Julisa POV: My husband of one year, Darryl Parrish, finally returned triumphant from the Abyssal war. I had joyfully prepared a grand banquet to welcome him home, only to watch him walk in with Birgitta Rush, a female Warlord, her arm wrapped intimately around his. Right there in the center of the hall, he demanded that I step aside and make room for his 'true love.' "Look at her bare hands," one of the maids whispered loudly to the others by the fungal walls, snickering behind her sleeve. "Thought she was some high-born noble lady. Now she's just a Spiritless cast-off without even an Oath Ring. Pathetic." My fingers curled so tightly around the stem of my crystal wine goblet that my knuckles turned bone-white. I stared dead at the man I had waited an entire year for. "Darryl, what kind of joke are you playing?" I spoke, my voice trembling uncontrollably, carrying a pathetic sense of disbelief even to my own ears. "Exactly one year ago, at the Naming pool, you swore an oath on your Tree Spirit. You said I was your only..." "Shut up, Julisa." Darryl's triumphant smile vanished. He furrowed his brows, a flash of impatience crossing his gray-brown eyes. "Don't kill the buzz in front of my soldiers." He exhaled a breath heavy with the foul stench of demon blood, looking down at me with pure condescension. "I just secured Stag Valley for this clan. It was Birgitta who fought side by side with me in the mud. We have a soul resonance that a fragile woman like you, who only belongs in the inner keep, couldn't possibly understand." He lifted his chin. "I am allowing you to keep your title as first matron, and you should be tilting your neck to thank me." "Thanking you?" A sour, burning ache swelled in my eyes, and my heart felt like it was being brutally crushed by an invisible hand. I fought hard against the choke in my voice, staring him down. "For spending my dead father's Silverdew to boost your ego? Or for making me work like a mule day and night to feed your sick mother, while you were out 'fighting side by side' with another woman?!" Those words accurately pierced Darryl's fragile and insecure nerves. His face flushed instantly, twisted by pure, vicious fury. He took a heavy step forward, his Warlord-rank pressure vibrating through the floorboards. He dropped his voice into a cruel, venomous hiss meant to tear my soul apart. "You think you're still some high-and-mighty noble daughter of Clan Richardson?" he sneered, his words dripping with poison. "Wake up, Julisa! Your father and six brothers died holding the Rift three years ago. And your mother, your sister-in-law, even your two-year-old nephew—they perished in the Abyssal hellfire! Their souls were torn apart by demon claws right inside your ancestral manor! You're the only one left! You're a cursed orphan with a dead bloodline! A Spiritless weakling! Letting you stay in Parrish Keep is the greatest mercy you'll ever get!" The words hit me like a heavy warhammer point-blank to the chest. The memories of that blood-soaked manor, of the demon fire consuming my family, ripped through my mind in a frantic, agonizing tear. This was the deepest, most devastating wound in my soul. And now, the husband I once trusted unconditionally was ruthlessly ripping it open in front of a hall full of servants, pouring coarse salt on it just to protect his pathetic ego. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted the heavy metallic tang of blood. But in that very second, the heart-shredding agony suddenly stopped. Looking at Darryl's face, which had become hideous from sheer malice, all the illusions I had of him shattered to dust in my mind. I finally realized that the man standing before me wasn't worth a single drop of my tears. My entire year of sacrifice had been fed to a cold-blooded beast. "Darryl's right," Birgitta said, stepping forward, still holding onto his arm. She wore her gleaming Warlord armor, radiating a sharp, martial elegance. She looked straight at me, speaking with a blunt, unapologetic tone. "He needs a real Warlord by his side, but I'm not a jealous woman. I'm totally fine with you staying in the rear courtyard to manage the house and raise our future children. As long as you recognize your place, we can coexist." "Julisa, watch your attitude!" Dowager Lady Beulah, Darryl's mother, suddenly marched into the hall supported by two maids, her face twisted in a severe scowl. "Birgitta is a heroine! Just by speaking with her, my withered Tree Spirit feels so much better! You should be grateful we didn't throw you out to the demons in the Low Marches!" I stared at the three of them. A wave of pure, absurd mockery washed over me, burning away the last ounce of weakness in my heart. Heroine? Felt better? Just last night, when Beulah was convulsing in agony, it was me who stayed awake for twenty hours, feeding her the diluted Silverdew I bought with my own dowry just to keep her breathing. I looked down at the crystal wine goblet in my hand. Then, I raised my arm and, with violent, resolute force, slammed the crystal hard onto the stone floor. Smash! The sharp, heavy crash cut through the hall like a thunderclap, sending glass shards and red wine flying everywhere, instantly plunging the room into a dead silence. Darryl stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock. "Coexist?" I looked up, sweeping my gaze past Birgitta's shocked face before landing coldly on Darryl. My voice no longer trembled; instead, it was laced with a deadly, freezing calm. "I'd rather smash this keep to pieces." Darryl's hands balled into fists, his chest heaving as the reality of the public humiliation hit him. "Let's get this straight. I am done being your free maid, and I am done letting you bleed my father's legacy dry," I said, staring straight into his eyes, enunciating every word and looking at him like a piece of trash. "Our Naming pool vows are dead. We are done, Darryl. Don't ever expect me to look back." I didn't wait for their reaction. I turned on my heel, pushed the heavy timber doors open, and stormed out into the biting, mist-shrouded night of the High Court. The freezing wind dried the very last tear I had shed out of pure stupidity. Suddenly, I slammed hard into a solid wall of muscle and cold metal. A pair of massive, steady hands gripped my shoulders, keeping me from falling backward. A sharp, overwhelming scent of frost, dark pine, and an ancient, suffocating Sovereign pressure washed over me. In that exact split second, the bare skin of my ringless left finger suddenly burned with an inexplicable, searing heat—a phantom pulse echoing deep within my dormant blood. "Watch your step," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled above my head, the vibration traveling right through my chest, making the strange heat on my finger throb even harder. I was so drained by that absolute severing of ties that I couldn't care less. I didn't look up to see his face, nor did I look at his armor. I just gently pulled away from his grip, muttered a low "Thank you," and walked straight into the dark.

