Amira of Ironclad Empire

The news of my supposed demise echoed through the Ironclad Empire, my former name—Amira von Seymour—igniting whispers among nobles and commoners alike. Even those I had helped in the city's shadowed corners mourned my passing, their grief a testament to the impact I had made, despite my efforts to remain inconspicuous. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried to suppress my compassionate nature, it always found a way to surface, to reach out to those in need.

Leaving that name behind felt surreal. My time in the Ironclad Empire hadn't been without its moments of joy, fleeting though they were. The camaraderie of my fellow knights, the quiet satisfaction of helping those less fortunate, the unexpected friendship with Papri—these were the memories I would carry with me. But now, I had to move forward, to embrace the new identity I had forged, to chase the elusive promise of freedom.

Disguised and under the Duke's protection, I resided in his grand manor within the capital. We had fabricated a plausible backstory to explain my sudden appearance—a wanderer healer who had helped him during the monster subjugation at the imperial hunting competition. It was a tale designed to quell any rumors and secure my place in this new world. Though the Duke assured me of his people's loyalty, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking on a tightrope, balancing precariously between my past and an uncertain future.

A week had passed since my staged death, a week of quiet contemplation and careful observation. Rising early, before the servants arrived to assist with my morning rituals, I stood before the mirror, studying the face that had become my mask. It was a face both familiar and foreign, the features of my original self—the self I had known in Korea—resurfacing after years of suppression. The mole at the corner of my lips, the slight upturn of my eyes, the curve of my jawline—it was as if the years spent as Katherine had been a dream, a temporary detour from my true identity.

To mark this new chapter, I had cut my hair short, the long tresses that had been a part of Amira von Seymour now discarded like a shed skin. The new look was both practical and symbolic, a reflection of my determination to forge my path.

As I changed into simple training gear, I made my way to the Duke's private training hall, a sprawling space filled with the echoes of clashing steel and grunts of exertion. Ignoring the curious glances of the knights, I began my regimen—stretches, laps, and aura stabilization exercises. I had chosen the farthest hall, ensuring privacy as I honed my skills, my movements a silent symphony of power and control.

Focusing my mind, I channeled my aura, visualizing a weapon that would be an extension of my will, a conduit for my power. Using Nothingness Manipulation, I forged a sword in my mind, shaping its every detail—the curve of the blade, the intricate etchings on the hilt, and the weight and balance that felt perfectly attuned to my hand.

Moments later, energy surged through me, and the blade materialized, its sleek form shimmering in the dim light. I imbued it with two enchantments: Mana Drinker, which would absorb mana or even aura from opposing weapons to replenish my own, and Dimension Cutter, capable of tearing through the very fabric of reality. Each swing tested my limits, the sword singing in my hand, its power resonating with my own.

As I examined the glowing blade, a thought struck me. "If this explodes, at least I'll go out with flair," I muttered under my breath.

Nearby, Yulia gasped. "Explode? My lady, perhaps we should—"

I waved her off quickly. "Relax, Yulia. I was joking. Mostly."

She gave me a look that said she was definitely not reassured.

By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, casting long shadows across the training grounds, the knights were gathering for their morning drills. I sheathed the sword, a sense of satisfaction settling over me. I greeted the knights with a polite nod, determined to maintain a peaceful facade during my stay in the Duke's domain.

Sir Marcus, who led Kazmir's personal knights, was among them. He had noticed my movements during drills, his sharp eyes lingering on me longer than necessary. Though he refrained from speaking outright, it was clear he suspected there was more to me than the Duke's fabricated backstory suggested.

Later that afternoon, Kazmir summoned Sir Marcus to his study. I was present, though I kept to the shadows, letting Kazmir handle the conversation.

"Sir Marcus," Kazmir began, leaning back in his chair, "I trust you've noticed Miss Ava's… unique abilities during training."

Marcus nodded, his expression unreadable. "I have. Her movements are polished, almost too polished for someone with the background you've provided. It reminds me of…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing.

Kazmir smirked, gesturing for me to step forward. "Reminds you of someone, doesn't it?"

I stepped into the light, removing the scarf I had used to obscure my features. Marcus's eyes widened, his composure breaking as he took an involuntary step back. 

"Lady Amira," he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "You're… alive?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Technically, yes. Though I was hoping to avoid the dramatics."

He blinked, then recovered, giving a small laugh. "If you wanted a quieter life, maybe not besting my entire squad would've been a good start, my lady."

"I'll keep that in mind," I replied dryly.

Kazmir interjected, his tone firm. "Marcus, you are one of the few people I trust implicitly. You must keep this secret. Amira's life depends on it."

Marcus straightened, his expression resolute. "Of course, Your Grace. No one will hear of this from me."

"Thank you," I said, offering him a small smile. "Your loyalty means more to me than I can say."

Later that evening, after training, I wandered into the manor's gardens, seeking solace among the fragrant blooms and tranquil fountains. Memories of snowy nights in Korea surfaced, the cool breeze carrying a hint of winter's approach. Fatigue, both physical and emotional, washed over me, and I succumbed to an unexpected slumber beneath the shade of a sprawling oak tree.

When I awoke, I found myself tucked into my bed, my training gear replaced with soft nightclothes. The Duke sat asleep on the nearby sofa, his posture relaxed, his features softened by sleep. It was a side of him I hadn't seen before, a vulnerability that surprised me.

As I studied his face, his eyes fluttered open, catching me off guard.

"You'll have all day enjoying this view," he teased with the same phrase as before, a smirk playing on his lips.

Flustered, I straightened up. "You should've woken me instead of carrying me like a sack of flour."

"You weigh more like a sack of potatoes," he replied, trying to suppress a grin.

I narrowed my eyes. "Careful, or I might make sure the next sack you carry is filled with rocks."

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "You looked too peaceful to disturb. Besides, it was no trouble."

I rolled my eyes, turning away to hide my embarrassment. "Next time, just wake me."

"As you wish, my lady," he replied, his tone light but teasing.

Then came the misunderstanding.

Kazmir's gaze darkened, his earlier teasing replaced by an unfamiliar seriousness. "Amira," he began, his voice hesitant. "You've been unconscious for two weeks. I called a priest to examine you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

"He said something… unusual. That the body of Amira von Seymour was a shell before now. The soul that inhabits this body is what makes it alive. You are the real Amira."

His words struck me like a physical blow, the implications swirling in my mind.

Kazmir's voice grew quieter. "Before I left for the north, you promised to wait for me. But you didn't cry. You didn't even seem hurt. Now I understand why—it wasn't truly you."

Emotion cracked his voice. "I won't let anything take you away again—not even the Emperor."

I hesitated. "Kazmir, I…"

His face hardened as though bracing for disappointment. With a dramatic pause, he began walking toward the door, clearly expecting me to stop him. I didn't. Halfway through, he turned to look back, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration, before sighing and leaving without another word.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me in the heavy silence of the twilight. My chest ached, though whether it was from his words or the memories clawing their way to the surface, I couldn't tell.

Tomorrow, I would find answers—even if they shattered everything I thought I knew.