Corrupted Reincarnation: The Eldritch Maid

[Kira POV] Year 5, Day 207 (Dragon Race Arena)

"Welcome to the 13,104th Central Dragon Race! I'm Hob!" The voice boomed across the arena, amplified by magic until it vibrated in Kira's chest.

"And I'm Drek!" A second voice, deeper, equally loud.

Kira listened as the broadcaster voices filled every corner of the massive space. The countdown showed just over an hour until start. Broadcast beginning right on schedule.

Hob and Drek. Of course Kira knew them. Probably the two most famous goblins in the entire Republic—possibly on the entire continent.

[Out of all humanoid monsters in the Republic, goblins have the distinctive feature of being most hostile to civilized life. Can speak the same language but it doesn't mean understanding or shared values. Hobgoblins are different—more civilized, mostly no issues fitting in. But Hob and Drek prove that even among goblins, there are exceptions. Different breed from another continent entirely.]

Kira reached into her spatial storage without thinking. Pulled out an old picture—faded, carefully preserved, drawn when she was maybe six or seven years old.

While she was thinking about that, the goblin duo was talking in the background. Race history. Previous champions. Famous moments. Standard opening commentary.

Kira barely listened. Lost in memory. In nostalgia. In—

Then she heard her name booming across the entire arena.

"Oh! It seems we already have our first disqualification this year. Kira Razorclaw. Over-usage of spatial storage."

Kira's mind went blank. Then flooded with understanding. Horror. Disbelief.

[FUCK. No. No no no—]

[Any usage of spatial items or abilities is instant disqualification. Having them on you isn't against the rules—riders keep life-saving elixirs, emergency supplies, all sorts of things in storage. But the moment you USE it during the race window? Instant disqualification. No exceptions. No appeals.]

[And I just did it. While thinking about those famous goblins, I grabbed the picture on instinct and pulled it out without thinking and—]

The holographic display shifted. Showed her. Sitting on top of Bad Boy. Holding a piece of paper in her hand. Clear evidence. Undeniable.

Next to her image: Raja. Sitting on her wyvern. Watching with an expression somewhere between stupefied shock and vicious glee. Like she couldn't believe her luck. Like victory had just been handed to her without effort.

And then Aldric appeared on the display. Her brother. In the VIP viewing section somewhere. Laughing. No audio visible but the picture showed everything—pure joy, absolute satisfaction, total triumph.

[He won. Without even trying. Without needing his paid riders. Without any of his schemes. I just... handed it to him. Stupid. So stupid. How could I be this STUPID—]

The broadcasters continued. Still talking about her. Making it entertainment.

"We actually wanted to discuss betting pools later in the show, but Kira here—who just disqualified herself—is part of one of the more interesting wagers this year!"

Drek's voice took over. Professional. Enthusiastic. Making good story out of her disaster.

"She and her sister Raja are fighting over who gets to keep their names. Family drama at its finest! But here's where it gets interesting—rumors say this entire bet was organized by their family patriarch, Aldric Razorclaw himself!"

Hob jumped in, clearly enjoying the gossip. "Aldric has a problem, you see. His sister Kira was once his main challenger for the family head position. After Aldric won, he requested absolute loyalty from all family members—submit or leave, give up the name or get out. Standard patriarch procedure."

"But he didn't do it for Kira!" Drek continued. "Too afraid of her, apparently. Even after winning, even with all that power, he couldn't force the issue directly."

Kira felt surprised the broadcasters knew something like that. [Someone researched this. Actually found it out — how much did they find? What's the purpose, just better show?]

"So for the last few years," Hob explained with obvious amusement, "Aldric's been pressuring his sister in every way possible to give up the family name. She joined an elven household as a servant—perfect excuse to demand name removal, right? Except she refused. Kept using it. Drove him absolutely crazy."

Drek laughed. The sound boomed across the arena. "And after he ran out of options, he forced these two sisters into this clearly rigged race to finally remove the name from Kira. The bet: whoever wins and finishes keeps their name. Loser gives up everything."

"But here's the best part!" Hob's voice carried wicked glee. "There are also rumors that Aldric paid a quite sizable number of riders here to make sure Kira doesn't finish. Sabotage. Interference. Whatever it takes to guarantee her loss."

