“Lisha.”

She halted in the middle of helping him undress at the sound of his voice.

“We’ll be leaving Mutran soon.”

“…Me?”

“Yes.”

“……”

A shadow of gloom crossed her face. At that, Hatan raised one brow slightly.

“Why that expression?”

She was not one to show her emotions easily, so her change in expression hardened his own.

“Do you dislike it?”

She had already undergone extensive training as a merchant. More time and money had been invested in her than in any of his other operatives—he could not simply discard her now.

But instead of the answer he anticipated, her lips drooped and she asked something altogether different.

“Am I not good enough?”

For a moment, Hatan paused, then let the tension ease from his brow as he sat down. She could be quick-witted at times, yet in moments like this, she seemed frustratingly unable to grasp his meaning.

“You’ve misunderstood again.”

In truth, it wasn’t that she failed to understand—Hatan simply had a habit of speaking too vaguely. Caro and Miltan had long since learned to interpret his words with precision, which left him unaware of how little sense he often made.

He studied her quietly.

No, this was not an issue of comprehension. In recent days, he had come to realize that Lisha thought differently from others altogether.

That must be why she could watch a man torn apart like paper before her eyes, why she could endure being dragged here like a slave from a conquered land, why she could go without food for days—yet never voice resentment, accepting everything with quiet composure.

Hatan knew he himself was unlike most men. But this woman was even more so.

Shaking off the useless thoughts crowding his mind, he corrected her misunderstanding.

“You’ll be given assignments from now on.”

“Assignments?”

“Yes. You’ll leave in order to carry them out.”

“…Ah.”

Only then did the discomfort on her face ease, a shift so subtle one might miss it without looking closely.

“Then… after that, I’ll be able to return to you, won’t I, Hatan?”

Her voice was no different from usual, yet within it lingered a faint, unmistakable plea.

Hatan let out a short laugh.

“Why? Planning to run away?”

His words carried a trace of jest, though not entirely, as he tossed his shirt carelessly aside. Lisha shook her head with sharp denial, as if to reject the very notion.

“Of course I have to come back.”

If one were to discard a blade after every use, nothing would remain in hand. A blade once drawn was meant to be cleaned and returned to its sheath. That was only natural.

“I’ll do that.”

Her concise reply, delivered as though granting him permission, left a faint impression on him. However, this irritation was quickly forgotten as he was captivated by the sight of Lisha, who was now n*ked like him.

At first, he hadn’t realized, but the more he looked, the more alluring her body seemed. It wasn’t particularly striking or beautiful, and yet it stirred him in a way that defied reason.

Well fed and rested, her allure bloomed day by day.

Depending on the path she took, her value would only increase over time. Hatan found himself looking forward to her eventual worth.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

A full month had passed since she was told she would be given an assignment. Yet no task had come.

So, Lisha had begun to search out work for herself.

“What happened to your hands?”

His face hardened as he caught sight of the blisters marring her fingers.

“Ah…”

Lisha lowered them, trying to hide. But Hatan seized her hand at once, inspecting it more closely. Alongside the blisters, small patches of eczema had flared up on her skin.

“I asked what this is.”

At the sharp edge in his gaze, Lisha obediently gave an answer.

“I… burned them by mistake.”

“Doing what.”

“Just housework.”

“Housework?”

A disbelieving laugh slipped from him as he released her hand and sat back down.

Lisha nodded faintly, adding quietly,

“While staying here as your subordinate, I’ve done nothing all this time…”

“Your duty isn’t housework.”

Hatan leaned back with his arms crossed, his gaze carrying a note of displeasure. He glanced once more at Lisha’s ruined hands and clicked his tongue.

“And what is it, then?”

Lisha tilted her head as she asked.

Aside from the occasional nights spent attending to him, she had never thought those things alone could be her true role.

“You’ll be sent as a spy.”

“A spy?”

The unfamiliar word slipped from her lips, her mouth falling open slightly. She had thought she was merely being trained to take part in trade.

“You’ll carry a false identity. No one must know you belong to me. You’ll go to others, draw close, and extract information.”

Though she nodded at his clear explanation, faint doubt lingered on her face.

How could she do such a thing? All she had ever known was scavenging scraps to survive, and later, enduring the tempers of the courtesans to keep her miserable life intact.

“How could someone like me ever accomplish that?”

Her voice was filled with genuine doubt. Hatan looked at her and paused.

His subordinates obeyed without question. She had asked him so plainly and brazenly that he hesitated for a moment over how to respond.

The thought didn’t last long. After all, he had already admitted to himself that Lisha was different from the others. Perhaps it was only natural for her to speak so directly.

