Raelf set his teacup down. With a delicate silver fork, he speared a small pastry decorated with gold leaf and berries, ate it slowly, and savored it. His movements were unhurried, every detail radiating practiced affectation.

  “I believe…” He set the fork down, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and looked at Pandora again, his smile taking on a subtle new layer. “This is a misunderstanding.”

  His gaze shifted away from her, landing with deliberate suggestiveness on the blond broker standing silently behind her, trying to make himself small.

  “Although I appeared to initiate the transaction, and I specified the location…” Raelf’s tone was measured, like he was reciting a prepared script. “In reality, this operation…” He paused for effect. “…was him.”

  His finger pointed gently at the broker, whose face went pale.

  “Since you found my residence, with your skills and your infodealer friend’s help, you must already know: besides the dead ‘Iron Hand’ and ‘Index Finger,’ that Hunter team has… one more member.”

  His voice was calm, stating an objective fact. “Codename: ‘Poxman.’ Though he looks… different from what his name suggests.”

  Raelf’s gaze swept over the broker’s bloodless face, his mouth curling in a half-smile. “In reality, he is Poxman. And he is… the one who started this.”

  He paused, speaking each word clearly. “You may not know this…” He looked back at Pandora, his expression mixing regret with false understanding. “But he does hold a grudge against you. Your rise in Ascension Road ruined his business. He remembered. He’s been looking for a chance to get back at you.”

  “Of course, on his own, he wouldn’t be enough to go after a Baroness. So, he persuaded…”

  Raelf leaned forward slightly, as if about to speak a weighty name with reverence. “‘The Blood Tonic’ Aldrich.”

  He said the name with particular gravity.

  “It was Lord Aldrich who agreed and sent the team after you.”

  Raelf watched Pandora, a hint of inquiry in his eyes. “As for the reason…” He spread his hands, his tone implying she should already know. “The conflict between Echo Quarry and Ascension Road. Surely you’re aware?”

  Pandora frowned. She really didn’t know much. She’d heard vague rumors in Eden about friction between the two groups, but she’d always treated them as just another petty turf war in the ruins. She never imagined it was real. Or that it would come this close to killing her.

  “So…” Pandora’s voice turned colder. “This was orchestrated by that ‘Blood Tonic’ Aldrich? He mistook me for someone from Echo Quarry?”

  “You’re not?” Raelf’s face showed perfect, measured surprise. “How… unexpected.”

  But he quickly resumed his composed smile, as if this little “misunderstanding” didn’t matter. “But, that’s just as well.” He made another inviting gesture, more formal this time. “This is precisely why I waited for you here. Some things, once we talk them out openly, can avoid… unnecessary bloodshed.”

  His tone was sincere, like he was truly a peace-loving gentleman. “I am not fond of bloodshed… So, please, have a seat, Baroness.”

  He looked straight at Pandora, emphasizing the words “have a seat.”

  At the same time, the background music in the room seemed to shift subtly with his speech. The light, carefree elegance faded, replaced by a new tune—more intense, rhythmic, carrying an intangible pressure. It was like a slowly tightening net, an unspoken warning.

  If you asked what gave Raelf Pence such confidence, letting him stay so composed, even carrying a hint of pressure before the Baroness who’d just survived an ambush…

  It was undoubtedly the third-rank name behind him: The Blood Tonic Aldrich.

  Raelf’s words and posture made that clear. Breaking through to first rank in about a year, to second in less than four, and now with a full five years accumulated at third rank. Since advancing, he’d been managing Ascension Road and was now on its real control committee.

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  To most apprentices struggling in the ruins, that name, that record, that power… carried enough weight for awe, even fear. For any “normal” second-rank apprentice following the ruins’ slow, brutal order, the name Aldrich meant caution, yielding, even reverence.

  But Raelf didn’t know.

  Pandora wasn’t “normal.”

  Her advancement speed was too fast. She’d reached second rank even before formally joining the Demon Hunter Academy. The “Wizard” path she walked, along with her latent Witch bloodline, had little dependence on the common resource needs—Corpse-Plague and Academy Points—that other Corpse Hall apprentices relied on.

  Because of this, Pandora had little real understanding of the strict hierarchy of power and background that existed in the minds of most apprentices in the ruins. The kind of reverence built on pure might.

  This was normal. If someone could reach in two or three years what took Aldrich nearly a decade, with a high chance of surpassing him later…

  Then they naturally wouldn’t feel much real “awe” for so-called “committee members” or “veteran third-rankers.”

