{Chapter: 210: The Scent of Power and Blood}
Those glowing golden eyes, slitted like a predator's, held unfathomable depths. They shimmered with wicked secrets, ancient amusement, and the dangerous promise of power used without mercy. A woman could lose herself in those eyes… and perhaps never come back the same.
His languid posture didn't disguise the sharpness of his body—he had the kind of musculature carved not through vanity, but through violence. Dangerous, indulgent, and dripping with dark appeal. He was a monster who knew it… and didn't give a damn.
Even Sarah, who prided herself on icy control and a holy war against sin, found herself standing unnaturally straight. Like a soldier being inspected. Like a servant waiting for permission to breathe.
She hated that.
Absolutely hated it.
Dex noticed her stiffness, the war she was losing against herself, and his lips curled into a smile—not mocking, but amused. "My beautiful lady," he purred, voice deep as velvet wrapped around a blade, "what is it you so urgently wish to speak with me about?"
Sarah's eyes shifted, torn between holding his gaze and breaking free from it. But then her eyes caught the movement beside him—
Valeera.
The female elf who had just now seated herself on Dex's lap with the sensual grace of a jungle cat stretching after a nap. Her bare legs dangled across his thighs, soft as sculpted silk, and her hair—long, sun-kissed-blonde—fell like a waterfall down her back, catching the golden light of the chandelier.
She was breathtaking.
And infuriating.
Valeera wore only a white towel of spider-silk—open down the middle with zero regard for modesty. Her firm breasts peeked out each time she shifted her weight or leaned into Dex's neck, whispering something with that sultry purr she always used when she wanted to get a reaction. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and smiled at Sarah like a cat toying with a mouse.
"My my," Valeera cooed, brushing a kiss across Dex's jawline before turning her attention toward the intruder. "You look tense, darling. You sure you wouldn't rather join us? I'm very good at helping uptight women loosen up."
She licked her lower lip slowly, deliberately. "Or maybe," she leaned closer to Dex and let her voice drop to a whisper Sarah could still hear, "you want me to show her how we did it last night, mmm? You did say I was your favorite little demon."
Dex chuckled softly, his hand drifting up to caress Valeera's thigh. "Don't tease her too much," he murmured, though his smile said the opposite.
Sarah flushed in equal parts rage and heat. She forced her gaze away from the elf's shameless display and cleared her throat. "My lord, may I speak with you… alone?"
The smile on Valeera's face faltered just slightly.
Her emerald eyes narrowed—just a flicker—but she didn't argue. Not aloud, anyway. Instead, she slid gracefully off Dex's lap, her bath towel parting wider as she stood, revealing smooth hips and a playful wink that made Sarah's teeth grind.
"Mmm, fine," Valeera said, stretching her lithe arms behind her head so her breasts rose even more prominently beneath the sheer fabric. "But don't keep me waiting too long, Dex. You still owe me round twenty two… and I'm not the patient type."
Dex gave her a lazy grin. "Go lounge in the tub. I'll join you after this game of politics."
"Mm, I'll be waiting~" she sang, sauntering out with a slow, exaggerated sway of her hips that was clearly meant to burn itself into Sarah's vision.
Sarah could feel it working.
She hated that too.
But watching Valeera leave without protest told her something important—something more terrifying than the elf's shameless behavior: Valeera obeyed Dex.
Not out of fear. Not out of love. But because she knew what he was capable of, and knew better than to press him when he was serious.
After the elf and Sarah's guards exited the room, Dex lazily flicked a finger. A shimmering veil of arcane light pulsed into place—an isolation barrier so thick it muted all noise and prying eyes.
He tilted his head toward Sarah. "Now, what's so urgent you had to interrupt my morning time with the gorgeous elf?"
His tone was teasing, but there was a weight behind it. A predator's attention. He allowed her to speak—but that permission could be revoked with a breath.
Sarah swallowed, feeling the pressure in the air around her sharpen. She could taste his power like blood on her tongue.
She tried to collect her thoughts, but her mind flashed back to the incident several weeks ago.
That day at the auction house.
A local noble—high-ranking, arrogant, and stupid—had tried to test Dex after being dazzled by his wealth and rumored companions. He had approached Dex with the subtlety of a rhinoceros and the intelligence of wet bread.
The result?
