I keep smiling, but my eyes drop slightly, as if I were yielding some ground.
"Perhaps you're right, Baron. Perhaps I'm nothing more than another name, a toy for the crowd."
The Baron inclines his head, satisfied.
"That is wise."
I continue, voice softer:
"But if I am to vanish tomorrow… then I may as well learn all I can today."
A silence. His eyes light up. He understands.
The Baron sets down his glass, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.
"If you wish to learn… then tell me. What information do you seek?"
A trap. Clearly. He wants to gauge my priorities, my obsessions, my weaknesses.
I smile, take a second to think, then drop it:
"I've heard that the kingdom of Ohts was attacked. Not by an army. Not by demons. By a Taratect Queen."
Silence.
The Lord freezes, his son barely lifts his eyes, and even the Baron… his smile falters for half a second before recomposing itself.
[ Congratulations. You just drove a dagger into the conversation. ]
The Baron chuckles softly, but his laugh is forced.
"You choose your questions well, Wolf. Yes. The Ohts incident…"
He leans back, his tone darker, almost amused.
"An entire city devoured. Fortresses swallowed whole. Flames weren't enough to slow the creature. They say even Ohts' strongest did not survive."
The Lord groans, uneasy:
"Baron, perhaps… this subject is not…"
The son raises a hand.
"No, father. She wants to know. Let him speak."
The Baron inclines his head slightly to his young ally. Then his gaze locks back on me.
"It wasn't a random attack. No… that Queen was moving. Which is… against her nature."
I tense. Exactly what I thought.
Someone or something moved such a creature?
"And if a Queen can move…" I almost whisper. "Then nothing is stable anymore."
The Baron smiles, revealing a glint of satisfaction.
"Exactly. You understand. You see why we need allies who can survive more than gladiators."
I nod slowly.
But inside my chest, my heart beats faster.
Because if the Taratect Queen is moving… then the entire world is already fractured.
I keep my gaze locked on the Baron's, but I feel the weight of the other two pressing on me.
I smile, a smile that scratches.
"And… from what I've heard, all this might be linked to… the Oni species."
A silence.
The Lord nearly chokes on his own breath.
The son, for the first time, frowns ever so slightly.
And the Baron does not laugh. Not this time. His fingers freeze on the cup he held.
[ Congratulations. You just tossed a grenade onto the table. ]
I lean forward slightly.
"That's what the Gallant Knight told me."
The shock is immediate. The three exchange a brief look, heavy with a thousand unspoken meanings.
The Lord stammers:
"Y-you… you met… the Gallant Knight?!"
I shrug with feigned nonchalance.
"Let's just say he walks the same places I do."
The Baron bows his head slightly, but his eyes gleam with a sharper edge than before.
"How… fascinating."
The son finally breaks his icy muteness.
"The Gallant Knight is supposed to be… on a diplomatic mission to the Empress of Keren."
His voice is calm, measured, but I feel the subtext: so how in the hell did you cross his path?
I smile. Slowly.
"Maybe the world is smaller than it seems."
The Baron eventually smiles again, but it's a tense, tight smile that barely masks his surprise.
"So then, Wolf… it seems you are far more than just a gladiator."
Linie squeezes my hand, and I feel her trembling. I, on the other hand, simply keep that predatory grin.
Because I know. I shook them.
I twirl my cup absentmindedly between my fingers, then lift my eyes back to the Baron.
"I can give you what I know… but nothing is free."
His lips stretch.
"Of course. What do you seek in return?"
I smile, vague, deliberately unclear.
"Resources."
A silence. He waits for me to specify. I don't.
The Baron tilts his head, curious.
"Very well. Then speak."
"I met the Gallant Knight in the Labyrinth. Before the city's destruction."
The word falls like a stone into a lake. Destruction.
The Lord pales, frozen, unable to breathe for an instant.
"D… destruction? What destruction?!"
The son exhales softly, almost imperceptibly. His clenched fingers betray a loss of control he's not used to showing.
"That's… impossible. If a city had been annihilated, we would have been informed."
I smile.
"Then perhaps your messengers died under the rubble. Because I saw it. A Taratect Queen. She crushed everything. The walls, the lives, the screams. Everything."
Silence. A silence that sticks in the throat.
The Lord sweats profusely, his chin trembling like spilled jelly.
The son keeps his mask, but his eyes burn with a cold fury: not at me… but at the very idea that such information escaped them.
And the Baron… he does not move. His smile has died. His eyes sharpen, cutting, predatory. He already knew something. Not everything.
But enough to understand I've just stepped into a secret that was never meant to cross these walls.
The Baron finally speaks again, his voice low, smooth as a polished blade:
"You realize what you've just spoken of existed only in the shadows."
I cross my arms, smile still plastered on my lips.
"Well… now it's not in the shadows anymore."
The silence lingers, heavy, sticky. Then, as always, it's the weakest link that cracks.
The Lord of Velen, red-faced and sweating, lets out a nervous laugh. His eyes linger on Linie far too intently.
