The pungent scent of funeral incense mingled with the damp odor of old oak.
It was a nauseating combination, enough to make anyone want to retch.
For Azura, it was the first fragrance that greeted her soul the moment she opened her eyes.
Her head throbbed violently.
It felt as if someone were trying to split her skull open with a blunt axe.
Foreign memories flashed by—images of a girl cowering in a cellar, the sting of a leather belt, and cries that were never heard.
Damn it.
This isn’t my body.
Azura tried to take a breath, but her chest felt constricted.
The black corset wrapping her body was far too tight—a symbol of the burden of grief forced upon this seventeen-year-old girl.
”Marchioness?
Are you still alive in there?”
The voice was harsh, raspy, and dripping with disdain.
Azura blinked, trying to clear her blurred vision.
Before her, a massive table of black oak separated her from a group of old men dressed in somber funeral black.
Standing in their center was Lord Bastian, the uncle of her stepchildren.
His face was flushed from alcohol, and his small eyes glinted with unadulterated greed.
”Don’t just sit there like a brainless statue!” Bastian slammed the table.
Bang!
A teacup rattled, spilling its contents onto the prepared parchment documents.
“Sign this.
As the daughter of a lowly Baronial family sold by your own father, you lack the capacity to lead a territory as vast as the Vayne March.”
Azura remained silent.
She felt her pale fingers trembling—not from fear, but from the residual trauma of the body’s original owner.
Krrrkkk…
Glitch…
Soul instability detected…
A static buzz droned in her head.
Azura jolted.
That voice didn’t come from this room.
It came from inside her own skull.
Connection successful!
Mafia Soul Synchronization: 100%.
Her eyes narrowed.
In her old world, she had never heard anything other than the voices of her subordinates and the pleas of her enemies for mercy.
Now, there was something in her head.
Something foreign.
Something she hadn’t yet permitted to enter.
[System Emotional: BOSS!
You’re finally awake!
Good grief, by the holy binary code, look at the face of the man in front of you.
He looks like a pig that just took a bath in cheap perfume-mud.
Why is he shouting at us?
Quick, make him shut up before I vomit data!]
Azura didn’t react immediately.
She allowed the voice to chatter in her mind while she observed.
The data provided by the voice was accurate—the man in front of her was indeed a pig.
But she hadn’t decided yet whether this voice was useful or merely a nuisance.
Quiet, she thought eventually.
Not because she was annoyed, but because she needed to test: would this voice fall silent if she commanded it?
The voice went dead.
Obedient.
Good.
At least it can be controlled.
The dizziness in her head began to fade, replaced by a deadly composure.
Her Mafia soul had now taken full command.
She didn’t know where the voice came from or what its purpose was—those were questions for later.
Right now, there was a man in front of her who needed to be handled.
Bastian, feeling ignored, lost the last of his patience.
He stepped forward, his sweaty hand smelling of tobacco as it gripped Azura’s chin roughly.
“Listen, you little bitch.
Your husband is dead.
The Marquis is rotting in the ground.
Now, you are nothing but trash blocking our path.
Sign it, or I’ll make sure you join your husband in hell this very night!”
Azura met Bastian’s eyes.
Sea-blue.
That color, which should have been beautiful, now glinted as sharp as the daggers she used to slit the throats of traitors in her previous life.
”Release me,” Azura’s voice came out.
Low, calm, yet carrying a chill that made the hair on the elders’ necks stand on end.
”Huh?
What did you say—”
CRACK.
The sound wasn’t loud, but it echoed clearly in the suddenly silent room.
Azura didn’t pull away.
Instead, she caught Bastian’s wrist as fast as lightning, twisting the man’s index finger in a direction contrary to normal human anatomy.
”ARGHHHHH!!!”
Bastian’s roar of agony erupted.
He collapsed onto the table, his face slamming into the documents he had been so proud of.
Azura did not let go.
She stood up, leaning slightly over Bastian’s trembling body, and pressed the broken finger deeper into the wooden surface.
”Who did you say I was?” Azura whispered directly into Bastian’s ear.
“A Baron’s brat?
Trash?”
[System: Ooooh!
Nice move, Boss!
That was a very clean break, 9/10 for aesthetics!
Look at his sweat, he looks like a pig being roasted!]
The voice was still commenting.
But this time, Azura didn’t mind.
The data was accurate.
The commentary…
was tolerable.
She didn’t know what this thing was yet, but at least it was functional.
”Let go!
Guards!
Seize this madwoman!” Bastian screamed with his remaining strength.
However, the guards at the door remained frozen.
They saw Azura Vayne—the girl who usually cowered and trembled—now standing with an aura possessed only by an apex predator.
Azura released Bastian’s hand with disgust, as if she had just touched medical waste.
She reached for a quill with an exceptionally sharp tip, dipping it into a bottle of black ink with a mesmerizingly elegant motion.
Thud!
Instead of signing the document, Azura plunged the quill into the wooden table, piercing through the parchment right between Bastian’s other fingers.
The quill stood embedded, vibrating from the force of the strike.
”This meeting is adjourned,” Azura said, wiping a small ink splatter from her hand with a white silk handkerchief.
“This document will serve as a reminder.
Anyone who dares touch the assets or the territory of the Vayne March without my permission…
will end up far worse than a broken finger.”
The regional elders took a step back.
Pure terror radiated from their faces.
They no longer saw a weak young widow; they saw a war general who had just declared her sovereign territory.
”Clara,” Azura called out to an elderly maid trembling in the corner.
”Y-yes, Marchioness?”
”Clean this trash out of my room.
The smell is ruining my appetite.”
Bastian was dragged out by the guards, still howling in pain.
The other elders followed in a frantic scramble, not daring to look back for a single second.
As silence once again ruled the hall, Azura let out a long sigh.
She sat back in the late Marquis’s grand chair, staring at the double doors of the hall which now stood slightly ajar.
Standing there was a young man.
His hair was coal-black, messy, and his eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s.
He wore training clothes drenched in sweat, his hand gripping the hilt of a sword with knuckles turned white.
Caspian Vayne.
The eldest stepson, who was her own age.
Caspian didn’t speak.
He just stared at Azura, trying to find a trace of the weak “stepmother” within the woman’s eyes.
But he found none.
All he found was the same darkness he himself possessed.
”Did you kill my father?” Caspian’s voice was cold, as sharp as the sword he carried.
Azura propped her chin on one hand, her lips curling into a provocative, lopsided smile.
“And if I did, do you have enough guts to take your revenge now, boy?”
Caspian fell silent.
The room grew tense once more, as if a single spark could set it ablaze.
[System: WARNING!
Exploding teenage hormone levels detected.
Boss, the kid is quite handsome when he’s angry.
Want me to give you a ‘seduction’ scenario or…
oh, forget it.
He looks like he wants to decapitate us.
Careful, Boss, it seems our first day is going to be very bloody.]
Azura ignored the comment.
But in her heart, she noted one thing: this voice in her head might be more useful than she thought.
She didn’t know what it was yet.
But she would find out.
Later.
After all the business in front of her was finished.