"If you miss even a single speck of dried blood on those heels, I will personally ensure your hands are chopped off before sunrise."
The head servant delivered the warning with a harsh sneer, tossing Prince Michael’s heavy leather riding boots onto the damp tiled floor of the private bathroom. Luigi did not flinch, keeping his head bowed in a perfectly submissive posture that masked the simmering hatred deep within his soul. The vast bathroom was choked with dense steam from the heated subterranean springs, the thick air smelling of expensive jasmine oils, crushed mint, and the faint, underlying metallic stench of dried plasma. The white marble walls sweated condensation, weeping small streams of moisture down toward the gold plated drainage grates. Luigi knelt on the cold stone, a coarse scrubbing brush gripped firmly in his calloused fingers as he reached for the blood stained boots.
"The target is currently resting behind the thermal silk curtains," the cold, mechanical resonance of the Devourer System vibrated inside his mind, its digital interface completely hidden from external view. "His neural wave activity indicates a state of light relaxation. He is listening to every sound within this chamber."
Luigi began to scrub the stiff leather, his movements rhythmic and deliberately heavy to demonstrate his obedience to anyone watching. "Let him listen. A paranoid prince is much easier to manipulate than one who feels entirely secure in his power."
"Be cautious with your vocal projection," the system reminded him coldly, updating the environmental acoustic map in his field of vision. "Two lower level kitchen maids have just entered the adjacent laundry alcove to collect the soiled linens. They are within optimal whispering range."
Luigi paused for a brief second, his fingers tracing a thick, dark crust of dried blood near the silver buckle of the boot. It was the blood of an innocent lower sector rebel whom Michael had publicly executed just two days ago. The thought made Luigi's pulse quicken with a dark, calculated fury. He dipped his brush into the bucket of soapy water, letting the suds turn a murky, pinkish hue as the blood dissolved. He looked toward the laundry alcove, where the soft rustle of fabrics and the quiet chatter of the female servants could be heard over the steady sloshing of water.
"Did you hear about the security breach near the eastern gates last night?" Luigi asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that perfectly imitated the timid tone of a frightened slave.
The older maid, a woman with a weary face and frayed linen clothes, stopped folding the silk towels and looked over her shoulder. "Keep your voice down, Boru. If the head seneschal catches you gossiping about palace security, you will be thrown into the deep dungeons before noon."
"I am only terrified, sister," Luigi murmured, leaning slightly closer while continuing to scrub the boot with feigned desperation. "I overheard the guards near the main armory talking during my late shift. They said someone intentionally left the secondary defense arrays deactivated."
The younger maid dropped a bundle of tunic shirts, her eyes widening in absolute curiosity. "What do you mean? Those arrays are locked by biometric neural signatures. Only the high executioner has the clearance codes to modify the sector boundaries."
"Exactly," Luigi whispered back, ensuring his voice carried a perfect blend of manufactured panic and subtle conspiracy. "They said Commander Mario was seen near the main control nexus just an hour before the perimeter sensors went dark. He looked completely furious, muttering about how Prince Michael does not appreciate his absolute loyalty."
"Hush, you foolish boy!" the older maid hissed, though she crept closer to the edge of the alcove, her own curiosity clearly piqued. "Mario is the hand of the prince. He has executed hundreds of traitors for the royal house. Why would he ever compromise the palace security?"
"Perhaps he feels the prince is becoming too weak," Luigi suggested softly, his heart beating steadily as he planted the venomous seed of doubt. "Everyone knows Michael’s health has been failing these past few days. His hands shake during the morning audiences, and his decisions are becoming completely unpredictable. Maybe Mario thinks it is time for a stronger leader to take the high throne."
"That is treasonous madness," the younger maid whispered, her face growing incredibly pale as she looked around the grand bathroom to ensure no guards were watching. "If Mario is truly turning against the crown, the entire vertical city will be plunged into a bloody civil war."
"I only know what my ears gather from the dark corners," Luigi said, dropping his head and returning to the boots with a submissive sigh. "Mario has always been an ambitious man. He commands the entire elite vanguard, and the soldiers fear his blade far more than they respect the prince’s royal decrees. If he decides to strike, who could truly stop him?"