Let's just say it was no longer accurate to call the man a "he."
What Dex had done to him… wasn't just murder. It was creative expression. The kind of brutal spectacle that left even death cultists disturbed.
The corpse—if it could still be called that—had to be pieced together from multiple bags. And even after two full days of reassembly by professionals, the weight was off by nearly twelve kilograms.
Sarah remembered the whispers in the city.
"There were parts that didn't belong to him."
"Something extra was inside the stomach."
"The symbols carved into his skin weren't magical—they were a message."
Dex hadn't even made a public statement.
He didn't need to.
His silence had echoed louder than any threat.
A person who weighed only 73.1 kilograms when alive, weighed 84.5 kilograms after his corpse was pieced together.
Just thinking about it, Sarah no longer wanted to know what happened to him…
Sarah took a deep breath, reminded herself why she had come, and forced herself to meet Dex's glowing eyes.
This time, she wouldn't falter.
Probably.
---
Facing Dex's gaze—piercing, steady, and seemingly waiting for her to continue—Sarah felt a chill creep down her spine. He didn't speak, only tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth curved in a way that could have been amusement… or silent warning.
Still, she met his gaze and spoke calmly, masking the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Sir, I'm not sure if you still recall… but some time ago at the Mite Auction, I was one of the bidders who competed against you."
Dex nodded with indifference, his voice smooth as silk. "I remember. Any issue with that?"
His tone was relaxed, unconcerned—as if he were asking about the price of a roadside snack. He was chewing something slowly, deliberately, savoring the moment more than the food. Sarah couldn't help but glance down at the roasted meat he was tearing into. A chicken leg, she guessed. The juices shimmered along the bone under the soft golden lighting of the room, but his attention never once left her.
Sarah hesitated. His nonchalant attitude wasn't reassuring—it was unnerving. She swallowed her anxiety and pressed on, "Back then, I didn't know your identity. If I'd had even the faintest clue… I wouldn't have dared to compete with you. Please forgive the disrespect."
Dex shrugged lazily. "Forgiven. You can continue."
"The truth is… the reason I bid against you was because that statue—the crystal effigy of the blindfolded maiden—it hides a secret. A very old one."
Dex leaned back slightly, legs crossed, resting an elbow on the arm of his plush chair. His golden eyes, slitted like a serpent's, narrowed with casual interest. "Go on, I'm all ears."
There was no spark of curiosity in his voice, no eager tilt to his brow. If anything, his attitude suggested he was only humoring her. Sarah felt her pulse quicken. She hated this feeling—like a mouse trying to sell a story to a cat.
But she had no choice. She had already stepped onto this stage, and now, she had to finish the performance.
Unbeknownst to her, that was exactly what Dex wanted.
All he needed was a cue to say: "Please, begin the show."
And so she began weaving her tale—an elaborate patchwork of fiction and half-truths.
The story was set millennia ago, in a forgotten age shrouded in myth. She described a time when gods walked the earth and demigods ruled like emperors of divine blood. She spoke of forbidden love between a mortal woman and a divine master named Karaer. Jealous rivals, vengeful wars, and ultimately, Karaer's tragic demise—his body shattered, but his power sealed away in hidden relics scattered across the continent.
She wove emotion into every detail: the sorrow of a betrayed lover, the burning desire for vengeance, the secret rituals of a forgotten 'religion' passed down through her "bloodline." She even invented a few noble ancestors to give her story more flavor—claiming she was the last descendant entrusted with the knowledge of Karaer's final resting gift: the crystal statue, which supposedly concealed a map to a demigod's treasure trove.
His lips curved in a faint smirk. "Quite the playwright," he murmured to himself.
Just like that more than ten minutes passed.
"…And that's everything," Sarah finally concluded, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. "The treasure left behind by Lord Karaer is real. If you allow me access to the statue, I can uncover the secret. In return… I ask only for a share of the rewards."
She gazed at Dex, trying to read his expression, but he was still tearing into that roasted chicken leg. The crunch of bone echoed softly in the chamber as he finished the last bite and wiped his mouth with a silk napkin.
Then, without emotion, he replied, "Mmm. Sounds reasonable. But no."
Sarah blinked. "W-What?"
"I said no," he repeated, standing up and tossing the chicken bone onto the plate with a lazy flick of his wrist.
Her stomach dropped.