The Duke’s Reborn Daughter Sometimes Chooses Violence.

“Still nothing?” I asked, even though I knew the answer well enough.

Damian looked stricken. He shook his head. “No. Everyone knows to look for her, but….”

It had been an entire day since anyone had seen Sere. I had given out the call to every single maid and manservant we had, and yet nobody had seen her. I had looked for her myself and hadn’t had any better luck. I had looked for hours, calling out to her. I’d hardly even slept. Still, nothing.

“Damn it,” I growled. My frustration was already high. Now it was just starting to boil into anger.

I was angry at Sere for being unreasonable. For not following along with the obvious and right thing to do. I was even angrier with myself for thinking I could just decide that for someone else. It made me draw parallels to someone I wanted no connection to at all.

“It’s fine. She’ll turn up.” Damian promised, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“She’s still eating?”

He nodded.

Sere might have disappeared, but she remained in the manor. Today, the House chefs reported missing food where there had been none before. Sere was still here and fed. She was safe. That should have been all that mattered, yet it wasn’t enough.

I tried very hard to force myself into stillness. To not pull my own hair out. I reached for my Gift to ease some of the frustration.

Liar.

The Godblade whispered; the whisper was accompanied by a dull throb right above my forehead. The blade didn’t like this. Would it refuse to come out again if I did end up using my Gift the way I wanted? Damn it, this was bullshit.

“Damian, do I look like…everyone else?” How else was I to ask the question?

This was one of the few times I wasn’t wearing either a dress or my normal training clothes. Instead, I wore a set of high-waisted, black trousers with a white linen shirt. I had a brown waistcoat over the shirt, and I quite liked it, thanks to its almost overly generous pockets. Why didn’t my dresses have any of those?!

I wasn’t wearing slippers either, dropping them in favor of some sturdy, flat leather boots.

In truth, I resembled many common women I’d seen in the city. If I’d had an open weapon, I might have even passed for an adventurer.

“Yes?” Damian said. When he had first seen me, he’d sounded like someone was actively choking him. The following minutes had evidently drowned some of this surprise.

“Good.”

Anias had certainly done a thorough job of getting me the things I’d asked for. What a capable woman. There was a knock on my door, followed by Anias poking her head in.

Speak of the devil. Or think, in this case.

“My Lady, if you do not wish to be late, then we should-” She frowned as she took me in. Anias very slowly replaced that frown with a blank expression. “We should go, My Lady.”

Perhaps it was Anias who would suffer most today.

We could only ride our carriage part of the way to our destination.

This was a section of our District where the roads were simply not wide enough for a carriage to pass. That was to say nothing of the various looks we would have gotten. Though that might not have mattered, since we got plenty of looks anyway. I had made Damian wear matching clothing to mine -a simple pair of trousers, a simple shirt.

Anias refused to take off her maid costume.

I might have been able to force her, yet even thinking of such put a bad taste in my mouth right now.

Damian and I walked through the streets, with Anias moving in front of us. I’d left Violet back at the manor, in the vain hope that she might be able to find Sere. She had spent a lot of time with the girl over the last two weeks. Perhaps Sere would be comfortable around her, even as she wasn’t around me right now.

Just the thought was enough to send a pang through my chest. I ignored it.

There were far more non-humans in this part of the district. In all the places I’d visited before, the ratio of humans to non-humans was around one to fifteen. Here, it almost felt like there was one non-human for every single human I saw.

Dwarves stared at me suspiciously. Just about every Beastkin pointedly stepped out of Anias’ way, and I saw at least a few Elves staring at me from afar. The mood was…hostile, more than I had expected.

The surroundings said just as much as the people did.

There were no fancy shops or marketplaces here. Most buildings, even from the outside, seemed in some state of disrepair. A few shopkeepers had stalls, not stores, and eyed me hopefully. They had nothing to offer except basic produce.

Our destination was easy to find; we simply had to follow the growing crowd for a few streets. Anias had to lightly use her Gift here to make it easier for us. It was a surprise that nobody accosted us. There were so many noises all around us that made it hard to think, let alone say something to anyone else.

I spotted the small line of guards first. They cut the street in half directly in front of me, separating the crowd from the building behind them. The Karr guards saw Anias and then cleared a path for us. I heard my share of grumbling, but then we were through.

Count Gideon stood in front of a small raised podium, surrounded by yet two more guards. Dorothy Carter stood off to the side, working at a Scrylens. Another dark-haired man stood at her side, presumably helping her.

They both wore the same clothing, so perhaps he was someone from her paper?

Count Gideon spotted me and started to walk over, but paused midstep. He stared at what I was wearing, his expression unreadable. I assumed I had surprised him. Good, that was the point. I was pleased to note that Count Gideon himself didn’t wear anything much different from what Damian wore, save that his clothes looked more worn than ours.