"What… what an adorable child, truly…" His voice quivers, dripping. "A wild creature like you dragging around… such a fragile little thing. It's almost… comical. Perhaps… we should consider placing the child somewhere better, hm?"
My blood freezes.
Linie clutches my sleeve, curling against me, her damp eyes avoiding the table.
"Shut up."
I'm already on my feet. My sword, drawn without a thought, is pressed against the Baron's throat. The tip trembles just enough to mark the skin.
One breath. One only.
The room freezes. Servants turn to stone, the Lord pales and scrambles back, his chair screeching across the floor. Even the son, impassive until now, widens his eyes.
But not the Baron.
He doesn't flinch. Not a blink. Not a faster breath. His eyes fix calmly on me, his smile returned.
[ He doesn't seem afraid… as if he could easily survive even this situation… ]
I blink. "What? You mean—"
[ It's as if this man… simply isn't afraid. ]
A shiver runs down my spine.
The Baron tilts his head ever so slightly, just enough to feel the chill of my blade against his throat.
"Well… that is a bold gesture."
He doesn't smile nervously. He smiles like someone watching an unpredictable toy.
"You intrigue me even more, Wolf."
The Baron bursts into clear laughter, almost musical. Not forced. Not nervous.
A real laugh.
"Hahaha… fascinating."
His eyes gleam, the steel of my blade still at his throat.
"But tell me, Wolf… why me? Why place your weapon at my throat… and not at the filthy mouth of that Lord who dared to speak?"
I smile. Not tender. Cold.
"Because it's simpler."
A frozen silence.
I continue, voice low, biting:
"If I killed that bloated pig, it would only stain the carpet. But if you, Baron, were to die here, at this table…"
I tilt the blade slightly, enough for a red bead to bloom on his skin.
"…the high royalty would demand answers from the lord of this place. And guess who would bear the blame?"
My gaze slides to the Lord, sweat already pouring down his brow.
"Not me. Not the foreign Wolf. But him. His city. His line. And the punishment would be worse than death."
The Lord jerks back, ashen, lips trembling wordlessly. His son, though unmoving, watches me with narrowed eyes, sharpened by a new glint.
The Baron only keeps smiling. He laughs again, shaking his head lightly.
"Hahaha… excellent answer."
He calmly places a hand on the table, his fingers perfectly relaxed.
"That is why you are not just a sideshow beast. You already understand the rules of the game."
And his smile widens.
"But beware, Wolf. He who understands the rules… must also learn to respect them."
I don't even have time to blink.
A sharp crack, metallic.
Then a brutal magical detonation.
My sword shatters in my hands as if crushed from within. Shards of incandescent metal slash my palms, and a shockwave tears through me.
"Wh—"
I'm hurled backward, slammed against the double doors. Air knocked out, my lungs scream. Linie cries something, but my ears buzz too loud to hear.
[ Critical alert: I… I have no data. No mana flow detected. No ritual preparation. No artifact in play. Just… nothing. ]
I cough, dark blue blood splattering my lips. My vision shakes, but I still make out the Baron, seated at the table as if nothing happened.
He calmly wipes the small red trace my blade left on his throat with a white handkerchief.
And he smiles.
"This is why one must never confuse boldness with power."
The whole room is frozen. The Lord trembles, sweat streaming down his cheeks. The son, for once, sits straighter, eyes darting to his father… but always returning to the Baron.
I'm on the floor, breath ragged, hands bleeding, heart pounding.
And above all… the smell. No mana. No energy. Nothing.
[ I… I don't understand. It's not possible. Even I cannot analyze what he just did. ]
The Baron folds his handkerchief neatly, sets it on the table, and looks at me like a child throwing a tantrum.
"Get up, Wolf. We are not finished yet."
I spit again on the floor, a streak of dark blue spreading over the polished wood.
The son's eyes latch onto it immediately, gleaming like blades.
"…Curious." His voice is low, composed. "That is not spilled wine. Not an illusion. No. That is your blood."
I grit my teeth, ready to snap back. But he continues, relentless.
"Red would be ordinary. Green, almost folkloric. But blue…"
His gaze rises to meet mine, a cold delight flickering within.
"Blue is singular."
I chuckle, wiping my lips on my sleeve.
"Maybe I've had too many exotic fruits."
He tilts his head, almost amused.
"Maybe. Or maybe you were never human at all."
My heart pounds. Linie clings to me, wide eyes drowning in fear.
The son finally smiles—thin, predatory. Not open. An enigma's smile.
"But I won't claim to know what. Not yet."
He sinks back into his chair, satisfied, as if he had cast a die.
"I'd rather wait. See how far the Wolf can run before her mask falls."
A silence.
I lock onto his cold eyes, and I understand: he knows. Not everything, but enough.
Enough to guess what I hide beneath my scarf.
And the Baron says nothing. He already knew. He simply lets the Lord's son play.
Like two predators watching prey dance between their claws.