"Aaargghhh…!"
A shrill scream pierced through the walls, abruptly yanking Sierra from her sleep. She groaned in annoyance, rubbing her temples as she slowly sat up. Moments later, her new maid entered, carrying a basin of warm water to assist with her morning routine. Sierra barely glanced at her—until she noticed the maid's red, swollen eyes, evidence of recent tears.
"Who's making such a racket this early in the morning?" Sierra asked irritably. Then, frowning, she added, "And why are you crying?"
The maid hesitated, her voice trembling as she answered, "It's the Duchess, Young Miss. She went into labor last night… but the little young master didn't survive." Aning's voice cracked, and she wiped her tears away quickly.
Sierra stiffened. "Only—," She caught herself just in time, rephrasing carefully, "I mean… how is my mother?"
"She's taking it very hard, Miss," Aning said, her tone thick with sorrow. "If the Duchess seems upset with you, please don't take it to heart. She's been through so much. The pressure… it's crushed her completely. Please try to understand her, alright?"
Sierra studied the maid for a moment before her voice softened. "What should I call you? I don't think I've asked your name yet."
Aning seemed startled by the question but quickly composed herself. "My name is Aning, Miss. I have no family name."
"Sister Aning…"
"No, no!" Aning interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. "Please, just call me Aning. I'm only a servant."
Sierra tilted her head slightly. "Aning," she repeated quietly. Then, after a pause, she asked, "Are the Duke and Duchess good to you?"
Aning hesitated before carefully choosing her words. "The Lord… well, he doesn't talk much, and he's a bit scary. But our Lady is kind. She doesn't host many tea parties like other noblewomen and is always generous to us. The pay is good, and many dream of working here. Even the families of the maids and servants who passed away the other day received generous compensation."
Sierra sighed, glancing down at her lap. "Well, good for all of you then. They're good masters, but…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They're not very good parents to me. I don't care if they dislike me, but I hate being blamed for their misery. If I had a choice, I wouldn't want to be their child." Her fingers clenched the fabric of her blanket. "So yes, I'll take everything they say to heart. Maybe… maybe hate will keep me alive longer."
She paused, her gaze distant. "One day, I'll leave this place. Even if I starve out there, it must be better than this."
Aning froze for a moment, then replied gently, "Young Miss… you say that because you've never truly known hunger or cold. Here, you always have warm food and clothes for every season. If you asked my little sisters, I'm sure they'd prefer parents who provide these things over ones who only offer love." She lowered her voice. "Love alone doesn't keep you alive."
Sierra fell silent, letting Aning's words sink in. Images of the world beyond the Broissco estate flashed through her mind—monsters lurking in the wild, dangers that could crush the weak in an instant. She shuddered inwardly. Maybe having trashy parents wasn't so bad if they were wealthy and powerful enough to shield her from those horrors. At the very least, she never had to worry about being sold for money.
Though… she thought bitterly, I don't feel connected to these new parents at all.
After helping Sierra bathe, Aning carefully dressed her. As she straightened the folds of Sierra's gown, her gaze lingered on Sierra's regrowing right hand.
"I can't imagine how painful it must have been when you lost it," Aning murmured softly.
Sierra glanced at her, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. "I think you're right," she admitted. "I'll try to hate them less—just a little. At least… I'll hold my tongue." She hesitated before adding, "Aning… I'm sorry. Did I offend you earlier?"
Aning blinked in surprise before smiling warmly. "No, Young Miss, not at all. But…" She hesitated before continuing, "I've never heard of a noble child apologizing so easily. You're a good child, truly. But please don't do that again. You don't need to apologize to a humble maid like me."
Sierra frowned slightly, unsure how to respond.
After a brief pause, Aning added thoughtfully, "Hmm. I think, in time, I'll ask the head butler to arrange a tutor for etiquette. Next year, you'll be old enough to attend school. As a member of the Broissco family, you must present yourself well. Don't let the other noble children look down on you."
Sierra let out a small laugh. "You're already scolding me, Aning?"
