Arad fell silent.
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a long moment, he did not answer. The room held its breath with him. Outside Oderick's wooden house, the village continued moving beneath the morning sun—the dull hammering of construction, the low murmur of workers, the creak of carts being dragged across uneven ground—but inside, everything felt strangely still.
For the first time since I had met him, the respect in Arad's eyes did not come from fear.
It was not the fear of my Intimidation Aura. It was not the instinctive submission of a soldier before an unknown power. What I saw in his expression was quieter than that, and far more valuable. It was the recognition of one wounded person finding another who seemed to understand the shape of his pain.
Of course, mine was carefully arranged.
But that did not matter.
A leader did not always win people by showing the whole truth. Sometimes, he won them by showing the truth they needed to see.
Arad slowly lowered himself to one knee.
The movement was steady, not forced. His right knee touched the wooden floor with a soft thud, and he bowed his head just enough to show respect without making himself look pathetic. Even kneeling, there was still a stubborn dignity in him, like an old blade whose edge had been hidden beneath rust but had not completely broken.
"If you are the one holding the reins, Lord Fragha..." Arad said, his voice low and firm, "then this dulled sword of WhiteLizard will make sure no more kingdoms fall under your watch."
Hans Carter sucked in a quiet breath. Stella Leslie lifted her eyes, startled by the weight of those words. Ivan Gregor stared at Arad with a complicated expression, as if the legend he had heard in rumors was becoming real before him.
I looked down at Arad and allowed only a faint smile to touch my face.
Inside, however, my thoughts were much clearer.
It worked.
I had not only gained a powerful subordinate candidate. I had reached the wound that made him hide from the world. That was the key. Strength alone could threaten a man, but a wound could bind him, guide him, and make him choose for himself.
Before I could speak, Arad raised his head again.
"But Lord Fragha," he said, and this time, exhaustion crept back into his voice. "You speak as though I am still WhiteLizard."
His gaze drifted down toward his own hands. They were rough, scarred, and steady, but the way he looked at them made it seem as if he saw something far weaker than what stood before us.
"Look at me now," he continued. "I am only an old, dulled man. My strength has faded. My spirit died with my comrades in the deserts of Asgard. The name WhiteLizard may sound impressive to those who only know the rumor, but the man behind that name has already been buried."
The room quieted again.
There was no arrogance in his tone. No false humility either. He truly believed it. That made it more troublesome, but also more interesting.
I returned to Oderick's chair and sat down slowly, letting the old wood creak beneath me. Then I leaned back and studied him with calm, piercing eyes.
In my mind, the panel from God Eye's Level 3 still shone clearly.
[Potential: SSS]
I nearly laughed.
An old, dulled man? With SSS potential, all you need is a spark. Once that rust is burned away, you'll become the kind of monster that makes this continent tremble.
But I kept that thought buried behind my composed expression. Revealing too much would only make him suspicious. Men like Arad did not need flattery. They needed a reason to believe their strength still had a place.
"Dulled or not, that is my concern, Arad," I said.
He looked up.
"I am not looking only at who you are today," I continued. "I am looking at who you can become tomorrow. In Constantia, every person is allowed the chance to rise from their own ashes."
Stella's fingers twitched slightly at those words. Ivan's eyes shifted toward her for a brief moment, then back to me. Hans, despite his anxiety, seemed to be listening with the intensity of a scholar who had accidentally walked into the heart of a historical moment and was trying not to miss a single word.
I folded my hands on the table and leaned forward.
Now came the negotiation.
Not a plea. Not an order. A proposal shaped to strike precisely where Arad could not easily refuse.
"Here is my offer," I said. "You will become the commander of those Rank E mercenaries outside. You will take that scattered group of cheap swords and turn them into my personal Knights."
Arad's brows drew together slightly, but he did not interrupt.
"I will give you a lifetime contract," I continued. "A stable salary. Proper housing in the new residential area Albert is building. You will not need to wander from one dirty job to another just to earn enough for your next meal."
His expression remained guarded, but his eyes sharpened.
"And most importantly," I said, letting my tone grow quieter, "I will cover all needs and security for your adopted child."
For the first time, Arad's composure cracked.
His eyes narrowed, but not with anger. It was caution, fear, and desperate hope all tangled together.
"You will take responsibility for the child?"
"Yes."
The word was simple, and because of that, it struck harder than a speech.
I did not look away from him. "Education, health, food, clothing, and future protection will become Constantia's responsibility. That child will no longer live in hiding. He will no longer be dragged from one cheap inn to another, wondering when the next job will put bread on the table. He will have a real home."
Arad's throat moved.
The room was silent enough that the faint tap of Hans adjusting his staff sounded loud against the floor.
Tap.
Arad lowered his gaze again. His fists clenched once, then loosened. A man like him could endure hunger, danger, and insult. He could bury his name, his rank, and his pride beneath years of pretending to be weak. But the child was different. The child was not a weakness he could cut away. The child was the one thing keeping him tied to the world.
Still, the old pride of Westhound's leader had not completely vanished.
"You ask for something impossible, lord," Arad said. "I am a mercenary. My work has always been to kill in the most efficient way possible. I know how to ambush, how to track, how to break enemy lines, and how to survive when the sand itself wants you dead."
His lips tightened.
"But I do not know how to train Knights. Knights need honor and discipline. They need order, loyalty, and restraint." A faint bitterness entered his voice. "The trash outside has none of those things."
Hans flinched at the word "trash," perhaps remembering that he had been standing among them not long ago. Ivan gave a low breath through his nose, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Stella remained quiet, though her gaze moved toward the window, where the distant voices of the new arrivals could still be heard.
I rose from my chair and walked back toward the window.
Outside, Constantia was struggling into motion. Former slaves carried ropes and canvas under Oderick's guidance. Rank E mercenaries, still shaken from my aura, moved with unusual obedience. Workers shouted to one another near the construction site, and somewhere farther away, Albert's rough voice barked an order that made several men hurry at once.
The village was crude, poor, and unfinished.
But so were the people.
And unfinished things could still be shaped.
"Calm yourself, Arad," I said, looking out over the village. "The methods of training and the ethics of knighthood can be discussed later. I do not expect you to turn them into polished nobles overnight."
I glanced back at him.
"What I need now is simpler. I need to know whether you accept this offer. Are you willing to bet on the future with me?"
Arad did not answer immediately.
His gaze lowered to the wooden floor, but I could see the decision forming inside him. Pride fought against guilt. Fear fought against hope. The ghost of WhiteLizard stood behind him, while the image of a child waiting somewhere in the world pulled him forward.
At last, Arad bowed his head deeply.
"If you can guarantee that child's future," he said, his voice steady despite the weight behind it, "then I accept."
He placed one fist against his chest.
"From this day onward, my sword and my life belong to you, Lord Fragha."