Sadly, alcohol didn’t linger long in my system—if it had any effect at all. Markus, on the other hand, was still a little wobbly while we stood in front of a polished wooden door, just minutes after the lord dismissed us. I’d already sobered up, though no one needed to know that yet.

  I’d changed into fresh clothes during that short wait, though I didn’t bother to wipe all the blood and wine away. Image mattered, after all.

  By the time the door creaked open and we stepped into the study, the alcohol had fully bled from my bloodstream. Still, I limped theatrically as I entered, followed by Markus. I didn’t bother to greet the lord of the mansion. Instead, I made a beeline for the nearest sofa and threw myself across it with all the grace of a dying cat.

  A loud yawn escaped me as I observed the reactions in the room.

  Markus wasn’t paying attention to me—his eyes were glued to a bottle of wine on a shelf like it owed him something. The lord, meanwhile, looked at me with palpable disapproval. I found that hilarious. Invite a vampire into your mansion and expect manners? The man had clearly never been outside.

  “Since when are you two best friends? Sit down, Markus,” the lord said dryly, not even trying to hide his irritation.

  Markus obeyed without a word, slumping into the chair opposite the desk like a sulking schoolboy.

  “Probably since I kicked him in the face,” I said casually. “Did you know he’s an alcoholic?”

  Markus didn’t even glance at me—his eyes were still locked on a bottle, much to his master’s obvious annoyance. I smiled to myself. Maybe I should invent a festival—Beerfest, where you drink yourself blind. He’d be all over it.

  “Yes, I know,” the lord said with a sigh. “He’s still competent, despite his faults.” Then, with a slight shift in tone: “In any case, I believe we got off to a rather… rocky start. How about we forget what happened so far?”

  He actually sounded sincere, which somehow irritated me more than if he’d just yelled at me.

  “I don’t even know your name,” I said, feigning disinterest. “But you did rescue me, so... why not?”

  He furrowed his brows at my dismissiveness but didn’t call it out. Instead, he straightened slightly, chest puffing up like a peacock.

  “My apologies. My name is Arthur White.”

  Arthur White. I stared at him.

  Dark suit. Raven-black hair. Skin like coffee with a dash of milk.

  “White?” I asked, brow raised.

  “Is there a problem?” he replied, noticing my look.

  There were so many problems, starting with the way he carried himself like he owned me.

  “No… no, not at all,” I said, smiling thinly.

  While we locked eyes—neither of us willing to look away—Markus, somehow, already had a new bottle of wine in hand. I didn’t even see him get up. What kind of alcoholic magic was that?

  Still baffled, I refocused. “So… why am I here?”

  Arthur didn’t blink. “To serve me.”

  These words irritated me beyond saving.

  Not because of the command—but the sheer audacity of it.

  But I didn’t let a hint of it escape my mind.

  “Ah. That makes sense, the gods themselves asked me to do so and who am I to disregard their wishes?” I said after a beat, smiling genuinely as if we were on the same page. “Allow me to swear my undying loyalty to you.”

  There was poison in every syllable, cleverly hidden by charm and smiles. None of them noticed. How could they, if even Aska had trouble figuring out my real thoughts from time to time.

  “It was prophesied that you would serve the one who freed you from your prison,” Arthur said, reaching over to take Markus’s bottle and place it out of reach.

  Their dynamic was… cute. If they wanted to get married, I’d gladly officiate the ceremony and throw in free flowers.

  “Is that so?” I said, pretending to be surprised. There was only one person who could've sent a prophecy like that to Solaris, and for once, I didn’t doubt it came with good intentions. For now, I’d humour Arthur’s fantasy—until it got boring, or someone annoyed me, or I found a better offer.

  “All right,” I said smoothly. “As I said, I’ll serve you with all my might. So… am I supposed to clean the house?”

  “I want you to join my army,” he said without hesitation. “You seem rather capable in that regard.”

  I raised an eyebrow at the absurdity. A vampire in the military? How would that even work? I couldn’t exactly march in the daylight. And yet… there was something intriguing about the idea.

  “Gladly. But may I request full autonomy in selecting those I work with?” I glanced at Markus, who was now tilting his chair so far back it was flirting with gravity. At least he had the sense not to speak.

  “Very well,” Arthur said. “You may form your own unit, under my direct command.”

  That was more than I hoped for. I could choose my soldiers, train them however I wanted, and most importantly—earn their loyalty. If Arthur ever gave an order I didn’t like, I could ignore it and dare him to stop me.

  “What about additional benefits?” I asked, not because I needed them—but because I refused to sell myself short.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You’ll be paid,” he said.

  Paid. In what? Buttons? Turnips? Dust? I had no idea what the currency was—or if it was even worth anything.

  “Social security? Pension? Healthcare?” I asked, half-joking.

  Arthur blinked. “What are those?”

  He sounded genuinely curious, which was more terrifying than if he’d dismissed the question outright. What did they even do with wounded veterans? Toss them into a ditch and hope for the best?

  Not my problem. And it never will be.

  “…Just give me time to read every book you have before I start,” I said, brushing past it. “My knowledge of the current world is, let’s say, dated.”

  “That’s reasonable,” he said after a moment. “The study is downstairs. A maid will guide you.”

  With that settled, I stood and gave a casual salute. Then, with perfect timing and casual movements, I kicked Markus’s chair legs out from under him. He toppled with a shout, hitting the floor like a sack of wet laundry while Arthur sighed in disappointment.

