Lionheart's voice, cool and measured, sliced through the smoky air of the Citadel's audience hall. "So you are Ash," she stated, her tone devoid of warmth yet lacking any discernible malice. The title "Swamp Drake from Underpaths" was delivered as a simple statement of fact, a label stripped bare of judgment or commendation.
A strange hollowness settled in Ash's gut. It wasn't fear, not precisely, but a profound sense of being meticulously observed. Her gaze, though intense, didn't carry the weight of condemnation he'd half-expected. It was more analytical, as if she were dissecting him mentally, not with cruelty, but with a detached, almost scientific curiosity. Under her unwavering scrutiny, his carefully constructed persona felt flimsy, not because she'd torn it down, but because it simply didn't register as significant to her.
Ash cleared his throat, the small sound a jarring intrusion into the charged silence. "Yes," he replied, his voice respectful, carefully neutral, masking the unease that coiled in his stomach like a cold serpent. He met Lionheart's crimson gaze with a steady, if wary, acknowledgement.
[She is human… a human woman, probably, yet I sense… overwhelming authority emanating from her. I have to be careful.]
Lionheart's attention shifted, her gaze sweeping past Ash to the woman beside him. Ritso was visibly trembling, beads of sweat clinging to her brow, her black eyes wide with a fear that mirrored, though perhaps didn't entirely stem from, Ash's own. Her stark white hair seemed to emphasize her pallor, a stark contrast to Lionheart's almost unnerving composure. "And who is she?" Lionheart asked, her voice still cool, but with a subtle undertone that might have been curiosity, or perhaps just cold calculation.
Ash glanced at Ritso, who was trying desperately to maintain her composure. Her knuckles were white where her hands clutched the edge of her dark hoodie. He subtly shifted, placing himself slightly behind her, a silent gesture of support, a fragile buffer against the Countess's intense scrutiny. He knew that suffocating feeling of being laid bare under such a powerful gaze.
Turning back to Lionheart, Ash replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him, "She is my partner. Her name is Ritso, and she is also from Underpaths." He offered the information without embellishment, letting the simple facts speak for themselves.
Lionheart nodded, a slow, deliberate movement that somehow amplified the weight of her presence. "I understand," she said, her gaze flickering between Ash and Ritso. "I can see you both look… partially pale. The effect of being in that bleak place, I presume." Her words weren't a question but a statement, tinged with a hint of something Ash couldn't quite decipher. Pity? Condescension? Or simply detached observation? Whatever it was, it sent a fresh wave of unease through him. He forced down the disquiet, striving for a semblance of composure.
"Yes, Madam Count."
"So what fashion are you two following?" She gestured towards their practical, dark clothing with a flicker of something akin to clinical interest. "I have never seen anything quite like it before."
Ash moved his hand over his grey hoodie and jeans. "These are clothes I designed; the upper one is a 'hoodie,' and the lower ones are 'jean.' If you find them suitable, I can arrange for a quantity to be made for the people of this city." He offered the suggestion, a flicker of his entrepreneurial spirit momentarily overriding his apprehension.
Before Ash could elaborate, Lionheart raised her hand. It wasn't a wave, not a greeting, but a clear and unambiguous signal to stop. Her crimson eyes, still fixed on him, narrowed slightly, and Ash understood the unspoken command: silence.
"No, I am not interested in purchasing your… designs. It was mere curiosity. I prefer purpose over something… extraordinary."
"I-I understand." A knot of disappointment tightened in Ash's chest. He'd misread her interest, revealing a part of himself he now wished he'd kept hidden. [I should have stayed silent,] he berated himself.
"And please, you two, have a seat." She gestured towards a plush velvet sofa in front of her dais. Though she used the polite word, Ash detected no genuine warmth behind it. It was a formality, a gesture of courtesy devoid of sincerity. His eyes flickered to Ritso, who remained unnervingly still, her gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the stone floor. With a subtle hand gesture, he guided Ritso to the sofa and they sat, the soft cushions a stark contrast to the hard realities of the underpaths.
