CHAPTER 25: CHAPTER 25: THE LORD ARRIVES

"Okay, okay, I will be ready. Stop shouting, old man," Aiden muttered, tugging at the cuffs of his slightly wrinkled shirt, his voice caught somewhere between irritation and laziness.

"No matter how many times I try helping you, you are always the same lazy bu—" the old man cut himself off suddenly. His eyes narrowed, his grip clamping down on Aiden’s shoulder with an unexpected weight. The pressure made Aiden look up, startled.

"You... you look different," the old man murmured, his voice quieter now, studying Aiden like one might examine a coin that seemed authentic but felt... off.

Aiden’s eyes lit up, a tiny spark of anticipation. "Oh? Different how?" His tone carried that slight swell of vanity; his recent improvements in appearance had given him that small, dangerous hope for admiration.

The old man’s brow furrowed deeper, his lips twitching into the faintest, most unimpressed smirk. "You look even more... insufferable now. Now hurry. The lord will be at the gate within thirty minutes.

Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

Aiden’s spark dimmed instantly, like a candle under a sudden gust. His mouth fell into a small pout as the old man turned away, barking more orders at whoever crossed his path.

"Haaa... fucking old man," Aiden mumbled under his breath, dragging his feet as if each step carried the weight of his crumbling ego.

The main hall was chaos disguised as order. Servants darted like panicked birds, arms laden with polished silver trays, stacks of embroidered linens, and ornate goblets.

The air was rich with the biting tang of polished brass and the sweeter undercurrent of expensive perfume—spilled in generous clouds so the mansion smelled like a garden trapped in a crystal bottle.

The faint smell of lemon oil lingered from the freshly scrubbed floors, slick and gleaming beneath frantic footsteps.

Uniforms, usually worn and patched, now shone as if stitched anew. Every apron crisp. Every cuff straight. Aiden could almost hear the fabric crackle when they moved.

And then he saw her—Akidna—standing like a storm in the middle of the commotion. Her voice, sharp and commanding, cracked through the air as she barked orders to the younger maids.

Her dark hair was pinned perfectly, her glasses glinting in the light, her mouth set in that strict line that brooked no argument. But when her gaze found him, the precision in her eyes faltered—just for a heartbeat.

Her lips parted slightly, then pressed into a harder line. She shook her head quickly, as if brushing off whatever thought had slipped in, and stalked toward him.

"Aiden," she said, his name cutting through the air with practiced irritation.

"Akidna..." he replied softly, his tone far gentler than hers, as if speaking her name alone was enough to smooth her edges.

That one word was almost a caress, and it slowed her stride for half a second, her anger thinning into something softer before returning again.

"You never visited in the infirmary after that one time," he said, his voice carrying a faint thread of reproach, almost childish, like he was hurt but trying to hide it under casual words.

Her brows drew together, the tiniest tremor in her jaw. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then looked down. Her knuckles whitened around the papers she held.

Without warning, Aiden glanced around—everyone too busy to notice—and reached for her hand. His grip was warm, insistent. Before she could protest, he was pulling her toward the side corridor.

"...Wh—what are you doing? I’m busy..." she hissed, but her resistance lacked bite. Her feet followed him even as her words resisted.

He guided her into the ladies’ restroom, the door clicking shut behind them. The scent of perfume was thick here too, almost cloying, blending with the faint metallic tang of recently cleaned fixtures.

Even the tiled floor gleamed under the soft golden light of the sconces.

He pulled her further into the private stalls, the small space forcing them close. Her back brushed against the cool wall. His hands, firm and steady, settled at her waist.

"...Now tell me... what happened?" His voice was low, quiet, but there was a weight to it—a quiet demand that pressed on her more than his hands did. His golden eyes fixed on her like molten metal, unblinking.

Her gaze flicked away instantly.

"No... nothing..." she whispered, her voice softer now, stripped of its usual authority. It was almost shy. "I... I am busy, Aiden. Our lord is coming."

His hand moved to her chin, tilting her face up with a slow, deliberate firmness. The motion dislodged a strand of her hair from its pin, letting it spill across her forehead. The strands brushed against her glasses, partially hiding her eyes.

"...Akidna... tell me."

