I was seated in my office, reviewing reports.
To be precise, I was pretending to review them.
Most of the work had already been done by others, and I had to admit—they were far more competent at this than I was. The reports were structured, detailed, and efficient. If anything, my role here felt more like approval rather than actual contribution.
Still, appearances mattered.
So I read through them carefully, making occasional notes, maintaining the illusion of involvement.
Then—
A knock echoed through the room.
I didn't look up immediately.
There was no need.
My Sixth Sense had already registered the presence outside. Omniscient had confirmed it.
I knew exactly who it was.
But even so, formality had to be maintained.
"Come in."
The door opened.
I lifted my gaze—
And froze.
My eyes widened before I could stop myself.
It was Mirella.
I had expected her.
And yet—
I hadn't expected this.
She stood before me like a vision pulled straight from the depths of a dark fantasy—refined, dangerous, and undeniably captivating. Her attire was bold, almost provocative, yet carried an elegance that made it feel intentional rather than excessive.
Her silhouette was shaped by a fitted corset of deep midnight velvet, pulled tight enough to accentuate her form with striking precision. It lifted and framed her figure in a way that naturally drew attention, creating a dramatic contrast with the softness of her waist and the curve of her hips.
Below it, a glimpse of her midriff was visible, her skin smooth and pale, marked only by a small crescent-shaped ornament resting at her navel. It caught the light subtly, guiding the eye without demanding it.
Her skirt was layered with black and violet fabric, light and airy, moving gently with even the slightest motion. It hovered around her knees, creating an interplay of shadow and form that felt almost unreal.
Her legs were covered in sheer dark stockings that ended at her thighs, held in place by a delicate yet structured garter belt adorned with faint silver markings. The contrast between fabric and skin only enhanced the visual impact, making every step she took feel deliberate.
Her boots extended upward, sleek and polished, their surface reflecting faint light like liquid obsidian. The height of their heels subtly altered her posture, giving her stance a poised, commanding presence.
Over her corset, she wore a blouse of fine black lace. It was intricate, detailed with patterns resembling webs and arcane symbols. The sleeves were wide and flowing, while the bodice remained close-fitting, revealing just enough to suggest rather than show.
Draped over everything was a heavy velvet cape, dark on the outside, lined with deep crimson within. As she moved, the inner lining revealed itself briefly, like a hidden secret glimpsed only for a moment. It was held together at her collar by a thin chain that rested lightly against her neck.
Around her throat was a dark choker, simple in design yet striking in presence. Her hands were covered in lace gloves that reached up to her elbows, leaving her fingers exposed—her nails painted a deep red that caught the eye more than expected.
She stood there.
Calm.
Composed.
And slightly… flustered.
A faint blush touched her cheeks, though she said nothing at first.
I stared at her for a moment longer than I should have.
Because this—
This was the exact outfit she had worn in the novel.
There was no mistake.
This was her.
The Witch of Nightmares.
In the novel, she stand among the top three most beautiful women in the world.
And now—
She stood before me.
The only thing she lacked was her full strength.
For now.
Still within the realm just below a true Powerhouse.
Finally, she spoke.
"Nice to see you after so long, my lord."
Her voice brought me back.
I cleared my thoughts.
"Yeah," I replied, regaining composure. "So, how have you been?"
A smile appeared on her face.
Genuine.
Soft.
"I am well," she said. "This place… feels like home."
I paused for a moment.
That smile—
It wasn't something I remembered from the novel.
In novel, she rarely smiled.
She had no reason to.
Her life had been filled with loss.
But now—
Things were different.
And honestly…
That was a good change.
I leaned back slightly.
"How is your training?" I asked. "Any improvement?"
She nodded immediately.
"Yes. With the resources you provided, I was able to obtain materials that are otherwise extremely difficult to acquire. Some even came from the black market."
Her eyes held confidence.
"I have been practicing consistently. My strength has improved significantly."
She paused briefly.
"The man you killed in the forest when you saved me… I can defeat him now."
I smiled slightly.
