"Oh heavens, why did I have to come to this godforsaken place and suffer? It's so boring!"
From the middle carriage of a three-carriage convoy came a loud, spirited complaint.
"Weston, be quiet!" shouted Elaina from the first carriage, sighing at her son's immaturity.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves gradually dulled—Elaina knew they had arrived at Hawk Town.
With a jolt and a loud clang, the carriage shook. Freya, the maid, quickly reached out to steady her mistress. "Old Eugene, if you can't drive, there are plenty of men in the city who can!"
The coachman stammered nervously, "Sorry, the horse's hoof got stuck in the mud. I swear, there weren't any potholes here three months ago!"
Elaina silenced Freya's impending scolding with a glance and lifted the curtain on the carriage door. A foul stench immediately wafted in, along with a swarm of flies and other unknown insects flitting about.
"Eugene, stop the carriage."
"My lady…" Freya sensed Elaina's intention and her eyes flashed with resistance. "Perhaps we should wait inside for a while?"
Elaina ignored her.
"Mom! The ground is filthy. My brand-new calfskin boots will be ruined!" Weston whined loudly.
With Freya's help, Elaina stepped down from the carriage. She cast a glance back at Weston, and the boy instantly fell silent.
Despite carefully lifting her skirt and choosing the driest patches of road, the hem still became stained with dirty water. The dilapidated state of Hawk Town unfolded before her eyes, souring her mood even further.
The houses were all low and run-down. The cobblestone roads, left untended, had become riddled with potholes. The puddles weren't rainwater, but dirty laundry runoff—often mixed with human waste in varying stages of decay.
Naturally, this environment teemed with flies and mosquitoes.
The townsfolk that passed by on both sides of the street looked disheveled, their hair matted like weeds. Their worn linen clothing was patched all over, and many were barefoot.
Occasionally, they cast glances at the convoy, but there wasn't envy or even curiosity in their eyes—only a deep, numb indifference.
This was a town devoid of life and spirit.
Five years ago, Hawk Town hadn't been like this. But after the lease agreement took effect, and the prosperous Flashgold Town was handed over to Viscount Luke, Hawk Town lost the economic support it relied on and rapidly declined.
Trying to sustain over 800 residents on a few hundred acres of farmland was already difficult—especially when they still had taxes to pay to the barony.
If this town were placed under her management, Elaina was confident she could feed the people within five years. In ten, she could ensure every single one of them had a new set of clothes.
And she still held that confidence. All she needed was to deal with a "small problem"—which now stood right in front of her.
Rus stood in an ill-fitting formal suit, flanked by Gordon and Erik. His smile bore the refined, hollow enthusiasm unique to nobles. "Oh, my dear aunt, you've finally returned."
He bowed with a flourish, watching the shrewd businesswoman before him with narrowed eyes.
She was thirty-four this year, but perhaps thanks to her wealth, she looked no older than the maid beside her.
A soft, rounded felt hat covered her dark hair. The sheer black veil did little to obscure her beauty—instead, it framed her oval face in a soft glow. Though her brows were gently curved, her large, striking eyes carried a sharpness that was hard to ignore.
But the most captivating feature was her full, luscious lips—elegantly shaped, seductive, and perfectly balanced with her poised, refined features.
If Lux was a pure, untouched lily, then Elaina was a wild rose in full bloom—vibrant, alluring, and constantly tempting a man's deepest desire for conquest.
Ninety out of a hundred, Rus thought.
He was scrutinizing Elaina. Elaina was scrutinizing him.
Tall and well-built without seeming bulky, with shoulder-length black hair that gave him a confident, unrestrained air. Strong brows, a straight nose, and eyes like polished obsidian made up strikingly masculine features—he was, undeniably, the kind of man no woman could easily resist.
But none of that swayed Elaina in the slightest. Not only had she heard plenty of rumors about Rus, but he also stood as the biggest obstacle to her son's inheritance of the title.
As much as she loathed it, she extended her right hand.
To his credit, Rus didn't seize it rudely. Instead, he bent gracefully and took three of her fingers in his palm, pressing his lips gently to them.
A flawless hand-kiss.
And yet, Elaina's brow furrowed, her breath caught slightly.
He'd used his tongue—and his pinky finger was lightly tickling her palm.
