Sif awakens

Her consciousness drifted between chaos and reality, as though she had sunk into the deep sea and was slowly being drawn back to the surface.

Sif slowly opened her eyes, her blurred vision gradually coming into focus.

An unfamiliar wooden ceiling came into view, and a faint scent of smoke hung in the air.

Warm bedding enveloped her body, and she could distinctly feel its comforting warmth against her skin.

Instinctive wariness made her quickly scan her surroundings.

It was a wooden cabin. The walls and rafters were crude but tidy, with a few simple wooden tables and chairs and a fireplace burning with a warm glow.

Fortunately, there were no chains holding her captive, nor any obvious weapons.

Sif tried to turn over, only to find that her body would not obey her. She was so weak that even the slightest movement took tremendous effort.

Damn it! I can't move at all!

Her heart sank.

Then the agonizing memories came flooding back.

The destruction of the Cold Moon Tribe.

Her brothers, sisters, and parents had all died horribly because of a betrayal.

Her last surviving brother had died taking the enemy down with him to cover her escape.

She closed her eyes as grief surged through her. It felt as though a great boulder pressed against her chest, leaving her unable to breathe.

"At least I'm still alive. I still have a chance to avenge them!"

She clenched her teeth, fighting back the sting of tears as she struggled to steady her emotions.

Just then, the wooden door creaked open.

Sif's eyes snapped open, and she stared warily at the doorway.

She had expected unfamiliar soldiers, nobles, or the murderers who had slaughtered her people.

Instead, a thin, middle-aged woman entered. She looked to be in her forties, with wrinkles lining her face.

She wore plain cotton clothes and carried a tray holding a bowl of porridge and a cup of warm water. The rising steam carried a faint, pleasant aroma of food.

Seeing Sif awake, the woman's eyes lit up with delight. "Oh, you're finally awake! You're lucky to be alive, child."

The middle-aged woman gently lifted Sif's upper body and settled her against a soft pillow.

Then she picked up the cup of warm water and slowly brought it to Sif's lips, saying gently, "Have some water first to soothe your throat. You've been unconscious for days."

After a moment's hesitation, Sif finally parted her lips slightly and allowed the woman to press the rim of the cup to them.

Warm water trickled into her mouth, finally easing the burning sensation in her throat a little.

Sif swallowed softly, and as the water soothed her, her mind gradually cleared.

"Slowly, there's no rush." There was sympathy in the woman's voice. "Poor child. You must have suffered so much..."

Sif's eyelashes trembled slightly, and a shadow of emotion passed through her eyes, but she did not answer.

"If our lord hadn't sent people to rescue you, wild beasts might have carried you off!" The woman began chattering as she gently patted Sif's back.

At those words, Sif lowered her gaze slightly, her fingertips quietly tightening.

Our lord?

A southern noble?!

Wariness rose within her, but she remained silent.

The woman did not notice the change in her thoughts and continued rambling. "Don't be afraid. Our lord may be young, but he's an extraordinary man. He's kindhearted, too, and can't bear to see people suffer.

"Did you know? He even rescues injured slaves. He's done so much for refugees like us."

The woman spoke casually, but Sif grew increasingly uneasy.

I've actually been taken in by a noble of those southern barbarians!

Ever since childhood, she had heard countless stories about the empire.

They were cunning invaders, every last one cold-blooded and merciless. They liked to deceive the weak with lies before ruthlessly devouring everything.

Now she had fallen into the hands of just such a person, and Sif's unease only deepened.

First of all, I must never let him learn my true identity.

Although her family had been destroyed, her status as a former princess of the Cold Moon Tribe still held immense value.

To those in power, she was a useful political bargaining chip.

She might even be sent to the imperial court and become some noble's plaything.

Sif could never accept such a fate.

Then what should I do now?

Her fingers curled slightly, her heart beating anxiously.

Run away immediately?

Sif quickly rejected the idea.

She could not even move her body at the moment, let alone navigate terrain she knew nothing about.

If she fled recklessly, she would either die on the road or be captured and brought back. Her situation would only grow worse.

Pretend to obey?

Perhaps that was an option.

She could act obedient for now, secretly observe everything here, and then look for a suitable opportunity to escape.

But that would mean proceeding cautiously. She could not let him discover her identity or realize that she intended to flee.

Most importantly, of course, she had to find out what sort of person this "lord" really was.

If he truly was as kindhearted as the middle-aged woman claimed, perhaps she would have some breathing room.

But if his kindness was only a facade and he was just as cold and ruthless beneath it, she would have to prepare for the worst.

Whatever happened, she could not simply sit and await her fate.

As her thoughts raced, footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door, accompanied by a guard's announcement. "The lord has arrived."

Sif instinctively tensed, clutching the bedding with her fingertips and holding her breath.

She had braced herself to face an imperial noble with a brutish face and a lecherous gaze, reeking of heavy perfume.

She had even rehearsed the coming encounter countless times in her mind.

If he humiliated her, she would pretend to submit and wait for a chance to escape.

Yet when the door opened, reality proved utterly unlike anything she had expected.

The person who walked in was a handsome, black-haired young man.

He looked barely into his twenties, with a tall, straight figure. His clothes were neat and tasteful, neither excessively lavish nor shabby. Everything was just right.

He wore no overpowering perfume or ostentatious gold jewelry, nor did he exude an air of bloodthirsty brutality. He even seemed rather fresh and composed.

His gaze was appraising, but without that condescending contempt. Was there even a trace of gentleness in his eyes?

Sif froze for a moment.

This is... a noble of the Ironblood Empire?

This is nothing like what I was taught growing up!

As she understood it, imperial nobles were either fat, greedy wastrels or cold, merciless butchers. They were bloodthirsty and arrogant, treating the other peoples of the north as beasts.

Yet the young man before her looked nothing like either kind.

But she quickly recovered, alarm bells ringing in her mind.

I can't let appearances deceive me!

Perhaps this man is simply better at disguising himself than the other southern barbarians.

He looks clean and behaves elegantly, but that doesn't mean he has no ambitions or schemes.

I must be even more careful!

Sif suppressed her doubts and lowered her eyes, quietly observing his every move.