless.*

She shook her head, refocused, and calmly completed the inspection.

Never mind that *this morning* she’d crushed a Solflare Legion expedition and gravely wounded humanity’s hero, Plamia. To Suran, only those who disrespected House Virellete or defied the Crimson Garden were enemies. These soldiers? Not enemies.

Though the Nightmare Queen’s power slumbered within her, none could sense it. With her human guise, she passed inspection smoothly and entered Harmon Town.

She’d already done "field research" here—clear targets for ingredients and gear. This trip should’ve been efficient.

Reality disagreed.

At the weapon shop, Suran ignored her list. Her eyes locked onto a row of daggers on the wall.

"Silver-scale chest plates! Five coins each~ Limited stock, first come first served, guaranteed authentic!"

The shopkeeper’s hawking—shrewd merchant vibes intact—vanished into white noise.

Staring at the blades, her heart seemed to whisper:

*Yes. Yes. Yes—*

"Alrighty! Thank you for your patronage!"

When Suran snapped back to reality, the shopkeeper—grin plastered on—handed her a neatly packed set: daggers and matching thigh holsters.

She’d bought off-list. Unconsciously.

"Can I return these?" Her first words.

The grin vanished. "Sorry, customer. No returns on sold gear."

Behind him, several burly men slowly turned their heads. Hired muscle. For "troublemakers."

"I see… Very well," Suran conceded calmly.

No coercion. Her choice. Their rules.

*A maid’s grace stays intact, even abroad.*

More importantly—she’d bought it on instinct.

She purchased the listed items next. While staff fetched them, she lifted her skirt hem, secured the thigh holster, and strapped on the daggers—movements fluid, practiced.

She’d already been startled once (dinner knife + bread = flash of assassin techniques). This time? Calm. Familiar.

*My memories before the Nightmare Queen saved me are gone,* she reflected. *But these instincts… proof I was once an assassin.*

*Which faction? Final target? Why did I fall—nearly die, lose everything?*

*…Never mind. Not important now.*

These skills would protect her young mistress on future journeys.

That was what mattered.

A quiet, genuine joy bloomed within her.