Under Elara's tireless surveillance, Alaric Vane continued his training with astonishing consistency. His face was a rigid, expressionless mask, even as sweat mixed with dust streamed down his cheeks and stung his eyes. The sound of the wooden sword cleaving the air became the only melody accompanying the silence of the field.
The sight left Elara transfixed. She couldn't pull her gaze away for even a second, as if blinking would cause Alaric to vanish or transform into something else. Elara wasn't just watching a slave train; she was witnessing a will that transcended human logic.
Yet, behind that stoic mask, Alaric's mind wandered far beyond the high walls of the Kenet estate. His thoughts fell into the shadows of the Grey Cradle Orphanage. He wondered if his younger siblings still had enough firewood to keep warm as the winter nights began to creep in. Was the elderly matron still able to cook the thin soup they usually shared?
He had lived in this gold-plated prison for months, and in all that time, he hadn't seen their faces. Anxiety gnawed at his chest more painfully than any physical injury. He didn't even know if Lunate had truly kept her promise to save the orphanage, or if that demoness was merely laughing at the thought of Alaric suffering for a lie.
Alaric kept swinging. Swish. Swish. Swish.
He wanted to run out, storm through the iron gates, and see with his own eyes that they were okay. But he knew it was suicide. Lunate was the legal owner of his life now. Without her permission, Alaric couldn't even step out of the villa's shadow.
Time crawled by. The sun sank, replaced by a cold blanket of night. Elara finally rose from her lounge chair, walking into the villa without a word. Her movements were cold and mechanical, allowing the servants who had followed her since noon to finally breathe a sigh of relief. They assumed the young mistress was finally bored with her sister's "pet."
But they were dead wrong. Instead of going to her warm bedroom, Elara dragged her chair near the large second-floor window overlooking the field. She sat there in the darkness, ignoring the candles her servants tried to light, and began eating her dinner while staring down. The servants could only exchange glances, horrified by the strange obsession taking root in their youngest mistress.
Below, Alaric still hadn't stopped. He pushed himself until his muscles literally screamed for mercy. When his body finally surrendered to exhaustion, he didn't go inside. He merely dragged his feet toward the long wooden bench at the edge of the field—a favorite resting spot for the guards. He collapsed his broken body there, staring at the night sky for a moment before his consciousness faded into a heavy sleep.
Elara remained a loyal observer from the second floor. However, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. A red-haired shadow staggered across the field.
It was Lyra Kenet, Elara's second sister. The sixteen-year-old girl appeared heavily intoxicated, likely having just returned from a luxury bar in the upper district. Lyra swayed unsteadily, her steps erratic, yet she walked straight toward the bench where Alaric lay sleeping.
Watching this from above, Elara's heart hammered. She knew Lyra's temperament while drunk could be unpredictable and dangerous. Fearing something terrible would happen—or more accurately, fearing her Alaric would be disturbed—Elara immediately dropped her spoon and ran down the stairs toward the ground floor.
On the field, Lyra continued to stagger. To her, the long bench at the edge of the field looked like her favorite spot to collapse when the world felt like it was spinning. She reached it and, without warning, dropped her entire body weight onto it.
Thud!
Alaric jolted awake. A heavy weight suddenly occupied his stomach, cutting off his breath instantly. His eyes blinked in the darkness, trying to gather his scattered senses. The first thing he saw was a wave of red hair obscuring his vision.
"My Lady...?" Alaric murmured hoarsely. In his half-conscious state, he thought Lunate had returned early to torment him.
But as his eyes focused, he realized the face was different. The facial lines were softer, yet the eyes, glazed from alcohol, still radiated the dominant aura of the Kenet family.
"Lyra... Kenet?!" Alaric was utterly shocked. He felt the weight of Lyra's body as she sat casually on his stomach as if it were a plush velvet sofa. Does this family have a strange fetish for using other people's stomachs for their own gratification? Alaric thought through a stabbing pain.
"Ehehe... since when was there a sofa this hard on the field? Hic!" Lyra chuckled softly before letting out a loud hiccup. The strong scent of alcohol immediately hit Alaric's nose.
"My Lady, please... move for a moment. I can't breathe..." Alaric tried to speak as politely as possible, though he desperately wanted to push the woman away.
Instead of moving, however, Lyra lost her balance and fell face-down directly on top of Alaric. Their faces were now only centimeters apart. Alaric could feel Lyra's warm breath on his skin. Their lips nearly touched, but with reflexes trained through weeks of hardship, Alaric nimbly tilted his head to the side.
He exhaled in relief. He had just avoided a "black flag" that could lead to the gallows if any servant saw him kissing a Kenet lady. Yet, in such close proximity, he couldn't ignore the intoxicating fragrance of Lyra's perfume—an expensive floral scent utterly foreign to the nose of a slum dweller like himself.
The moment felt eternal. Alaric could feel Lyra's slow heartbeat and her breath now brushing against his neck. Alaric shivered, cold sweat beginning to pour. He tried to lift Lyra's body to move her, but as his hands pushed upward, he accidentally grabbed something that felt incredibly soft and supple.
His hands gripped Lyra's chest.
Alaric froze. His face instantly went pale. In his shock, he reflexively released his grip. But because his hold broke so suddenly, Lyra's unstable body fell back into his embrace even harder.
This time, Alaric didn't have time to dodge.
Chu.
Their lips met in a brief, accidental kiss. Alaric's eyes widened, his face flushing crimson all the way to his ears. With a burst of strength born of pure panic, he immediately pushed Lyra's face away from his with a rather rough motion.
Unbeknownst to him, the scene was witnessed directly by Elara, who had just reached the villa's back door. The young girl's knees suddenly went weak. She saw everything under the moonlight—her sister on top of Alaric, and those touching lips.
Elara collapsed at the doorway. "Th-this..." She was speechless. Her world, which had previously consisted only of silent observations of Alaric, was suddenly struck by a far more vulgar reality.
Alaric, now fully awake and terrified, quickly lifted the unconscious Lyra and laid her carefully on the garden bench. He didn't dare do anything else inappropriate; he only wanted to escape the situation.
As he hurried toward the back door to go inside, he found Elara still sitting there weakly with a strange expression on her face.
"M-my Lady?!" Alaric was shocked nearly to death. His heart felt like it stopped beating. "D-did you see that...?"
Elara didn't answer. She remained utterly silent, but her eyes glared at Alaric's lips with a terrifying intensity. The kiss replayed over and over in her small head like a broken record. Elara's usually pale face was now flushed deep red, as if her temperature had just hit boiling point.
"My Lady, it's a misunderstanding! I didn't mean it at all, it was all because Lady Lyra was drunk and—"
Before Alaric could finish his explanation, the young girl suddenly covered her face with both hands and screamed at the top of her lungs: "Kyaaaaa!"
She then turned and ran back into the villa as fast as she could, leaving Alaric frozen in the silence of the night.
"It's over..." Alaric muttered resignedly, his shoulders slumping.
Knowing Elara was always described as the most innocent figure, Alaric was certain he had just shattered the girl's psyche with that unintended vulgar scene. In the Kenet world, a slave who touches a lady is a walking corpse. Now, he could only wait to see if he would still see the sun tomorrow, or if Lyra's rage would explode in shock once she heard the news from Elara.