Such a bold, practiced move.
Was he really only twenty years old?
"That's quite enough, Mr. Rus," Elaina withdrew her hand and suppressed her disgust. "Let's get to business."
Cursing the body's instinctual impulses in his mind, Rus kept smiling. "Of course. But first, wouldn't you prefer to change into something more comfortable?"
"No need," Elaina replied, having already anticipated several scenarios. "I don't plan to stay long."
"I see. Then please, follow me."
Rus led the way, and soon the group arrived at the receiving hall.
They took seats at opposite ends of a long table. Just as Rus was about to speak, there was a loud creak as a large figure plopped into the chair between them.
Turning his head, Rus saw a hulking mass of flesh—easily over 1.7 meters tall and weighing at least 200 pounds—sinking into the seat. Oily black hair was parted in the middle and plastered to his scalp, his round face puffed up like a balloon, with no visible neck.
If it weren't for a few pimples on his face, Rus might've thought Donald had come back from the dead.
The balloon's slit of a mouth opened: "What are you looking at? Rude much?"
Rus turned to Elaina. "And this is…?"
"Weston. Your brother," she replied calmly.
"Oh, this is him?" Rus was a bit stunned.
That build? And he's thirteen!?
Noticing the stiffness in Rus's expression, Elaina felt a twinge of awkwardness. "Weston, your brother and I need to speak privately. Why don't you go explore for a while?"
Weston's face twisted. Though still a child, he was still a man—and didn't like the way Rus looked at his mother.
"But, Mother…"
"Hm?" Elaina turned to look at him. Weston immediately deflated, hauling himself up with a grunt and stomping out. Freya quickly followed.
Rus gave Erik a subtle nod. The latter understood at once and trailed behind Weston.
This surprised Elaina slightly—why was Erik so obedient to Rus?
Soon, only Rus, Elaina, and old Gordon remained in the room.
Elaina asked coldly, "Now tell me—how exactly did my poor husband lose his life?"
"It was a tragic misfortune," Rus sighed. "Uncle Donald was deeply devoted to the development and prosperity of the territory. He often stayed up late, working tirelessly by lamplight to restore Hawk Town to its former glory. In the end, the strain overwhelmed him."
"He did realize something was wrong with his health, and even called upon Miss Lux, the town priestess, for treatment. But… but…"
Rus discreetly brought two slices of onion closer to his eyes and managed to squeeze out a few tears. "But it was too late. In his final moments, he held my hand and urged me to carry on the honor of the Claydon family and keep the Hawk Domain alive."
Elaina's mouth twitched involuntarily. For a moment, she couldn't help but admire Rus's acting skills—and his flair for storytelling.
Devoted to the land's prosperity? That's rich, considering the state Hawk Town was in.
And honestly, with the way the territory had been carved up, there probably wasn't much left to manage.
What irked her most was that line about "preserving the Claydon family's honor." Since when had Donald cared about something like that?
They'd only known each other for three days!
Still, Elaina didn't dwell on it. Since Rus had taken the time to spin this tale, he must have made careful preparations to prevent any inconsistencies from being exposed.
So, she went straight to the heart of the matter.
With a subtle sniffle, her eyes reddened instantly. "Oh, my poor Donald… As his wife, I failed to share his burdens. I wasn't there for him in his final moments—that is my greatest regret."
"To make up for that… may I see his body?"
Rus's brow twitched slightly. She really was a formidable opponent.
But he was prepared. "That might be… inconvenient. Uncle Donald passed away from a sudden illness. Before his death, he left a will requesting that we remember him as he was in good health—he didn't want his loved ones to see him in his final, weakened state."
Gordon stepped forward and presented a piece of parchment. "This is Lord Donald's will. Please, have a look."
Elaina took it, her expression darkening as her eyes scanned the page.
It was simple.
And utterly absurd.
Aside from the points Rus had mentioned, the majority of the will was devoted to lavish praise of Rus—how he was an upright, kind, fair, brave, and intelligent young man. Donald had willingly entrusted the entirety of the territory to him.
As for Elaina, there was only a single line: "Take good care of her."
A flicker of anger flared in her heart, but she quickly suppressed it.
It was obvious Gordon had drafted the will. The old steward, who had served the Claydon family for forty years, was now fully in Rus's camp.
