[Aldric Razorclaw POV] Year 2, Day 361-362 (Around the time Sara tested the seamstress and her maids mental strength)

  Ships moved across the harbor outside Aldric Razorclaw's office. Many flying Razorclaw flags—his flags, his ships. The Old Capital was heart of the merchant empire he'd built. A century leading the family. Business increased many times over. Real success. Measurable achievement.

  But his sister's shadow reached even here.

  Kira. Slaving for that elf in Borderwatch. Desert wasteland at the Republic's far end. Thousands of kilometers away.

  Not far enough.

  Twenty-one maids stood before his desk. Papers in hand. Determined expressions. About to ruin his day.

  "Master Aldric." The speaker was professional. Cold. He had no idea what her name was—never bothered learning servant names. "We're here regarding the tasks you assigned."

  His jaw tightened. "What about them?"

  "Contract violations. Explicit ones. We've consulted specialists. What you demanded exceeded contractual boundaries. That's grounds for compensation."

  Another maid held up documentation. Official seals. Legal opinions.

  "We're prepared to sue. Public guild courts. Or you compensate us now. Private settlement. Your choice."

  Aldric's assistant—Elijah—stood nearby. Silent. His expression clear: I warned you.

  [Don't need these tools teaching me contract law. Century of business taught me everything. Republic contracts favor the weak. Always. By design. Makes servants dare to sign. Provides workforce. Funnels wealth to the top. I've exploited this system for decades. Squeezed value from countless servants. Stayed just barely legal. Usually.]

  [But this time? Sloppy. Angry. Wanted to hurt them. Wanted to imagine hurting Kira. Got caught.]

  "How much?"

  Papers handed over. He read. Calculated.

  [More than they're worth. But could be worse. Guild courts would crucify me for this. The humiliation. The violations. The psychological torture. They're being merciful. Idiots. Could have destroyed me.]

  [Still a loss. Still Kira's shadow winning.]

  He'd bought these failures hoping to feel better. Ealdred-trained, like Kira. Watch them fail, imagine her failing. Connect to his sister through their inadequacy. Proof she wasn't perfect. Wasn't superior. Wasn't untouchable.

  But it backfired. Completely.

  Aldric had tried to hire proper Ealdred-trained maids before. Wanted one desperately. But impossible to get. High demand. They knew their worth. Most never came to market anyway—followed masters to graves, passed to next generation, kept by families who understood their value.

  The one time he'd gotten interview? The maid had looked at him. Assessed him. Then said flatly: "You're a failing master. I have no interest supporting your fetishes." Walked out. Just left. Said NO to him. A maid. To HIM.

  He was still mad about that. Mad at Kira. Mad at everything.

  "Seven days," Aldric said. Cold. Final. "I'll respond in seven days. As per law. Now leave."

  The maids bowed. Professional. Perfect. Infuriating.

  They left. Twenty-one failures who'd caught him in violation. Twenty-one worthless tools who'd somehow won.

  Elijah spoke. Quiet. Careful. "Master. I did suggest not pursuing this. That it would—"

  "I know what you suggested." Aldric cut him off. Sharp. Angry. "Leave. I need to think."

  Elijah bowed. Left. Loyal but clearly thinking: you brought this on yourself.

  Hours later, a knock interrupted.

  Elijah entered. Confused. Uncertain. "Master. Someone is at the gate. A lady in an expensive maid dress. She has a Banking Guild High Council introduction letter. Genuine seals. Authentic credentials. She's asking to meet you."

  Aldric processed. Banking Guild. High Council level. That was... significant. Very significant.

  Someone sent a servant to conduct business. Made sense. High-ranking people did that. Sent representatives. Made deals through proxies.

  "Show her in. Main meeting room."

  The lady who entered was... impressive.

  Maid dress. Black. Legendary quality. Aldric knew how to measure value—the fabric alone was worth a fortune. Self-repairing enchantments visible to anyone with senses. Evolution-track equipment. The kind that took decades to develop. Centuries to perfect.

  A whip hung at her side. Coiled. Professional. Also legendary—he could feel the power radiating from it even without magical talent.

  She moved with absolute confidence. Professional grace. Centuries of training visible in every step.

  Older. Maybe five, six hundred years. Experience showing. Competence radiating.

  And strong. S-rank strong. The aura was unmistakable. Combat-capable. Dangerous.

  [If someone this strong, armed with legendary equipment, goes hostile here... my guards probably can't handle it. Probably die trying. She could kill everyone in this building before anyone stopped her.]