  This awe was built on a brutal reality—many apprentices wouldn’t break through before the Academy’s time limit ran out. Most people, in their whole lives, would never reach the height Aldrich stood at now.

  Within this order, followed carefully by most apprentices struggling in the ruins…

  Pandora’s existence was almost a “monster.” One that couldn’t be easily categorized or bound by that order.

  So Pandora didn’t react at all to the veiled threat in Raelf’s polite words. Her face showed none of the wariness, hesitation, or cautious weighing he’d expected.

  She remained standing.

  She didn’t look at the steaming tea or the tempting pastries. She ignored Raelf’s intense, pressuring gaze.

  Her eyes settled on the blond broker who’d been trying to make himself small since entering—now pale as paper, trembling slightly.

  A calm smile, holding a hint of something almost gentle, curved at the corner of her mouth.

  “Is he correct?”

  Her voice wasn’t loud, her tone level, like she was asking about something unimportant.

  But to Poxman, the words felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head in deep winter.

  He looked up sharply, meeting Pandora’s gaze. It looked calm, even holding a faint, elusive hint of amusement deep down.

  But the moment their eyes met, Poxman felt like all the blood in his body froze solid.

  He distinctly “saw” something in those seemingly placid eyes.

  Bone-chilling cold. Utterly devoid of warmth. Direct and pure killing intent.

  “I… I…”

  Poxman’s teeth began chattering uncontrollably. His whole body shook. Clutching at a last shred of desperate hope, he looked pleadingly at Raelf Pence, sitting imposingly in the host’s chair.

  He’d thought he could bluff through. He’d thought, given Raelf’s slickness, he’d cover for him, or handle it more subtly.

  He never expected Raelf to sell him out—the “instigator”—so cleanly. So fast.

  Of course, he failed to consider how promptly and decisively he’d sold out “Raelf Pence,” the “trader,” back at the flower market when Pandora was suspicious.

  So why should Raelf shoulder the blame for him?

  Poxman trembled violently. In a way, Raelf was right. He was the instigator.

  But he still had a strong, tenacious will to live.

  Under extreme fear, some instinct kicked in.

  He lunged forward. Not to attack, but—

  Thud!

  His knees slammed onto the polished hardwood floor. Then he pressed his forehead hard against the cold boards, his whole body curling into a ball.

  “I was wrong! Baroness!” he shouted, his voice full of terror and begging. “I shouldn’t have! It’s my fault! Ascension Road… I was incompetent! My skills were bad! I shouldn’t blame my failure on you! I shouldn’t have held a grudge!”

  He babbled, tears and snot running down his face. “You… please, for Lord Aldrich’s sake, The Blood Tonic, spare me this once!”

  He looked up sharply, his face smeared with tears, snot, and dust, utterly wretched, but his eyes desperately held a last glimmer of madness. “I can be your subordinate! I can work for you! We… we can serve Lord Aldrich together! Really!”

  Listening to Poxman’s tearful pleading and pledges of loyalty, Raelf Pence’s face slowly showed a satisfied, everything-under-control smile.

  These words were an apology, a plea for mercy. And also… a form of opportunistic pressure, following the trend.

  He hadn’t set up this elaborate afternoon tea just to “clear up a misunderstanding.” His goals were clear from the start:

  First, pressure the Baroness into dropping any further investigation or payback for the ambush.

  Second, use this chance to bring this Baroness—who’d made a name in both Ascension Road and Echo Quarry—under Lord Aldrich’s wing. Or rather, have her serve the Lord. Become a fine, promising… hound.

  As for refusal? Did the Baroness have the strength to refuse? She was only second rank. And from the earlier talk, she wasn’t even part of Echo Quarry’s core circle. No backing.

  Then she had even less right to refuse.

  Raelf’s smile grew brighter.

  Of course, meticulous as he was, he hadn’t prepared just one plan. He had second and third options ready.

  If this Baroness proved uncooperative, unwilling to submit…

  Then the measures he’d prepared would make her understand a brutal truth:

  Here, you have no right to say “no.”

  The colorless, odorless neurotoxin in the air, personally made by Poxman, taking effect with each breath.

  The carefully blended compound sedative in the pastries and tea, meant to cause confusion and drain strength.

  And, inside and outside the house, those specially refined corpse puppets hidden in the shadows, ready to move.

  Thinking of his thorough preparations, and the merit of getting another capable hound for Lord Aldrich, the smug smile on Raelf’s mouth deepened.