Act 1 – Born as Currency
Life as a noblewoman was beautiful, but in this life, Elyandra had already understood two absolute truths about the new world in which she had been reborn:
First, she was no ordinary child. Second, that wasn't exactly a blessing.
Waking up in a room bathed in golden light, surrounded by silk curtains and maids in absolute silence, should be any six-year-old's dream.
Except if that child is, in fact, a thirty-two-year-old man who died naked in a bathroom after winning the greatest digital war in history.
"Six years. Six years in this routine..." the man thought, staring at the ceiling decorated with frescoes of blond angels who were far too muscular for his taste.
There was something profoundly wrong about waking up every day being called "Lady Elyandra," "Little Saint," or "Lotus Flower" by his mother. It didn't help at all that he was worshipped as if he were the reincarnation of some divine entity. Because, apparently, she was a rather rare girl around here.
Her name now was Elyandra Valemortis.
Daughter of the former priestess Altheria of Lys—a beautiful woman who had served the Church of Divine Light. Her peculiarity was having 72% Ancient Blood in her body, which already made her a sort of genetic masterpiece—a masterpiece owned by a high-caste noble whose name alone caused tremors among aristocrats, bankers, and priests.
Valemortis. One of the wealthiest Houses in the Empire of Divine Light. Owners of lands, cutting-edge military might, and political power accumulated over generations.
And the little girl had received what should have been a blessing: being born with no less than 98% pure Ancient Blood running through those thin and frighteningly cute veins.
Ancient Blood is an extremely rare mystic-genetic trait in such percentages, connecting mortals to beings that transcend the real plane. The higher the percentage, the more valuable you are. Its purity grants the bearer perfect biology, surreal resistance, magical affinity, and surprising mana control. People like this are practically genetic anomalies. It isn't just rare depending on the percentage; it is treated as currency, as art, as status. The higher the purity, the higher the value. Bearers with over 60% are considered living relics. Elyandra was basically a diamond that walks, talks, and makes faces at the mirror.
And, of course, in a society where such people can be "bought," Altheria's fate had been no different.
She was sold.
A sacred gift, wrapped in golden bows and diplomatic ties.
Bought by the man who is Elyandra's father—a noble known for his coldness and tactical rigidity.
His name? There isn't anyone who has heard it spoken casually. It is always accompanied by titles, bows, or an awkward silence. Some call him the Lord of Ice; others, The Last Sun of the Nobility; and there is a group within the Church that calls him the Blessed Consort of the Holy Mother—which is hilarious considering he is rarely present, leaving Altheria at home like a valuable trinket.
But, well, he is her father. And if she wants to survive in this world, she's going to have to play this board correctly.
Her routine was based on schedules, studies, and daily activities focused solely on refining noble posture—more studies and etiquette until she couldn't take it anymore. Often during the month, she received ambassadors from the Church of Divine Light. They came frequently, trying to convince her father to enroll her in the church. As always, the girl had already memorized all the ceremonial lines to receive their visits like a good noblewoman, a result of the nights she spent pretending to be asleep.
From early on, Elyandra learned to smile with her eyes without showing her teeth, to tilt her neck slightly without appearing submissive, and to walk as if the floor itself owed her reverence. Her tutors took pride in how she handled cutlery, maintained her composure even before Priests obsessed with luminous blessings, and used the right intonation to sound celestially naive. The truth? It was all theater. But on this stage of gold and blood, knowing how to act was the bare minimum for survival.
In fact, pretending to sleep is all the little girl has done since she was two years old. At six, she had already realized it was far too dangerous to let people know she understood everything. That I remembered everything. Especially when you live in a golden cage surrounded by sycophants, fanatics, and aristocrats hungry for power and a very uncomfortable fixation on mystic children.
— Lady Elyandra — said the head maid, entering silently like a polite shadow. — The bath is ready. Your mother awaits in the ceremonial garden.
"Bath," in this case, meant a purification ritual with flowers gathered by servants to the sound of harps and chants. A simple thing—perhaps just one of the benefits of being a noble.
— Thank you, Solene — I replied with my sweet and angelic voice, trained over six years of inner suffering.
"Even now, I have to play the game, don't I? FatalPrincess never died. She just... swapped skins."
