Chapter Ten: Baptism of Ice
Edward looked at the dark river waters reflecting the harsh cold of the London night, then turned to Tula, saying in a calm tone: "You know that I cannot swim, Tula."
Tula replied with extreme coldness, his eyes carrying no trace of pity: "I will throw you a rope, Master... and I will pull you from the river when you are finished."
Edward did not wait for further discussion. He took off his luxurious coat and threw it on the ground, and then, in a sudden move that even Tula did not expect, he leaped into the heart of the river. His body hit the icy water, which felt like thousands of needles piercing his skin, and the cold stole the breath from his chest.
After moments of struggling against the current, Tula threw the end of the rope. Edward grabbed it with a trembling hand and an eye gleaming with determination despite the shivering. He cried out in a voice broken by the cold: "Come on... pull me up now!"
Tula stood on the bank, looking down at his master for seconds that felt like an eternity, with extreme coldness as if testing the limits of his endurance. After a long silence, he began to pull him up slowly and calmly.
Upon reaching the bank, Edward staggered, feeling as though his limbs had frozen. He rushed into the mansion while Tula went silently to prepare the fireplace and dinner. Edward changed his wet clothes and sat before the roaring fire, trying to reclaim the warmth of his body and soul.
Tula emerged from the kitchen, and in his usual calm tone, as if nothing had happened, he said: "I have prepared the dinner table, Master... please, come."
Edward rose slowly, feeling a new strength flowing through his veins—not a magical strength, but the strength of a man who had faced death and the cold and emerged victorious. He sat at the table, and this time, his gaze toward his demonic servant was much sharp