First Erik, now Gordon.
How had Rus managed to win them over so quickly?
Rustle.
She tossed the will lightly onto the table. Gordon frowned. "My lady, this is—?"
"This will is a forgery," Elaina said firmly. "This is the real one."
She opened her handbag and pulled out a rolled-up document.
Another will.
A look of surprise crossed Rus's face.
This one was more detailed, with clearly outlined terms. At its core, it declared that regardless of the discovery of other blood relatives, Weston would remain the Claydon family's primary heir.
"My lady, your will is the fake," Gordon adjusted his monocle indignantly. "I've drafted every official document for the Claydon family."
"There are exceptions to every rule," Elaina replied without backing down. "If you and Mr. Rus insist on the authenticity of your version, we can always appeal to the Noble Council for verification."
Rus's brow twitched again.
A killing blow—swift and direct.
The Noble Council was the governing body of the Cains Empire that handled aristocratic matters. Even titles of minor nobles like viscounts and barons had to be approved through it.
Rus didn't know much about that organization, but with twenty years of experience surviving in Moonen City, he understood one thing well: there's no problem that enough gold can't solve.
The problem was—he didn't have gold.
Elaina, on the other hand, clearly had plenty of it.
As troublesome as she was proving to be, Rus was also quietly grateful he had the foresight to prepare a will ahead of time. If he hadn't, he'd be completely outplayed by now.
At the very least, things were still within his control—for now.
"Very well," he said. "The news of Uncle Donald's death has already been sent to Moonen City two days ago. I imagine within a month, someone from the council will arrive at Hawk Fort to verify everything."
"I hope your stay here until then is a pleasant one."
"Then let's wait and see," Elaina replied, rolling up her document. "In the meantime, I'd still like to see my husband. Where is his coffin being kept?"
"We're holding the real will of Lord Donald," Rus said. "He didn't wish—"
"I only want to spend a few moments by his coffin," Elaina cut in, leaning forward with a firm gaze. "As his widow, do I not even have that right?"
Dressed in a tightly fitted black gown, the movement emphasized her elegant neckline, a curve so graceful it begged to be admired.
Rus quickly averted his eyes. "Of course you do. Please—this way."
Donald's coffin was placed in the chapel. Elaina declined Rus's offer to accompany her and entered alone.
As the chapel doors closed behind her, Rus flexed his fingers. His palm was slick and cold with sweat.
Moonen City was a long way from the Hawk Domain—at least a two-week journey. Donald had died only two days ago. Elaina was still en route at the time. Rus had assumed his forged will would catch her off guard.
But clearly, she had come prepared.
She must have already known about the Claydon family's curse of early male deaths—and had drawn up the will long ago, keeping it on her at all times, just in case.
That level of foresight far exceeded Rus's expectations.
A terrifying opponent indeed.
"Lord Rus," Erik approached and asked in a hushed tone, "Young Master Weston has returned to his room. But why bring her here now? This wasn't part of the plan."
Rus replied quietly, "Elaina has another will."
"What!?" Erik's eyes widened. "Then… should we tell her the truth—?"
"Silence!" Gordon snapped, shooting him a glare. "Your only job is to follow Lord Rus's orders."
"But…"
And there it was—the difference between Erik and Gordon. No matter how skilled, Erik had been forced into loyalty, and when faced with a real crisis, he wavered.
"Honesty is a fine virtue," Rus said, attempting to calm the Hawk Fort's only extraordinary combatant. "But it would mean placing our fate in Elaina's hands—and trusting in her mercy."
Still sensing Erik's hesitation, Rus lowered his voice even more. "Think about it. If we hadn't made these preparations, and had come to her honestly… what kind of outcome would we be facing right now?"
Before Erik could respond, Rus continued, "She would've slapped that will right in my face. And even if I refused to acknowledge it, as long as the Noble Council accepts it, her version becomes the real one. I'd lose all rights to inheritance."
"Old Gordon has served the Claydons for forty years. Whoever ends up managing Hawk Domain will need his support. But Erik, you are different."
"You're an extraordinary—one who never earned Elaina's trust. And now you've openly sided with me. If I lose the title and Elaina takes control of Hawk Fort, the first thing she'll do is get rid of you."
