The east wing of Vayne Castle muffled the noise of the outside world, leaving a suffocating silence in this small dining room.
Azura had intentionally avoided the grand hall; a cramped space was the best arena for dissecting an opponent.
Here, there were no formal protocols to be used as shields.
There was only one black oak table, six deep blue velvet chairs, and a tension capable of igniting a fire.
Creak…
The chandelier groaned softly.
Stained-glass windows on the side of the room looked out toward the neglected back garden, reflecting branch shadows that looked like skeletal fingers trying to claw at the glass.
Arthur closed the double doors with a heavy thud.
Only three predators remained inside.
Steam rose from silver plates containing venison and roasted potatoes glazed with butter fat.
Warm wheat bread in a woven basket emitted a strong aroma of yeast.
Yet, not a single hand moved toward the food.
Exelion sat with a back as straight as a porcelain statue.
His gold cloak shimmered, without a single crease despite having just traveled a long distance.
Across from him, Alaric looked like an anomaly—slumped, legs crossed haphazardly, with hands resting lazily on the back of his chair.
Azura sat in the middle, holding the reins of these two storms.
”Hmm, I must admit,” Exelion broke the silence, lifting his wine glass with a measured, graceful motion.
“This castle is much more…
minimalist than I imagined.
Very far from the Magnovar standard.”
”Did you come to scatter flowers of mourning or to conduct a decor audit?” Azura countered.
Her voice was flat, cold as metal in winter.
”Condolences, of course.” Exelion sipped his wine, his eyes sweeping the room with an appraising look.
“It’s just, I can’t help myself.
The Magnovar Palace has seven banquet halls.
Even the smallest is twice the size of this cramped box.”
Alaric chuckled, a sound more like a low growl.
“Tsk, seven banquet halls?
For what?
You only have one mouth, unless you have a spare face behind that golden cloak.”
”That is called prestige, Alaric.
Something you don’t understand because you prefer huddling on the floor like a stray dog.”
”I sleep on the floor because I can rise at any moment.
You sleep on a silk mattress because you need validation that you’re still alive.”
Exelion set his glass down.
Clink.
His smile remained, but the glint in his eyes turned sharp.
“What do you mean?”
”You need to be worshipped.
Adored.
You need everyone to kneel just to confirm that you’re great.” Alaric reached into his pocket, pulled out a peanut, and began to peel it casually.
“Golden carriages, flower petals, party cloaks…
you didn’t come to Vayne to honor a corpse.
You came to make sure the people here know which new predator is passing through.”
The room suddenly lost its air.
A dangerous silence.
Exelion twirled the stem of his glass.
One second.
Two seconds.
”And what if that were true?” His voice dropped, leaving an uncomfortable pressure.
“At least I am honest about my position.
You—” he gestured toward Alaric with his chin, “—you pretend not to care, yet you crave attention in a different way.
You choose to be a vagabond, I choose to be a shining king.”
”I don’t need an audience.”
”Everyone does, Alaric.
Even our Marchioness here.” Exelion turned to Azura, his eyes flashing provocatively.
“Do you think she didn’t enjoy the cheers of the people in the square?
Do you think she didn’t feel powerful when her Silver Lion banner fluttered above the Cathedral?”
Azura did not respond.
She reached for her silver knife, cutting the venison on her plate with terrifying precision.
”You invest in the loyalty of the people,” Exelion continued.
But still…
it is a form of ego gratification.”
”I don’t need validation,” Azura cut in without looking up.
The knife sliced through the meat with a single press.
“I dictate obedience.
There is a grand difference there.”
Exelion gave a thin smile.
“See?
At least you’re pragmatic enough to admit it.”
Alaric chewed his peanut noisily.
“She’s honest because she has no energy to care about trash opinions.
That’s what separates her from us.
Especially from you, Peacock.”
The sentence flew like a bullet.
Especially from you.
For someone who built his existence on recognition, Alaric’s words were a direct strike at the foundation of his identity.
Exelion didn’t explode, but his reaction was far more dangerous.
The air in the room vibrated.
A golden light began to seep from Exelion’s pores.
Not an explosion, but a radiance that grew increasingly blinding.
The light crawled over the table, touching the silver plates until their color turned a strange pale yellow.
The flower vase in the corner began to vibrate rhythmically.
Aura: Peacock’s Radiance.
Azura felt the pressure strike her consciousness.
It wasn’t physical pain, but a feeling of being stripped naked and measured under a microscope.