  Exactly the dynamic I wanted to establish: I wasn’t here to play nice.

  As I exited, the door slammed behind me. I grinned at the maid waiting in the hallway, her eyes wide with a cocktail of terror and confusion. Still, when I asked politely, she nodded and began to lead the way.

  Somewhere in this oversized, overly decorated mansion was a library full of answers. And maybe—just maybe—a path to power far greater than Arthur imagined.

  As soon as I entered the large room, the maid excused herself—clumsily—and ran off. I hadn’t even done anything. She was probably just afraid of my red eyes. How original.

  Once she disappeared down the hallway, I quietly shut the door behind me and turned to face the study.

  The walls were lined with towering shelves, each packed tight with books I’d never seen before. I grinned, genuinely pleased. Geography, politics, family trees, regional histories—I needed it all.

  I started pulling books down, forming a growing stack in the corner. Basic knowledge on top, advanced material below. The sorting process took most of the night, broken up by only a few interruptions. One of them was that same small maid, who peeked in during the early hours and stared at my work in stunned silence. I ignored her. She eventually left.

  Despite how many nerves I’d already worn thin in this mansion, I managed to finish organizing the books exactly the way I wanted. But something was still missing.

  There was a desk, yes, and a moderately comfortable chair—but it wasn’t enough. Not for long hours of reading. What I needed was that couch. That couch from Arthur’s study.

  So I left the room and marched down the hall, nearly bumping into the same maid again.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep at this hour?” I asked, feigning surprise. Humans needed rest. Unless…

  “I was asked to fulfill your wishes,” she replied, voice neutral.

  In other words, she was here to spy on me. Cute. She could watch me read all she liked—if she thought that would reveal anything useful, she was welcome to waste her time.

  “Come with me,” I said, already walking off. She followed, hesitantly.

  We stopped in front of Arthur’s study.

  “The servants aren’t allowed in this room,” she informed me, as though that would stop me. She delivered the line with such seriousness I nearly laughed.

  “Never heard that rule,” I said with a shrug.

  “That’s why I’m telling you now,” she said quickly, eyes darting around like she expected someone to jump out and scold us.

  The spy was being spied on. Adorable.

  “Yeah, but here’s the thing—I don’t take orders from you,” I replied. “I follow Arthur’s orders. And unless he magically appears to say otherwise…”

  I pushed the door open.

  There it was: my target. The couch I’d lounged on earlier. Still just as inviting. I walked over, placed my hands on the backrest, and started dragging it toward the door. Wood screeched against wood with every inch I moved it.

  It was loud. Very loud.

  I didn’t care.

  “You’re waking everyone up!” the maid panicked, stepping in front of the sofa like a barricade made of nerves and poor decisions.

  I tilted my head. I could understand her concern—truly—but I didn’t care. It was either their sleep or my reading nook. The choice was obvious.

  She tried again. “Stop this at once.”

  “Nah.” I gave her a casual shrug. “But if you’re so worried about your precious lord’s beauty sleep, why not help me carry this thing? It would be much quieter.”

  She stared at me like I’d asked her to lift a castle.

  “Do you even know how heavy this is?”

  “Yeah?” I said, already pushing again. The couch′s feet squeaked across the polished floor as I moved the couch—and her—with no intention of stopping. A few meters in, she gave up and peeled off to the side, grumbling like a kicked cat.

  Luckily, the hallway was wide enough for the sofa. The only real obstacle now was the human wreck slumped in the middle of it—Markus, half-dressed and very much intoxicated, woken by the maid’s complaining.

  The rest of the house stayed suspiciously silent. No Arthur. No other guards. Just us, the couch, and a carpet rapidly losing value.

  “Hey … you … you’re not supp… supposed to…” Markus slurred, stumbling forward.

  I barely stopped in time. He staggered out of his room and puked gloriously all over the floor. Not on the sofa—thankfully. I breathed through my mouth and held my nose in disgust.

  “Ew. Markus, sweetie,” I said. “Can you do me a favor?”

  He blinked blearily. “Wha… what is…”

  Something told me it wasn’t just alcohol. One glance at the maid—who looked way too worried—confirmed it. Whatever cocktail he was on, it had melted most of his brain.

  “Can you strip for me?” I asked with a grin, leaning forward suggestively.

  “You… not my type,” he mumbled.

  Rude. Rejected by a drugged-out drunk. My pride took a small, sharp hit.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I can give you the best night of your life,” I beamed, stepping closer over the sofa.

  He shrugged and actually started undressing. Pants first.

  I climbed over the couch, closed the distance, and caught him just in time—right as his pants hit his knees. Thankfully, he was wearing underwear, sparing me the horror. With a swift kick to the back of his legs, I sent him tumbling face-first into his own puke.

  Perfect.

  I grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him back to his room like a sack of regrets, then tossed his clothes onto the puddle in the hallway for good measure. Stepping back, I surveyed the mess.

  “Hey, maid?” I called.

  No response.

  “Maid?”

  Gone. Coward.

  She left me with a very simple problem: clean the puke or pretend it doesn’t exist. I wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot lance, so I did the only logical thing—I pushed the sofa right over it. The legs didn’t even touch the mess. Problem solved.

  The final stretch was the stairs. That part was… challenging. But after some effort—and the destruction of both stair and sofa—I got the beast down into the study. The sofa was scratched. The stairs were worse.

  Once more - not my problem.