"Mmm… ah…"
Nestled in Blake's arms, the woman parted her lips slightly, letting out soft, breathy moans. She rolled her hips deliberately, grinding her plump, rounded buttocks against his sensitive spots, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glinting with uncontrollable lust. As a professional, she knew exactly how to seduce and arouse men—and in this regard, she scorned the high-class courtesans of South Street. Those women who charged hundreds of gold coins just for a touch put on airs of haughtiness, yet they were still nothing more than playthings for men. Of course, this was merely envy. Unlike their South Street counterparts, the women of North Street catered to far less wealthy clients: sailors, farmers, and even lowly soldiers who could barely afford their services. But so what? A client was a client. Still, she never imagined she would one day be serving a young nobleman like him. In her mind, nobles preferred the refined, lady-like beauties of South Street—not lowborn women like herself.
Doubt aside, since he had specifically requested her, she was determined to do her job well. Besides… truth be told, this young noble was not unattractive. Being with him was hardly a waste of time.
Blake leaned back on the plush sofa, holding the half-naked woman in his arms. His hand slipped beneath her garments, kneading her firm breasts. He had to admit, Castor had good taste. Though not conventionally beautiful, she had an exquisite figure—full, heavy breasts with a silky softness, her tawny skin complementing her voluptuous curves perfectly. She was undoubtedly a prize coveted by men.
"Mmm…"
Under Blake's touch, the woman closed her eyes halfway and let out a low whimper. What had started as calculated seduction had quickly turned into genuine arousal. This young noble was surprisingly skilled, always keeping her teetering on the edge of pleasure. It frustrated her. She was used to being the one in control with men, but somehow the tables had turned. She had initially taken him for an inexperienced pretty boy, certain she could make him lose himself in moments. Yet her plan had gone horribly wrong. At first, Blake had seemed receptive to her advances, but once they grew intimate, he had seized control entirely. Now she was nothing more than a doll to be manipulated—he dictated when she felt pleasure, when it stopped, leaving her dangling in a state of unbearable anticipation. Still, she bit her lip and endured; after all, Blake was the client, and she had no right to complain.
"My lord."
Just then, Castor stepped onto the floor. He froze at the sight before him. He had assumed Blake would retire to his own room for such activities, never expecting his lord to take the woman right there in the second-floor corridor lounge… Did his lord have a penchant for public trysts?
A wave of awkwardness washed over Castor. He had not anticipated walking in on this, but now that he had spoken up, he could not simply turn and flee.
"My lord, we—"
"Aah…!"
Meeting Castor's awkward, questioning gaze, Blake gave the woman in his arms a sharp pinch. Then he shot Castor a casual, unflustered glance and nodded. Sighing inwardly, Castor forced himself to climb the stairs. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked down the corridor, stopping at a door on the second floor and rapping his knuckles against it.
"Who is it?"
A manservant opened the door, his face registering surprise at the sight of Castor.
"Master Castor. What brings you here?"
"I come with a message," Castor replied, forcing a warm smile even as he cursed silently. "My lord feels terrible seeing you cooped up in your rooms all day. He has arranged some entertainment to help you relax."
I'm a captain of the guard, for heaven's sake—now I'm acting like a pimp!
Castor wanted to weep, but he dared not defy Blake's orders. This was the first time his lord had commanded him to do something, and he was determined to earn his favor. For that, he would swallow his pride and play the pimp—or even a slaver, if need be.
"We are currently protecting the young master," the manservant replied, dismissing the offer. "Please thank your lord for his kindness, but we must decline."
Castor had expected this rejection. Over the past few days, he had studied these men well, and convincing them was hardly a challenge.
"Yet staying on edge indefinitely will do you no good," he pressed. "As my lord often says, balance between rest and vigilance is essential to maintaining peak performance. If you remain this tense day in and day out, your strength will falter when an enemy actually strikes. Some rest and relaxation are long overdue. I can see the exhaustion and dark circles under your eyes—your bodies will give out if you do not ease up."
Castor paused before adding, "Besides, I assume you trust my lord's abilities to keep your young master safe. What more could you possibly fear? Unless you doubt his prowess?"
The manservant's expression darkened at the blunt retort. Ever since the assassination attempt, their mindsets had shifted. They had been powerless to stop the attackers; it was Blake who had saved the young master's life at the last moment. That near-disaster had driven them to guard the boy even more fiercely, confining him to his room day and night. But fatigue had taken its toll. Though skilled fighters, they were only human. Cramped together in a single room for the sake of security had left them sleep-deprived and drained. Even without them saying a word, Castor could see how worn they were—and that was why he was making this offer.
"I suppose you have a point, Master Castor," another manservant conceded, nodding slowly. He glanced helplessly at the young boy, who was already bouncing with excitement at the prospect of entertainment. "We could use some rest. With Lord Blake watching over him, the young master will surely be safe."