"So, as you know," Lionheart continued, her gaze sweeping over them, "I have accepted those who were once slaves into my city to live. From this point forward, it is my responsibility to ensure they understand our ways. Harmony amongst my citizens is of paramount importance to me."
"Yes, Madam Count," Ash replied, his voice carefully measured. "I understood that before seeking your permission. I give you my word they will not cause any undue trouble. While the transition to a new setting may present challenges, living in a place like this, compared to the horrors of the underpaths, is akin to finding paradise."
Lionheart turned her head towards the arched exit, her gaze lingering on the vibrant cityscape visible through the doorway before returning her attention to Ash. "Yes, I have received your payment from Sir Barnen. However," her crimson eyes sharpened, "I sense you have more to ask. Am I correct, Mister Ash?" Her piercing gaze felt like it could dissect his very thoughts.
Ash rubbed his thigh, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He felt utterly exposed under her scrutiny. "Yes, Madam Count."
"And what is that request?" Each word that left her lips felt like a precise cut from a razor-sharp blade.
"The request is that…" Ash paused, his throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper. A nervous flutter danced in his stomach. He swallowed hard, the simple act doing little to ease the sudden dryness. He forced himself to take a slow, deliberate breath before he could finally speak again. "I need to learn how to fight."
Her brow furrowed, a flicker of surprise crossing her otherwise impassive features. "Fight? And what brings you to this sudden desire for violence, Ash? Is this some youthful bravado, or something more serious? Tell me the reason behind this request."
"I… I need to compete," he finally managed, the words laced with a mix of fear and grim determination. "In… a competition. It's… unregulated. Brutal. They call it… well, it doesn't matter what they call it. The point is, there are no rules. Or not many, anyway. And… I need to be ready." He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists, the knuckles white. "I have no experience. None at all. But… I have to do this."
Ritso's expression hardened, a flicker of understanding – and perhaps a touch of alarm – in her black eyes. This raw vulnerability was something she hadn't witnessed in Ash for months. She reached for his clenched fist, her smaller hand covering his, offering silent, unwavering support.
Lionheart's expression grew grim, her gaze unwavering. She saw the raw fear in Ash's eyes, but also the underlying, unshakeable resolve. She understood that whatever this competition was, it was dangerous, and Ash knew it. "You understand the risks involved in such an… endeavor?" she asked, her voice low and serious.
Ash nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on his intertwined hands. "I know I could… I could die," he whispered, the words stark and honest. "But I have no choice." [This is a risky gamble, not a good tactical move,] Ash thought grimly, [but my mind is set. I know, sooner or later, I have to face Ronny. And after fighting Victor… I know I'm not ready. Not yet.]
She studied him for a long moment, her crimson gaze penetrating and unwavering. "Very well, Ash," she finally said. "For now, I will respect your privacy. But know this: secrets have a way of festering in the dark. If you truly wish to learn, you will need to confront whatever demons are haunting you. And when you are ready to speak, I will be here to listen." She paused, her voice hardening slightly. "But until then, you will train twice as hard. You will push yourself beyond your limits. Because if you are not willing to be honest with me, you will damn well make up for it with sweat and blood."
She paused again, leaning back against the plush velvet of the sofa as Ritso opened her mouth, a defensive retort forming on her lips. Lionheart raised a single, imperious index finger, silencing her before she could speak.
"Fine," Lionheart continued, her gaze returning to Ash. "I will grant you guidance from the best we have."
Ash let out a deep breath, a sliver of hope piercing through his apprehension.
"But"—his heart lurched, a sudden spike of fear like a cold blade against his throat—"yes?"
"Let's improvise. I cannot condone training you for a foe whose intentions towards my city remain unknown. The safety of Murea comes first."
"I can give you my word," Ash said quickly, desperation lacing his tone, "we are not a foe."
Lionheart's expression remained impassive. "Words are insufficient. We need to make a contract."
Ash was momentarily taken aback by her demand, yet he understood her perspective as the ruler of this city. "Okay… I understand. But may I know what this contract will be based on?"