The servants had a certain penchant for dressing the girl up like a porcelain doll: a little girl with snow-white hair, eyes as golden as bullion, a lace veil, a sky-blue ribbon braided into her hair, and the scent of white flowers. Her feet made barely a sound on the marble as the girl made her way to the ceremonial garden, where her mother waited among lilies and soft breezes.
But then, before the central staircase, his shadow fell across the corridor.
— Elyandra.
The girl stopped immediately. A frigid sensation ran down the hall; although he posed no immediate danger, a certain fear still prickled her spine.
The man with white hair and a face that wore a glacial expression was Lord Vaelric Valemortis, wearing his usual noble attire of black silk embroidered with the silver symbol of the House: a two-headed eagle. His eyes were like molten iron—heavy, almost uncomfortable to look at. His presence warped the air, as if the very gravity of the Empire were anchored to him.
— Father — Elyandra said with restrained sweetness, bowing slightly, like a flower bending in the wind. — Do you desire my attention?
— How are you? — He did not smile. — Your health. Is it stable?
— I am as strong as a fortress, Papa — she joked with a slightly mischievous little smile. He didn't take the bait.
— And your studies?
— The magic lessons are a bit complicated, but I am already correcting my theoretical errors — she replied, her eyes sparkling just a bit too much.
He only nodded, his jaw tightening for a second.
— Your mother asked about you yesterday. She seemed worried. — The word got caught in his throat like something he didn't want to admit.
— She worries a bit too much, but it's not as if I don't like that concern — she said softly, performing another brief bow. — The way she cares... It's cozy.
He sighed. — Well, try not to let her worry too much. Your mother is very emotional.
That last sentence came out sharp.
— I will do my best — she said with a soft smile, but her fingers discreetly gripped the side of her dress.
The silence grew heavy.
— Excuse me, Papa — I made a light bow and withdrew before any more veiled blades were thrown. — Mother is waiting for me among the lilies.
She left, without running, without hesitating, feeling his eyes burning into her back like a sun hidden behind leaden clouds.
The garden of the Valemortis mansion was vast and ornate, with rows of exotic flowers dancing under the gentle breeze. Elyandra, fresh from her ritual bath, walked with small, studied steps, just as she had been trained. The servants had scented her skin with floral essences and combed her hair with almost religious delicacy. She wore a white dress with gold details, appropriate for the occasion, even if it was just a meeting with her mother.
Sitting on a stone bench under a tree with silver leaves, Altheria awaited her. Her presence radiated serenity. Her long black hair was loose, and her green eyes were calm; beside her was a stack of romance novels, a hobby she adored. But something even more striking caught her attention: her eyes turned and observed her daughter with tenderness. She exuded an aura of wisdom and contained strength—traits from her past as a priestess of the Church.
— My lotus flower — she said with a gentle smile upon seeing her daughter approach. — You are more grown up than yesterday.
Elyandra stopped before her and performed a delicate bow, her hands joined like a little noble lady.
— Good morning, Mother.
Altheria guided her to sit by her side. For a moment, they remained in silence, listening to the distant sound of the fountains and the birds singing.
Altheria was a calm and very sweet woman; it was almost like a legend for someone to say they had ever seen her impatient or angry. But at that moment, she was somewhat hesitant.
— The time has come, Elyandra — Altheria said, taking a small velvet case from the inner pocket of her robe. — Are you ready to carry the symbol of those who have Ancient Blood?
The girl only nodded, looking at the case with sparkling eyes—not from emotion, but from disguised calculation. The symbol her mother referred to was a rather simple but imposing earring, black as obsidian, shaped to clip onto the base of the ear like a brand.
— This earring is the seal of your heritage — Altheria explained as she gently fastened it to her daughter's ear. — Everyone who possesses Ancient Blood carries it. It is our blessing, but also our burden. But do not look upon it with anger; it proves how special we are.
Elyandra remained motionless, with the polite smile she had learned to use from an early age. Inside, her mind was racing.
"So this is how they're going to mark me. Like cattle. An accessory to be admired... or watched."
Altheria continued, in the calm tone of someone reciting a prayer.
— Ancient Blood is a powerful blessing. It amplifies physical capabilities, sharpens the senses, and confers resistance to diseases and spells. Not only that, but it will also greatly amplify your magical affinities. But it also attracts eyes. Noble families see us as living relics, and there are those who would trade their own daughter for a child with blood like yours.
