Chapter 1

When Tarli woke up, she was being dragged across the ground like a ragdoll.

Sensing that she was regaining consciousness, the other person tightened their grip and pulled harder.

A burning pain spread across Tarli’s back, and her lower spine felt like it had been slammed against something. She screamed, but the person showed no reaction.

Tarli knew that if she didn’t do something soon, she would die here.

She bit down hard on the arm gripping her neck. Only when she tasted the metallic tang of blood did she feel the grip loosen slightly.

Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed a rock beside her and struck backward with all her strength. A dull thud sounded, and for a brief moment, fresh air rushed in.

Tarli didn’t have time to think. She scrambled to her feet and tried to run.

But the person behind her reached out and clamped onto her ankle like an iron shackle, dragging her back.

She wanted to scream for help, but her throat was so swollen that she could only produce hoarse, and broken sounds.

She had nearly screamed herself hoarse while struggling earlier.

Desperation overwhelmed her as she clung to the ground, trying to grasp onto anything that could anchor her, but she failed.

A brutal yank pulled her backward, and her knee slammed against something. Blood gushed out instantly.

Then, those hands wrapped around her throat.

Air struggled to squeeze through. Tarli’s face turned purple, and her vision darkened.

Today… she might really die here.

Her fingers fumbled—

Inside the pocket of her clothes, she felt something cold and sharp.

Instinct took over. The moment the attacker’s guard dropped, she yanked the object out and, with all her remaining strength, smashed it against their forehead.

She struck directly on their wound.

The person’s grip loosened instantly. They froze for a couple of seconds before staggering and collapsing.

Tarli gasped, air flooding into her burning lungs.

Still shaken, she loosened her grip after a long moment, letting the bloodstained object clatter onto the ground with a crisp sound.

She knelt there, panting. When she wiped her face, she realized she was drenched in tears of terror.

She sobbed, wiping her face carelessly with her sleeve before staggering to her feet, preparing to leave.

After taking two steps, she turned back.

She had been dragged into a dilapidated countryside shrine. Looking around, she couldn’t tell which deities the statues were meant to honor. The lighting was dim—or perhaps she was too dazed to see clearly.

Without a word, she picked up the weapon from the ground and walked over to the unconscious figure.

The person wore plain clothes that revealed nothing about their identity. Their forehead, wounded by Tarli’s strike, bled profusely, making their features almost unrecognizable.

But Tarli knew exactly who they were.

This was the third time she had escaped death at the hands of the “Undying Knight.”

And the first time she had successfully struck back.

It was all thanks to the family token that had arrived two days ago—

The crest of the Fred family.

Tarli reached into her clothes and pulled out the bloodstained emblem.

A heavy metal insignia, tarnished copper in color, shaped like a flag. The crest bore the image of an owl, intricately carved to look lifelike, its eyes inlaid with violet cat’s-eye gemstones.

One of the gemstones had been knocked loose during the struggle. Dragged all this way, she had no idea where it had fallen.

The crest, now covered in dust, had lost its former brilliance, and the remaining single eye looked as deep and hollow as its current owner.

Tarli clenched the insignia tightly.

Without much hesitation, she lifted a nearby stone and, blow after blow, shattered his legs.

In the decayed sanctuary, the scent of blood gradually spread.

Weak from hunger, Tarli had little strength left and used every ounce of energy she had.

She took a deep breath, delivered a final, brutal strike, then tossed the stone aside and collapsed onto the ground, supporting herself with her arms.

She looked up.

The setting sun cast its light through dust-covered window panes, illuminating the side of a statue’s face.

The lofty deity gazed downward, lashes lowered. Their hair was tied back, one hand resting over their heart, the other cradling a white jade carving of a human skull—watching silently as she committed her crime.

But Tarli knew that the gods had perished long ago, wiped from existence centuries before. In this era, magic had nearly withered away—there were no gods left.

She didn’t recognize the statue before her, but she could guess that whatever was being worshiped here, it was likely something far from divine.

The blood splattered across the demon’s face did not appear to desecrate it in the slightest. Instead, it added an air of dangerous beauty to the sculpture in the narrow chamber.

This demon was proof of her crime.

Tarli felt no hesitation. She reached out, using the sculpture for support as she stood up. In passing, she wiped the bloodstains from the demon’s face, leaving behind smudged fingerprints.

Then, she rummaged through the unconscious knight’s pockets and pulled out a knight’s badge, gripping it in her palm. Only after regaining her strength did she finally leave.

Back at her residence, she barely managed to wash her face and bandage her wounds before collapsing onto her bed, completely drained.

Even in sleep, however, the voices from earlier haunted her dreams, making it impossible to rest peacefully.

—

“Have you heard? The second daughter of the Fred family is being brought back!”

“Wasn’t she sent to the countryside as a child because she was a magicless failure?”

“The Saintess was born prematurely and has always been weak. She’s bedridden again—having a blood-related sister by her side might help her recover faster.”

“Tch, if you ask me, bringing that useless girl back will only make the Saintess even sicker! Who would want to see the family’s illegitimate daughter—born on the same day as them—wandering around every day?”

“Well, even if she does come back, her days won’t be easy, hehe.”

—

Tarli jolted awake, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead.

A sharp cramp ran through her leg, forcing her to sit by the headboard for a while before the pain subsided.

She turned her head toward the window—night had already fallen.

