Reborn with A Simulation Coin!

The thunderous sound of soldiers and demi-humen storming through the halls shattered her illusion of safety. Realizing she had no more time, Madam Glenda made a split-second decision. She shoved aside the gleaming chests of gold and turned to her servants. "Leave everything! We must go now!"

But the enemy was faster.

"Over there! It's Madam Glenda!"

"She's the one with the servants! That's her!"

Shouts echoed through the halls as Harry's men gave chase. Madam Glenda's heart pounded as she ran, her once dignified demeanor replaced by sheer desperation. Her gown, elegant but impractical, snagged on corners as she fled down narrow corridors.

"Split up!" she barked to her guards, her voice sharp with fear. "Lead them away from me!"

Her guards obeyed, peeling off in different directions to distract the pursuers. But it was a futile effort. For all her cunning and planning, Madam Glenda couldn't change one simple truth, everyone in castle knew her face.

Within moments, she was cornered. A group of knight apprentices, their swords drawn and their eyes alight with anticipation, encircled her. She tried to fight, lashing out with her nails and teeth like a cornered animal, but they subdued her quickly.

"Bring her to lord Harry," one of the soldiers ordered, his tone cold.

---

The sunlight bathed the battlefield in a deceptive calm as Madam Glenda, bound tightly with ropes, was dragged before Harry. He stood tall, his dark cloak billowing slightly in the breeze, his face calm yet sharp with an almost playful malice.

"Madam Glenda," Harry greeted her, his voice light, almost pleasant. "It's been quite some time."

She glared at him, but her trembling betrayed her fear.

"It seems you've been living well," Harry continued, his smile widening as he gestured to her elegant, though now disheveled, attire. "Still dressed like a queen even as your kingdom crumbles around you."

Madam Glenda straightened, trying to summon the remnants of her pride. "Harry," she said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her hands. "You've won. The manor is yours now. What more do you want?"

Her voice softened, almost pleading. "I am your stepmother. Have you forgotten that? You've already killed your brother Reggie. Must you spill even more family blood?"

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Kill you? No, no, Madam Glenda," he said smoothly. "I have no intention of killing you. In fact, I plan to treat you with the utmost care."

He clapped his hands, and Maro stepped forward, carrying a familiar white bottle in his hands. It was an ornate jug, its craftsmanship exquisite, the kind reserved for only the finest wine. A faint, tantalizing aroma wafted through the air as he approached.

Madam Glenda's blood ran cold as recognition dawned.

Harry tilted his head, his smile now predatory. "I hear this wine is special," he said, examining the jug as if appraising a rare treasure. "Alfie brought it earlier, said it was from you. Such a fine vintage must be cherished."

He stepped closer, his dark eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "And who better to enjoy such a noble drink than my dear stepmother? You deserve the best, after all."

"Maro," Harry commanded, his voice dripping with mockery. "Pour a drink for the lady."

Maro grinned wickedly, stepping toward Madam Glenda with the jug in hand. His intentions were clear; he would make her drink it, whether she wanted to or not.

"No!" Madam Glenda shrieked, her voice breaking with raw terror. "No! I won't drink it!" She thrashed against her bindings, her eyes wild as she struggled to escape.

But her efforts were futile. Maro grabbed her roughly, forcing the bottle closer. The rich aroma of the wine filled her senses, sickening her as her mind screamed the inevitable truth.

"Please!" she begged, her voice cracking. "I don't want to, don't make me!"

Harry watched impassively, his smirk never faltering. "Oh, but you must, Madam Glenda," he said softly, his words carrying a sinister finality. "It would be rude to waste such a thoughtful gift."

Maro leaned in, tilting the jug toward her lips as she continued to scream and struggle. And yet, for all her defiance, she couldn't stop what was coming. The very trap she had set now closed around her, and there was no escape.

The tension in the air was suffocating as Maro advanced step by step, the jug of poisoned wine gleaming in the fading sunlight. Madam Glenda's struggles grew weaker, despair taking hold as the knight apprentices surrounding her tightened their grip. She knew there was no escape.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the ominous silence.

"That's enough!"

All heads turned to the source of the interruption. Harry's sharp gaze shifted, his expression unreadable. Alfie stood at the edge of the circle, his face pale but resolute. Though battered and bloodied, he had found the strength to rise again, his will unbroken.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Brother Alfie," he said softly. "Still standing, I see."

Alfie ignored the taunt, stepping forward with determined strides until he stood between Madam Glenda and Harry. He planted himself firmly, his arms spread wide as if his body alone could shield her.

"Harry, you've already won," Alfie said, his voice steady but filled with urgency. "Ethan Manor is yours. The fight is over. Why do you need to go this far?"

Harry tilted his head, his expression one of feigned confusion. "Go this far? What are you accusing me of, brother?" His tone was almost playful. "All I've done is offer our dear stepmother a drink. A fine vintage, by the way. You brought it yourself, remember?"

Alfie stiffened, his jaw tightening. "You know exactly what you're doing," he replied. "That wine—"

"Isn't it curious," Harry interrupted, his voice low and mocking, "that you hesitate to let her drink the wine you delivered yourself? What does that say about your intentions, brother?"

Alfie's words caught in his throat. Harry's logic was cruel and irrefutable. He had brought the wine, after all, and now he stood protesting its use. For a moment, he faltered, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt.

But then, he straightened, his resolve hardening. "Harry, I won't argue. Whatever's happened, whatever's been said, she's still our family. For the sake of what we once shared, let her go."

Harry's smirk faded, replaced by a cold, detached expression. "And if I don't?" he asked quietly.

"Then you'll have to step over my dead body," Alfie said firmly, his eyes blazing with defiance. "No one will harm her while I still breathe."

A heavy silence fell over the clearing. The knight apprentices shifted uneasily, glancing between the two brothers. Even Maro hesitated, sensing the gravity of the moment.

Harry sighed, shaking his head as if disappointed. "Alfie, you're a stubborn fool," he said softly. "Do you think I've let you live this long out of weakness? No, I've spared you; more than once. When Reggie fell, I let you walk away. When you brought poison to our meeting, I stayed my hand. And now, you stand here again, defying me."

His eyes locked onto Alfie's, cold and unrelenting. "This is your last chance. Move aside."

Alfie's response was simple. He stood firm, his silence speaking louder than words.

Harry stared at him for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. "So, this is the path you've chosen."

Before anyone could react, Harry moved. His golden sword flashed like lightning, its blade shimmering with deadly life energy. There was no warning, no hesitation. The strike was swift, merciless, and final.

Alfie's eyes widened in shock as the blade found its mark. He staggered, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Blood stained his tunic, the vibrant red spreading like a dark flower. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

The world seemed to freeze. For a moment, all that could be heard was the soft rustle of the wind and the faint clang of Harry's sword returning to its sheath.

Then, with a sickening thud, Alfie's head rolled to the ground.

Madam Glenda screamed, the sound raw and guttural, a mix of horror and heartbreak. The knight apprentices stood frozen, their faces pale. Even Maro hesitated, his usual bravado replaced by a flicker of unease.

Harry stepped forward, his gaze cold and unfeeling as he looked down at Alfie's lifeless body. "Let this be a lesson," he said, his voice calm but chilling. "Loyalty is admirable, but foolish defiance has a price."

He turned to Maro, his expression sharp. "Finish it."

Maro swallowed hard, then nodded. He grabbed the jug of wine and approached Madam Glenda, who had fallen to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Her cries echoed through the clearing as Maro advanced, the poison-laden wine now a grim inevitability.

Harry watched without a flicker of emotion, his hands clasped behind his back. To him, this was simply the closing chapter of a long and bitter story