A fortress this massive, yet the silence was deafening.

  No thunder of a thousand marching soldiers, no shouted commands. Only the polite crackle of the fireplace and the soft hum of crystal lights overhead.

  From the shadows of a mahogany pillar, a guard stepped forward.

  The soldier wore gleaming black armor that looked exorbitantly expensive and impeccably clean. He walked casually, his hand not even drifting toward his sword hilt.

  Arka realized why. The guard scanned the two of them—Arka covered in mud and William looking disheveled—and concluded these two lost kids posed absolutely zero threat. More like pizza delivery boys at the wrong address than dangerous infiltrators.

  "What is your business?" he asked flatly, his tone polite but cold.

  Arka was about to open his mouth to fabricate an excuse ("Well, Sir, our bus broke down..."), but William beat him to it.

  And what happened next left Arka gaping.

  The William who had been panicked and hysterical outside the gate vanished instantly.

  His posture straightened perfectly. His chin lifted with natural arrogance. He adjusted his shirt collar with a single decisive movement, then looked the guard straight in the eye. His noble aura spilled over.

  "Ironseat requests an audience with Mistress Cheng," William’s voice was heavy, formal, and commanding. "The Ruler of Black Keep, Marquis Leiyin."

  The guard didn't blink. His face remained stone.

  "Passcode?" he asked briefly.

  The atmosphere tensed. Arka glanced at William, Damn, do we even have a passcode?

  Without a second of hesitation, William answered.

  "Heshawara arrives."

  Silence for a moment.

  The guard’s gaze changed. The dismissiveness in his eyes vanished, replaced by disciplined respect.

  He took a step back, then bowed deeply—a precise military salute.

  "I understand," the guard said, his tone far humbler. "Please enter and wait a moment. We will inform the Mistress of your arrival."

  The guard turned and walked away quickly, leaving the echo of his footsteps on the marble floor.

  Arka stood still, staring at William’s still-straight back.

  He nudged the Blond’s arm while shaking his head. A crooked smile carved onto his face.

  "Whoa..." Arka praised sincerely. "Palace folks really are different."

  Arka patted William’s still-stiff shoulder.

  "I thought you were only good at nagging and playing with swords. Turns out you're smart too, Wil. If I had spoken earlier, we'd probably be dragged to the dungeon by now."

  William exhaled a long breath, shoulders slumping, noble mode deactivated.

  "That's standard protocol, Fool," William hissed softly, though his ears reddened slightly at the praise. "Now shut up and don't touch anything. Items here are worth more than your life."

  As soon as the guard’s back disappeared down the hall, William turned immediately.

  He grabbed the collar of Arka’s dirty suit with a quick movement, pulling Arka’s face close until their noses nearly touched. William’s blue eyes no longer held the noble calm he had just displayed.

  His eyes were panicked. Pure fear.

  "Listen to me closely, Arka," William hissed, voice pressed as low as possible so as not to echo in the large room. "Do. Not. Mess. Around."

  Arka raised both hands in surrender, one eyebrow raised.

  "Hey, relax. I'm not gonna steal this crystal ashtray, swear," Arka replied lightly, though he had glanced at the fancy ashtray on the nearest table.

  "I'm serious, Fool!" William shook Arka’s collar gently. "Mistress Cheng... Marquis Laiyin... she is not a woman you can joke with like you talk to me."

  William released his grip, then looked anxiously toward the double doors at the end of the room. He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing.

  "In the Capital, there are rumors she keeps rattlesnakes under her gown. Some say she bathes in virgin blood to stay young," William whispered fast, cold sweat starting to appear on his temples. "She is... a predator, Arka. She eats stupid men with no manners for breakfast."

  Arka held back a laugh. "Sounds scary. A witch then?"

  "Worse," William cut in sharply. He stared at Arka intently, finger pointing at Arka’s chest.

  "Watch your eyes. Don't stare too long. Don't comment on her appearance. And by the Gods, don't bring out your hillbilly jokes."

  William took a deep breath, his face absolutely serious.

  "One small mistake, and she could have you skinned alive and made into a wall decoration in this hall before I can say 'sorry'. Understand?"

  Arka stared at his new friend. He could see William wasn't dramatizing. This guy was truly terrified of the woman they were about to meet.

  Arka smirked thinly, straightening his crumpled suit collar from William’s grip.

  "Yeah, yeah, Young Master. I'll be a good boy," Arka promised, though inside he was just more curious.

  How terrifying is this Auntie Cheng that the Blond is shaking? he thought. Probably just a fierce lady wearing too much powder.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The sound of slowly dragged footsteps was heard, accompanied by the rustle of heavy, expensive silk—a sound alien in this silent military fortress.