“My Lady.” Count Gideon bowed, addressing only me. “You grace us with your presence.”

There was a scent in the air. The scent of hot, fresh broth. Three men labored over a massive metallic pot, larger than I was, stirring the contents within with large ladles.

This was a soup kitchen. A place to distribute food to the needy every day, at prescheduled times.

“Nonsense,” I said simply. “It is good to see men take initiative to make the lives of other men better. What would be the point of House Veyne if I did not come to such an event myself?”

Count Gideon nodded, gestured towards the pot. “It should be time very soon, My Lady. You are…set on what you asked?” He asked the second question in a lower voice.

“I am.”

He nodded somewhat reluctantly before gesturing towards the crowd. “The people are very tense, My Lady.”

I had, of course, noted that too. The crowd was large. Yet for its size, it was surprisingly silent. Most of the people I saw were warily staring at the arrangement in front of them. Some stared at me even more warily. They must have guessed who I was.

The children I saw pointed at me and gestured towards each other, speaking in hushed whispers.

“It’s fine. It’s only natural that people are a little cautious.” I said.

I moved from the Count and over to Dorothy. As soon as she saw me approaching, the woman snapped to attention, her spine straightening and arms at her sides, which made her look almost comically rigid. “M-My Lady.” She bowed deeply, bending at the waist.

The man next to her sighed and tipped his head slightly, with much more moderation. “My name is Nial Wyatt, My Lady.” He was a taller, older man. Wizened, perhaps?

“He’s my supervisor,” Dorothy said quickly.

“Your mentor.” Nial corrected. “I still can’t quite believe she was telling the truth. About meeting My Lady, I mean.”

“She left quite the impression,” I said politely, focusing my attention on Dorothy alone. “Will everything be ready?”

Dorothy paused, looked at the Scrylens thoughtfully, and then nodded. “It will! I never mess something like this up. You can count on me.”

Somehow, that did make me more nervous than if she’d just said she had everything under control. Oh well. It would probably be fine.

“Esra, it’s time.” Damian tapped my shoulder.

I turned around to face the crowd. Count Gideon stepped forward and projected his voice with mana.

“It is my pleasure to announce the opening of the first Soup Kitchen in the Veyne District. A place where all men and women can fill their stomachs, regardless of their race or background. A place where House Veyne can give back some of the generosity the people of this District have shown it.”

The crowd didn’t erupt into cheers. Instead, a wave of murmurs ran through them.

Count Gideon moved to the side and gestured towards me. “And to celebrate an occasion like this, we have the honor of hosting Esra Veyne. She insisted on seeing this task through herself. She aims to be a ruler who doesn’t just watch from on high, but is willing to step among her people.”

Another wave of murmurs went up this time, somehow louder than the one just before. I couldn’t resist.

Click. Click.

I enhanced my hearing and focused.

“Look at her clothes. What’s she playing at?”

“The fucking Lady wants to get down in the dirt, does she?”

“How do you think they’re going to try and screw us over this time?”

“What do you think that bitch did to Gideon?”

Something inside of me sank. That was enough.

I took a deep breath, turned my hearing back down. The people weren’t just skeptical like I’d thought. They were hostile. A rather uncomfortable difference. What was that comment about my clothes anyway? And that last comment was simply rude.

“Now, very shortly, we will open the bread line!” Count Gideon said, louder. “Lady Veyne wishes to pour out the first few bowls herself!”

That didn’t get much of a reaction either. All it did was make sure just about every gaze here fixed itself on me.

“Esra, this might not be such a good idea,” Damian whispered into my ear.

I was starting to think the same now. I glanced at Anias. She didn’t seem too concerned. That did alleviate my anxiety somewhat. Gideon looked over at his ‘chefs’, saw a nod from them, and turned back towards the crowd.

“Let them in, men.” Count Gideon said. “Single file!”

The line of Karr guards parted, just enough to let a single line of people through. Nobody actually came. Everyone just stared as if they didn’t know what was happening. Finally, a few people actually started filtering through. Count Gideon nodded to me, and so I moved over towards the pot.

One of the chefs hastily bowed, gave me a bowl with one hand and a ladle with the other. I moved over behind the pot. The heat and scent of the stew inside wafted into the air even as the first people stepped forward.

The first in line was a small child. He wore tattered rags, the hood pulled low over his pointed ears. An Elf. I gave the child the best smile I could as I deftly filled his bowl and moved it towards him. He stared at it, stared at me.

“Go on. You can have it.”

The child hesitated more, then hurriedly reached out, snatched the bowl from my hands so fast it almost spilled. He shrank back, hurrying back towards the crowd as if he was afraid someone might snatch his bowl from him if he wasn’t fast enough.

