In the grand scheme of things, where there’s prosperity and light, there’s bound to be deep, festering darkness too. Take Bairland, for instance—a colossal city that’s among the top on the continent. The shadows lurking beneath its shiny surface have reached a terrifying scale, as evidenced by the infamous “anything goes” black market. This is the kind of grotesque expansion we’re talking about.
Due to the indulgence—or perhaps tacit approval—of certain individuals, these shadows haven’t just persisted in recent years; they’ve started creeping into the light. But shadows are shadows; they can’t stand the light. While they thrive in the dark, once they catch the eye of the country’s supreme authority—His Majesty the Emperor—they’re doomed to be obliterated.
“I remember a similar incident in the original story,” Mu’en recalled, his face paling. “It all started with a bounty on the life of His Majesty’s most beloved concubine in the black market. Someone actually took the job and succeeded in the assassination. The enraged Emperor ordered the Royal Knight Order to cleanse Bairland’s underworld. The brutal manhunt lasted three months, so many people died that the city’s sewers turned red—it became known as the Blood River Incident!”
“After that,” he continued, “the protagonist even quipped that thieves disappeared from the capital for a long time! But that was supposed to happen two years later!”
Mu’en’s thoughts raced: “So, somehow, just because I gave my maid two days off, a major event crucial to the protagonist has been moved up by two years! Damn it, what a butterfly effect!”
“Huh? What butterfly?” An’s puzzled voice interrupted.
“Nothing, nothing,” Mu’en quickly deflected. “I was just saying the butterflies this year are exceptionally beautiful. Yeah, really beautiful.”
After fumbling through the conversation, Mu’en sank back into his thoughts. “But on second thought, it’s probably not as severe as the Blood River Incident in the original story. The assassination didn’t succeed, so it’s likely just a scare tactic. Still, the underworld of Bairland should stay quiet for a while—no one would dare target the royal family again.”
“Which means,” he reasoned, “the assassination of the concubine, which was supposed to happen two years later, might not occur at all. And if the concubine doesn’t die, the Blood River Incident won’t happen either. But in the original story, that event was pivotal for the protagonist’s development!”
“In that story,” Mu’en mused, “the protagonist gets involved in the Royal Knight Order’s clash with the underworld during a black market auction. She’s thrust into danger multiple times, and through sheer plot armor, her power skyrockets. The Blood River Incident was the turning point from her academy arc to the savior arc.”
“But now,” he lamented, “it’s all gone—poof! Just because Mu’en Campbell gave his maid two days off! Could this mess up the protagonist’s eventual quest to save the world?”
Mu’en’s mind spiraled. What if the protagonist fails to defeat the final boss, the unsealed Demon God, and the world ends? All because he gave his maid a couple of days off—the world’s doom on his shoulders!
“No, no, no! That’s overthinking it,” he reassured himself. “The world isn’t that fragile. Even without the Blood River Incident, there’ll be other events for the protagonist to grow. And hey, maybe the incident isn’t even canceled—it’s all just speculation. The protagonist’s got plot armor; she doesn’t need me to worry!”
Mu’en kept calming himself down, all because a small deviation from the original story led to Celicia’s attempted assassination, leaving him traumatized. He feared that his tiny butterfly wings might flap again, causing yet another catastrophe.
“Anyway, just trust the protagonist!” Mu’en shook his head, deciding to drop the matter.
…
“It’s getting late, Young Master. I’ll take my leave now,” An said with a bow, ready to go.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Oh, by the way, Young Master, you have a letter.”
An handed over an envelope. “A letter?” Mu’en flipped it over—no postmark, no sender’s name.
“Who’s it from?”
“From Her Highness, Celicia,” An replied respectfully. “She personally asked me to deliver it to you.”
“…Her, huh.” Mu’en was surprised but said nothing, dismissing An to rest. He stared at the white envelope for a long time.
“Probably just a tirade against me,” he chuckled self-deprecatingly.
For a high-and-mighty princess like Celicia, who values her chastity more than her life, saving her wouldn’t warrant a thank-you letter—especially after what he’d done.
“I just hope she doesn’t roast me too hard.”
Mu’en opened the letter. To his surprise, it wasn’t a scathing rant. Instead, written in elegant script, was a single, baffling sentence:
[I’ll reluctantly consider you half a man, Mu’en Campbell.]
Half a man? Since when can a man be split in half?
Mu’en was thoroughly confused. But soon, he remembered why Celicia might say that—because of something he’d said before.
[“Now… do I seem like a man, my Princess?”]
That was the line he’d delivered while taking a knife for her—purely for theatrics. If he’d died then, those words would’ve been a legendary mic-drop moment, haunting Celicia forever. But… he didn’t die! And now, that line just felt cringey, like something out of a cheesy romance novel where the male lead smirks and asks, “Do I look manly enough, woman?”
Ugh—so embarrassing! If only he could go back in time and slap his past self! Why did he have to pull such a cringe move before death? Even the princess couldn’t resist mocking him in a letter!
“I can’t take this!” Mu’en tore up the letter, wrapped himself in a blanket, and wriggled like a worm.
…
Outside Mu’en’s room, An stared at the door, muttering to herself, “Half a man? So, to Her Highness, there’s still a chance for Young Master to become a full man? And if he does, would you fall for him? Oh no, Young Master can’t accept love from anyone else besides me!”
Her eyes turned cold. “It seems some things need to be sped up.”
