The Duke’s eyes flicked toward Velra’s
shackles, then to the magic collar that hummed with golden runes.
That woman—
even now, even bleeding and sealed—
radiated power enough to warp the air if she tried.
Just one spell of hers could tear down the manor.
One misstep could cost hundreds of lives.
’She’s useful.
But she’s also a disaster waiting to happen.’
Risk and reward.
Death and opportunity.
A razor’s edge.
As a lord, as a protector of thousands, hesitation was unavoidable.
Trusting a demon—
especially one of noble rank—
was folly bordering on madness.
"Not exactly the response you were hoping for, I see," Velra murmured with a trembling exhale.
"Is this all the trust my life can buy?"
The Duke’s reply came instantly.
"Whatever your status in the Evildon Empire might be, what does it matter? Here, you are nothing but a demon."
His tone wasn’t cruel.
Just painfully, sharply honest.
And Velra flinched.
He kept his gaze locked on her, searching for even a hint of deception behind her trembling lashes.
This could still be an elaborate scheme—
a trap layered beneath false submission.
But then—
"This is troubling," she whispered, voice dropping with urgency she could no longer hide.
"If I die, so does Julies. I cannot repay kindness with enmity. Please, show mercy."
...Oh?
The Duke’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.
Her breathing grew ragged.
A sheen of sweat gathered at her temples, slipping between strands of golden hair.
It wasn’t fear of death.
Not exactly.
It was fear of losing him.
Far more potent.
Far more revealing.
The Duke’s gaze sharpened.
’So she values the boy that much...’
He hadn’t expected her attachment—her dependency—to be this profound.
Unexpected leverage.
Unexpected insight.
As he remained silent, letting the moment stretch, Velra finally broke.
She bit her lip hard, head bowing so slowly it looked painful for her pride.
Her hair spilled over her shoulders, a cascade of gold glinting under the lantern light.
A demon noble—
kneeling.
"I swear," she said quietly,
"I will bring something more valuable than the honor tied to my head.
If needed, I will bind it with magic."
"Hm. I’ve heard mages detest such bindings," the Duke mused.
"But you seem remarkably... enthusiastic."
Her proposal wasn’t small.
It wasn’t symbolic.
A contract spell that would permanently cripple her mana if broken—
that was akin to suicide for someone like her.
With such a contract, even the most paranoid human would set aside their doubts.
’And with that...
I could carry out what my ancestors once dreamed.’
Advancing the northern border.
Understanding the true structure of the Drazroth Empire.
Preparing for the threat looming ahead.
The Duke made his decision.
"Very well. Hans!"
"Yes, my lord?" the steward answered, stepping in.
"This demon is willing to seal herself with contract magic of her own accord. How can we possibly refuse? Summon the family wizard!"
The steward bowed and hurried off.
The rest of the exchange proceeded more smoothly than expected—
smooth enough that the Duke felt a satisfaction he rarely allowed himself to show.
Terms were drafted with icy precision:
—No harm to any citizen of Draken territory.
—No harm to the Duke’s bloodline.
—No magic within the estate without explicit permission.
—Absolute obedience to the Duke’s authority.
A suffocating list.
Unfavorable to her in every possible way.
Yet Velra accepted each point.
Not with grace.
Not with dignity.
But with resigned determination.
Her only gain in this negotiation—
her life.
"Then let’s begin the formal contract signing—"
"Wait."
The voice cut cleanly through the room.
Everyone turned.
Velra lifted her chin, crimson eyes steady, unwavering.
"I have... one condition to add."
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Magic thinned.
Breaths stilled.
Even the Duke felt a prickle run down his spine at her sudden resolve.
She didn’t shrink.
She didn’t tremble.
She stood like a noble for the first time since entering the manor.
Clear.
Firm.
Uncompromising.
The Duke’s expression tightened as he watched Velra fidget—actually fidget—as if debating something with herself.
’Is she... having second thoughts now?’
That thought alone was enough to put him on alert.
Contract magic required clear mutual consent.
If she hesitated—
if she withdrew—
if she demanded something impossible—
The entire negotiation could collapse.
And a high-ranking demon with broken pride and nothing left to lose, trapped in the North?
That was a disaster waiting to happen.
So he decided to press.
"...State your condition."
Her shoulders stiffened.
Velra glanced aside, lips pressing together as if she were embarrassed—something he never thought a demon noble could feel.
"Don’t worry," she said quietly. "It won’t conflict with your terms."
She hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Then, barely above a whisper—
"...allow me to do it."
The Duke blinked slowly.
"...What?"
Her crimson eyes darted away again, like a child reluctant to admit wrongdoing.
"I said..."
Her voice dropped another pitch.
"...let me remain in the position of Julies’s exclusive servant."
Silence.
The Duke stared.
Velra’s cheeks—those deathly pale cheeks of a proud vampire—actually tinged with faint pink.
And then—
PFFT.
"Hahahaha....!!!!!"
A laugh burst from the Duke before he could stop himself, his palm slapping the armrest of his chair.
"A servant’s servant!" he managed between laughs.
"That’s a new concept entirely!"
Velra’s head snapped up, face heating with indignation.
"What’s so funny?" she demanded, brows knitting.
"Oh, nothing," the Duke said, wiping a tear from his eye.
"Only that I’ve lived through five wars, three plagues, and one dragon awakening... and yet this—this might be the most absurd request I’ve ever heard."
Velra puffed up, offended pride radiating like a furnace.
"It is not absurd!" she protested.
"In demon society, proximity determines status. If I am to protect him, I must remain close. If humans insist on using the word ’servant,’ then—then I will be the highest-ranked servant!"
The Duke nearly choked.
"H-Highest—?! You do realize servants don’t have hierarchy among themselves, right?"
Velra crossed her arms stubbornly.
"Then we shall create one. I will take the top position."
"No, you will take whatever position we assign," the Duke countered dryly.
"And that role is—at this moment—lowest rank in the entire manor."
Velra winced as if stabbed.
"...That uniform is already humiliation enough," she muttered, glancing down at her maid outfit with a scowl. "Do not push my dignity any further."
"Oh? You have dignity left?" the Duke asked, genuinely curious.
Velra’s jaw dropped.
Her expression contorted—somewhere between outrage and despair.
"I will remember this insult," she hissed.
"I’ll sleep soundly knowing you do," the Duke replied.
She stomped once—
elegantly, of course.
Even her anger was aristocratic.
The Duke exhaled, amusement fading into practicality again.
"But your reasoning stands," he admitted. "If the contract is to hold and you are to keep watch over Julies... you will remain by his side."
Velra brightened immediately—too immediately.
"Then—!"
"—as the lowest maid of the Draken household," the Duke finished.
Velra looked like she had been struck by lightning.
"...This is oppression."
"Welcome to human society," the Duke said.
She glared at him with pure venom.
He simply smiled.
Negotiation successful.
One demon noble, thoroughly humbled.
And for the first time since she arrived, the Duke felt the faintest spark of confidence that this dangerous creature could, in fact, be controlled.