With that, they no longer hesitated. They filed out of the room and followed Castor toward the stairs. None of them noticed the growing grimace on Castor's face as they drew closer. He had no idea what his lord was playing at. Blake had ordered him to arrange this, but had given no explanation for his actions—first sending him to fetch a woman, then ordering this charade… Castor was utterly baffled. Most of all, he feared Blake intended to put on some lewd display in front of everyone. He was a nobleman, for crying out loud! Could he not at least choose a more appropriate time, place, and audience? My lord?
"Aah!!"
As they rounded the staircase landing, a soft moan cut through the air, instantly drawing all eyes.
"Well, long time no see, gentlemen," Blake greeted casually.
By then, the woman in his arms had stripped off her clothes, revealing her curvy, alluring body. She curled against him like a naked lamb, her cheeks glowing with increasing arousal. Yet Blake remained utterly composed, caressing her as nonchalantly as if he were sipping afternoon tea.
"My lord, what in the world are you doing?!"
Recovering from his shock, the lead manservant stared in disbelief—and disdain.
"Just a little game," Blake replied, continuing to fondle her ample breasts. His gaze drifted to the young boy standing among the servants, whose eyes were fixed on the woman with greedy fascination.
"Master, we must leave at once," the lead manservant snapped, noticing the boy's expression. He frowned, determined to put an end to this.
But the boy shook his head, his curiosity piqued. "Respected sir, are you playing a game?"
"That's right—a very entertaining one," Blake replied with a warm smile. "Would you like to join in?"
"Lord Blake!"
The lead manservant roared in outrage, his eyes blazing as he glared at the young nobleman. "This is going too far!"
"Too far?" Blake raised an eyebrow. "This is merely standard fare among nobles. What's the fuss? Have I done something to offend you?"
The manservant was left tongue-tied. It was true that debauched games were common among dissolute aristocrats—they would frolic with one woman, or a dozen, without a second thought. But he had never imagined this elegant, sophisticated young noble was cut from the same cloth. Regardless, he would never allow his young master to partake in such vulgarity. The boy was still too young; if he picked up these depraved habits, how could they answer to the clan lord?
Without another word, he grabbed the boy's hand. "Master, let us go."
"Now?"
"At once!"
Seeing the longing in the boy's eyes, the manservant frowned. He said no more, dragging the boy roughly down the stairs. Once their figures had vanished, Blake stood up and pushed the woman away.
"My lord?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion and irritation as she stared up at him.
Blake smiled down at her, leaning in to tweak her nose gently. "This isn't the best place for our fun. I've prepared a room for us. Go wait for me there—be a good girl."
"Mm…"
His constant teasing had soured her mood, but the promise of a generous reward made her nod and turn to leave. Blake straightened his collar with a smile, then walked to another door and knocked softly.
Silence.
"Lady Ophelia?"
"I thought you would be too busy enjoying yourself to remember our appointment," Ophelia replied, opening the door with a disapproving look. A faint blush colored her cheeks. Unlike Castor, the former princess had guessed Blake's intentions from the start—but guessing did not make it any easier to bear. For all her fame as a once-revered royal, she was still an innocent young woman. Listening to Blake and that woman's explicit antics just outside her door had been nearly unbearable. She had been raised to embody modesty and grace; such wanton cries belonged to a world she had never known.
"It was just a game—nothing to get worked up about," Blake shrugged, unfazed by her reproachful gaze.
"But will your plan truly work, my lord?"
"We do what we can, and leave the rest to fate… though I have a strong feeling it will succeed."
Blake paused, turning to face her. "Speaking of which, Lady Ophelia—are you fully prepared? Our negotiating opponent is no easy foe."
"Rest assured, I am fully prepared," Ophelia replied. The faint flush faded from her cheeks, replaced by a look of steely resolve as she shifted to business. "I have drafted all the terms of the agreement as you requested. Now we shall see if he accepts them."
"Excellent," Blake said, snapping his fingers. "Now it is our turn to make our entrance."
The stench of rot hung heavy in the air.
Keller sighed in frustration as he sat in the squalid room. He had never imagined his counterpart would insist on meeting in such a filthy, cramped space. Instead of a reception hall or guest chamber, Blake had chosen the inn's kitchen as their meeting place. In a land with primitive drainage systems, kitchens were rarely clean—and this one, unused for days, reeked of decaying vegetables and raw meat, enough to make anyone gag.
"My lord, are you certain about this?" Della asked anxiously from behind him, only to be silenced by a sharp wave of Keller's hand.
"That is enough. I know what I am doing. This is not a setback."
"Not a setback?" Della frowned, struggling to comprehend his lord's reasoning. But he obeyed, holding his tongue. He had pledged his loyalty to Keller because of his sharp wit, caution, ambition, and strength. Without those qualities, he would have abandoned this declining, fractured clan long ago.
