There it was again—that inclination.
And this one was stronger than anything he'd felt from the previous Stiletto so far.
Of course, whether he gave in to it or not was up to him.
'Go... away...'
Stiletto wasn't concerned with his predecessor's affairs. He only cared about making decisions that benefited himself—and himself alone.
Taking a deep breath and doing his best to smother the flame burning in his chest, he continued forward.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the grand doors leading to his father's office quarters.
Knocking on the door, he heard some muffled conversation and movement before a deep voice answered back:
"Come in."
Swinging the massive door open, Stiletto laid eyes on his father for the first time.
Seated behind a desk across the room—sunlight pouring in from the window at his back—was a man.
Even while sitting, he appeared imposing, easily 6'4 when standing.
Muscles pressed against his clothes, a few scars etched here and there.
Yet beyond his sharp, masculine features, he was otherwise ordinary: brown eyes, short black hair and beard, with streaks of white creeping in with age.
'This bastard...'
A woman sat perched on his lap, feeding him grapes as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The dark elf possessed smooth, ebony skin, paired with naturally white hair and striking yellow eyes.
Her frame was lanky and slender. And though her front was modest, her curves gathered more generously at her fleshy hips and ass.
High cheekbones accentuated a sharp nose and plush lips, coupled with pointy ears.
Her presence was strong—commanding attention without trying.
Once more, that inclination hit him.
He chose to ignore it.
Quickly, Stiletto attempted to activate {Watchful Eye} to observe his father's information.
No response.
'I guess it's true. I can't look at the information of those with a higher Stage...'
Without hesitation, he shifted his focus to the woman instead.
-----
[Watchful Eye]
(Syril Thurdia)
Stage: 2
Race: Dark Elf
Gender: Female
Age: 83
Height: 5'10
Favorability: —
(Page 2) Proceed to view skills?
-----
It worked.
He chose to ignore the fact that the woman was a grandma and focused instead on why her Favorability meter was blank.
Was it simply because she had no stance on him yet?
She was the same Stage as him, yet he had a heavy feeling she was far stronger in practice.
Deciding her skills weren't the priority, he skipped the second page and went straight to the third—her stats.
-----
(Page 3)
[Stats]
{Main Stats-}
Strength: 120
Agility: 76
Vitality: 99
Endurance: 48
Intelligence: 15
Luck: 10
Spirit: 200
-----
'Holy shit. She's fucking strong.'
Why had his father made a woman like her his make-believe wife?
He could just as easily have purchased an ordinary Mortal—someone at Stage 1, with no physical or combative prowess whatsoever.
How peculiar..
He quickly shook the thought aside.
Noticing his father's strange glare, he broke the silence:
"I hear you've asked for me, Father."
"Yes... I actually wanted to ask you a favor."
Stiletto raised an eyebrow. From what he remembered, the baron had always deferred such matters to his two older sons.
Whether it was favoritism, familiarity, or simply Stiletto's own timid nature, he couldn't say.
His father hadn't been particularly cruel to his children. He clearly favored the eldest, but he had cared—at least a little—for the rest as well.
Still, since Stiletto's mother had fallen ill, he seemed… different.
Not that any of that was his problem.
With a slight shrug, Stiletto replied:
"Of course. What do you need me to do?"
This time, it was Daeron's turn to look surprised.
He chuckled and turned to Syril.
"Oh? Did you hear that? What's gotten into my son~?"
For the first time since Stiletto had entered the room, the dark elf glanced at him, her eyes indifferent.
"Yeah. I heard. Weird."
Just as quickly, she turned back and popped another grape into Daeron's mouth.
Stiletto blinked.
'This is a circus act. Forget dying on a tightrope to good 'ol Truck-kun—this shit takes the cake.'
He despised being ignored.
Between chews, the baron spoke:
"I'd like you to go to the market and visit someone. I have their address written down. Go there and finish a deal for me—purchase her exclusive item. I've been told it may be something that could help your mother…"
'Is this dude trying to be an asshole, or...?'
He continued on.
"Oh—and she'll lead you somewhere afterward. Don't think too hard about it—just pick what suits your tastes. You're a man now, Stiletto. Start acting like one."
Stiletto wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, but he nodded nonetheless.
"Easy enough. But, Father—if I may—could I ask for something in return?"
Under normal circumstances, a request like that would have angered him. It would've felt like his authority was being challenged, as if his child were trying to stand on equal footing.
He'd earned that authority through sweat, tears—and a great deal of blood.
Yet he didn't seem angry.
If anything, he looked pleased.
"And what would that be?"
Stiletto casually nodded toward Syril.
"I want her to come with me."
Daeron's eyes bulged instantly.
Syril's head snapped toward him as well—far more sharply.
'Fuck. Did I screw up?'
A long moment.
An even longer moment...
Then, Daeron laughed—delighted.
"Sure! She can go with you, Stiletto."
He grinned.
"But tell me—why that request, of all things?"
There were a multitude of reasons why he'd decided to do this.
Some might have claimed it was because of the lingering pull from the previous Stiletto—an urge to separate the two, no matter the cost.
But that wasn't true. At least, not for him.
First and foremost, he despised how the woman hadn't even acknowledged his existence. He didn't know how yet, but he would get back at her.
In the same vein, he wanted to spite his father—who thought it perfectly acceptable to sit and chat with a slave in his lap while his wife rotted away in bed.
And then there was the errand. Sending him off on a task that might save his mother's life… while Daeron likely stayed home and fucked Syril without a care in the world.
That wouldn't do.
And lastly—she was fucking beautiful, and he wanted her.
It really doesn't get more simple than that, does it?
But of course, he couldn't say any of that.
So, having already come this far, he decided to take a bold step—hoping it wouldn't spiral out of control.
Locking eyes with Syril's yellow gaze, he said:
"I want to see if I like her, Father. That's all."
For the briefest moment, her expression faltered, her gaze threatening to slip away.
Stiletto turned back to his father, whose surprise was now impossible to miss.
"Is that acceptable? As your son, I think I should be allowed to assess for myself…"
He could practically see how shaken his father was.
'This is a risk. One the other Stiletto never would've taken. But if it works...'
He held his breath.
At last, the baron spoke, his voice faint—as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
Which was fair. This was an anomaly.
Still, he didn't seem displeased that his son was finally stepping out of his shell.
"Very well."
'Swish~'
Feeling emboldened, Stiletto nodded and turned back to Syril.
"Get up, then. Let's go."
It was a direct challenge to authority—ordering her off his father's lap and expecting her to listen to him.
And she almost did, giving a slight nod, before turning instead to Daeron.
The baron's face reddened, embarrassment flickering across his features.
Under normal circumstances, he would have erupted, but today had gone too well for him to ruin it now.
He raised a fist to his mouth.
"Ahem."
His eyes returned to Stiletto.
"You'll both depart in half an hour. Meet Syril by the front gate."
He scratched at his beard.
"You're excused."
Stiletto nodded once more.
"Yes, Father."
With a slight bow, he didn't miss the way the dark elf's gaze lingered on him for just a moment longer than necessary.
Facing away from them—his expression hidden as he swiveled his hips—he licked his lips.
Because in that brief instant, he caught something else as well:
-----
[Watchful Eye]
(Syril Thurdia)
Stage: 2
Race: Dark Elf
Gender: Female
Age: 83
Height: 5'10
Favorability: 76/100
(Page 2) Proceed to view skills?
-----
What do they say? A first real impression matters?
Well—it seemed he'd made one.
'Sorry, man. I've made up my mind—I'm taking her.'