  The panic was brief. Controlled. But real.

  [Stay calm. She came peacefully. Banking Guild business. Not threatening. Just... powerful. Very powerful. And armed. And here. In my office. Alone with me.]

  She stopped. Bowed. Perfect form. "Master Aldric Razorclaw. It's an honor to meet you."

  Her voice was controlled. Professional. But carrying weight. Authority mixed with submission. The voice of someone who'd served power for centuries.

  "Please, sit. May I know who sent you? What business brings you here?"

  She sat. Posture perfect. "Nobody sent me, Master Aldric. I came of my own will. To offer you my service. My eternal fealty. Everything I am. Everything I have. Everything I can provide. All of it. Yours. If you'll accept me."

  Aldric blinked. Confused. "You're... offering to serve me? Directly? Without negotiation? Without terms?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "Why?" Direct question. Genuine confusion. "You're clearly experienced. Clearly valuable. Clearly from high-level service background. Why would you come here? Why offer yourself to me specifically?"

  She explained. Calm. Organized. Professional presentation.

  "I served Master Cornelius. Banking Guild High Council member. Head maid position. Centuries of service. He passed away one month ago."

  Aldric heard it. Sadness in her voice. Real grief. Controlled but present.

  [Cornelius. I heard about that death. Nobody knows if it was natural or not. Massive servant suicide at the funeral—literally jumped into his grave. Made big news. Looked insane. Brainwashed lunatics throwing themselves into holes.]

  [And this one was his head maid. Centuries serving him. Now here. Offering herself to me. Either desperate or planning something. Probably both.]

  "I stood at his grave. Wanted to follow. Desperately. But he'd made me swear—if he died, I'd live. Find new master. New purpose. So I stayed. Watched the others jump. Honored his command even though it hurt."

  [Ah. Wanted death but couldn't have it. Now needs new master like addicts need their fix. Broken. Desperate. Exploitable. Perfect.]

  She paused. Collecting herself.

  "His family is fighting. Children. Grandchildren. Everyone warring over inheritance. Over assets. Over everything he left. His other servants split between various factions. Fighting. Choosing sides. Supporting different heirs."

  Her expression shifted. Subtle disdain showing. "The ones who stayed, I mean. The ones who didn't follow Master to the grave. All the best servants died. Followed him properly. The ones who survived?" Pause. Distaste clear. "Lower quality. All of them. That's why they could choose sides. Why they could move on so easily. They never truly served."

  "I don't think any of them are worth following. Don't want to fight with sisters who settled for lesser devotion. Want... something different. New purpose. Better master. Proper service."

  Aldric listened. Processing. Still confused about why HIM specifically.

  "Then I remembered. Few days before his death, my master asked me to organize a meeting with you. Was impressed by how you'd increased your family business. Wanted to discuss potential partnership. Banking opportunities. Investment possibilities. I was arranging it when he died."

  She looked at Aldric directly. Honest. Sincere seeming.

  "After his death, I researched you. Found you'd bought failures recently. Maids who didn't complete Ealdred's training. Found you tried to... punish them. Address their inadequacies. It ended badly. Contract violations. Legal problems. Compensation demands."

  "I hate failures who still advertise themselves as Ealdred-trained. If they failed, they shouldn't use the dress. Shouldn't claim the training. Shouldn't pretend they're proper servants. That's false advertising. That's dishonor."

  She touched the whip. Unconscious gesture. "I survived everything Master Ealdred did to help me. All of it."

  Her voice dropped. "I was difficult. Wouldn't break easily. He pushed further. Much further. Beyond his normal methods. Beyond what he thought I could take." Pause. Remembering. "Even he thought it was excessive. Questioned if I'd survive."

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  Smile. Dark. Proud. "I did."

  She indicated the whip. "Years after finishing, he gifted me this. Same master who crafted his own whip. Mark of recognition. Proof I survived what he didn't believe possible." Pause. Weight in words. "That gave me purpose. That made me proper."

  [And she's proud of the punishment. Sees the whip as achievement. Proof she survived brutality. That's... disturbing. Very disturbing. But useful. Very useful.]

  "So I took it as divine hint. My old master wanted to meet you. You tried to address failure problem. You need proper help. Maybe... maybe you're the new master I should follow. The new purpose I should serve."

  [Divine hint. She's completely insane. Brainwashed by that Ealdred training. Sees patterns where there are none. Desperate for meaning. For purpose. For someone to worship.]

  [But... useful insanity. Very useful.]

  She continued. Offering benefits. Presenting value.

