Obtaining 10x rewards! Reincarnated into a novel as a side-character! - Chapter 307: Grace Before Shadows
Chapter 307: Grace Before Shadows
Chapter 307
She’d defused her guard’s temper without losing dignity and offered him her contact despite the slight. a calculated move to maintain grace while quietly testing his reactions.
’Perhaps she’s not as insignificant as I thought,’ he mused silently.
To her, they were just mercenaries—skilled, yes, but ultimately disposable. Yet, she had extended courtesy instead of contempt. That small choice told him more than any of her words.
“Thank you, young lady,” Oliver said politely, inclining his head. “I’ll connect with you soon. And… if I came across as rude, I apologize. My intent was never hostility. I hope we can make good business in the future.”
She smiled again—small, wordless. A noble’s silence that said everything: acceptance, restraint, and pride.
“Then, we won’t bother you any longer. Please enjoy your meal.”
Oliver and Agnes rose from their seats, their movements calm and measured. He had already gleaned what he needed; lingering after tension had brushed the air would be foolish. Better to vanish before curiosity turned to suspicion.
The demoness waited until their footsteps faded beyond the doorway. Slowly, her warm smile drained from her lips, replaced by cold, analytical calm.
“What do you think of them, young lady?” the guard asked, voice low, eyes sharp beneath his helm.
“I think they’re… extremely skilled,” she admitted after a thoughtful pause. “Throughout the conversation, I used several appraisal techniques… but none of them produced any results. It was as if I was staring into a bottomless void.”
Her words hung heavily in the silence. She wasn’t exaggerating.
What she sensed from Oliver wasn’t suppression or concealment—it was absence. An unnerving nothingness that devoured every attempt to analyze him, as though the very laws of detection refused to touch him.
The guard frowned, his posture movin slightly. “So, it wasn’t coincidence that you approached them.”
She gave a faint, humorless smile. “No. It wasn’t.”
Her gaze lingered on the door where Oliver and Agnes had disappeared, a glint of intrigue flickering like candlelight in her crimson eyes. “People like that don’t just wander into cities like ours. They’re either running from something… or looking for something far worse.”
Ever since the two had joined her table, she had been quietly observing—studying every movement, every inflection, every flicker of hesitation. And she had found none.
She possessed a rare bloodline—one that granted appraisal, perception, and evaluation abilities far superior to ordinary demons. Only a handful among her household had ever awakened it. She was one of the chosen few who had inherited the bloodline of their ancient ancestors.
If not for her birth mother’s low standing, she might have already risen to a seat of power within her family. The thought brushed her mind like a shadow, bitter and fleeting.
Her eyes dimmed for a moment, recalling unpleasant conversations, open insults, and the suffocating hierarchy she was bound to. If she could prove her worth independently… perhaps that could change.
She paused, lost in thought, until her guard’s voice brought her back.
“Young lady, pardon my rudeness, but I’m shocked that they were undetectable even with your level of skill?”
“It is indeed interesting,” she replied slowly. “They both weren’t ordinary demons. I would have assumed they were civilians, but every demon, even the weakest, carries a trace of aura. From them… I couldn’t sense anything, despite them sitting right in front of me.”
Her tone was steady, but beneath it simmered fascination and… unease.
“Lady, do you think they are who they claim to be?” the guard asked, clearly referring to their supposed mercenary status.
“It may be a lie, or it may not. I can’t tell for sure.” A faint chuckle escaped her lips. “But one thing is certain—if they truly are mercenaries, then they’re exceptionally skilled assassins. They could have killed us both without us ever noticing.”
Her laughter was soft, melodic—but the guard shivered. There was no humor in her tone. Only recognition of danger.
She leaned back, swirling the crimson liquid in her goblet, her gaze distant. “It doesn’t matter if they offended me. Mercenaries aren’t known for etiquette. Still… they were more tolerable than most I’ve met.”
She had dealings with multiple mercinaries, for various reasons. She had to because of her limited influence in the household.
Images flickered through her mind—other bounty hunters she’d encountered in the past, loud, arrogant, bloodthirsty. Compared to them, Oliver and his companion were disturbingly calm. That, in itself, was unsettling.
’They’ll be useful,’ she thought, concealing her intent behind a placid expression. The more she pondered it, the clearer her decision became. People like them could be turned into blades, so long as one knew where to aim them.
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Meanwhile—
Chaos had swallowed the lord’s castle whole.
The once-grand halls, lined with gold-trimmed carpets and priceless ornaments, now lay in ruin. Splintered furniture littered the marble floors, the scent of burnt espera thick in the air. The towering windows were shattered, moonlight spilling across the debris-strewn corridor like pale blood.
It looked like a siege, but no army had stormed these walls. The destruction came from within.
The lord himself, upon learning of the devastation of his decades of work, had unleashed his fury unchecked.
Deeper within the castle, the aftermath of that rage lay scattered. Dozens of demonic knights, the same ones who had inspected the site of the earlier destruction, now were laying dead. Their armor was cracked, their bodies riddled with gaping holes that still smoked faintly.
The captain of the knights knelt before the throne, one knee pressed into the cold floor, head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the ground.
Before him sat the lord, a short figure wrapped in a storm of black espera, the air was dense and suffocating.
“L-Lord…” the captain whispered, voice trembling.
“Decades.”
“P… Pardon?”
“Decades of patience. Decades of effort. Decades of resources.” The lord’s voice was low, controlled, yet seething. “All wasted. For nothing.”
The captain dared not move. The room felt heavier with every second of silence.
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