He approached the massive double-door gate, its dark ironwood frame reinforced with bckened steel. The wood bore a deep, obsidian sheen, faint traces of golden inys weaving intricate patterns across its surface.

  Towering and arched, the gate loomed with an imposing presence. Along its edges, subtle engravings whispered of authority and power.

  A heavily armored knight stood watch, his gaze sharp and unwavering, locking onto Lucien with silent scrutiny.

  As Lucien reached the door, the knight shifted, moving with precise intent. A gauntleted hand rose, barring his path—firm, unyielding.

  Lucien raised an eyebrow. "…I want to talk to the Baron."

  The knight's gre hardened. His voice was heavy, edged with finality. "…You are not permitted to enter. The Baron and Baroness are in discussion."

  Lucien let out a quiet scoff. Quite shameless to call an argument a discussion.

  But he kept the thought to himself.

  His gaze flicked to the door. "…So… when am I meeting him?"

  The guard straightened, his posture rigid. "When it's over."

  His lips twitched, he shifted his weight, his boot tapping against the stone floor in quiet impatience. Muffled voices bled through the heavy doors—sharp, unyielding.

  The Baroness's voice soon rose above the rest, a steady stream of compints and demands, relentless as a tide.

  Minutes crawled by, her frustration only growing.

  "…And if you don't do something about it, I'll kill him myself!"

  Lucien arched a brow. She really has a lot on her mind, huh.

  Even the thick-skinned guard shifted awkwardly, as if waging a silent battle of his own.

  Whether I was meant to hear this or not…

  Fortunately, he didn't have to dwell on it. The massive double doors creaked open, and from them emerged the Baroness.

  She wore a richly embroidered gown of deep crimson and bck, the fabric heavy with wealth and authority. Gold filigree traced the edges of her sleeves and bodice, subtle yet unmistakable in its elegance. A fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, adding to her air of quiet dominance.

  The Baroness was a woman of sharp features and even sharper eyes, her presence commanding without the need for words. Her dark hair was styled with meticulous care, not a strand out of pce.

  Her gaze bore into him—oppressive, unyielding.

  If looks could kill, Lucien would already be dead.

  Lucien met her stare without flinching, unreadable as ever.

  A standoff stretched between them, tense and unmoving, until Lucien finally cast his eyes downward.

  Not worth it.

  Unfortunately for the guard, her piercing stare shifted to him next.

  The silent question burned in her eyes.

  Why didn't you tell us about him?

  The guard just tilted his head.

  The musclehead was utterly oblivious—unfamiliar with noble etiquette and the silent nguage of their gres.

  Baroness shot Lucien another death stare.

  And with a humph, she turned on her heel and marched away.

  Lucien gnced at the guard with pity.

  Congratutions on your early retirement.

  The guard blinked back at him innocently, completely unaware of his impending fate.

  With a shake of his head, Lucien moved ahead into the room, leaving the camaraderie behind—a spectacle that had sted a good ten minutes.

  Not that he had any regrets.***

  He stepped into the room. The air was rich and heavy, carrying the scent of polished wood, expensive parchment, and a faint trace of fine tobacco.

  Beneath his foot y a doormat fashioned from beast hides, the fur still coarse against the sole. The edges were roughly cut yet treated, preserving the creature's natural colors and patterns. Cws remained embedded along its edges, grim reminders of the beast's former ferocity—now little more than decoration

  A massive bookshelf towered over the room on the left, stretching from floor to ceiling, its dark wooden frame worn smooth by time. Rows upon rows of books filled its shelves, their spines a mix of deep reds, faded blues, and rich browns, some embossed with gold lettering while others bore no titles at all. Some volumes stood neatly aligned, while others were stacked haphazardly, their edges frayed and pages yellowed with age. Here and there, rolled parchments and leather-bound tomes were wedged between the gaps, adding to the quiet weight of history that filled the space.

  To the right, a firepce stood against the wall, its chimney stretching to the ceiling, the fire long extinguished. Beside it, a greatsword and a dagger rested as the household's most prized relics. The greatsword, its dark iron bde streaked with silver veins. The dagger, its bckened steel etched with faint crimson lines.

  Together, they stood as silent testaments to the household's glory.

  Lucien's eyes gleamed.

  A Vein Relic and an Ember Relic. Both held power, but Vein Relics were in a league of their own. Vein Relics held condensed mana and stronger enchantments, while Ember Relics, though sometimes comparable, often came with a dangerous backsh.

  From ahead, a rough cough jolted Lucien from his reverie. His gaze sharpened toward the source.

  The Baron sat behind a polished, luxurious table, scattered with parchments, documents, ink, and pens. In front of him stood two chairs, empty and waiting. Behind him, a rge map of the Waren Barony stretched across the wall.

  His piercing, hawk-like eyes bore into him, cold and unyielding. He wore a fitted doublet over fine linen, yet despite his composed appearance, exhaustion lined his face.

  "Sit down," the Baron commanded, his voice deep and unwavering. He gestured toward the chair with a firm hand.

  Zexusgo