Chapter 11: Borrowing Strength

The afternoon sunlight spilled over the pristine walls of Rose Manor, bathing the refined and tranquil estate in a golden glow, as though it had been gilded with sheets of gold. If the mighty Black Castle could be likened to a colossal beast, then this elegant manor was surely the beast’s brain.

Victor straightened his collar and, guided by the attendant, entered the manor’s conservatory. The lady of the manor, Countess Sylvia, awaited him there.

Though the conservatory was not large, it was constructed entirely of natural crystal. Brilliant sunlight poured through the crystal dome, illuminating the room. Along the crystal walls ran a copper pipe encircling the space; warm vapor occasionally puffed out from tiny apertures, rendering the conservatory perpetually spring-like.

Gentle sunlight and the balmy air coaxed into bloom flowers that should have faded with the passing of the Water Month. Inside the crystal house, the vibrant vitality of blossoms and greenery stood in stark contrast to the bleak withering of the plants outside. The disparity was so striking that Victor felt as if time and space had become distorted.

Yet what truly captivated Victor was not the lushness of the conservatory, but the countess herself, arranging flowers amidst the blooms.

She wore a snow-white, cinched-waist gauze gown. Her waist was slender, her posture straight, and her fair hands held a freshly cut red rose, though she hesitated to place it in the half-completed basket before her.

Sylvia’s gaze was bright and intent; her fair, high brow, graceful nose, and lightly pursed red lips imparted an air of serene beauty and confident intellect. Even standing in a corner, she seemed to be the very center of the conservatory.

As Victor watched silently, Sylvia finally placed the rose in the basket. She lifted the basket, examining it from side to side, and a satisfied smile played at her lips. This pure smile was utterly unlike the flirtatious, wanton countess of Victor’s recollection, leaving him momentarily dazed.

“Baron, what do you think of my flower arrangement?” Sylvia accepted a silk kerchief from her maid and wiped the perspiration from her brow. When her guest failed to respond, she turned in surprise to Victor.

Seeing him lost in reverie, Sylvia couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Hearing the countess’s slightly triumphant laughter, Victor blushed, stepped forward, and bowed in a noble greeting. “Victor, at your service, my lady.”

“Please, be seated.” Sylvia motioned for the maid to take away the flower basket, then gracefully seated herself in a wicker chair and invited Victor to sit opposite her.

“Baron, what brings you here today?” Sylvia asked gently.

“My lady, I have come to bid you farewell. I plan to lead my retinue and subjects to my new domain in the coming days,” Victor replied respectfully.

“Oh.” Sylvia picked up a cup of honeyed pine nut tea from the round table, sipping it idly.

Seeing her indifference, Victor hesitated and pressed on, “Madam, as you know, I have just exchanged for a new fief. According to the kingdom’s frontier laws, I request that Black Castle dispatch knights to my lands to clear out monsters and brigands.”

As the governor of the frontier, Count York was obliged to periodically send troops to patrol the domain and assist local lords in purging monsters and bandits, ensuring the safety of the region.

“Then you should be speaking to my husband, not to me,” Sylvia said, her long, fair fingers gently caressing the silver tea cup, her tone playful.

“My lady, it seems the governor still resents those fifty purple coins, and so I must turn to you for assistance,” Victor replied with a wry smile.

“Yes, ever since the York family left the eastern territories, we’ve suffered great losses in gold sols. Then came the enormous investment to build Black Castle in the Centaur Hills. And the last bit of money was extorted by you—hmph!” Sylvia gave Victor a glance both reproachful and coquettish.

Victor couldn’t help but inwardly roll his eyes. The cost of this crystal conservatory alone surely exceeded a hundred thousand gold sols—enough to build a baron’s castle with ease.

“My lady, I am willing to present a sum to the governor as compensation for the knights’ deployment,” Victor had already prepared himself for the countess’s inevitable demands.

“Oh? How much are you offering?” Sylvia’s eyes sparkled as she smiled at him.

Just as Victor was about to answer, he felt something caressing his calf beneath the table. Looking up, he saw the countess’s lips curled in a smile, her gaze coy and alluring. Instantly reminded of the enchanting night two days prior, Victor’s heart stirred; quietly, he reached down and caught the mischievous foot teasing him. Its delicate, smooth touch tempted him to gently knead the countess’s enchanting foot in his palm.

Scarlet blossomed on Sylvia’s fair cheeks; her moist eyes glanced sideways at Victor, half reproachful, half encouraging, but she did not withdraw her foot from his grasp.

“How much do you think would be appropriate, my lady?” Victor asked softly.

“Ten thousand gold sols. I’ll send Knight Bruce with four squires and a cavalry escort to your new domain, and they’ll clear out monsters and bandits as well. Does that suit you?” Sylvia murmured as Victor’s hand grew increasingly bold, even employing techniques taught by court ladies, nearly eliciting a sigh from her.

“Perfectly. But I have a small request—if you would grant it, my lady,” Victor smiled.

Sylvia, watching the young baron depart under the attendant’s guidance, waited until he disappeared from sight before turning coldly to her elderly steward. “Have you discovered who spread news among the refugees that Baron Victor was attacked by bandits?”

“Madam, it was the steward of Baron Verpan’s household,” the steward replied respectfully.

“Verpan? A kin of Queen Catherine’s family? Hmph, so they haven’t given up! They think that by obstructing the young baron’s recruitment of subjects, they can delay things long enough for the Prince’s faction to overturn our exchange agreement. Pity, they, like me, failed to realize that the baron—who should have been little more than a decorative vase—is not so simple after all.” Sylvia’s laugh was cold.

“Summon Bruce.”

“Yes, madam.” The steward bowed and withdrew.

Thinking of Victor’s little request before his departure, Sylvia murmured to herself, “Victor, I find myself ever more eager to see your performance. But when you finally behold the castle I’ve prepared for you, what expression will you wear? Ha…” At this thought, Sylvia couldn’t help but smile sweetly.