Clara's PoV:
I knocked twice on the door.
"Get in," came a voice, light and enthusiastic.
I opened the door and pushed the tea cart inside.
Lord Hugo sat lazily in the chair before his desk, a quill held horizontally between his teeth, his hands occupied with a bundle of papers his eyes were scanning.
The faint breeze drifting through the open window stirred his blonde hair with a gentle grace, each strand catching the morning light. The soft glow of dawn spilled across the room, and in it, his crimson eyes gleamed with a vibrance that seemed almost unreal.
When he turned toward me, his face lit up.
For a brief, foolish moment, I thought he was happy to see me. But his gaze was not on me. It lingered solely on the tea set I had brought.
Tsk.
I masked the faint disappointment and bowed deeply.
"Good morning, young master," I greeted him.
He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the cart. "Good morning to you too."
I stepped forward, setting a cup on the table. My hands moved with practiced ease as I poured the steaming tea. Two cubes of sugar, stirred until they vanished into the amber liquid. Two cloves, pressed and powdered between my fingers before being sprinkled in. A careful half-spoon of Elvian honey, blended in until the fragrance deepened.
Finally, I lifted another porcelain cup and poured the perfected tea into it. I set the cup on its matching saucer and slid it toward him.
His expression suggested he might leap from his chair with eagerness at any moment.
As soon as he reached for it, I placed the plate of biscuits and snacks I had prepared in the kitchen beside him, mindful not to disturb the neat stack of papers at his side.
Another bow. My hands returned to the handle of the tea cart, ready to wheel it back out, as routine demanded.
But then—
"Ahh… Clara."
His voice stopped me.
***
The tea was delicious. Finally. Two days of lukewarm disappointment and I'd started to question if life was even worth living without Clara's blend.
Honestly, I should just make her teach the other maids what "tea" actually means. Maybe even hold classes. "Tea for Dummies — taught by Clara." Yeah, that has a nice ring.
"Ahh." I almost forgot.
"Clara," I called out just as she was gliding toward the door.
She stopped mid-step, turned, and bowed slightly. "Yes, young master?" Her voice was perfectly polite, almost mechanical, like she had switched to default maid mode.
I waved it off, stuffed a bunch of boring parchment — things about export taxes, trade routes, and Elvian kingdom tariffs on enchanted lumber — into the drawer, and reached for the coat hanging on the wall.
My hand slid into the inner pocket. Cold metal met my fingers. I pulled it out.
The orb.
Its circular edges pulsed faintly, golden light seeping out like it had a heartbeat of its own. It rested in my palm, warm and weighty, the kind of presence that didn't need an introduction.
I stretched my arm out. "Clara, this is for you."
Her brows knitted ever so slightly. Confusion flickered across her face, but she still stepped forward and accepted it with both hands, careful as if I'd just handed her the crown jewels.
Well.. this orb probably costs more than a 100 crown jewels.
"That," I said, leaning back casually, "is the Savant's Orb. An S-rank artifact. Picked it up from the Sanctum."
Her eyes widened. I knew that look — half disbelief, half recognition. She'd definitely read about it somewhere, but her brain was probably fighting itself right now. No way… maybe… but if it is… could it really…
I decided to put her out of her misery. "It's one of those relics God Caelumis dropped into this world to make up for the fact that humans got the short end of the stick in cultivation."
Her mouth opened partially, hands trembled slightly.. seems like the debate in her mind is almost over.
"In short, it grants an innate skill to someone who never had one."
That did it.
Her entire body froze.
For a second, she just stood there, clutching the orb like it might vanish if she blinked. I opened my mouth again, "There's actually a precise technique to use it—"
And then something slammed into me.
The orb slipped from her hands, clinking onto the floor, forgotten.
Her arms were around me before I even processed what happened. Tight. Too tight. Her head pressed against me like she was trying to anchor herself to reality.
I just stood there, one arm awkwardly holding her weight, the other hovering in the air like it wasn't sure where it belonged.
…Well, this was new... and soft?
***
"Checkmate. I win!"
Everard's booming voice echoed through the chamber as he leaned back, a wide grin splitting across his face.
"Well played, my lord. You found a very good tactic," Sebastian said, tone even as always.
"Haha! Learn a thing or two from me, Sebastian." Everard's chest swelled with pride, clearly high on his long-awaited victory.
Sebastian's calm voice cut through the duke's gloating. "Well, my lord, you did ask me to lose this match after your five consecutive defeats."
"Haa? What's that? A loser's tantrum?" Everard shot back, waving off the remark with a smirk.
"Of course, my lord. It is your victory." Sebastian bowed slightly, his expression perfectly neutral. "Though, if I may… perhaps you should stop flexing your insignia quite so much. At this rate, the coat may tear apart."
Everard scoffed, but before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in. Master, what do we owe the pleasure?" Everard called, turning his gaze toward the entrance.
The heavy door creaked open, and an old elf glided in. She seated herself across from Everard, her eyes narrowing with a mocking smile.
"Seems like you have plenty of free time for a duke."
Everard leaned forward, feigning offense. "What do you mean? I just finished some work."
The elf smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "Work? Please. Your wife is managing the castle's affairs, your son is handling new deals. Sometimes I truly wish I were you." A sigh escaped her, as though recalling the endless stack of papers waiting at her own desk.
Everard smirked back. "Jealous?"
"Of your fooling around? Not in a million years."
Everard chuckled and waved the jab away. "Well then, how is the accommodation here? I didn't have the time to ask yesterday, since you were with Hugo until midnight."
At that, the old elf's lips curved into a smile. "Oh? So you were watching your son from the shadows? What a responsible father."
"I slept after midnight," Everard countered casually.
Sebastian's polite voice interjected like a knife sliding between ribs. "I did not know pacing tensely in the corridor, glaring at the young master's door, and nearly barging in at the slightest fluctuation in his mana qualified as sleeping. Especially when I had to stop you each time, my lord."
Creak.
The insignia strained again as Everard pulled it.
"....I warned you it would tear off if you flexed too much," Sebastian muttered under his breath.
"I'm cutting your salary in half this month," Everard declared, eyes narrowing.
"With respect, my lord, I was tasked with managing the staff's salaries myself. Who exactly will you instruct to enforce that?" Sebastian replied with his usual calm.
Everard clicked his tongue in irritation. "Tsk."
The old elf burst into laughter, the sound light and mocking.
"Whatever," Everard grumbled, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him.
Then the elf's expression shifted, her voice low and weighty. "Well, I am here to discuss your son. The very reason we were awake all night."
Everard's grin vanished. His crimson eyes sharpened, locking with hers like blades crossing in silence.
Sebastian, reading the air, straightened from his bow and positioned himself at Everard's back, his presence dark and steady like a looming shadow.
The playful atmosphere was gone and the room grew colder.