Chapter 118: Setting a trap

Morning broke over the Myrain Viscounty in a silent haze of gold and amber.

Inside his private chambers, Craig stood before a full-length gilded mirror, meticulously dressing himself in his ceremonial crimson noble suit.

The dark red silk fit his tall, athletic frame perfectly, embroidered along the lapels with intricate gold-thread sigils of House Darkstar.

Since he had two full days before his clandestine departure to the Northern Continent, he intended to dedicate today entirely to administrative duties.

He had issued a formal summons to all ten ministers—the administrative masters of his fief—commanding their presence in the Audience Chamber early this morning.

As he adjusted the silver buttons along his cuff, a soft, polite knock echoed against the heavy oak door.

"Who is it?" Craig asked calmly, his reflection remaining completely motionless in the mirror.

"It is Arya, My Lord," a gentle, sweet voice filtered through the wood.

The moment those words reached his ears, a dark, silent snicker rippled through Craig’s mind.

His golden eyes narrowed with cold disdain, but he smoothed his expression instantly, erasing every trace of a frown before turning toward the entrance.

"Come in," he called out smoothly.

The door swung open, and Arya stepped into the room, holding a silver tray laden with a steaming cup of tea, a slice of baked chocolate cake, fresh bread, and assorted butter cookies.

She wore a delicate, innocent smile, her dark eyes glittering with exaggerated warmth as she offered a subtle bow.

"Good morning, Lord Viscount," Arya greeted softly, placing the tray gently onto his mahogany side table.

"Good morning, Arya," Craig replied, picking up a leather belt and fastening it around his waist.

"How have you been faring?"

Arya’s smile flickered slightly, her lower lip trembling as she looked down at her hands, her voice dropping into a frail, wounded tone.

"I... I have been well, My Lord. But if I am to be completely honest with you... I have been very unhappy for a while now."

Although Craig did not care in the slightest whether she lived or died, he maintained his composed facade, tilting his head with slight curiosity.

"Unhappy? Why so?"

Arya looked up, her dark eyes glistening with faked, shimmering tears as she took a small, hesitating step forward. "Because... because the Lord Viscount has been completely ignoring me for weeks now. You no longer allow me to attend to your personal needs or dress you like I used to.

You do not share your important thoughts or secrets with me anymore... It feels as though... as though I have become a complete outcast in your castle."

She lifted her hands to dab gently at her eyes, letting a soft, fragile sniffle escape her throat in an attempt to pull at his heartstrings.

Craig watched her performance, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smirk that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He stepped toward her, his posture radiating the gentle, reassuring warmth of a master comforting a loyal servant.

"Dry your tears, Arya," Craig said softly, his tone laced with quiet solace. "You must understand... back in the past, I was merely a young master, a simple Baron managing a small, quiet estate. But now, I am the Seventh Successor of the Crimson Duke. The future of the entire Western Continent is being placed upon my shoulders."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "Naturally, there are sensitive political matters, state secrets, and high-level military strategic decisions that I simply cannot discuss openly with anyone.

That does not mean you are an outcast. If I truly viewed you as an outsider... do you think I would still allow you to breathe the air inside my castle?"

Arya’s breath hitched slightly, her fake tears pausing as she stared into his golden-crimson eyes.

Craig closed the remaining distance between them, gently placing his right hand on her delicate shoulder.

He leaned down slightly, bringing his lips close to her ear, lowering his voice into a dangerous, intimate whisper.

"Listen to me carefully... and promise me you will not reveal a single word of what I am about to tell you to another soul," Craig murmured, his voice dripping with absolute confidence.

Arya nodded frantically, her heart beating fast against her ribs as she leaned in. "I swear it, My Lord! I swear it on my life!"

"Officially, the public record will state that I am traveling to the Eastern Continent to secure a major maritime trade agreement for the betterment of the Myrain Viscounty," Craig lied seamlessly, his tone conspiratorial and heavy with fake trust.

"However... that is merely a cover story."

Arya’s eyes lit up with intense, ravenous curiosity. She practically hung on his every breath.

"A cover story?"

"Indeed," Craig whispered, his eyes glinting with calculated deceit. "My true destination is the Southern Continent. I am making a secret journey to locate and recruit a legendary, unaligned mercenary named Rutiger Paulo into my new private military company."

Arya blinked, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to process the unknown name.

"Rutiger Paulo? Who... who is he, My Lord?"

Craig exhaled a long, heavy sigh, pulling back slightly with a serious, ambitious expression.

"He is an ancient, undiscovered Ranker I have had my eyes on for a very long time. A man possessing terrifying potential... a warrior who can become the ultimate shield for my faction once the Succession War reaches its peak. But if my senior siblings learn I am recruiting a Ranker from the South, they will intervene immediately."

Craig’s hand tightened gently against her shoulder, his gaze locking onto hers with stern intensity. "Do you understand why this must remain an absolute secret, Arya? You cannot tell anyone."

Arya’s face flushed with a mixture of excitement and pride at being given such exclusive, classified information.

She nodded vigorously, placing her hand over her heart. "I understand, My Lord! I swear to you, this secret will die with me! I will never reveal it to a single living soul!"

Craig offered her a warm, satisfied nod, gently tapping her shoulder twice. "Good girl. Thank you for standing by my side through all of this, Arya. Your loyalty does not go unnoticed."

Just as Arya was about to speak again, a firm, crisp knock echoed from the heavy oak door.

"Who is it?" Craig called out, stepping back and smoothing his crimson coat.

"My Lord Viscount," a dignified, mature voice resounded from the hallway. It was Master Ea, the newly appointed Minister of State Affairs for the Myrain Viscounty.

"All ten ministers are all present in the Audience Chamber according to your command. We await your noble presence."

Craig smiled, his eyes flashing with absolute authority as he turned toward the door.

"Very well, Master Ea," Craig answered smoothly.

"I shall be down immediately."