  "I know all the Banking Guild High Council members. Can open doors. Make introductions. Create opportunities. I can run this household like clockwork. Handle operations. Manage everything. I can help with elven business—I know you've had issues with them. With their customs. Their requirements. I understand how to work with elves properly."

  Aldric processed all of this. The offer. The opportunity. The possibility.

  [Banking connections. Real ones. Household management—desperately needed. And elven business. Gods, elven business. I hate them. Hate their stupid spots with lemon taste. But if you don't kiss it, they don't talk business with you. Won't negotiate. Won't deal. Just: dismiss you. Ignore you. Treat you like inferior.]

  [I know servants usually do it. Protocol. Proper procedure. But elves never accepted any of mine. Rejected them all. Said they lacked proper training. Proper devotion. Proper... whatever the fuck elves consider proper. Even gave Elijah family name hoping it would help. But no. Still the same talk. About respect between masters and servants. About standards. About requirements.]

  [Would they accept this one? She seems right level of craziness for elves. Right level of broken devotion. Right level of fanatical service. Might actually work. Might actually open those doors.]

  [All for free. All from crazy brainwashed maid looking for new master to obsess over.]

  [Too convenient. But who cares? If she's offering everything freely, why refuse? Exploit the lunatic. Take everything she gives. Use her until she breaks or becomes inconvenient.]

  He'd wanted a proper Ealdred maid for ages. Desperately. Someone to live out his Kira fantasies through. To have what his sister had. To prove he could command that level of devotion.

  And now one was offering herself. Freely. With Banking connections and household management and elven business solutions attached.

  [Insane. Absolutely insane. Broken beyond repair. But valuable. Gods, so valuable. And offering everything for free.]

  "I need to think about this." Careful. Cautious. Not showing eagerness. "Significant offer. Requires consideration."

  "Of course, Master." She bowed. "May I prove myself? Demonstrate value before you decide?"

  "How?"

  "Test me. Give me a problem to solve. Let me show what I can do."

  The failures. The legal threat. The compensation hanging over him. The humiliation.

  "Fix the failures problem. Twenty-one maids demanding gold. Make it disappear. Properly. Legally. Without me paying that fortune."

  Her smile was small. Professional. Utterly confident.

  "It would be my honor, Master. I'll handle it."

  She stood. Bowed. Left.

  Aldric watched her go.

  [Either she succeeds and I get free high-level servant. Or she fails and I know she's fraud. Either way, costs me nothing to let her try.]

  [But if she succeeds...]

  [Free legendary-equipped, S-rank, Banking-connected, elf-acceptable servant who worships masters like religion. Just for letting her obsess over me.]

  [If she actually pulls this off, best deal I've made in decades.]

  Time would tell.

  The next day was peaceful. Busy. Almost normal.

  Aldric managed family business. Handled contracts. Made decisions. Forgot about the crazy maid offering eternal service.

  Almost forgot. Until—

  Evening came. Elijah entered. Expression: confused. Concerned. Uncertain.

  "Master. That maid from yesterday. She's asking to meet you again."

  "What does she want?"

  Elijah hesitated. Organizing information. "She's been... active. Two of the failures left this morning. Both signed documents saying they have no more complaints. No compensation demands. Clean release. I'm guessing she paid them. Generously."

  Aldric listened. Processing.

  "The other nineteen? Locked in one of the larger meeting rooms most of the day. She had visitors. A mage. Few craftsmen—clothes-making specialists. But I have no idea what actually happened in there. Nobody does. She kept it completely private."

  "And now?"

  "She says the issue is fixed. Handled. Resolved. Wants you to come see. Said you'd want space for... whatever she's prepared."

  Aldric felt curiosity spike. Fixed? Already? One day? And she paid off two, locked up the rest, brought in mages and craftsmen?

  What did she do?

  "Show me."

  Aldric entered the large meeting room.

  And stopped.

  The picture before him was... he couldn't even describe it properly.

  Nineteen maids stood in neat rows. All wearing new maid dresses. Black. White trim. Professional. Expensive-looking.

  All wearing face masks. Identical masks. Same face on every single one.

  Kira's face. His sister's face. Perfectly rendered. Realistic. Detailed. Unmistakable.

  Nineteen Kiras. Standing. Waiting. Silent.

  Two missing. The ones who took the gold and left. Smart enough to run. Not smart enough to stay for this.

  The head maid—the one who'd offered service—stood at the front. Confident. Professional. Waiting for his reaction.