—

It was only a few days ago that Tarli realized she had transmigrated into a Western fantasy novel she had read in her past life.

The heroine of the novel, Saintess Theresa, was her older sister by half a day. Both of them were born into the Fred family, a lineage of witches who had served emperors for generations.

But Tarli was merely an illegitimate child.

The Fred family bore a curse: if two children of the same gender were born, one would inherit all the family’s magical power, becoming a prodigy—

While the other would be stripped of magic entirely, doomed to be a powerless failure for life.

Unfortunately, Tarli was the latter.

Lacking any magical talent, she was sent away to a rural estate shortly after birth, growing up nearly unattended.

It wasn’t until recently that Theresa, the prematurely born eldest daughter, fell gravely ill. The priest claimed that only the presence of a close blood relative of the same age could help her recover faster.

Only then did the Fred family remember they had another daughter—one named “Tarli,” who had been raised in the countryside.

The uneven rumbling of carriage wheels rolling over stone slabs and dirt, along with the shouts of the servants, echoed through the courtyard.

After a while, there was a knock at the door, and a servant brought her a set of clothes.

“Miss, please hurry.”

Tarli didn’t respond. She waited until the servant had left before sitting up on the bed. With one hand, she picked up the dress from the cloth basket and walked over to the rusted mirror.

She held it up against herself—it was indeed the right size.

Tarli was small and slender, her height unimpressive.

This body seemed to have suffered from malnutrition since childhood, developing more slowly than her peers. Her hair was rough and unkempt.

Fortunately, she had inherited the family’s remarkable genes.

Jet-black hair, deep violet eyes—when closed, her curled lashes were long and delicate, when open, her gaze was always sharp and guarded, making her thoughts impossible to read.

Her well-shaped lips were often pressed together, rarely speaking. Combined with her youthful yet indifferent face, she gave off an air of aloofness.

In this foreign world, she resembled a small, nimble black cat.

Tarli tied up her hair, removed her faded, well-worn clothes, and slipped into the dress.

It was a green gown—not a fashionable design, but the fabric was of high quality.

The color was a fresh, vibrant green, full of life, like a tiny spring bamboo shoot.

She stood before the mirror for a long while, letting down her hair in an attempt to conceal the bruises on her neck.

It didn’t work very well.

Her hair barely reached her shoulders—it seemed that whatever little nutrition she had received had gone to more vital parts of her body.

Left with no other choice, she wrapped a bandage around her neck and arms. To cover the pale swathes of white on her skin, she rummaged through the wardrobe and found an old, oversized shawl to drape over herself.

By the time she finally opened the door, the moon was high in the sky.

The carriage had been waiting in the courtyard for quite some time. The servants rolled their eyes so hard they nearly hit the heavens, muttering about how “this country girl has no manners” as they turned the carriage around.

Tarli climbed in with some difficulty.

Before the carriage left the estate, she lifted the curtain for one last look at the place she had lived—a place with not a single good memory.

Tarli knew she would never return.

When it came to describing what kind of novel this ^[1]“H-story” typically refers to a genre of fiction, particularly in fanfiction or light novels, that contains explicit content or themes related to sexuality and romance. It usually refers … Continue readingH-story was, Tarli couldn’t quite put it into words.

She had opened it absentmindedly on the subway after work and finished it absentmindedly once she got home.

Tarli was someone who lacked emotional depth. She knew well that she read for mere distraction. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that she would black out before falling asleep—only to wake up in this world.

The heroine, Theresa, possessed all the typical traits of a protagonist in such stories.

She was delicate, soft, and brimming with magic.

Most importantly, she had an overwhelming capacity for emotions—something beyond Tarli’s comprehension.

The novel devoted pages upon pages to detailing her thoughts and feelings. With each different male lead, she could perfectly express a wide range of emotions: uncontrollable desire, the urge to escape, pain, joy, seduction, innocence…

For Tarli, who spent every ounce of her energy just getting through the day, this was astonishing.

At times, she had admired the dazzling, fantastical world of magic. At times, she had envied Theresa’s dramatic and eventful life.

—But only at times.

Tarli had never been particularly fond of Theresa as a character. But she certainly hadn’t expected that, on her very first day in this world, she would nearly lose her life because of her.

One of the heroine’s admirers—“The Undying Knight” Kristen—had relentlessly hunted her down.

The first time, Tarli barely escaped with her life.

The second time, Kristen sensed Theresa’s distant call and spared the dying Tarli.

The third time—this time—

She had nearly died.

The carriage came to a halt.

No one lifted the curtain for her, but Tarli didn’t need them to.

She swept the curtain aside and jumped down nimbly.

Ignoring the gazes of the servants, she walked toward the grand estate in the heart of the imperial capital.

—The Fred Family Manor.

Under the moonlight, the ancestral estate that had stood for centuries radiated solemnity, dignity, and an unshakable presence.

Even the occasional cold night breeze could not disturb it. The only thing the wind could move was Tarli’s black hair and the hem of her dress.

Tarli gazed at the manor for a long moment.

Only then did she look away. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stepped toward the towering gates.

She revealed the one-eyed owl.

For a moment, the gatekeeper didn’t even react.

The frail, shadowy figure of the girl nearly blended into the darkness. Her voice was low, and her violet eyes flickered.

“Tarli…”

“Tarli Fred, second daughter of the Fred family. Under the family head’s orders, I have returned to the imperial capital from the countryside.”