Julisa POV: The freezing mist of the High Court bit into my cheeks as I hurried along the damp stone corridors back to my private bedchamber. The lingering scent of dark pine and frost from the man I had just collided with still clung to my cloak, but my mind was too focused on the betrayal in the grand hall to wonder who he was. I pushed my heavy timber door open and locked it behind me. My personal maid, Molly, was pacing anxiously by the hearth. The moment she saw me, she rushed over to take my cloak, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "My lady," she choked out, her voice trembling. "The servants are gossiping... They say the Clan Lord brought a female general back and wants to make her his equal. How could he do this? After everything you poured into this rotting keep over the past year..." I didn't answer. I walked past the grand wardrobe filled with pastel silk gowns—clothes Clan Parrish had specifically chosen to make me look like a tame, submissive housewife who knew her place. I didn't touch a single piece of silk. Instead, I dropped to my knees, reached into the deepest corner under my bed, and dragged out a heavy ironwood trunk. I unbuckled the brass latches. The lid creaked open, releasing the familiar, metallic scent of cold iron and old blood. My chest tightened as my fingers brushed over the top item—a scorched, bloodstained mithril crest bearing the roaring stag insignia of Clan Richardson. Beneath it lay a stack of untouched property deeds and a tarnished silver rattle that once belonged to a child. I pulled the rattle into the pale glow of the moonstones embedded in the wall. Three years ago, my father and my six older brothers marched to the Abyssal Rift. They were the proudest First-Tier Warlords of this kingdom. They held the frontline until their very last breath, dying as heroes. But the nightmare didn't end there. The official story fed to the Great Council was that a rogue pack of Abyssal assassins slipped past the borders and randomly attacked our ancestral manor. I survived only because my mother stuffed me inside the secret rune-cellar beneath the floorboards just before the demon fire started ripping through the manor walls. I heard every scream. I heard the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart. They butchered my mother, my sister-in-law, and even my two-year-old nephew. I crouched in the dark, covering my mouth with both hands as my two-year-old nephew's blood seeped through the floorboards and dripped onto my face. They left nothing but ash and shattered bones. When the smoke cleared, Clan Parrish stepped in. They called it charity. They claimed they were honoring my father's heroic memory by offering a Court Alliance to his orphaned, Spiritless daughter. But looking at my father's crest now, it finally dawned on me. They didn't take me in out of charity. They took me in solely to siphon off the massive Silverdew death compensations my father had left behind, and to exploit my sacred weaving skills to fund Darryl's military ambitions. I set the silver rattle down on the floor. The agonizing grief that used to choke me had hardened into cold, tempered steel. "Molly, bring me the ledgers," I said, my voice completely devoid of tremors. Molly wiped her tears, walked to the hidden wall compartment, and pulled out a thick sheepskin ledger. I took the book and ran my fingers over the dense rows of ink recording thousands of phials of Silverdew spent on Darryl's troops and his mother's medicine. "Starting this exact second, cut off all supplies of refined Silverdew to the main courtyard," I ordered coldly. Molly's eyes widened, and a fierce spark of vindication lit up her face. "Good! Let them see how they survive without your money!" But then she frowned, her tone shifting to practical concern. "But my lady, what about the Blood-Tempering Elixirs for Dowager Lady Beulah? Without your seal, the Apothecary Temple won't give them a single pill. The backlash in her withering Tree Spirit will kill her." I snapped the ledger shut with a heavy thud. "Then let her ask their glorious new general for elixirs." Molly nodded vigorously. "Yes, my lady! I will inform the apothecary and the silk-weaving workshops at once." Urgent, heavy footsteps suddenly echoed in the hallway outside, followed by a sharp, authoritative knock on the timber door. "My lady!" a guard called from the corridor. "The Dowager Lady is furious about what you did in the grand hall! She has summoned you to the upper hall immediately!" I rubbed my thumb over the cold ridges of my father's mithril crest. The old woman clearly couldn't swallow the humiliation of being publicly defied just moments ago. "My lady, the Dowager is surely going to pressure you into accepting that woman," Molly whispered, stepping closer. "Should I tell them you are unwell?" "Why would I hide?" I slipped the mithril crest into my wide sleeve and stood up straight, my green eyes flashing with a predatory sharpness. "I want to see just how shameless this family can be." I pulled the door open, brushed past the startled guard, and walked briskly along the suspended vine-bridge leading to the keep's upper hall.