[They knew. They knew about the rigging. About the paid riders. About everything. This was going to be a show. Humiliation for me or Aldric — whoever ended up the better fool for the masses.]

[And now I've blown it up myself without even racing. Just pulled out a picture without thinking and disqualified myself instantly. Even the broadcasters seem to have a hard time milking it more.]

One of the race organizers approached — a young-looking bunnygirl with professional bearing and a sympathetic expression.

"Lady Kira, can you please leave the arena? You're disqualified over spatial item usage."

The broadcasters' commentary had already switched to something else. Next rider. Different story. Kira, stupidly, was already old news. Interesting for thirty seconds, then forgotten.

She found it almost funny how fast fame comes and goes. [Maybe if I made a scene, ran, caused drama. But by staying professional, they lost interest — already moved on.]

Kira looked at the bunnygirl organizer. At the picture still in her hand. At the only idea she had left.

And she made a decision — it would be risky, but the only way forward.

"It was a mistake," Kira said. Clear. Firm. "Can I talk with Hob?"

The bunny organizer turned her head. Confusion clear. "Hob? Like... one of the presenters?"

"Yes." Kira showed the picture in her hand. Young tiger girl and green goblin next to each other. Carefully drawn despite being made in minutes. Quality visible even after a century. "This is six-year-old me and Hob. He drew it himself at Old Capital Summer Fish Festival."

The bunny stared. Processing. Uncertain. "You... hope that because you knew him as a kid, you'll be forgiven?"

"No." Kira kept her voice steady. Professional. "Can you please just contact him? Let him know."

The bunny thought for a moment. Sympathy in her expression mixing with practical assessment. "Your call, Lady. But they'll probably just make more jokes about you. You sure you want that kind of attention?"

She pulled out some kind of magical communication device. Held it. Spoke into it quietly.

Soon the bunnygirl said to Kira, "He's coming soon. I really hope whatever you want to say is worth it."

They waited. More organizers and staff arrived. Making a circle around Kira and Bad Boy. Containing the situation. Managing the disruption.

Other nearby riders watched with interest. Entertainment. Drama. Free show while waiting for the race to start.

Then Kira saw the flying platform approaching. Several people on it.

One caught her attention instantly.

Small green goblin. Size of a child. Sitting in a saddle that was attached behind a beautiful human woman wearing ponygirl getup. The goblin looked very different from goblins native to the Republic—she'd seen more than she ever wanted as an adventurer. The stories that he was from a different continent were true without any doubt. Different breed of goblin entirely.

The platform landed next to them. People coming down. Including the ponygirl guided by the goblin.

Kira noticed the main holographic display was now showing her. Focusing on this scene.

Kira prepared herself. [Show time. Everyone watching. Everyone listening. Better make this count.]

The goblin started talking. His voice booming across the arena via magic amplification.

"Hob here! We're now with Kira, who has some evidence that she's innocent. Or at least that this was an honest mistake. So let's hear what she has to say for her defense!"

Kira needed a few more seconds to collect herself.

[This arena holds probably two hundred thousand people or more. But the holographic picture and sound is probably broadcast outside too. Around the track. Maybe other viewing areas across Central. How many people will see this? Hear this? Need to choose words carefully. Very carefully.]

She took a breath. Started talking. Trying to sound calm. Professional. Honest.

"I used a spatial item, yes. But it was harmless—just reaching for an old memory without thinking." She gestured with the picture. "I don't know if you remember, but we actually met. Old Capital Fish Festival gala after-event. About a century ago."

Hob tilted his head. Listening. Interested.

Kira continued. "I was a small girl then. You and your brother walked between tables. Meeting people. Making rounds. It was the first time I'd actually seen loyalty collars—like your companion has right now."

She indicated the ponygirl. The black circle high on her neck. Clear. Visible. Unmistakable.

"I asked something. Probably like 'what's that interesting thing?' Child question. Innocent curiosity."

Hob's expression shifted. Memory stirring maybe. Recognition possible.

"And you answered jokingly," Kira said, "that it's something only good girls have. That if I'm a really good girl, maybe I'll get one in the future too."

She paused. Let that land.

"My father—who was sitting at our table—got really mad about that joke. Merchant patriarch hearing his daughter ask about loyalty collars? Not good. Not appropriate. Completely unacceptable."