"Tell me, are you really going to grovel before a woman, begging her just to let you stay, just to feed you?"
Erik's expression changed. As a typical Nordan man, the idea of bowing to a woman made his blood boil. "Lord Rus… what should we do next?"
"We move on to Plan B," Rus said. "The next few nights will be hard on you. Stay alert—I'll send word when the time comes."
Erik left. Rus watched him go, a shadow flickering across his eyes.
"Lord Rus," Gordon said quietly behind him, "After this matter is resolved… perhaps we should consider getting rid of him."
"You're testing me again, aren't you, Gordon?" Rus shook his head with a faint smile. "Erik is a capable warrior. His loyalty and skill aren't in question. He just hasn't fully yielded to me—yet."
"The art of command lies in reward and punishment. Right now, I have only a brittle stick—no sweet carrot. Of course I can't tame this 'beast.' But I believe that once he devotes himself to me fully, he'll become one of my most dependable weapons."
Click.
The heavy oak door creaked open. Elaina stepped out of the chapel.
"Aunt Elaina," Rus bowed. "Did you and Uncle Donald share any parting words?"
Elaina smiled faintly. "Oh, nothing much. Just the kind of things a wife says to her husband."
"I am your aunt, after all," she added smoothly. "I do hope there are no secrets between us."
Rus's expression showed just the right amount of surprise. "Of course."
Elaina walked away gracefully, and Rus stepped into the prayer room. Everything appeared untouched.
Donald's coffin was still there—oak wood, carved with the Claydon family crest: a soaring eagle locked in battle with a dragon.
Rus crouched and reached underneath. His fingers brushed against damp wood shavings mixed with soil. He clenched them in his palm.
"Just as I thought… You did open it."
—
When Elaina returned to her room, Freya was already waiting. The moment Elaina entered, Freya stood up straight, smoothed her wrinkled skirt, and took a deep breath, trying to hide the blush still lingering on her cheeks.
"My lady!"
Elaina's brows lifted slightly. "Weston was here?"
"Master Weston and I… shared a few harmless jokes," Freya said carefully. "But don't worry, my lady—he didn't do anything inappropriate."
Elaina wasn't surprised.
Weston was the only male left in the family. Any maid would be tempted to climb into his bed. Even if they couldn't become the next lady of the house—a new "Elaina"—they'd gain plenty of benefits.
Her eyes flicked to Freya's reflection in the mirror.
Twenty years old, tousled red hair, smooth youthful skin, a pair of dimples when she smiled, and a few pale freckles on her high cheekbones. She looked fresh, lively—irresistible to most men.
And Rus? He'd be even less able to resist.
"I know you didn't try to seduce Weston on purpose," Elaina said in an even tone. "You just wanted to test whether your charm is enough to attract a man."
Freya's body tensed. She quickly lowered her head. "My lady, I—"
"I have a better way for you to find out," Elaina said softly, sliding her arm around Freya's shoulder. Her warm breath tickled Freya's ear, sending a fresh flush of red across her cheeks. "Seduce Rus. Rus Claydon. Don't ask questions. Just come back and tell me everything you hear."
A wave of goosebumps swept across Freya's skin. "But, my lady…"
"Go." Elaina's voice was firmer now. "Rus is the heir to the Claydon family. If you get pregnant with his child, it'll be good for you—and good for me."
Freya nodded, slightly dazed, and turned to leave. But Elaina caught her by the wrist.
"Not so fast. Let me change your clothes first."
—
Two quarters of an hour later, Freya left the room, her eyes now carrying a hint of longing and ambition.
It reminded Elaina of the day she first went to meet Fedro.
But back then, Elaina had known exactly what she wanted—and exactly what she had to offer.
Freya, on the other hand, understood none of that.
Not that it mattered. If Freya were truly like her, Elaina would never use her for something like this.
Once the door was shut, Elaina removed her hat and hung it on the coat rack. She reached up to undo her collar.
Her gown slipped to the floor, revealing smooth legs wrapped in nude silk stockings.
Elaina turned to the mirror, her gaze calm, her lips curving into a confident smile.
She was thirty-four, but her skin was still flawless—tighter and more supple than a girl's, yet layered with the kind of sensuality that only came with maturity.