Julisa POV: As I reached the carved double doors of the upper hall, Birgitta's loud, unrefined laughter drifted through the cracks, mingled with my mother-in-law Beulah's unusually warm and affectionate voice. They were celebrating their victory, thinking they had finally cornered the pet they raised. They forgot whose blood flowed in my veins. I drew a deep breath of the damp air, raised both hands, and shoved the heavy timber doors wide open. The doors crashed against the inner stone walls with a deafening bang. The harmonious laughter inside the upper hall died instantly. I stepped across the threshold, my spine ramrod straight, my chin held high. I didn't lower my gaze, nor did I tilt my neck to bare my throat in the customary submission expected of a daughter-in-law. At the center of the hall, Dowager Lady Beulah sat on her high-backed cedar chair. Her milky eyes narrowed into slits at my blatant disrespect, but she quickly masked her fury, forcing a sickeningly warm, grandmotherly smile onto her wrinkled face. Darryl stood beside her, his Warlord armor gleaming, while Birgitta stood with her arms crossed, looking entirely at ease in the grand setting. "Julisa, come here," Beulah said, her voice dripping with false affection. "Darryl has returned, and you finally have a man to rely on again. I know this past year has been hard on you, especially after your natal family, Clan Richardson, was entirely wiped out by demons." She sighed, pressing a hand to her chest as if she truly pitied me. "You are the only one left. A Spiritless orphan with nowhere else to go. But don't worry, child. As long as you are sensible and obedient, Clan Parrish will always be your shelter." My stomach churned at her blatant, disgusting manipulation. She was reminding me of my butchered family just to enforce her absolute control over me. "Sensible and obedient?" I asked, my voice as cold as glacial ice. "Meaning I should smile and pour tea for the woman my husband brought back to replace me?" Darryl scowled, stepping forward. "Julisa, watch your tone when speaking to my mother!" Beulah waved a hand to stop him. "Julisa, you must look at the bigger picture. Birgitta is a frontline Warlord. She fights for the glory of this clan. She doesn't have the time or the delicate skills for domestic chores." The old woman leaned forward, her greedy eyes gleaming. "Therefore, Birgitta will handle the battlefield, and you will continue to manage the keep. You will oversee the daily provisioning, the servants, and, most importantly, the Silverdew distribution from the common vault. It is a perfect arrangement." Birgitta let out a light scoff, crossing her arms. "Listen, Sister," Birgitta said bluntly. "I am a frontline Warlord. I truly have no mind for inner-court trivialities, but that doesn't mean you can walk all over me. I just want to fight by Darryl's side. As long as you keep the keep running and the supplies flowing, we won't have any problems." I looked at the three of them—the arrogant husband, the hypocritical mother, and the self-righteous rival. They wanted Birgitta to have all the political prestige of a Warlord bride, while expecting me to keep draining my own dead father's inheritance to fund their luxurious lifestyle. They wanted a free bloodbag. A short, freezing laugh escaped my lips. "Manage the keep?" I asked, reaching into the wide sleeve of my gown. "You mean you want me to keep pouring my private Silverdew into your bankrupt, empty coffers to feed your new general?" Beulah's false smile vanished instantly. Her face turned purple, her chest heaving. "Watch your mouth! Once a bride crosses into Parrish Keep, her dowry belongs to the clan's common treasury! It is your duty!" "If it belongs to the clan," I said, pulling out the heavy, rune-carved iron sigil key to the keep's central vault, "then the Clan Lord and his new heroine can manage it themselves." I opened my fingers. The heavy sigil key dropped. Clang! The sharp, metallic ring of heavy iron striking the flagstones echoed through the hall. Darryl stared down at the key by my boots in absolute disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?" he sneered, though panic flickered in his gray-brown eyes. "If you hand over the vault key, what standing do you have left in this keep? You will be nothing!" "Standing?" I said, resting my gaze on him like he was a pathetic parasite. "In the High Court, a verbal argument means nothing. Without a formal ruling, you think you can still control me and use me as your free bloodbag." I lifted my chin, my eyes sweeping over their stunned faces. "So, I am going to the Crown tomorrow morning. I am going to ask Emperor Edmund for a formal Severance sigil. I am cutting all ties with Clan Parrish permanently." The hall erupted. "You wouldn't dare!" Darryl roared, his face paling with a mix of fury and genuine panic as he took a step toward me. "Julisa, come back here!" Dowager Beulah clutched her chest, coughing violently. "Let her go! She's bluffing! A Spiritless orphan has nowhere else to go. She has no other choice!" I didn't even turn my head. I walked straight out the heavy doors, leaving their chaotic shouting behind me.