Anastasia climbed quickly to the second floor, her movements smooth and precise from years of elite training. When her boots finally hit the splintered floorboards, she immediately scanned her surroundings.
And stopped dead.
Right in the middle of all the debris and broken wood sat a pristine velvet sofa. Not a speck of dust on it. Perfect condition. It looked like someone had copy-pasted a luxury furniture ad straight into a war zone.
And Elric was already sitting on it, looking completely comfortable.
He wasn't especially tall—maybe 175 cm—but he had this presence. His face looked young, somewhere between fifteen and eighteen, but his ocean-blue eyes seemed... older. Way older. He wore a simple white t-shirt and black pants, but what really stood out was the intricate black tattoo running from his right arm all the way up to the right side of his face. It pulsed faintly, like it was alive.
"Please, have a seat, Miss Anastasia."
She spun around at his voice—and froze again. Another identical velvet sofa had appeared directly behind her. It hadn't been there a second ago. She was sure of it.
Okay, that's a power move if I've ever seen one.
The message was clear: the gap between them was massive.
Between the two sofas, a small elegant table had appeared too. On it sat a clean white towel and a sealed bottle of water.
Anastasia, covered in grime and dust, her tactical vest in tatters, looked more like a refugee than nobility. But underneath all that dirt, Elric could still see it—that innate dignity, that noble bearing sharpened by hardship. And yeah, she was undeniably beautiful, even in this state.
Swallowing her confusion and fear, she nodded politely. "Thank you."
She grabbed the towel, opened the water bottle, and dampened it. Then she started cleaning herself, wiping away layers of dirt with practiced, elegant motions. As the grime came off, her sharp features emerged more clearly.
Elric watched silently, assessing.
Elistia Anastasia was striking—a Eurasian mix with Slavic and East Asian genetics. Fair skin, almost translucent. Sharp cheekbones. A face that balanced strength and softness perfectly. Elegant eyebrows and captivating green eyes that burned with fierce intelligence. Her single ponytail swayed as she moved, framing her face with worn but undeniable dignity.
Her gaze was stern, unwavering. Someone who'd suffered immense loss but survived unbroken.
Gulp—gulp—
After cleaning her face, Anastasia took a few long sips of water. Then she placed the bottle down, straightened up, and gave a small, formal bow.
"Mr. Elric," she began, her voice clear and steady. "Thank you for saving my life. If you have any requests, I'll do my best to fulfil them."
Elric leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest once before speaking.
"Very good."
His tone was calm but carried undeniable authority. "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, her green eyes narrowing.
"Your condition is a bit too much, don't you think?" she said quietly but firmly. "You're asking us to become slaves."
"Listen to me first."
Elric raised a hand, cutting her off. His voice went completely flat.
"You've misunderstood. I'm not here to negotiate."
His blue eyes turned sharp, cold as ice.
"If your answer is no, you can 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 fraction of what I'm offering."
The words stung. But they were also terrifyingly logical.
"Sokovia," he continued, his gaze distant, "has seen everything. Civil war. US bombing. Hydra's experiments. And now? It's nothing more than a ruin, a pawn in a global game."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"But destruction brings opportunity. I have resources. Technology you can't even imagine. I can build something here—something powerful. But I need a local foundation. Someone who knows this place, who understands its people. Someone who can manage it."
Anastasia listened silently, her heart pounding. She was calculating, weighing every word.
"What exactly is your goal?" she finally asked.
"You don't need to know," Elric replied coldly. "Just follow my orders. Do well, and who knows—maybe I'll give you this entire Earth to rule."
Anastasia let out a quiet breath. A faint smile touched her lips.
Yeah, right. Rule the Earth. Sure.
She didn't believe those grand promises for a second. But it didn't matter.
Right now, he was her best chance. Her only chance.
Her expression became serious, calm. Every trace of vulnerability vanished.
"I have one condition I hope you can agree to."
Elric tilted his head slightly. "Oh? What is it? If I can do it, I'll consider."
"Of course you can."
Anastasia suddenly smiled, this time with sharp, calculating charm gleaming in her green eyes.
"Marry me."
Elric blinked.
"If you marry me," she continued, sitting straighter with innate regal confidence, "everything that belongs to the Anastasia family will be yours. Power, influence, land, contacts. All of it."
This wasn't romantic. It was a cold, calculated transaction. A strategic alliance.
She had no real leverage left. Nothing to offer but herself, her family's ancient name, and the significant weight it still carried in Sokovia's hidden power structures.
And if she had to serve someone... she'd choose the strongest.
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 had strength beyond comprehension. The way he casually massacred enemies without a sound... the impossible portal... that calm, unshakeable aura of absolute power. All of it screamed danger—and dominance.
Elric's face didn't change. Not even a flicker.
He looked her straight in the eyes, his blue gaze piercing, and said flatly, without a hint of emotion:
"Show me your value first."
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