Chapter 1021: Breakfast and the Soul Ritual (Part.I)

The morning inside the mansion began in an strangely peaceful way.

The dining room was filled with clear light coming through the large windows facing the gardens, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee had already spread through the room when Monica entered carrying a small stack of documents under one arm.

She had faint dark circles under her eyes, her hair tied back carelessly, and the expression of someone who found it deeply offensive that the world kept producing problems even while she slept.

Scathach was already sitting at the table.

Monica stopped.

Took two steps back.

Looked again.

Scathach held a cup with both hands and stared into the coffee as if expecting to find the solution to all her problems inside it.

Her face was red.

Her ears too.

And she seemed to be making a conscious effort not to look at anyone else present.

Monica placed the documents on the table.

"What happened to you?"

Scathach tightened her grip around the cup.

"Nothing."

Beatrice, sitting farther down while spreading jam on toast, looked up.

"She spent half the night stuck in an embarrassing situation with Strax. You could hear the commotion throughout the whole mansion."

Scathach turned her head so quickly she almost spilled her coffee.

"BEATRICE."

"What? I didn’t say what happened."

"That is exactly the problem!"

Monica stared from one to the other for a few seconds, still too sleepy to gather enough interest.

"I didn’t hear anything."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing at all?"

Monica pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I’ve been so tired lately that when I finally manage to sleep, a dragon could probably fall on top of the mansion and I’d only ask about the damage in the morning."

"That explains quite a lot," Beatrice commented.

Scathach slowly raised the cup to her lips, trying to disappear behind it.

The dining room door opened shortly afterward.

Samira entered.

The first thing that drew attention was not her messy hair, nor the leaves still stuck to her clothes, but the sword strapped across her back.

It was small.

Not actually small by normal standards, but almost tiny compared to the enormous blades Samira usually carried.

The new weapon was narrow, balanced, and so discreet it looked like it belonged to someone else.

Beatrice was the first to notice.

"Is that a sword or a toothpick?"

Samira looked at her.

"Want to find out?"

"Not particularly."

Samira pulled out a chair, but stopped before sitting when she noticed Scathach.

She studied the woman.

Then looked at Monica.

Then back at Scathach.

"Why does Strax’s mother look like a tomato?"

Scathach closed her eyes.

Beatrice grinned.

"Embarrassing situation with her son last night."

"BEATRICE!"

Samira blinked a few times.

"Did I miss something?"

"A lot," Beatrice answered.

Scathach set the cup down on the saucer.

"Nothing happened like what you’re implying."

"I didn’t imply anything."

"Everyone understood exactly what you meant."

Monica raised one hand without even fully opening her eyes.

"I do not want to understand."

Samira kept looking at Scathach, now clearly curious.

Beatrice pointed the jam knife at her.

"You didn’t hear the noise last night?"

"No."

"How not?"

"I was sleeping in the forest."

Monica finally opened her eyes.

"Why were you sleeping in the forest?"

Samira took an apple from the basket in the center of the table.

"I passed out."

Monica’s hand stopped halfway to her coffee.

"You what?"

"Trained too hard."

"And your solution was simply to remain unconscious in the middle of the forest?"

"I wasn’t conscious enough to think of a solution."

Beatrice started laughing.

Monica rubbed two fingers against her forehead.

"You people make my job much harder without even trying."

Samira bit into the apple.

"Technically, I didn’t cause any problem."

"You passed out alone in the middle of the forest."

"Exactly. Without involving the administration."

"That is not the important part of the sentence."

Samira shrugged and kept eating.

Before Monica could begin a lecture, another voice came from the entrance.

"What kind of meeting is this?"

Xenovia entered the room wearing simple morning clothes, though her posture still carried that natural discipline that made it look as though she were about to enter a military formation.

She looked over the table, then each of the women, lingering a little longer on Samira and her new sword.

"That got smaller."

Samira sighed.

"Yes."

"Finally."

"Don’t start."

Xenovia pulled out a chair.

Beatrice shrugged.

"It’s not a meeting. It’s just been a while since all of us showed up for breakfast together."

"All of us?" Monica repeated.

She looked around.

Scathach, Beatrice, Samira, Xenovia, and herself.

As if summoned by the phrase, a sequence of slow footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Kryssia appeared a few seconds later.

Her hair was completely flattened on one side, and a very obvious pillow mark crossed her cheek.

She stopped in the doorway, squinted against the brightness, and stared at the group as if each of them were personally responsible for waking her up.

"What’s all this noise?"

Samira smiled immediately.

Kryssia noticed.

"No."

"I didn’t say anything."

"You were going to say something about my face."

"Maybe."

Kryssia sat in the nearest chair and rested both arms on the table.

"If anyone talks to me before coffee, I’m considering it an act of aggression."

Beatrice pushed a pitcher toward her.

"Juice?"

"That is not coffee."

