Annawiel gave a half-hearted nod—part sincere, part forced.

Lei had no clue what her daughter truly felt, nor did she care. As long as this willful girl delivered results, everything else was acceptable.

“I’m glad you’re thinking ahead. I trust my dear daughter has the strength—but for extra insurance… bring it out.”

She clapped her hands. A red-clad elf man stepped silently from the shadows. He’d been standing right there, yet Annawiel hadn’t sensed him at all.

*(What insane stealth… and blood-red eyes and lips? Snow-white hair? No elf race looks like this.)*

“Who is he?”

“A new business partner. He brought something… intriguing.”

The elf offered a faint, unsettling smile, opened a small box before her. Inside lay a bracelet of ancient design.

“What is this?”

Annawiel felt a flicker of familiarity—had she seen this style before? But the memory slipped away.

“Put it on, Annawiel,” Lei commanded.

“…Some rare gear?”

“Wear it. It will guide you to victory—*literally* guide you.”

“?”

She slipped it on. No stat change. Nothing in her status screen. No new buff. Just as confusion flickered—

*“Hello, Annawiel Alphares. Pleasure to meet you. I am the Perfect Tactical Advisor System from an ancient civilization. From today, you are my master.”*

“What the—?!”

Annawiel flinched. Lei gestured calmly: *Listen.*

*“I will orchestrate every strategy and tactic, elevating you to the peak of power. Follow my guidance—this Battle Festival will be effortless. One day, you shall soar as the phoenix that commands the heavens.”*

“…Seriously? So, Mom… I’m supposed to obey this… ancient artifact?”

“It knows this labyrinth better than House Dewell ever could. Trust it.”

“Uh… fine.”

Annawiel reluctantly agreed.

A talking bracelet was weird, sure—but no curse aura, no malice. She’d treat it like a quirky voice assistant: low expectations, zero interference.

Meanwhile, the System—having shifted from ring to bracelet—cackled inwardly:

*(Hehehe… Heaven smiles upon me! I’m back! Mylora, oh Mylora—you never imagined a ‘powerful figure’ would unearth me so soon! Wait… you’ll regret discarding me. And you, Torina Dewell… you *will* pay. Cackling maniacally…)*

Later that day—

“Hm? Annawiel was called home? To stay with family?”

“Yes. She and her mother, Lei Papatin, asked me to inform you,” the butler said.

“Alright…”

Torina thought nothing of it. Reuniting with long-absent family was normal. Alphares family matters were none of her concern.

The first evening blurred into busyness. Next morning, Patti ran errands while Torina personally inscribed runes onto Mylora’s gear. All the while, Mylora kept stealing glances at the Fungal King Greatsword she’d snagged from the boss’s vault.

She *loved* greatswords—deep in her bones.

“Mylora… you really like this sword?”

“Love it! I mean—your Rune Shortsword is amazing too! I cherish them equally! No favorites!”

“Pfft~ No need for flattery. Totally normal. When I was little, I’d dump my gross ‘nutritious meal’ to the dog… then steal the bone *it* was chewing.”

“……That’s… next level.”

“Follow your heart. Train greatsword once your strength grows.”

“But I can’t give up your shortsword either… If only I could wield both…”

“Hah. Who fights with *both* a shortsword and greatsword?”

…Wait. *Is* there such a style? Not for now.

Patti returned, spatial compression backpack stuffed with labyrinth essentials.

“Thanks for the hard work, Patti.”

“No problem. But… I spotted something odd.”

“?”

“Sneaky elves. Deathly pale skin and hair. Blood-red eyes, blood-red lips.”

“An elf race like that…?”

“They felt dangerous. Avoid them if you see them.”

“Got it.”

Torina mentally scanned the original plot—no elf characters matched that description.

Time rushed onward. The grand ceremony loomed.

Dawn broke. Guests of Valhalla City gathered at Starfall Mountain’s foothills.

Morning light revealed the scene: a vast, clinging mist stretching kilometers, like cold white mold blooming across the peak. Though autumn brushed summer’s edge, visible chill radiated from the fog, frosting the ground in white.

This was Niflheim—the “Land of Mist,” labyrinth of House Dewell.

All recommendation-holders stood ready. Including Mylora… face burning crimson with embarrassment.

Why?

“GO, MYLORA! M! I! L! O! R! A! MY! LO! RA!”

Torina waved pom-poms in a cheerleader uniform beneath a massive banner: *“Follow Taffy (crossed out) Mylora! Thank you meow!”* Her cool, elegant features clashed wildly with her energetic routine.

“STOOOP! DON’T SHOUT! DON’T DANCE! SO EMBARRASSING!!!!”

“GO, MYLORA~~~~!”

“NOOOO~~~~!”

The more Mylora protested, the louder Torina cheered.

Half to encourage her. Half to broadcast a warning to every rival: *Mylora is under my protection. Try anything shady—you answer to me.*

“TAKE YOUR POSITIONS!”

Molly’s voice cut through the noise. She tapped a tuning fork-like device against the air. The mist thinned.

“ENTER NOW! LABYRINTH EXPLORATION BEGINS!!”