"Oh, wonderful... as if I weren't already a trophy with legs," the girl thought, practically spiraling on the inside.
— Therefore, you must maintain your posture, your grace, and your silence when necessary — Altheria said, resting her hand over her daughter's. — People do not need to know what you feel. Only what they are meant to see.
Elyandra smiled.
— Yes, Mother. I understand. — Her voice was sweet, but her childish gaze carried a silent spark of something more.
She didn't hate her mother. Altheria was, as far as she knew, the only one who truly cared about her. But the logic of that world made her nauseous. The only thing protecting her from being sold as a product was her luck in being born a noble. Even so, the confinement intended for the little girl's protection left her frustrated. Her mind, though young, was already tracing plans—plans that would require time, masks... and temporary obedience.
She held her mother's hand affectionately and nestled into her arm. To all observers, she was just an adorable little girl in an affectionate moment.
On the inside, she was a lady prisoner, smiling at the bars that surrounded her, calculating the day she would make sure to see them melt under her will.
The routine of Elyandra Valemortis was timed with surgical precision.
As soon as the first rays of morning touched the mansion's towers, her studies began. Imperial history, politics, religion, etiquette, languages—every hour dedicated to molding her into something she didn't ask to be. During breaks, there were practical lessons: posture, calligraphy, music, swordsmanship. Even the way she walked through the corridors was rehearsed, as if it were part of a show where she was the protagonist... but never the author.
Although no one told her directly, Elyandra knew exactly what she represented in that place. There was no magical seal or branding iron on her skin, but she carried on her back, in her flesh and soul, the invisible mark that everyone saw in her: the symbol of a rare commodity, of a precious piece of merchandise. The blood in her veins transformed her into something many would love to have, even by illegal means, which ended up ensuring her total isolation. In six years, she couldn't even leave the mansion walls without being accompanied by the elite of magic knights—which was already a rare occurrence.
She was not a daughter. Nor a divine blessing.
She was an investment. A high-priced product—valuable, and disposable if it broke.
That night, after her studies, Elyandra went up to her room alone. The maid blew out the candles one by one, wished her goodnight, and left, leaving the girl in the shadows. The silence was absolute, except for the soft sound of the wind against the window.
In her room, adorned in soft shades of pale gold and pearly white, Elyandra sat on the edge of her bed, her feet dangling in the air like any bored child's would. But her eyes... said something else. They shone like cold metal under the light, sharp with thoughts that did not belong to a six-year-old girl.
"Quite ironic, isn't it? FatalPrincess, queen of armies, feared strategist, manipulator of alliances and betrayals, now trapped in the body of a spoiled little girl, fed by maids, watched by eyes that see her as a valuable trophy."
She lay down, crossing her arms behind her head with a small, theatrical sigh.
"But there are no bars capable of imprisoning my mind. They think they are creating a saint... when, in reality, they are polishing a blade."
Her eyes turned to the ceiling painted with clouds, dreaming of the day she would witness true freedom.
"In my other life, I played with players. I bent kingdoms to my whim, created conflicts that fed me. Here, the game is more delicate. There is no HUD, no mini-map. But the pieces are still made of flesh, ego, and ambition. And I know well how these types of people behave."
A slow smile formed on her childish lips.
"I will learn every name, every face, every house. I will be what they expect of me... until the moment everyone is on their knees. This world will be my board, and on it, there will be no throne that does not bow to FatalPrincess. No... I am no longer that failed man, nor even FatalPrincess. I am Elyandra. I will mold this place to my vision of paradise, where everything belongs to me, where fear is perfume and power is my natural right."
Lying in bed, with her eyes fixed on the carved stone ceiling, Elyandra began to think.
And think.
And think.
"I have no right to hate them. Not yet. I am just a piece. A beautiful thing, marked and trained to shine like a smiling puppet. But I know what you are. I see it. And I remember. The game didn't end just because the world changed."
She then sat up, hugging her knees, her face shrouded in shadow with a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.
"If I want to win... I need allies. I need information. I need connections. People talk; people tell secrets. People become stepping stones. And I will climb every one of them to the top."
She closed her eyes for a moment, the small smile still present, and whispered only to herself:
— I am not just a child. I am the beginning of the true main event.
One step at a time, the girl began her small journey through this world, without fully understanding that now, the dangers were real, and without knowing that ease was no longer a game option and there was no respawn function.