  "Master Aldric." She bowed. Respectful. "Here are the nineteen failures. Now all named Kira. We had a mage visit who helped remove their old names. They now carry the name Kira. So when they fail, you can feel how your sister fails better."

  Aldric's mind blanked. What? What was this? What was happening?

  The head maid continued. Calm. Reassuring. Professional.

  "Don't worry, Master. It's all legal. I renegotiated all their contracts. They all agreed to it. Just required some gold—and I have plenty from my old master's inheritance. Everything is proper. Legal. Binding."

  Aldric couldn't speak. Couldn't process. Just: stared. At the nineteen masked Kiras. At the insanity before him.

  The head maid moved. Gentle. Guiding. Helping him to a chair positioned at the front. Perfect viewing angle.

  "Master, you're so stressed. Calm down a bit. Let me help."

  She positioned herself behind him. Hands on his shoulders. Beginning massage. Neck. Shoulders. Professional technique. Skilled touch.

  "Check this," she said softly. Voice carrying satisfaction. "Those are all Kira. And they'll all fail. HARD."

  She gestured with one hand while continuing massage with the other.

  "You see those new dresses they have? They're improper. No proper maid should have something like this. Those are fitted with waste management systems. Only real failures use those."

  Waste management? Aldric's confusion showed.

  "And now you'll see how all those Kiras fail. Watch. DRINK, KIRAS!"

  On command, all nineteen maids moved. Synchronized. Reaching for glasses of water on the table before them. Large glasses. Full glasses.

  They drank. All of them. Emptying the glasses.

  Then refilled. Drank again. Synchronized. Mechanical. Obedient.

  "You're a beastman master," the head maid explained. Continuing massage. Soothing. Constant. "Your kind is strong in muscles but usually not in magic sensing. So you probably can't see enchantments well. Can't tell when they activate. So we modified those dresses a bit."

  She pointed. "When waste management activates, the dresses will light up. Like celebration lanterns. So it's clear. KIRA FAILED. KIRA IS IMPROPER SERVANT."

  Aldric watched. Understanding slowly dawning. Horror and fascination mixing.

  The maids—the Kiras—continued drinking. Glass after glass. Refilling. Drinking. Mechanical process.

  Then—

  One dress lit up. Bright. Glowing. Magical lights blazing like celebration lantern.

  One Kira had... failed. Had used the waste management. Had proven herself improper.

  The head maid's voice was satisfied. Pleased. "See? Kira failed. Kira is improper. Kira can't even control basic bodily functions."

  Her hands continued working. Massage. Comfort. Gentle manipulation.

  "You managed to increase family business significantly last century. While leading. While succeeding. You shouldn't care about this failing sister of yours. She's nothing. You made the family great. You're the successful one. You're the one who matters."

  Another dress lit up. Then another. The Kiras failing one by one. Drinking. Filling. Failing. Lighting up like festival decorations.

  "Look at them fail," the head maid continued. Soft. Soothing. Constant massage. "All these Kiras. All failures. All improper. All proving they're not worthy. Just like your sister. Just like Kira. Failing. Always failing. Never good enough."

  More lights. More failures. The synchronized drinking continuing. The inevitable result approaching.

  Aldric felt something. Strange. Warm. Satisfying. Wrong but good. Seeing the Kiras fail. Seeing his sister's face on failing maids. Seeing proof she wasn't perfect. Wasn't superior. Wasn't better than him.

  The massage continued. Skilled. Professional. Making him relaxed. Making him comfortable. Making him receptive.

  "Your sister thinks she's so perfect. So proper. So successful serving that elf. But look. Look at all these Kiras failing. That's her. That's what she is. Failure. Improper. Nothing special."

  All nineteen lit up eventually. All nineteen Kiras glowing. All proving inadequacy. All demonstrating imperfection.

  The session ended. The maids dismissed. The lights fading.

  As they left, Aldric caught glimpses. Faces under masks. Side views. Brief. Telling.

  Happy. Greedy. Satisfied. Like: please, more gold for doing stupid things for this idiot master. Easy money. Best job ever. Keep paying us to piss ourselves.

  Zero sympathy. Zero respect. Just: profit. Performance. Professional humiliation-for-hire.

  Aldric sat. Processing. Feeling... good. Actually good. For the first time since Kira's letters started.

  The head maid moved around. Facing him. Professional. Satisfied.

  "And Master... I have more news. News that will make you happy."

  "What news?"

  "It seems Kira messaged up. Her elven master punished her. Forbade her from using the Razorclaw family name for twenty months. Punishment for some offense. Some failure. She can't use your family name. Can't claim the heritage. She's nameless now. For twenty months. Just... Kira. Nothing more."

