Immortal Queen

This was the thirteenth day Anmora had been locked in the underground wine cellar by Menger.

She was currently trying to stretch her leg to reach the black bread that had fallen near the door. The iron chains on her wrists restricted her movements to an extremely limited space. All she had beside her was half a barrel of wine and a cedar rack she would hit if she raised her head. Unfortunately, young Anmora's legs weren't long enough to hook that piece of bread closer. She stared at the small, dust-covered morsel, her eyes gleaming with a wolfish green hunger.

She was nearly mad with starvation—she would willingly carve a piece of her own flesh in exchange for just one bite.

Anmora couldn’t remember when Menger had last given her food or water. The only thing that had left a lasting impression on her these past days was hunger. She licked her cracked lips, then pressed them together, soon tasting the metallic tang of blood.

A very faint footstep sounded behind the narrow door. Anmora perked up immediately, her eyes fixed on the doorknob—but it didn’t turn.

"An？" The voice was soft and cautious, so fragile it might scatter with a gust of wind.

Anmora opened her mouth several times but couldn't produce any sound—there was a collar around her neck. An expensive mithril collar, shiny with intricate patterns, resembling a piece of artwork. The magitech device on that collar would completely record the vibrations of her vocal cords and the surrounding air. Any sound she made, no matter how faint, would be known to Menger.

The person outside the narrow door didn't give up and called out to her again: "An, are you in there？"

Anmora remained silent, her stomach utterly empty, yet she couldn't respond to the voice outside the door.

The person outside called for a little while longer before giving up—the severe consequences of sneaking into the wine cellar were something even they couldn't bear.

Anmora listened as the footsteps faded away, biting her lower lip tightly. It had been Lianen who came looking for her just now—perhaps that girl had been searching for her throughout this old house for quite some time. Anmora was certain Lianen could never imagine the depths of Menger's cruelty in her wildest dreams.

Lianen was a young woman with sunshine-bright golden hair, who had been purchased by Menger when she was only eight years old. At that time, Anmora was still lying in her cradle, forced to endure Menger's unconventional torments. Anmora faintly remembered Lianen sewing clothes for her and feeding her milk when she was little. But soon after, Lianen was sent by Menger to an elite academy in the city, gradually growing distant from Anmora.

As a child, Lianen was carefree and brash, always swinging a shield and sword around, while Menger never left the house and always looked deathly pale. This led Anmora to believe for a long time that men and women were supposed to be just like them—until Menger handed her a comprehensive book on noblewomen's etiquette from the past five centuries.

Anmora closed her eyes, too hungry to sleep.

She recalled many things.

When Lianen was nine years old, she made Anmora balance an apple on her head while she threw small knives at it. That foolish woman swore there wouldn't be any problems, yet still managed to cut Anmora's face. Shortly after that incident, Menger quickly arranged school admission for Lianen and sent her off to the noble academy in the imperial capital at the start of the year. After Lianen left, only Anmora and Menger remained in the old house. He had absolutely no idea how to care for a child, and Anmora suffered greatly under his hands.

On Lian's tenth birthday, she secretly slipped away from the academy to celebrate with Anmora, but she couldn't find Anmora in the old house. That day, Anmora underwent Menger's first experiment - she was forced to wear that collar. This beautiful object that somewhat resembled a necklace clung tightly to her skin, its intricate magic circuits interfacing with her nervous system, displaying every subtle physiological change on the observation crystal of Menger's experimental platform.

Life after that became utterly uneventful.

Lianen En usually spent her vacations in the slums of the imperial capital. She once had a mentor who was a Templar Knight and often took students to perform charitable acts in various places. Meanwhile, Anmora began undergoing increasingly frequent experiments and confinement under Menger's supervision, learning ever more profound magical knowledge from him than before.

Recently, Lianen En finally managed to get a vacation and return to this old house, but Anmora had already been locked in the underground wine cellar before her arrival.

To be honest, Anmora still missed Lianen En a lot—she was far better than Menger.

“You can come out now.”

Anmora was startled out of her memories. She hadn't heard any footsteps, but Menger was clearly already outside the door. His voice was deep and oppressive, its tone maintained on a flat, unvarying line without the slightest inflection—the same voice Anmora heard in every nightmare.

The lock clicked open, the doorknob turned slightly, and a tall figure blocked the dim yellow light.

"Stop pretending to be dead." Menger wore a long white robe, like a mage from ancient texts. He stood backlit, but Anmora could imagine his expressionless face.

"I'm not," Anmora replied, staring at her toes and struggling not to show fear. "I just don't have the strength to speak."

Menger walked over, bent down to unlock the chains on Anmora's hands, his body reeking strongly of potions. Anmora absentmindedly pondered which medicines could produce such a scent, frozen in place without moving.

Seeing her like this, Menger reached out with some concern to touch her forehead. His hand was icy cold, snakelike, making Anmora shudder. He said indifferently, "No fever. Get up quickly and return to your room. Remember to prepare breakfast tomorrow morning and wake Lianen up."

Anmora pulled the chains off her body and crawled out from under the wine rack. Brushing off the dust, she felt dizzy and almost collapsed again. Menger took her hand and checked her temperature once more: "Come to the lab. I can inject you with some essential nutrients."

Anmora nodded obediently.

Menger probably only released her because food supplies were running low, and it never crossed his mind to cook for himself.

