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"Try to come back alive."
Cornelia's voice wouldn't leave him, even as her figure faded from view.
Ashen had to wonder how much carnage awaited them for her to still consider them 'clean'...
The trainees didn't even get the chance to chew on Cornelia's words before the venue doors creaked open, and in came a dozen figures in all shapes and sizes.
Recruiters.
Ashen watched as some of them ascended the podium, calling for those affiliated with their factions like butchers beckoning cattle.
The moment he saw their practiced tones and sharp eyes, he knew exactly who they were.
Braun was the first to be called from their group. His recruiter was a slim, severe-looking man dressed in a crisp suit. His lips were drawn tight, his brow carved into a permanent scowl. He looked like the type of man who didn't believe in small talk, only contracts and consequences.
Then, not long after, came a woman dressed like sin disguised as scripture.
She wore a high-necked church dress, the kind stitched to whisper piety with every thread, clung to her like a second skin.
She called for those aligned with her faction: The Chapel of the Everlasting Covenant.
Seraphine followed, giving a quick hug, and then disappeared with a cluster of other women.
But Ashen's gaze lingered.
It wasn't just the faction name or the call.
It was the way her dress lied.
'They seem to be from a religious faction from the name… so why is she dressed like that…?'
The lace collar sat stiff as a sermon, but it couldn't quite hide the sharp line of her jaw, clenched like a fist around an unspoken sin.
The sleeves gripped her wrists with tight rows of buttons, yet when she moved, the fabric strained, as though the righteous cut of cloth could barely contain the restless tension beneath.
Her skirt fell to mid-calf, demure as a hymn, yet the sway of dark wool hinted at something prowling beneath all that feigned repentance.
Even her wide-brimmed hat, shadowing her eyes, didn't speak of modesty.
But before Ashen could sink too deep into thought, a soft voice snapped him back.
"Mr. Hart. Long time no see."
His head turned sharply.
"... Lucia." His voice dripped with barely restrained venom.
There she stood, a woman tailored in the cold professionalism of a corporate snake.
A secretary's suit, gloves pristine, posture perfect, and a smile so polished it might as well have been printed on by company machinery.
"You look well," she said, tilting her head slightly. "This place suits you."
"Oh, absolutely," Ashen drawled, rolling his shoulders. "Nothing like a couple near-death experiences to really bring out a man's complexion."
Lucia's smile didn't even twitch.
"I'm glad you agree. Which is why I'm here to discuss your re-enlistment—"
"Re-enslavement, you mean."
"Semantics." She waved a gloved hand like she was brushing dust off marble.
Sliding into the seat across from him, she continued without missing a beat. "The terms are flexible. For instance... I could ensure your family lives far better than they do now. A new home. Better jobs. Security. Whatever they need, I can provide."
Ashen stared at her, unmoved.
She paused. Studied him.
"...I can even authorize visits to Esperra. Not just once. Multiple times, provided you agree to certain conditions."
Now that caught him.
Ashen tilted his head slightly, suspicion curling like smoke behind his eyes.
'Why so docile?'
Six months ago, this woman was a viper; cold, coiling, and utterly uncaring of his fate, all while keeping a charming smile. She hadn't flinched when tricking him into that contract, nor had she bothered asking for permission.
But now…
Now she sounded a breath shy of pleading.
This wasn't the Lucia he'd cursed in his thoughts. This wasn't the version of her he'd rehearsed confrontations against a hundred times in his head.
It didn't fit.
"Still not enough?" Lucia let out a quiet sigh, just loud enough to be heard.
"...I can answer some of the questions you've been clawing for answers to," she offered. "Things no one else will tell you, no matter which faction you crawl to."
Her smile curved. Eyes knowing, like Poison-laced sugar.
"I'm sure you've gathered a few, considering where you're headed after this."
Ashen leaned back slightly, his gaze sharpening.
"Well then." His voice turned low.
"If you're so eager to talk... start here."
He gave her a thin smile.
"Tell me why you're acting so out of character. What am I missing?"
Lucia's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she caught herself, masking the ripple of agitation beneath her calm exterior.
She stared at him for a few seconds, her thoughts unreadable. Then, with a slow nod, she exhaled.
"If that's what you want to know… then I'll tell you."
She paused, perhaps to gather her thoughts, or perhaps to weigh what needed to be said.
"Actually, this is thanks to you, Mr. Hart." Her tone was even, but there was a faint sharpness beneath it.
"I don't know what you did exactly, but my superiors gave me direct orders not to lose your contract. And a word from above isn't a suggestion, it's a command. Failure isn't an option. Not unless I want my credibility to rot."
Ashen's thoughts drifted… back to that bloody day in the forest, where he and his battered companions barely escaped with their lives after slaying that Gorefiend.
His sleeping twin had warned him. Power draws eyes. Power invites monsters.
He just hadn't expected this particular monster to show up in a suit and heels.
Still, outwardly, he only raised an eyebrow, lips twisting into a cold, mocking grin.
"...How sincere. Did they also order you to start telling the truth?" His words dripped with scorn. "Because I'm feeling awfully tempted to join your faction, just to thank them personally for the entertainment."
Lucia didn't flinch.
"This is my own initiative," she replied coolly. "Consider it an apology for my oversight."
Ashen's expression didn't change. He simply shrugged.
"Apology not accepted. No matter how honest you are now… it doesn't change the fact that you tricked me when I was at my lowest."
For a moment, she simply looked at him, looked through him, like a jeweler examining a flawed gemstone.
Lapis lazuli met molten gold. Neither looked away.
Then, softly, almost too gently, she spoke.
"It seems there's a misunderstanding."
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