"The Devourer System confirms a fifteen percent increase in the local servant anxiety index," the mechanical voice reported in his ear, its tone completely indifferent to the chaos he was weaving. "The rumor is actively registering within their cognitive frameworks. They will distribute this narrative to the lower quarters within three hours."
Luigi smiled inwardly, his right eye flashing with a dangerous, heterochromatic light behind the long, messy strands of his dark hair. "Excellent. A rumor among the servants is like a wildfire in a dry forest. It moves without a trace, but it burns down everything in its path."
"Warning," the system suddenly blared, a sharp red icon flashing violently across his vision. "The target’s neural activity has shifted from relaxation to high alert state. The thermal silk curtain is moving."
Luigi immediately dropped his gaze back to the floor, his shoulders slumping as he assumed the pathetic, broken posture of Boru the slave. He scrubbed the leather with frantic energy, his hands trembling with a perfectly simulated terror that hid the absolute coldness in his chest.
The thick, emerald green silk curtains guarding the private bath were suddenly pulled back with a sharp, metallic ring of the gold rings sliding across the rod. Prince Michael stepped out onto the heated marble floor, his tall frame wrapped in a loose white robe that trailed behind him. His face was pale, his eyes heavily bloodshot from the early stages of the neural micro poison Luigi had been administering each night. A cold, menacing aura radiated from his posture, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his cheeks twitched with undeniable rage.
The two laundry maids gasped in unison, instantly throwing themselves flat onto the damp floor, their bodies shaking with genuine terror. "Y-Your Highness! We crave your royal mercy!"
Michael did not even look at the women, his piercing, venomous gaze locked entirely onto the back of Luigi's bent neck. He walked forward slowly, his bare feet making a soft, slapping sound against the wet tiles, a sound that felt like the rhythmic approach of an executioner's axe. He stopped right in front of the bucket, the hem of his pristine white robe brushing against the dirty, blood stained water Luigi had been using.
"You have an incredibly loud voice for a creature that is supposed to be completely mute during your duties, Boru," Michael muttered softly from behind the heavy silence of the room.
Luigi pressed his forehead flat against the wet marble, the cold moisture seeping into his skin as he let out a choked, trembling gasp. "Forgive this worthless slave, Your Highness! My tongue is foolish, and my mind is weak from the long hours of labor! I was only repeating the stupid nonsense I heard from the drunk guards in the corridors!"
Michael reached down, his fingers gripping Luigi’s jaw with brutal force, pulling his head up until their eyes met. The prince’s grip was incredibly tight, his fingernails digging deep into the flesh of Luigi’s cheeks, but Luigi kept his left eye completely dull and empty, hiding the brilliant silver fire of his true self.
"Mario," Michael pronounced the name softly, his tone laced with a deep, suffocating threat and an intense suspicion that made the very air in the bathroom turn ice cold. "You dare speak his name in the dark as if he were a king in waiting?"
"No, milord!" Luigi cried out, tears of perfectly fabricated pain welling in his eyes. "Commander Mario is your loyal servant! I am just a stupid beast who does not understand the affairs of the high nobility! Please, do not cut out my tongue, Your Highness!"
Michael stared deep into Luigi's face for a long, torturous moment, searching for any sign of deceit, but the system's total emotional suppression kept Luigi’s physical biometrics completely aligned with those of a terrified, low caste slave. Finally, the prince shoved Luigi back onto the stone floor with absolute disgust, wiping his hand on his silk robe as if he had just touched a contaminated corpse.
"Mario has been acting strange lately," Michael muttered to himself, his voice dropping to a low, paranoid whisper as he turned his back and stared into the swirling steam of the bathroom. "He avoids my gaze during the strategy meetings. He questions my commands regarding the security patrols. He thinks I do not see the way he looks at my crown."
"The seed has successfully taken root," the system confirmed smoothly as the digital interface calibrated the prince’s psychological state. "His existing paranoia has synthesized your rumor into an active threat perception. The fracture between the prince and the executioner is widening."
Luigi remained on his knees, his face lowered toward the floor, but beneath the curtain of his dark hair, his lips curled into a silent, triumphant sneer. The game was progressing exactly as he had planned, and the two most powerful men who had ruined his past life were about to tear each other to pieces.
Aksara