Lionheart's crimson eyes flicked towards the butler standing silently beside her velvet sofa. Uren, a man of meticulous bearing with a golden monocle perched over one eye, its delicate cord disappearing into his neatly combed blond hair, seemed to anticipate her unspoken command. With a spine as straight as a drawn sword, he offered a subtle nod, his gaze briefly assessing both Ash and Ritso before he turned and ascended the grand staircase, his polished boots clicking softly on the stone steps until he vanished from sight.
The silence he left behind was thick and heavy, more oppressive than the air of the hall. Lionheart remained still, her gaze seemingly fixed on the distant cityscape framed by the arched doorway, yet her very stillness radiated a potent, almost tangible danger. Ash found his attention drawn to her despite himself. He couldn't deny a certain reluctant admiration for her formidable presence. Her cold, aloof demeanor, the sharpness of her crimson eyes, the way her military-style attire hugged her perfectly form with an almost defiant elegance – it all spoke of an authority that demanded submission. Her naturally white hair, a stark compliments to her pale skin, only amplified this aura of power. He estimated her height to be around six foot six, impressive for a human, though not quite matching his or Ritso's naturally taller statures. Yet, it wasn't mere physical size that made him feel so acutely vulnerable in her presence. It was the unspoken power that clung to her like a tangible force, the chilling certainty that she could end him with a mere flicker of her gaze. To even consider any form of deception felt like a fool's errand, a dance on the edge of a precipice. He found himself repeatedly drawn to the captivating redness of her eyes, a striking beauty that held an undercurrent of something wild and untamed – a rose with thorns sharper than any blade. He tried to refocus his attention, but his gaze kept drifting back to her, as if drawn by an invisible tether. Ash finnally looks down at his shoes thinking to himself, [Calm your nerves Ashutosh, you already … Ha.. had one. This is not what you need.]
The rhythmic tick-tock of a grandfather clock, its hands frozen on a time long past, echoed from the wall above a massive portrait. The subject was a stern-faced warrior with striking white hair and a similar military bearing to Lionheart, cradling a small girl who couldn't have been more than a few years old in his arms. Ash's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as the pieces clicked into place. The child in the portrait… it had to be Lionheart. Or at least, the resemblance was too strong to be mere coincidence. The oddly masculine name, Lionheart… a family name, then? What was her given name? Could he risk asking? [Nah,] he thought, a shiver running down his spine. [My death wish isn't that strong. And I don't even know if I can transmigrate again… Can't take chances with life. Atleast not yet, ronny seems easier to challenge instead of her.]
The soft tap of polished boots on the stone floor announced Uren's return. He carried a stack of parchment in one hand and what looked like a heavy signet ring or stamp in the other. He approached Lionheart silently and leaned down, whispering something into her ear. She cast a fleeting glance at Ash and then up at Uren, offering a subtle, almost imperceptible flick of her eyes in acknowledgment. Understanding her silent command, Uren walked towards the anxious pair, placing the stack of parchment on the low table before them, followed by an open inkwell and a stark white and crimson feather quill. Without a word, he retreated to his previous position beside Lionheart.
"Can you read?" Lionheart's cold voice, breaking the tense silence, sent a shiver down both Ritso's and Ash's spines. Ash, however, managed to feign a semblance of composure.
"Yes, I can…" he replied simply, picking up the top page. He scanned the elegant script, then moved to the next, and the next. As he delved deeper into the intricate clauses, the gravity of the words began to sink in. He stole a glance at Lionheart, hoping to gauge some reaction, some hint of leniency, but she sat as still and unyielding as a stone monolith.
"Have you consumed the words," she asked, her voice devoid of inflection, "or have those words consumed you?"
Ash closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to release the sudden tension that had gripped him. He took a slow, deliberate breath before replying in a calm, measured tone. "Listen, Madam Count, I have read this, and I do not agree with all the terms."
Uren, standing rigid beside Lionheart, did not take this rejection with equanimity. His hand moved swiftly, raising a silver pendant bearing a prominent cross in the center of his palm, as if preparing to unleash some unseen force. Instinctively, Ash moved, shielding Ritso with his body.
"ENOUGH, Uren." Lionheart's voice, though still controlled, now carried a sharp edge of command, a hint of underlying aggression. Uren froze, a look of bewildered confusion on his face.
"But… Madam…" he stammered.
Lionheart's crimson eyes narrowed, fixing Uren with a sharp, almost sinister glare. Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. "Shut up… and only speak when you are asked to, Uren."
Uren bowed his head so low his blond hair almost brushed the floor. "M-My apologies, Madam."
Lionheart's gaze remained fixed on Uren for a long, tense moment before she finally relented, her posture relaxing slightly. "For once, I can forgive your… zeal. Do not make me regret this leniency."
Uren nodded furiously, a silent testament to his relief.
Lionheart turned her attention back to Ash, her expression once again impassive. "I apologize for the… inconvenience. You may continue."
Ash adjusted himself on the plush sofa, his heart still pounding in his chest. He reached out, patting Ritso's hand reassuringly. Clearing his throat, his mind racing with a mixture of apprehension and a stubborn refusal to be intimidated, he thought, [Why the hell am I here again? Stay calm. Survive.] "I was saying… I do not agree with everything written here."
"And may I know precisely what your point of disagreement is, Mister Ash?"
Ash carefully extracted one page from the stack, his fingers tracing the lines of script. "Yes. As written here on page number five, you wish for both Ritso and myself to become… 'one of your ranks.' With all due respect, Madam, I must ask that you remove her name from this contract."
Ritso's head snapped towards him, her black eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and a desperate kind of fear. He could feel her gaze burning into the side of his face, but he forced himself to maintain his composure, his focus solely on the unyielding figure of Lionheart.
Ash felt a chill crawl down his spine as he looked at the contract. He'd heard whispers, rumors of what it meant to be one of Lionheart's "ranks." It wasn't just about honor and glory; it was about unwavering loyalty, absolute obedience, and a willingness to walk a path of a servant. He knew the sacrifices required, the dangers lurking in the periphery of Lionheart's influence. He'd seen the haunted looks in the eyes of those who had sworn their lives to her cause, the way they moved with an almost mechanical precision, their own wills seemingly subsumed by something larger, something darker.
"I… I can't," Ash stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He knew this was a pivotal moment, a crossroads where his future would be irrevocably decided.