Using both her hands and feet, Anastasia swiftly ascended to the second floor of the dilapidated structure. Her movements were fluid, precise, born from years of rigorous, elite training that had honed her into someone capable of handling even the most chaotic and life-threatening situations. Her breathing was steady, a testament to her controlled focus. As the worn soles of her boots finally touched the splintered floorboards of the ruined upper level, her sharp, intelligent eyes immediately scanned the dilapidated surroundings.
Amid the broken remnants of the house, something stood out with impossible clarity, like a single, vibrant flame flickering in overwhelming darkness. There, nestled incongruously in the middle of the debris, was a pristine velvet sofa—untouched by dust, grime, or the relentless march of time. It sat in perfect, luxurious contrast to its crumbling environment, so utterly out of place it looked as if someone had taken a polished, high-end furniture advertisement from a glossy magazine and pasted it directly into a gritty war film.
To her surprise, Elric was already seated on it, looking completely at ease.
He wasn't especially tall—perhaps 175 centimeters, a height that made him seem approachable—but he exuded an undeniable presence, a silent aura of power that filled the space. His rugged, youthful face suggested an age between fifteen and eighteen, a typical teenager, but something in his ocean-blue eyes felt older, far older, carrying the weight of countless experiences. He wore a simple white t-shirt paired with plain black pants, an unassuming outfit, but the most striking thing was the intricate black tattoo that stretched from his right arm all the way up to the right side of his face. It pulsed faintly with a strange, dark energy, like a living mark of profound power.
"Please, have a seat, Miss Anastasia."
Startled by his sudden voice, Anastasia spun around—and to her astonishment, another identical velvet sofa had appeared directly behind her. She had no idea how or when it was placed there; it hadn't been there moments ago, not a second before.
That alone spoke volumes, a silent, powerful demonstration. The vast difference in their status, their power, was being displayed without a single spoken word.
Between the two pristine sofas, a small, elegant table had materialized. Upon it sat a neatly folded, clean white towel and a sealed bottle of fresh water, glistening faintly.
Anastasia, covered in grime and dust, her once-sharp tactical vest now in tatters, looked more like a fleeing vagrant than the noblewoman she once was. But beneath that ragged exterior, Elric could still see it—the unmistakable, innate nobility in her bearing, a regal dignity sharpened by years of hardship. Her inherent beauty, too, was undeniable, made only more striking by the stark contrast of her circumstances.
Suppressing her confusion and a fresh wave of fear, she nodded politely, her posture instinctively straightening. "Thank you."
She picked up the towel, uncapped the bottle, and dampened it with the cool water. Then, with practiced, elegant motions, she began to clean herself, wiping away the layers of dirt and grime. As the mud and dust faded, her sharp features emerged more clearly, revealing the true contours of her face.
Elric quietly observed her transformation, his gaze analytical.
Elistia Anastasia—a striking Eurasian, bearing the unique blend of Slavic and East Asian genetics that marked her lineage. Her skin, though dusty moments ago, was fine and fair, almost translucent. Her facial features were a delicate balance of strength and softness: sharply defined cheekbones, a cold yet graceful countenance, a pair of elegant willow-leaf eyebrows, and captivating phoenix-shaped green eyes that sparkled with fierce intelligence and an unyielding defiance. Her single ponytail, a simple braid, swayed lightly as she moved, framing her face with a worn but undeniable dignity.
Her gaze—stern, unwavering, unshaken—was that of someone who had suffered immense loss yet had somehow survived, emerging unbroken. That too, a quiet strength, caught Elric's perceptive attention.
"Gulp—gulp—"
After meticulously wiping her face clean, Anastasia took a few long, fortifying sips of water. Then she placed the bottle down on the table, straightened her posture, and, with a subtle movement, gave a small, formal bow.
"Mr. Elric," she began, her voice clear and steady, devoid of the earlier tremor. "Thank you for saving my life. If you have any requests, any at all, I will do my best to fulfill them."
Elric leaned back into the plush velvet, his fingers tapping the armrest once, a soft, rhythmic beat, before he finally spoke.
"Very good."
His tone was calm but resonated with an unmistakable authority, a quiet command. "I can help you rescue your brother—and I can help you avenge your father. But in return, I want the Anastasia family to serve under me. Unconditionally."
Anastasia's brows furrowed deeply, her green eyes narrowing, a subtle flash of indignation in their depths.
"Your condition is a bit too much, don't you think?" she said quietly, yet firmly, her voice holding an edge of steel. "You're asking us to become slaves."
"Listen to me first."
Elric raised a hand, a casual gesture that nonetheless cut her off mid-sentence. His voice was utterly emotionless, flat and cold.
"You've misunderstood. I'm not here to negotiate."
His blue eyes suddenly turned sharp, cold as ice, his tone gaining undeniable weight, an imperious command.
"If your answer is no, you may leave. I won't stop you. But understand, you're not the only option I have. There are countless people out there who'd gladly become my dogs for a scrap of power, for a mere fraction of what I offer."
His words stung, precise and cutting. But they were also frighteningly logical, delivered with an undeniable, chilling truth.
"Sokovia," he continued, his gaze distant, as if seeing beyond the ruined walls, "has seen everything. Civil war. Bombing by the U.S. military. Hydra's horrific experiments. And now, it's nothing more than an ruin, a pawn in a global game."
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his golden hair glinting in the morning light.
"But destruction brings opportunity. I have resources. I have technology's you can't even imagine. I can build something here—something powerful. But to do that, I need a local foundation. I need someone who knows this place, who understands its people. Someone who can manage it."
Anastasia listened silently, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was calculating, assessing, weighing every word.
Finally, she spoke, her voice measured. "What exactly is your goal?"
"You don't need to know," Elric replied, his tone once again cold and distant, a wall of unyielding secrecy. "Just follow my orders. Do well, and who knows—maybe I'll give you this entire Earth to rule. Or even the universe."
Anastasia let out a quiet breath, a faint ripple of amusement passing through her. Then, slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curved on her lips.
Of course, she didn't believe such grand, fantastical promises. The notion of ruling the universe was absurd. But it didn't matter.
Right now, he was her best chance. The only one who could truly help her.
Her expression shifted, becoming serious, calm, every trace of vulnerability gone.
"I have one condition that I hope you can agree to."
Elric tilted his head slightly, a subtle gesture of intrigue. "Oh? What is it? If I can do it, I'll consider."
"Of course you can."
Anastasia suddenly smiled again, this time with a captivating charm and a sharp, calculating intent gleaming in her green eyes. Her voice was firm, resolute. "Marry me."
Elric blinked, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his blue eyes.
"If you marry me," she continued, sitting straighter, her posture radiating an innate regal confidence, "everything that belongs to the Anastasia family will be yours." Her voice was unwavering, clear as a bell. "Power, influence, land, contacts. All of it."
Her offer wasn't romantic in the slightest—it was a cold, calculated transaction. A strategic alliance.
She had no real leverage left. Nothing of tangible value to offer but herself, her family's ancient name, and the significant weight it still carried within Sokovia's hidden power structures.
And if she had to serve someone… she would choose the strongest. The most powerful.
Her father used to say: Selling your soul to the devil isn't shameful. What's shameful is doing it for a cheap price.
Elric might be young, barely out of his teens, but he possessed strength beyond comprehension. The way he casually decimated enemies without a sound… the sudden, impossible portal… the calm, unshakeable aura of absolute power that surrounded him. All of it screamed danger—and dominance.
Elric's face did not change. Not a flicker of surprise, amusement, or discomfort.
He looked her straight in the eyes, his blue gaze piercing, and said flatly, without a hint of emotion, "Show me your value first."