He would stay in the laboratory for half a month at a time, sustaining himself primarily through nutrient injections and Anmora's atrocious mashed potatoes. He appeared extremely gaunt, with prominent cheekbones and sharp angles, yet looked much younger than his actual age. Anmora once suspected his sense of taste had completely deteriorated in the complex magical environment of the lab—a suspicion confirmed when he swallowed her murderous mashed potatoes without complaint.

Anmora missed the roasted rabbit legs and cream cakes Lianen used to make for her. While lost in these thoughts, Menger had already led her to the third-floor laboratory.

The old house had four floors in total: the first floor housed an unused parlor and ballroom; the second floor served as the main living area, where Anmora and Lian's bedrooms were located; the third floor was Menger's private domain, containing over a dozen different types of laboratories—alchemical, potion, and magical—none of which Lianen had ever visited, while Anmora had practically lived there since turning ten.

The fourth floor was vacant, filled with vegetables and various green plants meant to absorb the radioactive magical energy from the third-floor laboratories while serving as a cover. Anmora's potatoes were also grown here, and she would occasionally come up to check on them.

The underground wine cellar connects directly to the basement level. Between the kitchen and storage room lies a tiny gap where the cellar entrance becomes visible after removing the concealment magic on the wall. Lianen used to sneak wine from here before leaving for the capital to study, earning her a furious scolding from Menger who then forbade her from entering. Later, this place became Anmora's detention room.

"You're distracted again." Menger frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows as he expressed displeasure. "Magic users must possess formidable mental strength and absolute concentration. A single moment of distraction could get you killed by your enemies."

"This is peacetime, and I'm not a 'magic user' yet." Anmora replied calmly. She walked to the reagent storage cabinet, examining the nutritional elements she needed through the glass pane. She truly didn't resemble a child - likely because Menger had never treated her as one during her upbringing.

Menger handed her a pair of gloves: "Never look directly at cabinets containing magical reagents. How many times must I remind you？ Some potions emit contaminated light…"

Menger was an extremely taciturn man; he could remain silent forever unless it involved his professional field. But once it touched upon his expertise, his words could become endless.

"Why would you store contaminating agents in the nutrient solution cabinet？" Anmora retorted flatly, putting on Menger's gloves that were a size too big but didn't hinder her dexterity.

Menger rubbed the black jadeite ring on his middle finger and replied in a dangerous tone, "Don't talk back…"

"Can you say sentences that don't start with the word 'don't'？" Anmora retrieved two tubes of deep blue solution. According to the labels, they were pre-prepared and ready for use.

Menger raised his voice, the black jadeite on his hand appearing dull as he sternly said to Anmora, "Listen, I'm beginning to think your thirteen-day confinement was utterly undeserving of sympathy!"

Anmora wanted to retort, "Yes, so you confined me for one hundred and thirty days within a year," but the next moment Menger grabbed her. His bony fingers clamped around her wrist as he took away the solution she intended to use. He said, "If you're so dissatisfied, then mix your own! Don't use my pre-made batches!"

"How old are you？" Anmora asked mockingly. Menger was practically incompetent in daily life, but that didn't mean he could tolerate being questioned by a thirteen-year-old child. He quickly shut the medicine cabinet and backed Anmora into a corner: "Don't make me hit you."

Anmora was certain he'd never used violence against Lianen - Lianen could take down ten grown men of his size with one hand. But Anmora couldn't. She bowed her head, finally giving up her hopeless resistance against Menger: "Oh, sorry."

Menger was a man who could control his emotions extremely well. If he hadn't frequently used hallucinogenic drugs, and if Anmora hadn't provoked him recklessly countless times, their relationship would have been much more harmonious.

"Hand." Menger drew the dark blue liquid from the test tube with a syringe, then said coldly to Anmora, "Don't waste my time."

Anmora rolled up her sleeve, revealing pale skin with clearly visible veins and dense clusters of needle marks above her elbow. Menger's experiments were typically harmful, and a recent drug he used seemed to have the side effect of slowing wound healing, leaving these needle marks permanently visible on Anmora's arm.

Anmora was too small, so Menger had to kneel on one knee before her to level the syringe with the liquid inside. His movements were practiced and professional, steady and swift—soon both vials were emptied into Anmora's veins.

Too starved to resist, Anmora felt the strange concoctions fog her mind. As the last of the fluids entered her bloodstream, her vision swam. Her blood ran cold, each breath frosting into ice shards.

She cursed under her breath in a slurred string: "D*mn you, Menger… you lunatic… what did you just—"

Menger's lips twisted stiffly, unused to smiling. "You said I wouldn't keep tainted drugs in the nutrient storage. Now you know better."

What a childish psychopath.

This was Anmora's last coherent thought before darkness took her.

Time blurred—until pressure crushed Anmora awake, something heavy pinning her down.

"An! Darling!" The voice wriggled under her blankets. "You're back!"

Anmora lifted her hand and threw off the blanket, opening her eyes to see Lianen's bright blue eyes: "…Get out."

Her throat felt terribly sore, her entire body was cold, and her fingertips were icy. She shouldn't have provoked Menger yesterday—if she had spoken more politely, she might have enjoyed a hot bath.

"An, are you cold？" Lianen whispered into her ear and then tightly grasped her hand, just like when she was a child. Lianen always had an overwhelming protective instinct toward her. If she were a little older, Anmora might even have regarded her as a mother.

"No," Anmora retorted quickly.

Lianen pulled her out of bed and, while helping her into her coat, muttered, "Oh, I don’t know what your father was thinking. A lovely girl like Anmora should wear bright, fancy