“You’ll be given a false identity.”

“A false identity…?”

She echoed softly, as if the term itself were strange on her tongue. But when the next words left Hatan’s mouth, her lips pressed tightly shut.

“With that identity, you’ll approach the target… and seduce them.”

For the briefest moment, her expression shifted. The change was so slight, so fleeting, that Hatan caught it but did not understand what it meant.

Her hands, raw and blistered, drew his gaze again.

“But with your hands in that state, you won’t be fit for duty yet. So stop wasting yourself on housework.”

As though the dryness in his eyes had parched her, Lisha clasped her hands together awkwardly and lowered her gaze.

“Don’t ruin your body needlessly and jeopardize your mission.”

“…I understand.”

Hatan moved onto the bed and gestured towards her. The conversation was over. Now came the role she was expected to fulfil: keeping him satisfied.

Lisha slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again. When she looked at him again, her gaze was darker than ever.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

“I didn’t expect the head of the trading company to be a woman.”

Aman’s brows drew together in clear displeasure. It wasn’t simply because the leader was female.

‘A slave who clawed her way up, huh.’

With her white skin and black hair, he could instantly tell that she was a Hartreline — a woman who had simply been lucky enough to break free from her chains. The fact that such a person was now sitting opposite him, speaking to him as an equal, was unbearable.

Seeing his distaste, Lisha began to feel awkward.

“What exactly do you want?”

His tone dripped with disdain, like a bucket of cold water poured over her. She hesitated, clenching her fists tightly.

She was here under Hatan’s orders. She was supposed to seduce this noble named Aman. Yet she couldn’t even get the words out—let alone seduce him.

‘Why?’

Forcing herself not to jump up and leave, Lisha asked herself the question. She’d lived her whole life under stares like his. So why did it feel unbearable now?

She dug her nails into her palm and told herself firmly: Get a hold of yourself!

Whatever the reason, now was not the time to falter.

Smoothing her expression, she met Aman’s gaze and said,

“We have spices from Natring — spices no other company deals in.”

At the word Natring, a flicker of interest passed through Aman’s eyes. But it quickly twisted back into disdain.

“And?”

“…Pardon?”

“Spices from Natring are rare, sure. But they’re not impossible to find.”

“Yes, but—”

“Pathetic.”

He cut her off with a cold voice.

“Did you drag me here just to show me this?”

He rose from his seat as though she wasn’t even worth the effort.

Lisha’s hand shot out reflexively, catching the sleeve of his robe as he moved past her.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Aman struck down hard on the back of Lisha’s hand.

The sudden blow left her frozen, unable even to pull her hand back. She stared at him in disbelief.

“How dare a lowborn wretch lay hands on me!”

His expression twisted, as though filth had soiled his robes. He tore off his outer garment and hurled it at the servant standing nearby.

“Throw it away.”

That single command shattered the last of Lisha’s composure.

From behind came his voice, dripping with contempt.

“Scrub down the seat where that woman sat.”

Lisha clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

“No—discard everything she’s touched.”

With great effort, she forced herself to rise.

What happened after that was a blur. She could not remember leaving the room or finding her way back to Hatan’s hideout. The only thing seared into her mind was Aman’s scornful gaze.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

“Lisha has failed the mission.”

“What?”

At Caro’s report, Hatan froze, then demanded again,

“Why?”

“He seemed displeased the instant he saw her face. In the end, he drove her out.”

“I asked why.”

“…That, we were unable to determine. My apologies.”

The truth was obvious enough, but seeing Hatan’s brow knit in irritation, Caro dared not say it aloud.

“So you’re telling me Aman, instead of desiring her, looked at Lisha as if she were vermin?”

“Yes.”

“And why would that be?”

Hatan himself had already confirmed her usefulness countless times. By now, even catching the barest glimpse of her figure was enough to stir the hunger he usually kept buried. She was draped in allure from head to toe.

So how could she have failed without even attempting true seduction?

“…Does Aman perhaps favor men?”

The question left Caro inwardly aghast. The correct answer sat plain as day before them, yet Hatan insisted on circling around it, choosing any explanation but the obvious.

‘Lisha is simply not beautiful enough to wield beauty as a weapon…’

But Caro lacked the courage to voice it.

“No such rumors exist.”

“Then what?”

“…Forgive me.”

Unable to speak the truth, Caro bowed his head in apology.

“Bring Lisha to me.”

Hatan uncrossed his arms and barked out the order, clearly irritated. There was no point listening to Caro’s evasions — it would be better to confront Lisha directly and find out why she had failed.