[Isabelle POV]

Time goes back a day, while Damien was still in transformation, Isabelle, at this time, had already begun her training.

Haa~

"Hungry..."

"I'm so hungry..."

Sitting cross-legged on a flat stone in the middle of the training grounds, Isabelle wasn't thinking about the fate of the world or the impending war.

She was thinking about mana.

Specifically, she wanted to eat the mana around her.

Ever since she awakened her Baros-Ignian bloodline, a gnawing, bottomless pit had opened up in her stomach.

It wasn't a hunger for food; although the slime soup was delicious, it was a hunger for energy.

'Is this what it means to be a demon?' she thought, clutching the hem of her maid dress. 'To always want more? To never be satisfied?'

"However, why is it worse not that I'm away from the master?" Thinking about her young master, whom she hadn't seen in almost a day, Isabelle felt weird

This was the longest she had ever stayed without being by his side, and because of this, she felt particularly on edge.

"Focus, Miss Isabelle," a calm, refined voice cut through her thoughts.

Standing a few meters away, dressed in his impeccable black butler suit despite the rugged forest surroundings, was Alfred.

The 7th-Order Steward of the Voss family!

Adjusting his glasses, he didn't look like a warrior nor a mage.

Instead, he looked like he was about to serve tea. However, Isabelle knew better.

This was the man who had shadowed them for weeks without Lyra, an elf ranger or the young master ever noticing.

"You are distracted," Alfred noted, his voice dry.

"A maid must always be attentive. If you cannot focus on your internal state, how can you focus on the Young Master's needs?"

Isabelle flushed. "I'm trying, Mr Alfred! But... the hunger. It's loud."

"The hunger is a tool, not a master," Alfred said. He raised a hand. Shadows coalesced around his fingers, forming five distinct, pitch-black daggers.

"You have power, Miss Isabelle. Immense power. Gravity and Fire. But you wield it like a club. A Voss servant must be precise."

Swish!

Alfred flicked his wrist. The five shadow daggers flew at her, moving in unpredictable, curving arcs.

"Eek!"

Isabelle instinctively raised her hands.

"Fire Wall!"

Whoosh!

A chaotic curtain of crimson hellfire erupted in front of her, burning the grass and scorching the air. It was a massive expenditure of mana.

But Alfred's shadows didn't hit the wall. They slipped through the gaps in the flames, weaving around the heat like smoke.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Isabelle felt three light touches on her shoulders and neck. The daggers had stopped inches from her skin, held by Alfred's control.

"Dead," Alfred stated simply. "Three times over."

The daggers dissolved into mist.

"You used a sledgehammer to kill a fly," Alfred critiqued, walking closer.

"You poured 20% of your mana into a wall that protected nothing. If this were a real assassin, the Young Master would be dead, and you would be exhausted."

Isabelle bit her lip, tears pricking her eyes. "I... I know. I'm useless. I'm just a clumsy maid who got lucky with a bloodline."

"Luck is a skill," Alfred corrected gently.

"And loyalty is a talent. The Master Lord Theron saw potential in you; young master Damien sees family in you. Do not insult their judgment by pitying yourself."

He adjusted his cuffs.

"The Baros-Ignian demons are gluttons. They consume. Use that. Don't just push your mana out to block. Pull the enemy's mana in to feed."

"Pull it in?" Isabelle blinked.

"Gravity," Alfred hinted. "It is the power of attraction. Instead of burning energy to create a shield... eat the attack."

He stepped back. "Again."

This time, Alfred didn't use daggers. He summoned a Shadow Hound, a massive wolf made of darkness, growling with 7th-Order pressure.

ROAR!

The hound charged.

Isabelle's heart hammered. Her instincts screamed to burn it, to explode everything.

'No. Precision. Like a maid cleaning a stain.'

'Don't burn the house down. Just remove the dirt.'

A whisper echoed in the back of her mind. The Residual Will. It was screaming for food.

'Eat it...'

Isabelle's pupils constricted. The green of her eyes was swallowed by ruby red. Her horns, usually hidden, burst forth from her forehead.

She didn't raise a wall. She opened her hand, palm facing the charging hound.

"Gravity... Swallow."

VWOOM.

A small, distorted sphere of purple gravity appeared in her palm.

The Shadow Hound leapt and was caught.

The gravity didn't crush it; it pulled it. The shadow mana that formed the wolf was stretched, twisted, and sucked into the vortex in Isabelle's hand.

Almost instantly, the energy rushed into her body.

It was the cold shadow mana Alfred had just released, different from the nature mana that was all around the elf forest, or the fire she released

It was cold and lonely, much like her young master's mana, which gave her a bit of warmth.

Soon, before she could react, it was absorbed by her mana core, recycled into flame and gravity mana for her to use.

Not only that, but she noticed her mana core, which had only been formed and never been used, was slowly being filled.

Unknowingly, by devouring that spell, she had unknowingly stepped into first order!

Burp.

Isabelle blinked. The hound was gone. Her mana was full.

"I... I ate the dog?"

"Excellent," Alfred smiled, a rare, genuine expression. "You saved mana, neutralised the threat, and refuelled yourself. That is efficiency befitting a Voss maid."

Isabelle looked at her hands, a wide, slightly unhinged grin spreading across her face.

'I can eat attacks. I can eat shadows. I can eat... everything.'

"Don't get carried away," Alfred warned, sensing her thoughts.

"Indigestion kills demons, too. Now, go wash up. You have soot on your apron."

Isabelle retracted her horns, beaming. "Yes, Mr Alfred! Thank you!"

She curtsied clumsily and ran off toward the stream to clean herself.

Alfred watched her go, his smile fading into a look of concern. He looked up toward the high canopy of the World Tree.

"One monster starts to control her hunger," Alfred muttered. "Now... let's see if the other one can control her sorrow."

His gaze shifted to the highest branch, where the wind was howling with an unnatural, mournful shriek.

Lyra was up there. And she hadn't come down for three days.

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