The next man was a tall beastman who glared down at me. I filled another bowl and moved it over towards him. He stared at it just as long as the child had, though I didn’t think it was for the same reason.

“You ca-”

The man snatched the bowl away from me and moved away. From the corners of my vision, I saw Damian twitch.

I raised a hand to my side to stall him. More people came. Their reactions were mixed between suspicion, fear, and confusion. None of them gave me the kind of reaction I had actually hoped for. At some point, I felt the thin pinpricks of the Scrylens recording everything. I almost wished I could ask Dorothy to turn the thing off.

I must have served a dozen people before stepping away and letting one of the cooks take my place. The effect of changing just this one thing was almost immediate. The people looked a little less hesitant. They’d occasionally even smile when they got their food, and might even venture to talk to the man serving them.

That…was the exact kind of thing I had wanted.

Oh.

How had I not realized something so basic?

I might have been wearing the same type of clothing as all of these people, and yet all that did was make me stand out more than if I’d worn my finest dress. It was so basic, I wanted to slap myself. My clothing was clean. Pristine. It hadn’t seen a day’s worth of use, and would never say another day’s worth of use after I changed into something else.

These people couldn’t afford that. Their clothing was dirty. Grimy. Frayed cuffs, torn patches, missing buttons. Their clothing was lived in.

Compared to them, I might as well have been wearing a costume. I glanced at Damian. He looked just as out of place, a boy playing dress-up. This was a stupid idea right from the start. I needed to leave this place before I made the damage any worse.

Click. Click.

I enhanced my hearing, focused idly. What was I looking for? Perhaps I was looking for a single comment, any proof at all that this hadn’t been a catastrophe. I didn’t get it.

“Look at how stiff she is.”

”What is she doing?”

“Looking down her damn nose is what she’s doing.”

There were hundreds of faint murmurs; none of them had anything good to say about what I was doing. Occasionally, I’d hear a faint scratching, presumably from Dorothy writing. Not that there was anything worth writing about here.

I sighed, turned towards Damian. “We sho-”

Creak.

I froze in place, turned back. The sound originated from the large pot. It creaked again. My mind didn’t understand what was happening. My body moved anyway.

The pot was suspended over a small flame, propped up by metallic supports. One of those supports groaned and then snapped. I saw it start to tip over. Right towards a small human child who had stepped towards it. I condensed mana into my legs and moved. Time seemed to move at a standstill. I wasn’t going to make it in time. I knew that. I was going to be the barest fraction of a second too late.

Damn it. Damn it.

The air grew thick with mana. A mop of blonde hair appeared out of nowhere, blinking into existence right in the path of the falling cauldron.

Sere planted her small hands directly against the scorching black iron. Her boots dug into the mud as the weight of the pot bore down on her. I heard her hiss as she forced the massive pot to a halt. She looked like she was about to fall over.

My heart leapt into my throat.

A purple glow instantly covered the pot, holding it and its contents in place before setting it firmly back onto the table. Anias.

Sere nodded and fell to the ground.

I reached Sere in an instant, dropping straight to my knees in the dirty street. I didn’t care about the clothes. I didn’t care about the crowd. I grabbed her hands, turning them over in mine.

“Are you okay? Did it burn you?” I stared at her palms. They were bright red, but the skin wasn’t blistered. She had actually managed to compress her mana in time.

There were tiny pinpricks against my skin. I glanced up for a fraction of a second. Dorothy wasn’t pointing her Scrylens at the serving line we had planned. It was instead pointed at me. I ignored the Scrylens, focusing entirely on Sere. She shook her head and pulled her hands out of mine. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out her notepad and hastily wrote.

Not. Child.

I stared at the jagged, angry letters. I started to laugh. The nagging tension that had been choking me all day started to ebb away. I put my hands on her shoulders and met her gaze.

“No, I suppose you aren’t,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, Sere.”

Sere stared back at me. Her lower lip trembled. Then, she nodded, dropping the notepad to wrap her arms around my neck.

TRUTH.

The Godblade hummed in the back of my mind.

“...In the mud….”

“...what kind of noble does that?”

Right, I hadn’t turned my Gift off. I looked around at the crowd, saw something…different for a change. I saw surprise. A few confused glances. A handful of smiles.

It was hardly anything at all. A trickle against the skepticism I had gotten so far. It was, however, something.

“My Lady, are you okay?”

“I am,” I answered Anias. Not rising.

There was a pause. I looked over at Anias. She was standing beside the table, her eyes fixed on the metallic support that had given way. She ran a gloved finger over the break.

“My Lady, I do not believe that was an accident. It’s too clean.”

I felt my anger flare. Felt a similar flare from the Godblade resting in the back of my mind.

“I know.”