This body deserved a barony. And she was ready to take over the entire domain.
Donald's coffin was empty. Combined with the suspicious will Rus had shown her, it was clear that Donald's death was not as it seemed.
And that would be the key to seizing control of the territory.
Her pale fingers trailed along her shoulder as she undid one last strap, her full curves surging forward.
"Just a street rat," she said to the reflection in the mirror. "Thinking cheap tricks can hide guilt—pathetic."
That subtle hint she'd dropped earlier? It was intentional. She wanted to spook Rus, to let him know she'd noticed the coffin was empty.
Because now, he'd be forced to act.
And that would be the perfect time for her to strike.
—
Meanwhile, just as Elaina had instructed, Freya arrived outside Rus's chambers.
Her heart raced—caught between nerves, excitement, and just a touch of anticipation.
Elaina had ordered her to seduce Rus.
And she'd been waiting for this chance.
Compared to Weston, Rus was far more handsome. And more importantly, he was the heir to a barony.
If she managed to get into his bed… maybe even bear his child… she could become the next Baroness.
The real Baroness—not a second wife.
Just imagining Lady Elaina—aloof, untouchable—bowing before her one day made Freya's heart burn with anticipation.
Knock knock knock.
The moment the sound rang out, Rus opened the door—he'd been expecting her.
Even someone as experienced as he was felt his heartbeat skip.
Freya, in her natural state, was about a 6 out of 10. But after Elaina's touch, she easily passed a 7.
The soft white lace gown enhanced Freya's sweetness and purity. Her delicate, exposed forearms and the glimpse of her smooth collarbone stirred the imagination.
Topped with a dainty butterfly ribbon in her hair, she looked like a gift—delivered straight to Rus's door.
He had expected Elaina to come herself, but she'd only sent a servant instead.
Clearly, she didn't see him as a real threat.
Which was just as well—it would make his plan easier to execute.
"Lord Rus…" Freya held the hem of her dress with both hands, her gaze shyly lowered. "My lady has instructed me to serve as your personal maid."
Rus let go of his initial disappointment. He stepped forward, gently taking Freya's small hand in his and kneading it softly. "How personal are we talking?"
When a cake presents itself, you don't ask why—it would be a waste not to eat it.
Besides, he had asked his "second brother," and the second brother had nodded.
Freya blushed like a ripe apple. "As you wish, my lord…"
Two full hours passed.
Rus bounced off the bed, fully refreshed. With a light smirk, he glanced at Freya's sweat-drenched, slumbering body, then buttoned his shirt as he stepped into the outer room.
As soon as he left, Freya opened her eyes. Her face was still flushed, and she brushed aside the damp strands of hair stuck to her forehead before slowly sitting up, grimacing.
She wasn't a virgin—but even so, Rus's ferocity had exceeded her expectations. She felt as if she'd been torn apart.
"Damn bastard." She spat lightly at the dried sheep intestines discarded on the floor.
Her ambition had been thwarted by a few thin membranes.
She stepped barefoot onto the carpet and crept along the wall toward the door. On the other side, she could hear voices drifting in on the wind.
"Lord Rus, you're finally out. The pit's ready—dug out behind the old mine in the hills." It was Erik's voice.
"No one saw you, right?" Rus asked.
"Don't worry. Goll and Link are loyal lads. They won't say a word."
"Good. I'll go myself. You stay here and keep watch. No loose ends."
Two sets of footsteps—one heavier than the other—faded into the distance. Once the coast was clear, Freya slipped out of the room.
The castle was large, with many passageways. She navigated them quickly and returned to Elaina's quarters.
Elaina wasn't surprised to see her. "How did it go?"
"He's like an animal!" Freya said, her tone half-proud. "I've never been with such a vigorous man. Two whole hours with barely a pause—I thought I might die right there in his bed!"
The heady scent of hormones clung to her skin, making Elaina's expression darken. Displeasure crept into her eyes.
A woman's body could be a powerful weapon—but if it was the only weapon she possessed, and she was proud of that fact, then it was both pathetic and foolish.
Still, someone this simple was the perfect match for a man like Rus.
"I don't need the details," Elaina said coolly.
"Apologies, my lady." Freya straightened up and delivered her report.
Elaina sneered. "What a low creature."
