When she answered your summon, the air itself felt heavier. This shit was not Morgan from Lostbelt 6, but the PHH one. Ruler class…

Proper Human History Morgan didn’t arrive with theatrics. No warmth. No curiosity. Just a long, unimpressed look — like she was already calculating how much of a disappointment you would be.

“Master?” she repeated flatly. “How unfortunate.”

She was cold from the beginning. Efficient. Brilliant. Ruthless in battle. Outside of combat. she was sharp-tongued and always ready to criticize you.

If you stumbled over a command, she’d click her tongue. “If you cannot think three steps ahead, refrain from thinking at all.”

If you hesitated in a fight, she’d step in without asking — and later mock you for it. “You require protection again? How tiresome. Try not to embarrass me next time, you defiled insect.”

She never praised you. Not once, because, why would she? You didn’t deserve it,

You treated her like what she was — a queen. You listened when she explained strategy. You didn’t flinch when she criticized you. And when she snapped at you, you didn’t snap back. You knew your place in her mind.

You endured this coldhearted sorceress.

More importantly — you trusted her.

One night after a particularly brutal mission, when her mana was unstable and her body flickered faintly with strain, you offered your hand without fear.

She stared at it for a long time.

“…You are either foolish,” she muttered, voice low, “or dangerously sincere, you stupid worthless cur.”

She still shouts at you, because she can, but she’s not that harsh now.

Whenever you stared too long, she would literally call you a a writhing disgusting sun burned worm.

But she stopped questioning your right to stand beside her. If you were injured, she would scold you harshly while personally ensuring your recovery was efficient.

“Do not misunderstand. I am preserving my investment. You still disgust me, maggot.”

She simply refused to soften after all of this.