Aning grinned, her expression fond. "Just a little, Young Miss. For your sake."
"I already have a maid tutor," Sierra pointed out matter-of-factly.
"A tutor for reading and writing, Miss Aruna," Aning corrected gently. "But there's still so much for you to learn, Young Miss. And you're starting later than your peers. Most noble children begin their education at three or four years old."
Sierra hesitated, then asked, "Was Second Sis… my sister, a good student?"
Aning's expression softened with nostalgia. "Second Young Miss was remarkable. She was the best student—graceful, intelligent, and diligent. Her beauty and bravery were unmatched, and her kindness left a deep impression on everyone. She was also the strongest of her generation, in both skill and character. Truly, she was the idol of every young noble in the kingdom."
Sierra was quiet for a moment before murmuring, "If I study well… could I be like her? I don't want to go to the battlefield, but… I'd like to have the power to help the twins if they ever need me."
Aning smiled, her voice firm yet encouraging. "You are a Broissco, Young Miss. You carry the blood of heroes in your veins. All that's left is for you to work hard and claim the power you desire."
"Heroes?"
Aning smiled gently. "Oh my, you don't know? Your grandfather, and then your father—they were both known as Gods of War. Even your sister was famous. Unfortunately, she died young." She sighed, a trace of regret in her voice.
Sierra frowned. "Why so many Gods of War?"
"It's not like that, Miss." Aning shook her head. "There was only one in each generation. Your father inherited the title after your grandfather passed away."
Sierra's brows furrowed. "But if he was the God of War, how could he die?"
Aning's expression grew somber. "He died of illness. Because he was the God of War." She hesitated, then added, "On the battlefield, he was invincible. But invincibility comes at a cost. He sacrificed his health, his very body, to protect the kingdom. In the end… even a God of War is still human. Even the strongest have limits."
Sierra absorbed her words, a strange feeling settling in her chest. "So the current Duke—my father—inherited the title?"
Aning nodded, her tone shifting to one of admiration. "I think your father was even more incredible than your grandfather. Well, I only know from my father's stories, but he always said the Duke's rise was… something else."
"Why? What was so amazing about it?" Sierra asked skeptically.
Aning's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Didn't you hear me? Just imagine it—when your grandfather, the old general, fell ill, the war was at its peak. The Demon Clan must have thought they only had a young Broissco to fight against. But instead of crumbling under the pressure, the Duke shattered their expectations. Unlike the old general, who was a seasoned tactician, your father had an entirely different fighting style. And yet, he crushed them all."
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a thrilling secret. "Your grandfather earned the title after years of military service. But your father? He became the God of War after just one year on the battlefield."
Aning was so caught up in the story that, for a brief moment, she seemed to forget she had been mourning the Duchess just moments ago.
Sierra listened carefully, but her thoughts wandered. If her grandfather had died of illness despite his strength, and now her father had followed the same fate… was that how all Gods of War ended? Burned out, consumed by their own power?
Idiots, she thought. They were heroes, and yet the moment they fell, the world—especially the Eaglerias Kingdom—was the first to condemn their last remaining bloodline.
Of course, at the time, no one knew that Ezra was Uno Broissco.
Then, suddenly, a flicker of something stirred inside her—something she hadn't felt in a long time. Excitement.
Aning was right. She was a Broissco. She had inherited this body, this bloodline. And with it came immense potential. The villainess Sierra's abilities were now her own to develop.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips.
"Minus falling in love," she murmured to herself, "I'm just a Duke's daughter. A wealthy, powerful Duke's daughter."
The thought opened new doors in her mind. If she had to marry, why not choose someone unconventional? A commoner, perhaps—a farmer, a merchant, or even an adventurer. The idea felt… liberating.
Then another thought struck her.
Why stop at marriage?
She could be a merchant. Or an adventurer.
For the first time since waking in this unfamiliar world, she saw something beyond survival. Possibility.
Her eyes gleamed with newfound determination.
"I'll think more about this," she decided, her voice steady, her heart alight with a spark of hope.