It seemed she had underestimated this "junior sister" after all.
Could it be she really was a Saint—immune to the same trick twice?
Van Helsing's consciousness, attached to the thumb, silently mocked.
No… or perhaps… she hadn't been knocked out the first time at all?
The moment he saw Elena quietly open her eyes, a player's instinct and a transmigrator's experience instantly connected countless details.
Back then, though he had been inside the box, he could piece together the situation from Anna's hesitant muttering when she almost killed her junior sister—Elena's disheveled clothes, the wounds "just so" revealed under candlelight, all perfectly timed to make Anna hesitate.
Too perfect.
Now that he thought about it, it probably hadn't been coincidence at all, but a carefully staged "display."
Fragments of the game Under the Gods flashed through his mind—within the original storyline, the Black Baron killed Anna and took the finger. Yet Elena survived into the mid-game, even becoming someone who provided key information to the player, indirectly leading to the Baron being slain as an elite enemy… and dropping the relic equipment: the thumb.
"So that's how it is…" Van Helsing's thoughts raced. If she could survive that long in the original plot… "Heh, seems this Elena is far from simple."
He instantly stilled all movement. The hand relaxed completely, like a lifeless object, leaving only a faint thread of perception attached as he coldly observed.
Elena slowly sat up, her movements feather-light. Her eyelids remained lowered, her pupils leaving only a thin sliver of light in the dark, cleverly creating a sleepwalking illusion.
She first made a faint noise on purpose. Seeing no reaction from Anna—her breathing steady—she finally began to act.
Her slender fingers slipped into the storage pouch at her waist. With a delicate pinch, she lifted an almost invisible bit of white powder.
Then, like a true sleepwalker, she swayed her way to Anna's bedside. With a subtle flick of her fingers—
The powder dissolved into a wisp of smoke, silently drifting into Anna's breath.
Almost at the same time, Anna's snoring grew heavier. A trace of drool even slipped from the corner of her mouth—clearly sinking into deeper sleep.
"Tsk tsk, professional," Van Helsing evaluated silently. "Feigning sleepwalking to leave herself an excuse. Even if caught, she has a way out. Clean technique too—just as I thought, Anna's crude methods never fooled her from the beginning."
After confirming Anna was completely unconscious, Elena dropped the act. Her eyes cleared instantly.
She didn't check valuables first.
Instead, she reached straight for Anna's waist—the Black Baron's storage pouch.
"So she heard the commotion outside? Checking the result? Or… waiting to swoop in like a mantis stalking the cicada?" Van Helsing mused with interest. It was like watching a movie—if only he had popcorn… and a mouth.
Elena pulled out the stack of letters and skimmed them under the faint moonlight.
Her expression shifted subtly—sometimes frowning, sometimes showing sudden realization, as if solving a puzzle.
She read intently—not like someone snooping, but like someone searching for a precise answer.
After a long while, she returned the letters exactly as they were. She showed no greed for the spirit grain or faintly detectable medicinal pills inside the pouch, placing it gently back beside Anna.
Then she stood by the bed, looking down at her senior sister.
Anna's sleeping face still held traces of exhaustion—and ruthlessness.
Elena's gaze was complicated: concern, scrutiny, understanding… and perhaps even a trace of pity.
She raised her hand.
For a moment, Van Helsing thought she would strike.
But instead, her hand fell gently, softly—almost unnaturally so—as she patted Anna's messy hair.
"Good night."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. Then she turned without hesitation, returned to her own bed, pulled up the covers, and closed her eyes.
Her breathing soon became even, as if she had never awakened.
The room fell silent once more, filled only with Anna's deep sleep.
Van Helsing's "gaze" lingered on Elena, then shifted to Anna, who slept cluelessly, drool still at her lips.
This fool… hadn't won a single round from beginning to end.
The night passed quietly. The sun rose as always.
"Cough… cough!"
The metallic taste of blood surged up her throat, jolting Anna awake from the depths of unconsciousness.
She stared at the unfamiliar canopy above her, utterly dazed for a few moments.
Understandably so.
After all, she had also inhaled Elena's drug.
"She killed the Baron with her own hands, yet sleeps this soundly—not even a word in her dreams," Van Helsing's voice sounded at just the right moment, calm yet sharp as a needle piercing her lingering haze. "Seems you really do have a killer's… 'talent.'"
The word "talent" carried a hint of amusement.
Anna jolted fully awake.
Last night—the whip, the thorns, the severed body, the storm of black petals, the warmth flowing through her palm—everything crashed back into her mind.
Her heart tightened. Instinctively, she reached for the scythe in her storage pouch.
"Now you're nervous?" Van Helsing mocked faintly.
"No!" Anna sat upright abruptly, her voice hoarse but quickly stabilizing into forced calm.
"There's no need. Viscount Goldrich in the city doesn't know yet. My blood core has been restored. With these spirit stones and pills, I only need some time in seclusion. Breaking through from late servant level to the Baron level will be inevitable."
She spoke faster, as if convincing herself—and demonstrating to him:
"When that happens, I'll have both strength and leverage. The Baron is dead, but his 'line' remains. From the letters, Goldrich values only profit and usefulness. Whoever can maintain the flow of spirit stones is valuable."
"If I can take over and prove my worth, he might even welcome it. After all, a younger Baron-level partner with potential is far more useful than a dying old man."
She emphasized the word "value."
Yes—value.
That was the only truth she had gleaned from those cold letters.
She had been discarded because she lost value.
Her junior sister was chosen because she had value.
The Baron was greedy because he created value.
Goldrich tolerated him because he benefited from it.
I must prove my value.
Calm. Decisive. Capable.
Only then could she continue borrowing Van Helsing's power.
A trace of self-satisfaction flickered in her eyes.
Van Helsing's thumb tapped faintly in her palm, like a nod—but he said nothing.
Satisfied? Perhaps.
But doubt lingered.
After witnessing Elena's performance last night, he couldn't fully trust Anna's conclusions.
Sometimes she was sharp. Sometimes… laughably naive.
Anna mistook his silence for approval. Reassured, she got out of bed and stretched.
As her sleeve slipped down—
A dark, dried bloodstain, now brown, clung to the inside of her cuff.
She froze.
Her pupils shrank.
She had missed this.
Her head snapped toward the other bed—
Elena lay facing away, breathing slow and steady, shoulders rising and falling gently.
Still asleep.
Or so it seemed.