She tossed a pair of leather gloves to Freya. "Put these on."
Freya blinked. "My lady, these are…"
"Put them on," Elaina said coldly.
Freya had completed her mission. Now it was time for her final role.
It was highly likely that Rus had killed Donald. If that scandal came to light, it would disgrace the entire Claydon family.
But Elaina didn't care about justice. She didn't want a scandal in her territory. She simply needed Rus to give up the title—and Freya might be the perfect bargaining chip to achieve that.
A few minutes later, a rope dropped from the second floor of the castle, landing next to a waiting carriage. Elaina and Freya climbed down in turn.
Elaina had changed into a hunting outfit—practical and snug. She took the reins, with Freya seated beside her. At the crack of a whip, the carriage started moving, heading toward the hills out back.
Not long after, another carriage came into view.
One of its wheels had snapped off and lay in the grass nearby. The entire vehicle had tipped sideways, and a large burlap sack had fallen to the ground. Standing beside it was Rus, who looked momentarily frozen.
Whoosh—a torch flared to life in Elaina's hand, immediately catching Rus's attention.
"Oh. Aunt Elaina." His voice was oddly stiff, his face pale. "What brings you out here at this hour?"
Elaina handed the torch to Freya.
In the flickering light, her figure was fully revealed.
During the day, her elegant dress had concealed much. But now, in the tailored hunting outfit, her form was strikingly on display.
A cropped leather jacket framed her collarbones, beneath which a snug cotton blouse clung to her curves. Even through the fabric, there was no hiding the lush outline of her chest.
D+, Rus subconsciously noted.
Perhaps due to years of self-discipline, her waist was impossibly narrow. The brown leather pants outlined her hips and traced the powerful shape of her thighs, stretching taut over her legs.
Elaina felt a twinge of satisfaction. Clearly, her allure was in another league compared to a girl like Freya. In good spirits, she said gracefully, "What I'd like to know is, what you're doing here—and what exactly is in that sack?"
"Just some kitchen waste," Rus replied casually, stepping sideways to block her view. "I doubt it's anything you'd want to see."
With a flick of her wrist, a dagger appeared in Elaina's hand.
It was a finely crafted enchanted blade—thin as a leaf, razor-sharp, and worth 200 gold coins. She'd used it before to bring down men far stronger than Rus.
"Oooh…" Rus raised his hands and slowly stepped back. "Such things aren't fitting for a refined lady, you know."
Elaina smirked. "Men like you don't get to decide what I'm fit for."
She crouched down, catching a whiff of decay. The stench was familiar—death.
She remembered Fedro, her first husband.
To secure his full inheritance, she'd kept his body in bed for seventeen days before finally sealing it in a coffin. The smell back then had been far worse than this.
But she didn't mind it.
Fedro's death had made her a true merchant.
Donald's corpse would make her a noble.
A wife doesn't have to be born noble. But the mother of a nobleman always is.
"Lady Elaina," Rus's voice was suddenly calm and smooth. "I suggest you reconsider. Once you see what's inside… you won't be able to walk away."
"Still bluffing?" Elaina sneered.
Without a sound, her dagger sliced through the sack.
An arm tumbled out.
The light was dim, but Freya instinctively brought the torch closer.
In that moment, Elaina's pupils—dilated from the darkness—contracted into pinpoints.
Inside the sack lay Donald's corpse.
His head was grotesquely twisted, like a broken doll trampled underfoot. His body was limp, as if all his bones had been melted away. But the most horrifying part—his skin had turned translucent, every vein and bone clearly visible beneath it. His heart, grotesquely exposed in his chest, was still beating.
Eldritch magic. Dark sorcery.
Those were the first thoughts that shot through Elaina's mind. Her heart pounded—and in that same instant, she realized the awful truth:
She'd been played.
"AAAAAHHHH!!"
The torch slipped from Freya's hand and hit the ground. Her piercing scream echoed through the hills.
Lights flared to life in the once-dark castle.
Elaina's brow twitched sharply. She stepped behind Freya and gently wrapped her arms around the girl's shoulders.
Like a frightened child, Freya curled into Elaina's embrace, still crying out, "The Church… I have to report this to the Church… Lady Elaina, I—"
Shhhk.