She stayed silent, and in the silence, her breathing quickened.

"...Akidna?"

Her throat moved as she swallowed. Finally, she said it, barely audible: "...Lady... Lady Flora said... not to speak to you again."

Her voice cracked at the end. She met his eyes, and now he saw it—moisture gathering at the edges, her gaze red-rimmed. Tears that wanted to fall but clung stubbornly to the corners.

Aiden’s lips curved faintly. ’Haa... so I did deflect it in that moment,’ he thought.

"Did she threaten you? Or say anything else?" he asked.

Akidna’s fingers moved to adjust her glasses, but her hand trembled. "N-no. Just... she said she would fire me if I got involved with you again." Her grip tightened on the fabric of her uniform, wrinkling it.

He pulled her closer, the press of his body solid, one hand moving to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed along her skin in a slow circle. Her eyes seemed lost, floating somewhere between pain and wanting.

He leaned in, his lips grazing her cheek before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there. Then his mouth moved toward hers—closer, closer—until her lips met his.

The kiss was unhurried, but deep, lingering until the air between them felt charged, like a held breath about to break.

"...Don’t worry," he murmured against her lips. "...I will not let anybody come between us. Even if it’s Lady Flora herself."

"But..." her voice wavered, uncertainty slipping in. "...you also like her. What if she tells you to leave me? Will you... will you leave me?"

His eyes glinted, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth. His hands slid lower, past the curve of her waist to her full, soft hips, and then further still. He grabbed her firmly.

"Ahh!" she gasped, a sharp sound of surprise mixed with something else.

His mouth dipped to her neck, warm breath brushing over her skin. His tongue traced a slow line upward before he whispered something into her ear.

Whatever he said made her knees press together slightly, her breath catching. Her face deepened to a vivid crimson, her earlier heaviness melting into heat.

"...You promish?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

"Promish," he said without hesitation. "Now let’s go. The old man must be shouting my name."

She nodded quickly, straightening her uniform as they stepped out together.

He couldn’t resist—his hand darted back, delivering a sharp smack to her behind.

Slap!

"Ohh!... Aiden..." she half-whispered, half-scolded, her tone caught between flustered and pleased.

"Sorry... couldn’t resist," he replied with a crooked smile.

The sharp blare of a horn split the air.

Poooo!!! Po!! Poooooooo!!!

Every sound in the mansion died instantly. The servants froze mid-step, even the air felt still. Then, as if bound by an invisible thread, everyone moved at once—toward the garden path. The atmosphere thickened with reverence and nerves; the kind that made one’s heartbeat feel too loud in the chest.

Aiden followed, the air outside warm and faintly scented with the trimmed hedges lining the grand walkway.

"There you are..." the old man’s voice cut in, his bony hand clamping on Aiden’s wrist. Without waiting for a reply, he dragged him forward, fussing over the angle of Aiden’s collar. "...Don’t say anything. Stand straight. Bow humbly like we practiced."

Poooooo!!! Po!!!

The final trumpet blast rolled over the courtyard as the gates opened.

The rhythmic ’clock, clock’ of hooves sounded, steady and unhurried, until the figure appeared.

The lord.

He rode a massive white horse, its mane braided with gold threads, its armor gleaming so bright it hurt to look at under the afternoon sun.

The man himself was a vision of brutal regality. His armor was platinum bright, etched with golden patterns that caught the light like fire.

Sunlight turned his golden hair into something almost divine—richer and brighter even than Lady Flora’s. A square jaw dusted with a perfectly trimmed golden beard gave him a warrior’s presence.

His aura rolled out in waves, making the air hum faintly. Aiden’s skin prickled; the mana around the man was alive, vibrating with restrained power.

[Augustus D Leonidus]

Status: -------

Bloodline: Mythical Lion Bloodline (High tier)

Mana: High-High

Grade: S class

Personality: strong/honourable/Tainted

Skills: Lion Bane (high-High Tier), Myth Aura (high-High Tier), Saint Spear (Ascendant Tier)...

Beauty: Respectful (Mid Tier)

Talent: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

[High amount of Ember Detected]

’Tainted...?’Aiden thought, the word sinking into his mind like a stone into deep water.