Good.
She continued.
"I have also been assisting in maintaining the security of the territory."
I nodded.
Then I said—
"I've brought someone."
She looked at me, curious.
"A werewolf," I continued. "His name is Zareth. He's a Powerhouse."
Her eyes widened in shock.
"A Powerhouse?"
Then realization hit her.
"The one being hunted by the Empire?"
"Yes."
Weird....she shouldn't know about him. After all she had been in forest.
She hesitated.
"Will that be… alright?" she asked carefully. "There will now be thirteen Powerhouses here. This could disrupt the balance."
I waved it off.
"It's already too late for that."
She fell silent.
I continued calmly.
"We are already too strong. If demons are excluded—even with the Hero included—no one matches us."
I paused briefly.
"And the Hero is still a sapling."
Mirella seemed uneasy.
I could see it.
But she didn't argue.
Smart.
I nodded toward the door.
"If that's all, you may leave."
She bowed slightly.
Then turned and walked out.
You might be wondering—
Where does she keep her vials?
After all, they are essential to her.
The answer was simple.
She carried a coat in her hand.
All her vials, ingredients, and tools were stored within it.
At her current level, she still needed physical storage.
Once she reached a higher stage—
She would learn a blood-based technique unique to witches.
A method that allowed them to store such items within their own blood.
But for now—
That coat was her arsenal.
I returned to my work.
But my thoughts drifted.
Back to Zareth.
Then—
I paused.
On second thought…
I should inform the other Lords.
Bringing a Powerhouse into the territory wasn't a small matter.
Even if they wouldn't oppose it—
They should know.
I tapped my ring.
Channeling mana into it.
Setting the time to zero.
This indicated that I was ready to attend a meeting immediately.
The system was simple.
Each Lord would input their availability.
The meeting time would be set based on the longest duration submitted.
If someone needed more time, everyone else would wait.
The ring would update automatically.
Displaying the highest time among all participants.
It was efficient.
Practical.
And far more convenient than traditional communication.
This ring wasn't just a symbol of authority.
It was a tool.
A powerful one.
Of course, one might wonder—
What stops someone from forging such a ring?
Pretending to be a Lord?
The answer was simple.
Fear.
A century ago, someone had tried exactly that.
They forged a similar ring.
Used it for personal gain.
The result?
All Twelve Lords hunted them down.
Not just them—
Anyone connected to them.
They were erased.
Completely.
Half a kingdom burned to ground because one idiot tried to pretend to be someone he is not.
Since then—
No one has dared to attempt such a thing again.
That's why when I show this ring—
No one questions it.
No one doubts it.
....
An hour passed.
Responses came in.
The final time was decided.
Night.
I made my way to the meeting chamber.
Sat in the chair marked with the number "12."
Inserted my ring into its slot.
Light spread beneath the table.
Then—
Projections began to appear.
One by one.
Until all were present.
The Fifth Lord spoke first.
"So, Twelfth Lord… what matter requires our attention?"
The First Lord added—
"Yes. I was occupied."
I didn't waste time.
"You all know Zareth."
The Seventh Lord responded—
"Yes. We keep track of Powerhouses. Especially those connected to the Empire."
I nodded.
Then said—
"I've made him my subordinate."
Silence.
Then—
"Meaning?" the Third Lord asked.
I smirked.
"Exactly what it sounds like."
"He serves under me now."
The Tenth Lord spoke next.
"That makes thirteen Powerhouses. The Empire will not ignore this."
The Fourth Lord chuckled lightly.
"If we limit ourselves out of fear, we become weak."
He leaned forward slightly.
"This is good. A shift in balance was inevitable."
I looked around.
"So there are no objections?"
The Ninth Lord spoke calmly.
"No objections. Proceed as you wish."
I removed my ring.
The projections vanished.
I leaned back slightly.
Good.
As expected—
No one opposed it.
The Coalition valued strength above all.
They wouldn't reject an advantage.
Not something like this.
Everything was proceeding…
Exactly as I intended.