CHAPTER 136: THE ARROGANT YOUNG MASTER

Chapter 134: The Arrogant Young Master

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in a pale golden hue. Sylvie stirred first. Her body felt unusually light, the lingering aches of her old restless nights gone. For the first time in what felt like ages, she woke not to duty, nor fear, but to comfort.

Her fingers twitched, and only then did she realize she was clinging to something warm. No—someone. She lifted her head slightly. Ethan’s broad chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, his steady heartbeat echoing in her ears. She glanced upward and froze, a blush spreading across her cheeks. His sleeping face was calm and unguarded.

On his other side, Lirael lay curled against him like a cat, her delicate frame snug within his embrace. Her lips curved faintly, and she looked so utterly at peace that Sylvie’s own chest tightened.

So this is why I slept so well... it’s him...

Her mind drifted, staring too long, lost in the sensation of warmth and safety she had almost forgotten existed. That was when Lirael’s lashes fluttered open. The older girl caught sight of Sylvie’s expression and smirked internally.

Bet she’s realizing it too... this bastard may be insufferable, but at least he’s good at something.

Ethan stirred next, stretching lightly before his eyes opened. Without hesitation, he tilted his head and kissed Lirael deeply, their lips moving in unspoken familiarity. Sylvie blinked rapidly, heat rising in her chest. When Ethan’s gaze shifted to her, she almost looked away—but his eyes held her.

"You want it too?" his gaze seemed to say.

And before she could retreat, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Sylvie stiffened, heart racing, then hesitantly pressed back, clumsy but sincere. When he pulled away, a low chuckle left him.

Take your time, his voice echoed directly in her head.

Sylvie gasped, eyes widening. "M-mas—!"

"That’s just him," Lirael said lazily, clearly amused.

Ethan’s smug smile needed no further explanation.

---

After washing up—Lirael dragging the flustered Sylvie to the washroom while Ethan readied himself—they regrouped for breakfast. The inn’s bread was warm, the butter rich, and the herbal tea soothing.

Today’s purpose was clear: Sylvie needed her weapon.

Ethan walked in his usual noble attire—tailored dark coat reinforced with light armor plates that didn’t hinder his movement. Lirael wore her sharp maid’s uniform, polished and crisp, blade resting at her hip.

And Sylvie...

The cleric’s dress suited her more than she dared admit. A flowing white garment with soft sleeves and a skirt that reached her calves, trimmed with golden linings that shimmered faintly in the morning sun. A modest sash tied neatly at her waist, with a subtle embroidered crest stitched near the chest. It radiated both purity and grace, though Sylvie tugged at the fabric nervously.

She had wanted to match Lirael in a maid dress, but after Ethan explained the significance of Lirael’s disguise, she finally relented.

"Fine," she’d said, cheeks puffed out, "but when we’re not fighting, I will wear a maid uniform."

Ethan only smiled knowingly.

---

At the market, the weapon stalls were already alive with haggling voices and clinking metal. Ethan led them with measured steps, his presence alone enough to part through the morning bustle. Eventually, he stopped at a craftsman’s stall lined with staves.

After testing the balance and examining the enchantments, one caught his eye. He handed it to Sylvie.

It was a polished wooden and metal staff, topped with a faintly glowing crystal cradled in engraved silver fittings. Not overly ornate, but refined. A weapon meant for a growing mage, not a trophy.

[Staff of the Soothing Current]

Rank: Rare

Effect: Reduces mana cost of spells by 20%

Effect: Mana regeneration speed increased by 10%

The merchant’s price: 9 gold coins.

Sylvie nearly dropped the staff when she heard it. "N-nine gold!? That’s...! That’s more than enough to feed a family for months!"

Ethan pressed the coins into the merchant’s hand without flinching. "I can’t have my girls undergeared."

Sylvie’s lips parted, words failing her. The weight of his casual statement sank deep into her chest.

Lirael, hiding a grin, muttered under her breath, "He really knows how to make a girl fall, doesn’t he?"

---

As they left the stall, Sylvie clutching her new staff with awe and disbelief, a sharp voice cut through the market’s din.

"You there!"

The voice was sharp, entitled, and carried just enough arrogance to make heads turn.

Ethan, Lirael, and Sylvie turned.

A young man stepped forward, his stride unhurried, chin tilted as though the very ground should feel honored to bear his steps. His clothes screamed wealth—finely tailored silk dyed a deep emerald, gold-trimmed cloak clasped with an ornate brooch, polished boots unscuffed by real travel. Around him lingered four or five rugged adventurer-types, scarred men with the hard eyes of mercenaries, hands casually resting on blades and axes.

The noble’s smirk widened when his gaze fell upon Ethan.

"You. Whoever you are," the man said, voice dripping condescension. "Give me your maid and that cleric. Both are your slaves, aren’t they? Rejoice—this young master of House Ventross is interested in them."

The market stilled. People nearby paused, sensing the storm brewing, some edging back while pretending to mind their business.

Kent Ventross.

He was the oldest son of Marquis Ventross of the Iridale Kingdom, sent here under the guise of "earning merit" and networking with other nobles who had flocked to this city due to rumors of the crack. In truth, everyone knew Kent’s reputation. Spoiled under his father’s protection, he had grown into a man who believed himself untouchable. Arrogant, reckless, and cruel, he trailed behind him a history of ruined lives—especially women’s.

Today, as he strolled the city with his guards, his eyes had landed on Ethan’s group.

The collars around the girls’ necks were not ordinary—they were high-grade restraint collars, unmistakably expensive. To Kent, that only confirmed his assumption: this was some middling merchant’s son or a low-tier noble brat, flaunting wealth but lacking proper protection.

And the girls... both radiated beauty and refinement beyond commoners. Top-quality. His blood heated at the thought of owning them, using them.

Kent waved a gloved hand, as though granting charity. "I’ll give you one hundred gold coins. A fair price, far above what their actual worth is. Consider it a fortune for a nobody like you."

At his words, Sylvie’s stomach sank. Her fingers tightened desperately around her new staff, fear flickering in her eyes. Memories of chains, cold nights, and men who saw her as nothing but property surged back. What if... what if Master takes the gold?

She trembled. Her throat was dry, her pulse unsteady.

But before panic could consume her, a gentle warmth closed over her hand.

Lirael.

The older girl stepped closer, squeezing Sylvie’s trembling fingers, her calm smile steady as steel. "Don’t worry," she whispered, her eyes never leaving Kent. "He’s not the kind of man who’d sell us for something so petty."

Sylvie blinked, her chest loosening just slightly at the certainty in Lirael’s voice.

Ethan, meanwhile, hadn’t spoken a word. He simply regarded Kent with a faintly amused expression, as though measuring whether the loud insect before him was worth acknowledging.

Kent mistook the silence for hesitation. His smirk turned to a sneer, and he jingled the pouch of gold his guard produced. "Come now, don’t dawdle. This is more money than you’ll ever see in your life. Hand them over and step aside."

His guards chuckled darkly, their gazes already crawling over Lirael’s curves and Sylvie’s trembling form.

The air thickened.

And then Ethan’s lips curved—just slightly.

----

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