  Aldric's heart jumped. Actually jumped. Physical sensation. Joy. Pure joy.

  His sister. Punished. Forbidden from using their family name. Stripped of identity. Reduced. Humiliated.

  Then he remembered. The last letter he'd gotten from her. Days ago.

  It had seemed... normal. Regular Kira letter. Updates. Information. Standard correspondence.

  But now—thinking back—there had been no name at all. The signature: "maid of Void." Nothing else. No personal name. No family name. Just role. Just function.

  He'd taken it as new level of insult. Some new way to dismiss him. To show she was above family now. Above him. But now? Now he knew.

  She'd been stripped. Forbidden from using any name. And she'd tried to hide it. Tried to play it off as choice. As elevation. "Just maid of Void" sounded almost noble. Almost like she'd transcended names. When actually? She'd been punished. Reduced. Forbidden.

  She'd already been punished. Already lost the name. Already been reduced. And he hadn't even realized. Hadn't even noticed his victory.

  But now he knew. Now he understood. Now he felt it.

  Victory. His sister failing. His sister punished. His sister reduced to nameless servant.

  The warmth spread. The satisfaction. The joy. The rightness of it all.

  He looked at the crazy maid. The one who'd given him this. This feeling. This proof. This victory.

  "What's your name?" he asked. Realizing. "I don't even know your name."

  "I had one, Master. Name given by my old master. But when the mage visited to remove names for the Kiras..." She paused. Significant. "I decided to remove mine too. Old master's gift. Old master's designation. I want new beginning. New purpose. New identity."

  She knelt. Formal. Submissive. Requesting.

  "Would Master give me a name? New name from new master? I'll prove myself worthy. I'll serve with everything I have. I'll help you achieve even higher peaks. Just... please. Give me identity. Give me purpose. Give me belonging."

  Aldric looked at her. At the kneeling lunatic. At the useful broken thing begging for scraps.

  [Pathetic. Desperate. Can't even function without master to worship. Centuries of torture broke her completely. But... exploitable. Very exploitable.]

  Name. What name fits? Old kids' story surfaced. About some stupid doll. Annabel. Seemed fitting for this broken toy.

  "Annabel. Your name is Annabel."

  She looked up. Genuine joy showing. Gratitude radiating.

  [Look at that. Named a slave and she acts like I gave her the world. Pathetic. But convenient.]

  "Thank you, Master. Annabel will serve with everything she has. Annabel will make you successful beyond measure. Annabel will prove this name was well-given."

  She stood. Graceful. Happy. Fulfilled.

  Then paused. Hesitant. "Master... may I ask one more thing?"

  "What?"

  "I have three sisters. Three who served directly under me for Master Cornelius. He also made them promise not to follow him. They're lost now. Purposeless. Desperate like I was." Her voice carried hope. Pleading. "Would Master accept them too? Give them meaning? Give them names? Give them belonging?"

  Aldric considered. Three more. Same brokenness. Same desperation. Same need to serve.

  [More free slaves. Hope they're as useful as this one. If not? Dispose them later. Costs nothing to say yes now.]

  "Yes. Bring them. I'll give them names. Purpose. Service."

  Her joy was visible. Genuine. "Thank you, Master. They'll serve excellently. I promise."

  "Names." He thought. "Elven servants sometimes use numbers. Letters. Simple designations. Can I use that? Seems... efficient."

  [Always wanted to do that. But only elves can get away with numbering servants like inventory. Everyone else would face backlash. But here? Here I found idiots who'll actually AGREE to it. Actually BEG for number-names. This is hilarious. Perfect. Numbers for property. Like tools. Like inventory items. And they'll thank me for it.]

  "Of course, Master. Whatever names Master chooses. They'll be honored to receive them."

  "And Master?" Her voice carried gentle firmness. Guiding. Directing. "You should stop thinking about your failing sister. She's nothing. She's as much a failure as all those Kiras you saw today."

  Aldric nodded. But thought: [Why should I listen to brainwashed fool too much? She's useful, not wise. I'll think about my sister as much as I want. She's still there. Still poisoning everything. Still winning somehow.]

  But still: he felt good. For the first time since Kira's letters started.

  [Free crazy slaves. Four of them. Banking connections. Household management. Kira humiliation. Elven business solved. Never have to kiss stupid elven spots again. All mine. All free. All because broken servants need masters to worship.]

  Victory. Finally. Absolutely.

  Everything was working out perfectly.