"So you spent maybe ten minutes defusing the situation. Explaining it was just joke. Just child misunderstanding. Calming him down. Making sure there were no hard feelings or business complications."

Kira held up the picture. "You also made this. Drew both of us together. Gifted it to me. Despite it being hand-drawn in just a few minutes, the quality is really good. I've kept it ever since."

Hob was watching now. Really watching. His expression changing — it looked like Kira's bet paid off, he remembered something.

"I didn't understand then what that 'good girl' comment actually meant," Kira admitted. "Learned it years later. What it really implied. What loyalty collars actually were."

She moved her collar aside. Exposed the black band around her own neck. Showed it to everyone. To the cameras. To the two hundred thousand watching. To however many more watching remotely.

"I'm also a good girl now."

Silence. Brief. Weighted.

Then she continued. Voice steady. Honest. Vulnerable.

"So when I heard your voice today. Heard your name. Got nostalgic. Had a moment of... something. And pulled this picture from my spatial storage without thinking. This shouldn't give me any advantage in the race. It's just history. Just memory. Just an old connection I forgot I still cared about."

She looked at Hob directly. "I made a mistake. A stupid one. But it was honest. Not cheating. Just... being sentimental when I should have been focused."

The silence stretched. Hob watching her. Processing. Deciding.

[Please. Please let this work. Please let nostalgia and honesty and old connections mean something. Please—]

Hob thought for a moment. Then spoke. His voice still amplified, still booming across the arena.

"I remember. Your dad really made his point about how stupid my 'good girl' joke was." He paused. Looked at her collar. At what she'd become. "But seems it ended up prophetic."

"And you look just like your dad. He milked that joke for years — squeezed discounts, favors — everything possible every time we crossed paths, all about 'inappropriate behavior near his underage daughter.'" He studied Kira closer, grin widening. "You're not far from working the same trick yourself."

Kira panicked inside. She had no idea her dad had done that. This wasn't going in the direction she was expecting.

Hob turned, facing the arena with a wicked smile, while the massive crowd watched it all.

Hob put it to the crowd. "So what do you all think? Should we give Kira a chance?"

Kira felt a wave of relief wash through her. [Good, he's ready to help — or at least not causing more harm over this old thing. Or just getting more showbusiness out of it. Motivations don't matter here, as long as it keeps me in the race.]

Initially, there wasn't much response. Just scattered murmurs. Uncertain crowd. No clear consensus.

Then Hob added with obvious amusement, "Her brother put clearly much effort here. Paid all those riders. Made all those schemes. Let's not make his effort go to waste, perhaps?"

The effect was immediate. Voices rising. Laughter spreading.

"Yes!"

"Let Kira continue!"

"Make him work for it!"

"Childhood connections matter!"

"You know this family scams you all?"

"Blood! More blood! Let Kira fight!"

The crowd turning it into entertainment. Into sport. Into making Aldric's schemes backfire spectacularly.

Hob grinned at the response. Then spoke toward the broadcast. "Drek! What do the judges say? Can we give Kira a chance?"

Nearly a minute of silence. Kira noticed that her brother and sister were both back on the hologram displays next to her. Split screen. All three Razorclaws visible simultaneously.

Then Drek's voice sounded. Official. Final. "Judges decided that Kira can continue."

Kira barely heard what came next. Her entire focus locked on the displays.

The moment it was announced she could continue—Aldric literally exploded. Hit the table with such force that everything flew from it. Glasses. Plates. Documents. All airborne. His face twisted in absolute rage.

And they replayed it. Several times. Different angles. Slow motion. The holographic displays showing Aldric's fury from every possible perspective. Making it entertainment. Making it spectacle.

It ended with Drek's dry voice. "Can someone please call a waitress for Aldric? His table seems to need some fixing."

Massive bursts of laughter erupted among the spectators. The crowd eating it up. Loving every second of some rich man's public humiliation.

"However," Drek continued, bringing order back, "any smallest issue and Kira is instantly disqualified. No second chances. No more appeals."

Brief pause. Then the administrative addition. "Also, Kira is not allowed to participate in races for the next three years. So she has time to learn the rules properly."

