Soon, the Head Butler followed by the maid arrived right before the gates of the Duke’s cabin. The Head Butler knocked on the gate.
"Come in." From within, the Duke’s voice rang out, cold and commanding.
With a slight bow, the Head Butler pushed open the gate and entered the cabin. The maid, her eyes swollen and red from crying, followed behind him like a shadow, her footsteps hesitant and soft against the cold stone floor.
The maid’s heart pounded in her chest as she felt the weight of the Head Butler’s gaze on her. His reputation as a man of unyielding standards was well-known throughout the mansion. The rumors whispered in the hallways spoke of his stern, unwavering discipline, and how even the smallest mistake could send a servant packing.
It was said that the number of servants dismissed under his watch far outweighed those who were fortunate enough to remain. Her breath hitched as she imagined what might become of her, knowing the Head Butler’s eyes never missed a detail.
As the Head Butler moved to the side, giving the maid space to step forward, she shuffled her feet nervously, lowering her head in submission. Her hands trembled at her sides as she dared not make eye contact with the Duke.
The maid’s gaze slowly flickered up, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the boy seated across from the Duke. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes took in the striking figure before her.
His hair was a startling, pristine white, like freshly fallen snow under the moonlight, and his silver eyes gleamed brightly behind the thin frames of his spectacles.
His posture was impeccable, radiating an undeniable confidence and composure that belied his years. He wore the uniform of the prestigious Academy.
Before she could stop herself, her mouth moved on its own, her voice quavering and breathy as the words came out, "H-Hero of Light."
The boy’s silver eyes locked onto hers, and before she could even react, he flashed a smile—soft and effortlessly charming.
It was a smile that seemed to light up the room, contrasting sharply with the cold, commanding presence of the Duke.
The effect was immediate. The maid’s face turned bright red as if the blood in her veins had boiled under the weight of his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat.
Flustered and embarrassed, the maid’s hands trembled as she hastily lowered her head even further, trying to hide the intensity of her blush.
Noticing the reaction of the maid, a single thought flashed through Ashok’s mind: ’Ah! I hate this face so much right now.’
"I have brought the one, Sir," said the Head Butler, breaking the atmosphere and standing behind the Duke.
The Duke, unmoved by the awkwardness of the moment, turned his gaze toward the maid. His expression was as cold and distant as ever. "Since you recognize the Hero, there is no need for any further introduction," he stated flatly, his words a command rather than a suggestion.
The maid’s face, still pale from the tension, slowly began to return to its neutral state, though the effects of her earlier embarrassment were still evident in the slight tremble of her hands.
She bowed her head, attempting to focus on her duties, but the weight of the Duke’s cold gaze lingered on her. It was a pressure that was almost suffocating, and she couldn’t help but feel small under it.
But then, unexpectedly, the Hero spoke up, his voice smooth and calming, cutting through the thick atmosphere. "It’s fine, Lord," he said with a softness that contrasted the Duke’s harsh tone. "It seems she is a little scared."
With that, the Hero rose from his seat and walked toward the maid with a confident yet reassuring stride. He stopped just in front of her, placing himself between her and the Duke, effectively shielding her from the Duke’s piercing glare.
The maid hesitated, her eyes still locked on the Hero as she saw the softness in his expression, his smile a beacon of warmth amidst the cold atmosphere of the room. His presence felt like a shield. Then, he noticed the dried tear tracks on her flushed face.
"Were you crying?" he asked, his voice gentle and sincere, with just a hint of concern. His silver eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, as if trying to understand the source of her distress.
The maid’s hands trembled as they shot up to her face. "N-No! No, Sir Hero!" she stammered, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. She wiped her cheeks hurriedly to erase the stains.
Ashok couldn’t help but smirk inwardly at the maid’s frantic attempt to wipe away her tears. ’What great acting, bitch,’ he thought. He reached out and grasped her wrist, stopping her hand that was frantically rubbing her face.
The maid froze. "S-Sir Hero thi—" she began to speak, but the words faltered on her lips.