Her words cut off in a sudden, gurgling hiss. A spray of blood followed. Her windpipe had been slit clean through.
Thud.
Freya's body crumpled to the ground. Elaina's face was pale and icy as she wiped her enchanted dagger clean against the suede of her glove.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Rus clapped slowly, rhythmically. "Aunt Elaina, your decisiveness and composure… far beyond what I expected."
"Likewise," she replied coolly. "I never imagined a lowborn street rat like you could possess such cunning."
"Oh, come now, Auntie," Rus chuckled, stepping closer. He lifted her chin with a hooked finger. "If I were you, I wouldn't talk like that. After all… I'm the one holding the cards now."
Under the moonlight, Elaina's face was starkly pale, but her eyes still burned with defiance. "What do you want?"
"My lady, I don't think you'd want the Holy Church to find out your dear husband was consorting with an eldritch god, would you?"
Rus slipped behind her, his chin resting in the crook of her neck as he pulled her into a firm embrace. He inhaled deeply.
"If this gets out," he murmured, "you won't just be a grieving widow. You'll be labeled a sponsor of heresy—and your son will burn with you on the pyre. Everything you've built will go up in flames."
Their bodies were now pressed together.
"And I, of course, will become the glorious hero who uncovered a forbidden cult and slew the heretic."
Elaina's legs trembled slightly.
She was not a woman without desire—only one with ironclad control.
The human heart is fickle. Ambition swells with wealth and power. Once a man enters the picture, there's no telling how long a woman can maintain control of her own empire.
She had always chosen wealth over love.
Even after marrying Donald, she kept him at arm's length.
For over a decade, she had remained distant from men.
And yet Rus's technique… it was so skilled, so intimately attuned to her body, it felt like he knew her better than she knew herself.
She forced her shaking legs forward, took two steps, turned, and asked again, her voice steady:
"What do you want?"
Rus smiled. "Nothing complicated. Just a bit of… compensation."
He stepped up beside her, shoulder to shoulder.
"Your husband, out of selfish ambition, dragged the entire Claydon family into the abyss. I'm just here to clean up the mess."
Smack.
Rus gave her a light pat. The softness and bounce nearly made him reconsider his original price.
But reason won over instinct.
He turned to her, rubbing his fingers together. "I just want a little something solid. Something golden."
Elaina bit her lip, her pearly teeth sinking into the plump flesh, doing her best to suppress the humiliation burning in her eyes.
"How much?"
Rus held up a single finger. "A thousand gold."
"Impossible," Elaina snapped. "That would drain the Fedro Trading Company's cash flow. I'd go bankrupt."
From the base of the hill, torches began to rise—three broad-shouldered figures appeared. Erik, Goll, and Link, the only three guards in the entire castle.
"Time's running out," Rus said cheerfully. "If they arrive and see this, you might just be joining poor Miss Freya over there."
Elaina glanced at Freya's lifeless body, her eyes hollow.
She could see the full shape of Rus's plan now—and she had to admit, it was terrifying in both boldness and precision.
Donald had clearly dabbled in dark magic. Anyone who saw his corpse would know.
Rus was broke. Hawk Fort had no real savings. There was no way he could survive a full investigation from the Noble Council, let alone inherit the title.
The most reasonable strategy? Approach her privately. Negotiate a bribe. Take the money, give up the title, and walk away.
That's what she would have done in his place. It was the safest route.
But Rus had chosen another path entirely.
He left obvious flaws in his story, lured her to suspect he'd murdered Donald, and set a trap—leading her to discover the body herself.
This way, he stayed completely clean. The story would be flipped:
A backwater noble family had failed to recognize Donald's corruption. Elaina, desperate to cover it up, stole the body in secret—and was caught in the act by Rus.
In the resulting "struggle," Rus was "forced" to kill her.
A perfectly clean narrative.
But also incredibly risky. If she didn't take the bait, then when the Noble Council arrived, they'd find Donald's corpse—and Rus and Gordon would be implicated as his co-conspirators.
Then, if Rus wanted to survive, he'd have to hand over every piece of leverage to her—becoming nothing more than her pet.
But there were no "ifs" in this world.
Elaina had underestimated him. She thought she had control, but she'd severely misjudged Rus's ambition—and his ruthlessness.
