Dark Fantasy Normalized-Chapter 63

Other women do this all the time, don’t they?

It’s nothing special.

At least, that’s what Pien told herself. But the truth was different.

“Do I really look like a child…?”

Though she pretended not to care about Lisir treating her like a kid, it actually bothered her immensely.

She, who could enthrall anyone—man or woman, young or old—and make them her slave, found herself treated like a child by the one man she actually cared about.

Such was the complexity of a girl’s heart.

“One thing’s for sure, though: it’s not my looks,” she said to herself.

She was confident in that conclusion, even without knowing the real reason: Lisir’s standards for "women" were shaped by his past life as a modern man, making his expectations far stricter than most.

By conventional standards, Pien’s appearance was that of a "proper lady."

But to Lisir? She might as well be a "Uh, excuse me, do you have ID?"

“...Even so, that man has terrible taste…”

Still, Pien was willing to be generous.

The problem wasn’t her—it was him.

Pien felt it was her duty, perhaps even her destiny, to "correct" Lisir’s twisted perception of women.

Determined to grasp the elusive concept of "mature appeal," Pien began exploring the art of makeup.

The result? A resounding failure.

“I don’t get it! I don’t get it at all!!!”

The female staff at the adventurers’ guild, whom Pien had asked for help, were as baffled as she was.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Faced with her unparalleled beauty, they felt like ordinary artists standing before a masterpiece, utterly unsure where to begin.

“I… I need more practice…”

Even Dual-Faced, a Silver-ranked adventurer known as a "makeup maestro," who had left countless men awestruck with her skills, gave up after one attempt. She, too, was defeated.

Afterward, Pien turned her attention to clothing.

The result? Another failure.

“You look good in anything, miss! Why not just go without clothes? No outfit could ever match your body’s beauty!”

“Don’t leave! Please, please wear my clothes!!!”

These were the reactions of the tailors in Bondales, artisans renowned for their pride and craftsmanship.

Each believed it was an honor just to have Pien show interest in their creations, reacting with nearly hysterical gratitude.

No matter what she wore, the response was the same: "Stunning! Perfect!"

What could she possibly learn from such overwhelming adoration?

Finally, Pien decided to focus on her mannerisms.

She sought out the courtesans of Bondales.

“What does the 'White Lily of Daloa' want with us?”

These elite companions, who served only nobles, were stunned.

Pien hoped to learn the art of "mature charm" from them.

“You’re too beautiful…”

“If I could leave this life behind and build a home with you, I’d do it in a heartbeat…”

“Miss! Please, I have money! I’d do anything for you! Everything I have is yours!!!”

“Nobles are lining up offering mansions just for a night with you. It’s all yours!!!”

In the end, she enthralled them instead.

These women, who had reduced countless nobles to slaves of lust, found themselves utterly captivated by Pien.

It was ironic, really.

A being who embodied seduction itself, seeking to learn "mature charm" from ordinary humans.

Like a predator trying to learn how to hunt from its prey.

It was then that Pien came to a crucial realization about her situation:

Lisir was the only man in the world capable of seeing her as "just a girl."

And if anyone could point out her flaws and help her improve, it had to be him.

“Annoying.”

Even so, Pien refused to give up.

She experimented with makeup in front of the mirror, practiced her gestures and speech, and tried on various accessories and outfits.

All with the single-minded goal of making him her slave.

Yes, that’s what this was about—payback for the humiliation he’d caused her.

Not, in any way, an attempt to win his favor.

Pien convinced herself of this as she continued her efforts, sparing no diligence.

After all, her resolve was firm. She would never use mental manipulation or her vampiric powers.

She had promised not to harm Lisir or humanity.

And Pien never broke her promises.

***

“Pien, could you spare some time today? If not, I’m seriously switching to another guild!”

“Could I perhaps hire Pien? Isn’t she officially affiliated with this adventurers’ guild? If this keeps up, I might have to reconsider my investments.”

Never go to the Daloa branch.

Ever since word spread in Bondales about Pien being the "White Lily of Daloa," the guild she worked at had been inundated with all kinds of pests.

Adventurers and clients who, thinly veiled as negotiations, begged to meet her.

At first, Pien found them unbearably irritating.

Later, she realized they were just the tip of the iceberg.

“Hey, Pien, could you spare some time today?”

“I believe I told you not to come back.”

“Don’t be so dumb. You need to come to me if you want me to stop showing up here, right? Stop playing hard to get. You’re acting all high and mighty, like some 'noble in disguise.' But I know the truth. You’re just a commoner, aren’t you? I’ve already had you investigated. This is just work for you to make money, right? So come with me and live the good life. Why can’t you understand something so simple?”

When night fell and Pien headed home, the same man inevitably showed up.

Tord.

He presented himself as the master of the mercenary guild Poarten, but in truth, he was an executive of a massive crime syndicate dominating northern Bondales.

When Tord tried to court Pien, he flaunted his importance.

When she rejected him, he made sure she knew how dangerous he was.

“...”

According to what Pien had learned from the courtesans, Tord wasn’t bluffing.

The criminal organization he belonged to wielded immense influence in the city—rumored to have ties to city council members. Even many nobles dared not cross him.

And as an outsider with no significant backing, what chance did an adventurers’ guild receptionist have?

“This should be enough, don’t you think? I’ve had my fun with this little game of push and pull. But let me be clear—if you want to stay in Bondales, it’s time you learned your place. While I’m still being a gentleman.”

Tord pressed her, fully aware of the power imbalance between them.

Pathetic.

However, the receptionist before him had already confirmed that he couldn’t resist her mental interference.

If anyone stood to lose everything in an instant, it wasn’t the receptionist. It was the crime syndicate’s executive.

This realization was a small comfort to Pien.

At the same time, it made her frustration even harder to bear.

After all, she had promised him never to use her mental interference or vampiric powers on humans.

Pien feared his disdain far more than this pitiful pest’s harassment.

“Let’s have a better conversation tomorrow, shall we?”

Her aura of allure still worked its magic.

Even as the vile criminal was consumed by his lust, he refrained from crossing certain boundaries.

And so, the Ancient One let the pathetic pest leave once more.

To relieve her frustrations, Pien headed to the Mage Tower.

Looking at Lisir, who lay there peacefully, seemed to soothe her tension, if only slightly.

But the pest returned the next day.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

Coupled with Lisir’s prolonged absence, the situation began to weigh on her.

One day, Pien had a moment of clarity about her worsening state.

The first trigger:

“When are you going to wake up? Just get up and start spouting your usual nonsense already… Huh?! What am I even saying?”

She found herself missing Lisir’s ramblings.

The second trigger:

“You bastard!”

“Who the hell do you think you are?! Who are you to Pien?!”

A brawl broke out between adventurers at the guild, escalating into a fistfight.

For the first time in ages, Pien saw the sight of fresh, red blood.

Thump!

The stress she had been suppressing began to stir her repressed desires.

If there was any silver lining, it was that the sight of the blood in front of her didn’t evoke any immediate reaction.

It was merely a trigger—a trigger that made her think of one man’s face.