CHAPTER FIVE : BROTHER (1)

Emilia sighed deeply as her body moved of its own accord, kneeling for the morning prayer. The soft, creaking wooden floor of her dilapidated hut groaned under the weight of the routine she had come to despise.

This wasn't how she imagined her life would turn out—transmigrating into a game world only to be trapped in the life of a saintess candidate bound by a system that forced her into prayer and hollow acts of kindness.

"Bless this world… bring joy and happiness to the hearts of all," she murmured, her voice serene despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface. 

She had long given up trying to resist the system's grip, realizing it was futile. Whenever she tried to cut corners or rush through the prayers, the system would only force her to repeat them, making the entire process longer and more agonizing. Emilia wasn't sure who had written these prayers, but she suspected they were designed by someone who had way too much time on their hands. 

Why do I even need to pray for the happiness of a world that's on the brink of destruction? she thought. Her mind wandered as her lips continued the chant. It wasn't like anyone was listening.

The world outside her tiny hut was a chaotic place, filled with monsters, dungeons, and the looming threat of dark mana-born beasts. And yet, here she was, stuck in a tiny, run-down house, repeating the same prayers every morning as if it would make a difference.

The system had promised her that if she could prevent the destruction of the world, she could live however she wanted. A tantalizing promise, but Emilia wasn't naïve. The world was falling apart, and her role in this game was far from glamorous.

The Great Sage of Wisdom, a title that came with immense knowledge, but also isolation. In most timelines, she had read that her character would die before even meeting the academy students, leaving behind cryptic notes and books to guide the hero.

She frowned, casting a glance toward the stack of weathered books and letters scattered on the small table beside her. They were all meant for the future hero, carefully placed and waiting to be discovered. She had gone through them countless times, recognizing the clues her character had prepared—riddles, strategies, and insights meant to help the protagonist on their journey. Yet, every time she read them, she was reminded of her fate. 

In every route, every possible scenario, Emilia Ein Vilheim, the character she now embodied, was destined to die before meeting the academy students. Whether it was in a battle, by illness, or some tragic accident, her death was inevitable. That was how the game worked. The Great Sage always perished before the true story began, leaving the hero to pick up the pieces.

Emilia's eyes fell on the Saintess candidate invitation that lay on her desk, an elegant piece of parchment adorned with golden embroidery, bearing her name in flowing script: Emilia Harmonia. 

"Fat lot of good that'll do me," she muttered under her breath, breaking her prayer momentarily. She was supposed to attend the Grand Academy, where the thirteen Saintess candidates would gather and face the trials laid out by the gods. But she knew better. No matter what she did, she would never make it to the academy. It was a fixed point in the story, an unchangeable outcome.

The prayers finally ended, and Emilia stood up, stretching her stiff limbs. Her long black hair, which fell in waves down her back, was in desperate need of a brush, but she couldn't find the energy to care.

Her deep blue eyes scanned the familiar room once more, taking in the worn furniture, the dusty shelves filled with old tomes, and the cracked window that let in a sliver of morning light. It wasn't much, but it was all she had in this world.

How long am I going to be stuck here, repeating the same thing day after day? she wondered, walking over to the stack of books. As much as she hated the predictability of her life, she couldn't deny the strange sense of duty she felt toward her role.

The protagonist would need these notes, these fragments of knowledge, to survive. And yet, knowing that her actions were paving the way for someone else's glory left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She picked up one of the books, flipping through its yellowed pages. Each one was filled with carefully written instructions, maps, and annotations. It was all meticulously planned, down to the last detail. But no matter how thorough her preparations, the end result was always the same: her death, the hero's rise, and the saving of the world.

"Isn't there a way to change it?" she asked aloud, her voice echoing softly in the empty room. The system never answered her directly, but she had long suspected that there were rules even it couldn't break. The promise of a new life was hanging in front of her like a carrot on a stick, but to earn it, she had to play her role perfectly.

Emilia sighed, putting the book down and walking toward the window. The sun was rising higher in the sky now, casting a warm glow over the forest that surrounded her hut. Birds chirped in the distance, blissfully unaware of the dark forces gathering on the horizon.

She knew the world was far from safe, that soon enough, the next dungeon would open, the monsters would emerge, and the real battle would begin. But for now, in this quiet moment, she could pretend that everything was peaceful.

"What a mess," she said quietly, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. "I didn't sign up for this."

But deep down, she knew she didn't have a choice. The game's mechanics were set in stone. The Duke would only find her after her death. The hero would only rise after her sacrifice. It was all part of the script.

Maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to rewrite it, she thought, a flicker of determination sparking within her. If the system wouldn't let her live freely, she'd find a loophole. There had to be one. She wasn't ready to give up yet—not on herself, and not on the life she could have.

"One step at a time," she muttered, turning away from the window and heading back to her desk. "Let's see if I can outsmart fate."