Ashok, however, didn’t give her the chance to finish her sentence. His voice, calm and steady, broke through her flustered state. "Beautiful women like you should not cry," he said, his tone smooth, almost coaxing, with a hint of admiration.
’KILL ME! JUST KILL ME! I am dying of cringe,’ Ashok thought, almost wincing at his actions. He turned around and walked to the sofa.
The maid silently followed behind the Hero with a red face, whose big and warm hands were gently pulling her.
When they reached the sofa, Ashok finally released her hand. He sank onto the sofa with ease and then patted the spot beside him, his hand gesturing toward the seat with a calm invitation. "Why don’t you have a seat?"
"S-Sir Hero-"
"Leon," Ashok said, lying through his teeth. "My name is Leon. Call me by my name, please. Hero is just a title given to me by the church. I am far too weak to carry the weight of such a title."
His words, so disarmingly humble, caught the maid off guard. She blinked, trying to process what he had just said.
She flinched slightly, her breath catching in her throat, but she couldn’t look away. "S-Sir, the Duke—" she started again, but her words faltered as she looked toward the Duke, unsure if she had permission to sit beside the Hero.
Before she could finish, Leon turned his gaze toward the Duke. His voice was steady and respectful, but it carried an air of quiet authority. "I would request the Lord, that he allows the maid to sit beside me," he said, his tone polite but firm, as if making a simple, yet sincere, request.
The Duke nodded giving his permission.
The maid, still trembling, slowly sat beside Leon, her movements tentative as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance that had settled in the room.
’Keep acting, bitch! I will bring your true colors out soon,’ thought Ashok.
A ring on Leon’s finger shone, and he took out a glass bottle filled with water. Turning toward the maid, his voice softened again, an uncharacteristic kindness lacing his words. "Why don’t you have a drink?" he asked. "Talking can go on, but you should drink a little after you cry."
The maid hesitated, "I-It’s fine—" she stammered, shaking her head as if trying to refuse.
"Calm down, you don’t have to fear anyone. Here, have a drink," Leon repeated, his voice steady and reassuring as he opened the cap and handed the bottle directly into the maid’s hands. His fingers brushed hers ever so lightly, a warm touch that sent a ripple of warmth through her, though she was still trembling with nerves.
The maid, still flustered but grateful for the gentle care, took the bottle with a shaky hand. She took two quick sips, the cool water easing the dryness in her throat and bringing a small sense of calm.
Seeing the maid drinking like a girl in love, Ashok thought, ’Ah! Never trust a beautiful face, because I wonder what expression you will make when this face leads you to your doom.’
"Are you feeling better?" Leon asked gently. The maid nodded, her red ears betraying her slight embarrassment.
As Leon put the bottle back into the spatial storage, the Duke spoke in his cold voice, "The Hero is here to ask some questions from you," he said, his tone sharp and formal as ever. "Answer the questions, then you can return to your duty. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," the maid replied, feeling a sense of relief that her job was not in danger.
"Can I start?" asked Leon.
"Yes, Sir Hero," answered the maid.
"Okay. So, Miss, where do you come from?" asked Leon.
"I come from an orphanage situated in the small Redwillow village, between the borders of the Southern Duchy and Eastern Duchy," answered the maid.
"How many members do you have back at your orphanage?" Leon continued.
"Sir, I have eight small brothers and one sister. Currently, my sister is taking care of the brothers in the orphanage," answered the maid.
"How often do you visit your home?" asked Leon.
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"Twice a year, Sir."
"Where do you live currently?"
"In the servant quarters of the mansion."
The questions and answers continued while the Duke and the Head Butler watched from the side without interfering. As the conversation went on, the maid’s responses began to come more quickly, her words no longer hesitant or unsure. She answered each question with growing confidence, her voice rising slightly with every passing moment.
The Duke and the Head Butler, ever observant, noticed the maid’s breathing had become a little more labored. There was a slight rise and fall in her chest, more pronounced than before, as if her very body had started to react to the intensity of the questioning. She seemed unaware of her own heavy breath, completely immersed in answering Leon’s questions.