The cold was bone-chilling.
The moment Charlotte snapped her eyes open, the thick, metallic tang of blood filled her lungs.
She looked down, her heart lunged into her throat—her hands were submerged in a pool of warm, crimson liquid.
Sprawled before her was an old man, a silver dagger plunged deep into his chest. His eyes were wide and sightless, frozen in a final, desperate struggle against a cruel fate.
[Ding! Host detected. Initializing World Two: "The Fallen Female Alpha." Current situation: Regicide in progress. Survival probability: 0.01%.]
The mechanical voice of 520 rang in her head, its warning clinical and cold.
Regicide. Of course. And I'm the 'villainous foster daughter' who butchered the White Wolf Alpha King for a piece of jewelry.
She lowered her gaze, her fingertips deftly skimming the King's pulse point.
The body hadn't gone cold yet, but a faint rigor mortis was setting in — the first chill of death setting in.
The study doors burst open with a resounding bang. A group of hulking alphas with the hungry, sharp-eyed look of wolves on the prowl.
"Charlotte! You actually killed the King for the crown?!" A girl's shriek shattered the silence.
It was Valeria Whitefang, the story's protagonist.
"Seize this traitorous regicide!" roared a grim-faced middle-aged man standing beside Valeria, his eyes gleaming with malice.
In an instant, several burly wolf guards lunged forward, their sharp claws pressing against Charlotte's throat.
Charlotte didn't resist. She watching with clinical indifference as blood splattered from her hem onto the floor.
Her gaze remained icy and detached as she looked Valeria dead in the eye, her voice as calm as if they were discussing the weather.
"The body's still warm, Valeria. He hasn't even been cold for half an hour. In thirty minutes, I haven't scrubbed the floors, hidden the blade, or made a run for the window. Instead, I'm sitting in a pool of blood, waited for you to storm the room like a savior."
"Valeria, do you honestly think I'm that stupid, or do you just take these Alphas for fools?"
The room went still. The angry Alphas exchanged uncertain glances.
Valeria's face tightened. She shot back instantly, "The evidence is right there! Quit lying! You knew you weren't chosen as the heir, so you snapped and took him out!"
"Where's the King's Ring? You must have hidden it!"
Charlotte let out a cold dry laugh. She took a step forward, and despite the claws at her throat, her sheer presence forced Valeria back half a step.
"The ring is missing?" Charlotte arched an eyebrow.
"Since you're so sure I've hidden it, why don't we lock down the palace right now? We'll search everyone here, one by one. Starting with you. Do you dare?"
"I have nothing to hide!" Panic flickered briefly in Valeria's eyes. "Stop trying to change the subject."
The King's Ring was not just a symbol of power; it was a soul-bound relic that couldn't be destroyed. Charlotte knew Valeria had it tucked away somewhere.
Realizing the tide was turning, the middle-aged man—Magnus Whitefang, the clan's Alpha, stepped from the shadows, his presence heavy with a malice that matched his daughter's.
"Don't listen to this traitor's nonsense! She's just stalling! Take her down. Tomorrow at moonrise, she bleeds at the altar!"
The air in the council chamber crackled with tension. The White Wolves justice didn't move at the sluggish pace of human law.
"Wait."
As the guards moved to drag her away, Charlotte's voice rang out again. She raised her hands, fingers splayed for everyone to see.
"The King was the strongest Alpha in this clan. He wouldn't have gone down without a hell of a fight." Charlotte pointed to a deep, jagged gash on the King's torso.
"A wound like that requires raw, unbridled strength. If I were the killer, there would be skin or hair under my nails, and my clothes would be shredded from the struggle. But look at me."
She showed them her nails—not a single scratch, no skin, no fur.
"My hands are bloody because I tried to save him when I walked in. My clothes are perfectly intact, aside from the stains. If I could take down the King and and still look this unruffled, I wouldn't be an heir candidate—I'd be a god."
The Alphas began muttering. Arthur Whiteguard, the most senior among them, stepped forward with a heavy frown. He examined the King's wounds.
"The depth and spacing of these marks... they don't match a wolf of Charlotte's build. Not for an instant kill."
"So what?!" Magnus interrupted, his voice desperate. "Maybe she conspired with outsiders! Or used some cowardly human trick!"
Charlotte turned her head, her gaze sharp as a blade. "I conspired? Tell me, Magnus, how is it that the Council arrived so 'perfectly' on time for a secret meeting? From the moment the King drew his last breath to the moment you burst in, the timing was flawless."
" It's almost as if... someone timed it so you'd all catch the opening night of this little performance."
Her logic was airtight. The chamber fell into an eerie silence.
"Valeria, you're so convinced I killed him because I wasn't the heir," Charlotte said, closing the distance between them, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous silk.
"But only the killer knows for sure who the heir was. Are you in such a rush to condemn me because the King actually picked someone else, and you're starting to sweat?"
"That's a lie!" Valeria screeched.
Charlotte coolly smoothed the wrinkles in her sleeve, as if adjusting her attire for a gala rather than a trial.
"Only an idiot kills someone at the exact moment they're most likely to get caught. What are you so nervous about, Valeria? Is that ring burning a hole in your pocket?"
Finally, Arthur spoke up, his voice booming. "Charlotte makes a fair point. There are too many loose ends. The King's death must be fully investigated."
"For now, Charlotte remains the prime suspect and will be held in the water dungeons. Daniel, take a team and toss her room. If we find hard evidence, we'll pass judgment then."
A flash of pure venom crossed Magnus's face. "For the King's peace, I'll be handling the investigation personally!"
As Charlotte was led away, she stole one last glance at the King's body. A faint, grayish-purple tint was creeping across his face.
At the same time, she caught Valeria met her gaze with a gloating, venomous smirk—a look of total victory.