*****

Adelaide paced the length of her lavish bedroom, her fingers trembling as she clutched the once-powerful Book of the Prophet. The pages that once held her future, the carefully laid-out path to her crown, were now completely blank. No matter how hard she tried, not a single word or vision appeared, as if her destiny had vanished. The pristine white pages taunted her, mocking her with their emptiness.

"What is this?" she whispered harshly, her voice breaking the eerie silence in the room. "How can it be blank?"

Her fury boiled just beneath the surface. For as long as she could remember, this book had been her guide, showing her the future she deserved. Every choice, every calculated step was based on the knowledge from this book.

It had given her power over everyone—her father, her brother, the court, and even the demon king who had whispered promises of a crown in her ear. Yet now, the path had vanished, leaving her directionless. It was as if someone had already begun rewriting fate, someone she knew all too well.

Emilia.

That wretched name echoed in her mind, fanning the flames of her growing anger. Adelaide had known the truth for a long time, far longer than anyone else.

She wasn't the real daughter of Duke Vilheim. She had always been a substitute, a mere pawn, exchanged at birth for someone else. Someone who didn't deserve the life she had so painstakingly built.

Emilia Ein Vilheim.

The thought of Emilia returning, stepping into the role Adelaide had played her whole life, threatened to unravel everything she had worked for. The demon king had promised her power, a crown that would ensure she would never lose what she had.

But if Emilia were to reappear, with her noble blood and rightful claim, Adelaide knew she could lose everything in an instant. Her future, her status, her carefully curated image—all of it could be taken from her in a heartbeat.

No. She wouldn't allow it.

Emilia must die, Adelaide decided coldly, her expression hardening as her thoughts raced. She would not let some nameless orphan come and take what was rightfully hers. The demon king had promised her greatness, and she had no intention of losing it all because of some pathetic girl who didn't even know her place.

A knock at the door broke her thoughts, and she quickly masked her fury with a soft, serene expression. Her hands gently set the Book of the Prophet down on her vanity as she turned toward the door.

"Come in," she called, her voice calm and composed.

The door opened, and Raphael, her beloved half-brother, stepped inside. His usual confident demeanor seemed shaken, a rare look of confusion clouding his sharp features. He didn't say anything at first, simply sitting beside her on the plush chaise near the window. 

Adelaide watched him carefully, already anticipating the conversation that would follow. She knew Raphael had learned the truth about her origins—the Duke and Duchess had finally uncovered what Adelaide had long suspected.

She wasn't their real daughter. It had been the talk of the mansion for days, whispered among the servants and nobles alike. Yet, she would not let it sway her. No matter what Raphael or their parents thought, Adelaide would hold her ground.

With a delicate sigh, she shifted closer to him, her hand resting on his arm with sisterly affection.

"Raphael," she began softly, her voice laced with carefully practiced vulnerability. "I know… I know everything has been difficult since the truth came out. But please, don't worry about me. I will accept my position, no matter what happens. I know I'm not… I know I'm not the Duke's real daughter."

She paused for effect, her eyes lowering as if she were deeply hurt by the revelation. In truth, the only thing that pained her was the thought of losing her place. But Raphael didn't need to know that.

"I just want you to know," she continued, her voice almost trembling with false sincerity, "that I've always considered you my brother. I will accept whatever decision the Duke and Duchess make about my future."

Raphael frowned, clearly unsettled by her words. "Adelaide, it's not that simple. You're still my sister, no matter what. We've grown up together, and that won't change."

He was trying to reassure her, his voice filled with conviction, but Adelaide could see the cracks in his resolve. He wasn't just thinking about her—he was thinking about Emilia, the real daughter who was out there somewhere. And that was the problem. As much as Raphael cared for her, his loyalty to the Vilheim bloodline ran deep.

"Thank you," Adelaide said, her lips curving into a soft smile. "That means a lot to me. Truly, it does."

But inside, she was seething. She could see it in his eyes—the uncertainty, the doubt. Even Raphael, her closest ally, was beginning to question her place in the family. All because of Emilia.

"I will accept whatever comes," she repeated, her tone gentle and self-sacrificing. "As long as you and Father and the Duchess are happy."

Raphael's expression softened, but it was clear he was still troubled. He stood, running a hand through his dark hair, clearly at a loss for what to say next.

"I'll speak with Father again," he said, as if that would solve anything. "But Adelaide, please don't feel like you're being cast aside. No matter what happens, you're still a part of this family."

Adelaide nodded, pretending to be reassured by his words. "I understand, Raphael. Thank you for always looking out for me."

Raphael gave her a small, strained smile before excusing himself from the room, leaving Adelaide alone with her thoughts once more.

As the door closed behind him, her smile vanished. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she clenched her jaw in silent rage. He doesn't get it, she thought bitterly. None of them do.

Adelaide was done waiting, done pretending to be the dutiful, kind daughter. Emilia had to die before anyone found her, before anyone had a chance to steal what Adelaide had earned. 

She glanced at the Book of the Prophet again, still blank, but that didn't matter anymore. She had her own plans now, and she would not let anyone stand in her way—not Emilia, not Raphael, and certainly not fate.