She never imagined a gutter-born rogue would be so obsessed with a noble title.
Now, she had no choice but to pay for that mistake.
"Five hundred gold," Elaina said. "That's all I brought with me. It's everything I have. But you must promise—once you inherit the barony, Weston retains his right of succession."
"I could just kill you and take the five hundred anyway," Rus said coolly.
The torches were getting closer. Elaina, oddly enough, grew calmer. The worst had already happened. All that was left was damage control.
"If you do that, the Church will confiscate my assets. You won't see a single coin. And the Claydon title may very well be revoked."
"Five hundred gold and the barony. You know which is worth more." She extended her dagger toward him, eyes firm. "Kill me—or accept my offer."
Rus took the dagger, spun it in his fingers, and slipped it into his belt.
"I accept."
He pulled out a rolled parchment and a box of seal paste.
"Then please… leave your handprint here."
The document said exactly what she expected: that she had supported Donald's dark rituals—and shared in the "gains" of those rites.
Elaina didn't hesitate. She pressed her handprint firmly on the page.
That mark declared, in no uncertain terms:
She and Weston had forfeited all claims to the Claydon family inheritance.
Rus let out a satisfied smile. Forming a ring with his fingers, he shoved them into his mouth and blew a piercing whistle.
The torches flickering along the mountain path paused, then promptly turned back.
Rus extended a hand, eyes glinting with undisguised aggression. "Here's to a pleasant cooperation from now on."
"After all, we still have a shared problem to deal with… don't we?"
In Elaina's beautiful eyes, only exhaustion and disgust remained. "Just remember—I'm your aunt."
"There's time yet," Rus replied with a slow smile. "If we spend more time… getting to know each other, maybe I'll remember that."
Elaina didn't look back as she walked away.
The wind howled across the night sky. Russ's eyes dropped to Freya's corpse. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and let out a breath of relief.
"What a troublesome woman."
Truth be told, Elaina's shrewdness and calm had far surpassed his expectations—especially that pre-prepared will, which had nearly thrown his entire plan into chaos.
Fortunately, she had underestimated him.
And fortunately, Erik was already under his control.
Without those two factors, what reason would he have had to believe Elaina would surrender?
But now, after so many carefully laid traps, it had finally paid off. The biggest obstacle on his road to inheriting the title was gone—along with an added bonus of five hundred gold coins.
After a brief rest, Rus began cleaning up the scene. He loaded the bodies into Elaina's carriage and headed for the abandoned mine.
The pit had already been dug—not by the servants, but by Erik himself.
After burying Donald's body, Rus drove the carriage back to the castle.
When he returned to his room, a wide grin spread across his face. Sitting neatly on his table was a polished rosewood chest.
He stepped forward and opened it slowly.
The polished surface gleamed under candlelight, bathing the entire room in a golden glow.
Inside, stacks of coins lay in perfect rows—ten coins per stack, each glinting with temptation.
One… two… three… four…
Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…
Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty…
Fifty stacks. Five hundred gold coins.
Five hundred gold coins!
Enough for someone living in Moonen City to feast, drink, and party for an entire lifetime.
In five years of clawing his way through Moonen's underworld, Rus had only saved a handful of gold coins.
Even if he gave up eating, drinking, and gambling, it would still take two hundred years to earn what lay before him now.
But even more important—
With this much gold, he could buy a Divine Elixir, a potion that awakened a person's Life Seed and granted extraordinary power.
The path to becoming an Extraordinary.
In Moonen's underworld, Rus had seen firsthand the terrifying might of Extraordinaries. He knew the gap between the ordinary and the empowered.
It wasn't like noble titles. This was something else entirely—true power. The power to make others fear you, to rule over life and death.
They said high-tier Extraordinaries could rival armies alone—"One step forward, a nation falls."
A dream he had never dared to chase…
Until now.
"Uncle Donald… you really did leave me one hell of an inheritance."
Rus ran his fingers over the gold, then slammed the chest shut with a satisfying thud. He hugged it tightly and hauled it onto his bed.
Sleeping with gold—it felt so damn good.
Even if a little… uncomfortable.
—
The next morning.
Rus was still deep in sleep, cradling his treasure, when a knock came at the door.
It was Gordon's voice:
"Lord Rus—Priestess Lux has woken up."