Every cell in her body felt inferior, forced to acknowledge the majesty before her.
Alaric did not remain passive.
As if answering the challenge, the gravity in the room suddenly dropped.
Aura: Sovereign’s Absolute Gravity.
The pressure fell as heavy as a mountain.
The oak table gave a faint creak.
Silver spoons clattered chaotically on the plates.
One of the candles flickered out instantly, its smoke twisting in the darkness.
Exelion’s golden light and Alaric’s black gravity collided in the center of the table, creating an invisible war zone where Azura sat exactly at ground zero.
Azura stabbed a piece of venison.
She chewed it slowly.
Her jaw tightened, her breath felt heavy as if oxygen had been replaced by liquid lead.
Every trapezius muscle in her body tensed, refusing the instinctive command to bow and hide.
But her hands?
They remained steady.
[System: Scanning…
Bad trip detected!
Boss, your heart rate has hit 110 bpm.
Neck veins are constricted, but your left hand?
10/10 stable.
Your acting is more expensive than that fake Saintess’s.
Stay cold, Boss.]
Quiet.
Azura returned to cutting her meat.
Srit…
srit…
Exelion watched her from the end of the table with narrowed eyes.
Alaric glanced from the left.
Azura remained focused on her plate, moving the knife and fork with cold, mechanical precision.
She treated the two high-level auras as if they were nothing more than a passing breeze.
One by one, the pressure subsided.
The golden light faded.
The weight of gravity evaporated.
The room returned to normal, though the scent of ozone still lingered.
His voice sounded slightly more sincere, though still sharp.
”No one,” Azura replied curtly.
”She says no one,” Alaric grinned widely, brushing the remaining peanut shells from his clothes.
“Meaning, she is a predator who grew from the darkness independently.”
Exelion stared at Azura for a few seconds longer, as if trying to find a crack in that marble face.
“You didn’t back down.
Even when you were clearly being strangled by our frequencies.”
”I was eating.
Leaving the table before the feast is finished is a poor investment for my reputation.”
Exelion laughed—short, dry, yet more honest than all his narcissistic laughter before.
“I will take note of that.”
He raised his wine glass toward Azura as a form of recognition, then drained it.
The conversation flowed again, but with a different rhythm.
Exelion began to ask about the ‘work-for-food’ mechanism in Vayne with a more serious tone.
Alaric, in his annoying way, explained the logistical details as if he were the castle’s operations manager.
”An interesting system,” Exelion murmured.
“In Magnovar, we give food for free as charity, but there is no sense of belonging.
They come as beggars and leave as beggars.”
”That’s why you have seven banquet halls but no useful public kitchen,” Alaric countered sharply.
Exelion only gave a thin smile.
“Perhaps I will adopt a little of Vayne’s ‘cruelty’ there.”
An hour later, the cookies and jasmine tea were finished.
Exelion stood, smoothing his cloak which remained shimmering.
”I need to rest.
This journey has been quite draining.”
”Arthur will escort you to the guest room,” Azura ordered, more like a command than an offer.
Exelion walked toward the door but paused for a moment without turning back.
“Tomorrow morning, I want to speak with you privately.
Just you and me.
Without this vagabond Duke.”
Alaric didn’t care; he just snorted while chewing his last peanut.
”I will be in the garden after dawn,” Azura answered.
Exelion nodded, then the constant rhythm of his footsteps disappeared down the hall.
Alaric stood, stretching his muscular arms until a snap came from his joints.
“Not bad.
He’s starting to show more polite fangs.
You managed to impress him.”
”Or you almost made him lose his sanity.”
”Maybe both.” Alaric walked toward the door.
“Listen.
Tomorrow, after you’re finished with that Peacock, meet me in the backyard.
There is something crucial we must discuss.”
”About what?”
”Tomorrow.” He opened the door.
“Tonight, you’ve faced enough pressure from two Fangs.
Get some sleep before your nerves actually snap.”
The door closed.
Azura sat alone.
The long table now felt empty.
Only one candle remained, flickering near death at the end of the table.
Peanut shells were scattered where Alaric had sat—small traces of the chaos that had just passed.
[System: Two predators have returned to their dens.
It’s just you here, Boss.
But according to my calculations…
you’re the one they fear most now.]
They don’t fear me, System.
[System: Not yet.
But they’re starting to realize you aren’t a pawn.
You’re the chessboard itself.
And that is far more terrifying than fear.]
Azura blew out the last candle.
Darkness.