"Your lord is absolutely correct—this is no setback," Blake's voice suddenly echoed through the room.
Everyone turned, startled to find Blake seated across the table, as if he had materialized out of thin air. A girl cloaked from head to toe stood silently behind him.
So this is the rumored royal bloodline, Keller thought, studying her intently. But the hood concealed her features completely. According to his intelligence, this girl possessed formidable magical power—she had even defeated a court mage. Could she be an archmage? Yet no royal in the palace was known to wield such strength. And what was her connection to this young swordsman?
"You can see our accommodations are less than ideal, so let us skip the pleasantries and get down to business," Blake said, spreading his hands in a gesture of elegance despite the squalor surrounding them. "Now, as my clients… what price are you willing to pay for my goods?"
Keller's expression turned solemn. The middle-aged man adjusted his collar, then fixed his gaze on the smiling young nobleman, his voice steady and unflappable. "That depends on your asking price, respected sir. You hold the goods—surely you know their worth."
"Of course we do," Blake replied, unfazed by the deflection. "But we have many clients, each with varying means. As a merchant, it is only prudent to gauge a client's purchasing power before recommending suitable merchandise, is it not?"
"Indeed. Yet I suspect you already have a price in mind. Our task is to negotiate based on that figure… I have come here in good faith, and I hope you will not disappoint me."
Another deflection.
"Very well spoken," Blake conceded, nodding in approval. He snapped his fingers, and the girl behind him stepped forward, retrieving a sheet of paper from her cloak and sliding it across the table to Keller. "These are our terms. I trust you will find them reasonable?"
Keller did not respond immediately. He picked up the document cautiously, scanning its contents. His expression darkened.
"Do you not think this price is exorbitant, Lord Blake? I acknowledge the item's importance to us, but your demands exceed our means."
"I disagree," Blake replied, shaking a finger. "Surely you understand the item itself is practically a gift… it is my fee for services rendered that commands such a price."
"As Lord of the Duskwood, it would hardly be fitting for you to remain away from your domain for long," Keller countered.
"I have trustworthy, capable subordinates to manage my affairs. I have no cause for concern on that front."
"We cannot accept these terms," Keller said firmly, sliding the paper back across the table.
"You are a shrewd man, Master Keller," Blake replied, making no move to retrieve the contract. "Are you truly unwilling to agree? Do not feign ignorance—it will not end well for either of us."
Keller opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. In truth, the terms were not unreasonable—they were, in fact, the most favorable he could have hoped for. That realization filled him with unease. This price was tailored specifically to his clan's circumstances, meaning this young nobleman had intimate knowledge of the Zach Clan's inner workings and finances. He had intended to bluff his way to a better deal, but he had never anticipated this twenty-something aristocrat would be so calm, so confident.
Little did Keller know that Ophelia had drafted the contract from memory. As a former royal, she had memorized the dossiers of every major noble house—their lineage, history, territory, and sources of wealth. For now, Keller Zach was merely a minor branch member with little authority. But if this deal succeeded, he would be installed as the clan's new lord, without question.
As for Blake, he had never been opposed to delivering the goods before collecting payment.
"You are indeed a man of keen insight, Lord Blake," Keller admitted, finally relenting. He straightened his posture, his tone turning grave. "But if I may be bold, I have a few questions."
"Speak freely."
"Regarding the clause that cedes a portion of the Zach Clan's golden trade route profits to you… you must understand that your domain is limited to the Duskwood and its interior. Our golden trade routes lie on the forest's fringes, and geographically, they border the Byrd Clan's lands—not yours. Even if you are entitled to these profits, we cannot legally transfer them to you under royal decrees prohibiting cross-territorial assignments."
"So you are saying that if the Byrd Clan's section of the golden trade route is placed under my name, there will be no legal obstacles on your end?"
"Precisely."
Honestly, Keller held little hope that Blake could wrest control of that trade route from the Byrd Clan. The stretch bordering the Zach Clan was one of the most lucrative segments of the entire route. Even if he was a high-ranking swordsman, the Byrd Clan would never surrender such a valuable asset.
"I will handle that matter personally," Blake declared, rising to his feet. "If I fail to secure that trade route, we will waive that portion of the contract… does that satisfy you?"
Waive it?
Keller's heart sank. Had he underestimated this young nobleman after all? Did he truly have the confidence to snatch this biggest prize from the Byrd Clan's grasp?
Even so…
Keller said no more. He stood up, folded the contract neatly and tucked it away, then extended his right hand to Blake.
"Lord Blake Felix, on behalf of the Zach Clan, I formally invite you to escort the young master of Zach back to the lands that rightfully belong to him. Will you accept this invitation?"