Kira found it very procedural. [Face-saving move — three-year ban dresses up the exception as punishment. Pure political theater.]

Hob approached. Closer. Spoke quietly now—personal conversation, not broadcast. Just between them.

"That was nicely played. But don't think it was free." Evil grin. "I'll come to Borderwatch and collect payment."

He made a hand gesture to one of the people with him. A beautiful female with a loyalty collar.

She threw something. Small object. Ring-shaped.

Kira caught it automatically. Spatial storage ring. The moment she touched it, she could see inside. A saddle. Like the one the ponygirl was using. Exactly like it.

Hob continued with that evil grin getting wider. "That's my payment. Never been ridden by an Ealdred-trained maid before. Don't worry—we can do it private. I have no plans to ruin you or your master's image."

Kira's mind stuttered. Processing. Understanding.

[He wants—I'm supposed to—wearing that saddle like his ponygirl—]

But then a different idea emerged. Something actually useful. Something strategic.

She spoke before thinking it through completely. "We're opening soon. If you're already coming to Borderwatch... would you and your brother perhaps help us with the opening event? We've been thinking for quite some time about who should lead it. Guide it. Present it properly."

Hob actually laughed. Genuine. Delighted. "Oh, I like you. You're a cheeky one — exactly like your old man. We'll have so much fun together."

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, could work. Let's talk details once you survive this race."

He guided the ponygirl back toward their platform. Still laughing. Still smiling. Clearly enjoying all of this.

[I survived. Didn't get disqualified over something so stupid. And actually—it ended up better. Brother's explosion. Perfect. Exactly what I wanted. Public humiliation broadcast to everyone. Better than any scheme I could have planned.]

Void sat close by in the viewing section. He gave her a short seed call with a brief update.

«Your brother literally cursed for ten minutes straight after the announcement. Almost wanted to run out to challenge the decision. Those with him had to physically stop him — told him it would only make things worse. Make him look even more pathetic.»

After sharing what he'd seen, Void gave his read on her play. «I'm glad it worked out. You handled that well.»

«Barely,» Kira sent back. «Got lucky. Very lucky. Won't make that mistake again.»

Hob and Drek used nearly half an hour going over other bets happening in this race. Making entertainment. Building anticipation.

Some of the wagers were really stupid. Absolutely insane. But that was part of the spectacle.

Kira's—and probably all the spectators'—main favorite was between two knights from the Empire fighting over some noble lady's hand. The stakes were extreme. Winner got to marry her. Loser would be castrated, have a gender gem embedded, and be forced to become the noble lady's sissy servant under heavy magical suppression for the rest of his life. Perfect personal servant. No escape. No freedom. Just permanent humiliation.

The goblin brothers made maybe a hundred jokes about who would actually end up closer to the lady in the end—the winner as husband, or the loser as permanently suppressed sissy maid.

[People really bet all kinds of random things here. Absolutely everything. Names. Bodies. Futures. Identities. Nothing too extreme. Nothing off-limits. Just pure gambling on life-changing stakes.]

Then they moved on to discussing notable dragons in the race.

The massive dragon in last position—spot 3885, Ken Steelhammer riding Blue Cheese—got special attention.

They confirmed it was someone from the same family as Tornin. A Steelhammer who'd failed family tests and was now staking everything on this race. Broadcasters said he'd spent every penny he had renting the most powerful dragon available — paired with just a few months of frantic training. All-or-nothing gamble.

Kira looked in that direction. The dragon was enormous and intimidating — even the dragon part of Kira stirred at the sight. A super dragon, as people called those who weren't true dragons but had evolved into something close enough to share their properties.

But the rider looked... uncertain. Inexperienced. Trying too hard.

And all the riders positioned close to him watched him with visible worry. Not respect. Not admiration. Just concern. Like he was a bomb ready to explode. A disaster waiting to happen. Something that would take others down with him when he inevitably lost control.

Kira found it funny how fate liked to play tricks. [Even Raja seems to be keeping one eye on this disaster. She's actually not that far.]

[Failed and desperate family member with too much money and not enough skill. Dangerous combination. Classic recipe for catastrophe. Glad I'm nowhere near that position in the lineup.]

Then the broadcaster's voice cut through her thoughts, announcing the start of the race. "Spectators, please clear the track!"