"I noticed."

Monica began arranging what the staff had placed on the table shortly before.

Still-warm toast, small plates of butter and jam, a pitcher of fruit juice, and several bowls filled with apples, pears, grapes, and fruits that had begun arriving from other regions through the new trade routes.

She looked around again.

"Even so, a lot of people are still missing."

Beatrice took another piece of toast.

"How many is a lot?"

Monica thought.

"I don’t want to count."

"That sounds concerning."

"Scarlet isn’t here. Cassandra, Daniela, Bellatrix, Tiamat, Kali, Ouroboros, Albedo, Lithara, Frieren..."

Xenovia gave a short laugh.

"When you start listing them, it really does get worse."

"Exactly." Monica poured herself coffee. "So we are not all together. But having six of us in the same room in the morning without a war, an official meeting, or someone bleeding is already a major event."

Kryssia, still half asleep, raised her cup in agreement.

"A miracle."

Samira picked up another fruit.

Xenovia pointed to the sword on her back.

"So?"

Samira looked at her.

"So what?"

"How is it going?"

The warrior’s expression changed slightly.

She did not lose her calm, but the teasing tone disappeared.

"Better."

Kryssia finally showed a sign of waking up.

"You’re thinking before attacking?"

"Sometimes."

"Progress."

Samira gave her the middle finger.

Kryssia drank her coffee.

"Regression."

Beatrice laughed.

Scathach was gradually returning to her normal color, pleased that the focus of the conversation had shifted.

That lasted exactly until Samira finished the apple and looked around the room.

"Speaking of which, where’s Strax?"

Scathach’s spoon stopped.

Beatrice immediately looked at her.

Scathach noticed.

"Don’t even think about it."

"I didn’t do anything."

"Your face did."

Monica let out a tired laugh, recognizing the same accusation she had heard Strax use several times.

Samira waited.

Scathach took a deep breath, drank some coffee, and answered with as much casualness as she could gather.

"He’s sleeping."

The silence that followed lasted two seconds.

Beatrice smiled.

Scathach pointed at her without even looking.

"If you open your mouth, I’ll kill you."

Beatrice calmly took another piece of toast.

"I wasn’t even going to say anything."

"Lie."

"Maybe."

Kryssia watched the exchange, then looked at Monica.

"I should go back to bed."

Monica lifted her coffee to her lips.

"I’ve been thinking that since I walked in."

And for a few minutes, the dining room was filled only with small conversations, pointless teasing, and the sound of silverware.

Something surprisingly rare for a house where any breakfast could normally be interrupted by a war, an ancient creature, or Strax arriving with another problem nobody had asked for.

Far beneath Strax’s main mansion, where most of Asgard’s inhabitants did not even know there were corridors, Frieren had transformed one of the empty laboratory chambers into something halfway between a research room and a demonic temple.

The entire floor was covered in overlapping circles, conduction lines, and small black crystals positioned at regular intervals.

On the walls, metal plates carried formulas she had modified at least four times that morning, and at the center of the room lay a single artificial body on a tilted platform.

The feminine form remained motionless, eyes closed, skin cold, and without breath.

Unlike the earliest versions, however, that body already possessed a fully functional demonic core.

It was only missing the one thing Frieren still could not manufacture.

A soul.

Lithara was kneeling inside one of the smaller circles, watching the inscriptions with growing interest.

Her demonic presence filled part of the chamber, heavy enough to make some crystals vibrate faintly, though Frieren had already adjusted the formations to withstand her.

Albedo stood on the other side, arms crossed, looking at the platform as if expecting the body to rise at any moment and try to kill someone.

Frieren stood between them.

"One more time," she said. "We are not ripping souls out of anyone."

Lithara looked at her.

"You’ve said that four times."

"Because you suggested ripping them out."

"I suggested looking."

"You said, ’If there’s one wandering around, grab it.’"

Lithara shrugged.

"That’s practically the same thing."

"No."

Albedo nodded without taking her eyes off the artificial body.

"Master does not want empty slaves."

Frieren pointed at her.

"Exactly."

Lithara let out a small sigh.

"I know. Volunteers, compatible, and stable enough not to go insane when they wake up in a new body."

"Now it sounds like you listened."

"I listened the first time."

"Then why do you keep irritating me?"

"Because you’re funny when you’re annoyed."

Frieren decided to ignore her.

The method they were trying was not exactly a traditional summoning.

There was no intention of opening a passage and dragging any available demonic soul into the physical world.

That would be inefficient, dangerous, and, according to Frieren, academically lazy.

The idea was to emit a call through the spiritual frequencies demons used to recognize bloodline, authority, and territory.

The ritual would function more like a beacon.

Souls capable of perceiving the call could approach voluntarily, while the outer circles evaluated stability and compatibility before any direct contact took place.

Lithara was responsible for the signature.

Albedo for containment.