  Arka saw William tense beside him. The Blond’s shoulders rose slightly, posture becoming stiff as if a wire were pulled along his spine.

  Arka turned toward the inner room connecting door. His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to adjust to the "explosion" of color that had just stormed into the monochromatic room.

  That was her. Mistress Cheng Leiyin.

  In Arka’s mind, he imagined a muscular old woman in iron armor or perhaps a witch in black robes. However, the reality before him made Arka’s jaw nearly drop.

  The old woman entered the Great Hall not like a walking human, but like a walking monument moved by iron will.

  Her appearance was the absolute antithesis of Black Keep. If this castle was pitch-black death and cold, then Cheng Leiyin was explosive artificial life.

  Arka scanned the figure from top to bottom with disbelief.

  Her head was burdened by a massive, intricate bun—black hair clearly dyed jet black, pierced with a dozen gold and jade pins that tinkled softly every time her neck moved.

  That head must be so heavy, Arka thought, horrified.

  But it was her face that made Arka swallow.

  The face was a mask. Thick white powder coated her wrinkled skin until not a single pore seemed to breathe. The face was deathly pale, contrasting with lips painted a small blood-red in the center. The makeup was supposed to cover her advanced age, but to Arka’s sharp eyes, the layers of putty only emphasized the fragility beneath.

  Like a cracked porcelain doll forcibly glued back together. Terrifying, yet mesmerizing.

  And her attire... Arka almost squinted from the glare.

  The old body was wrapped in layers of traditional clothing. Arka counted at least five layers of thick silk. The colors hurt the eyes: crimson red, canary yellow, and emerald green, decorated with gold thread embroidery of blooming giant peonies.

  Inside a castle dominated by stone, ash, and black colors, Cheng Leiyin looked like a mad flower garden challenging the darkness.

  Arka, with his fighter instinct, immediately realized something.

  Behind the pile of magnificent fabric, hid a frail and withered body. Her spine might be bent by osteoporosis. Her legs might tremble supporting her own weight.

  That fabric... Arka analyzed. That's not just clothes. That's armor.

  The thick, stiff clothing functioned like an exoskeleton. The expensive fabrics supported her body, forcing her to stand upright, radiating authority that intimidated anyone daring to underestimate her fragility.

  She wasn't just an old grandmother. She was Matriarch Leiyin.

  Beside him, Arka felt movement.

  William had discarded the remnants of his panic. With movements trained over a lifetime in the palace, he stepped forward. His feet closed together with a polite, precise tap.

  William cupped both hands in front of his chest, then bowed deep—a salute so perfect the angle seemed measured with a protractor.

  Seeing that, Arka hurriedly imitated. He brought his feet together (wobbling slightly due to oversized boots) and bowed, trying not to look like someone with back pain.

  "My respects, Mistress Cheng," William’s voice sounded low, courteous, echoing in the warm room.

  Arka stayed silent, choosing to look down and not meet the "porcelain doll's" eyes, remembering William’s warning earlier: One mistake, and you're a wall decoration.

  "Young Ironseat," Mistress Cheng’s voice sounded like fine sandpaper rubbing together.

  "You arrive at the right time for dinner. Come."

  Without waiting for an answer, the old woman turned. Her silk fabrics rustled loudly, swish... swish..., as she led the way to the next room. William had no choice but to follow the slow yet sure steps of the matriarch. Arka trailed behind, feeling like an uninvited stepchild but too hungry to care.

  They entered the main dining hall of Black Keep.

  Arka’s eyes widened slightly.

  Insane... he thought.

  In the center of the room lit by hundreds of aromatherapy candles, stood a long table.

  Arka’s visual calculation estimated the length at least six meters. Made of gleaming black ebony, the table looked more like a pioneer airstrip than a dining place.

  And on the surface of that black table, an absurd feast was laid out.

  Food in abundance.

  In the center, a whole roast suckling pig with greasy golden-brown skin took center stage, a bright red apple stuffed in its mouth. Around it, silver platters piled high with slices of smoked venison, mounds of roast pheasant, and river fish cooked in thick orange sauce.

  Not just meat. There were trays of fresh fruits—purple grapes, burst pomegranates, and peaches.

  Arka narrowed his eyes, logistical instinct working. Peaches? In this frozen North?

  That commodity was impossible to grow here. Those fruits must have been imported at exorbitant cost from the warm South, passing through blizzards just to reach this table.

  Crystal wine bottles lined up like soldiers, reflecting candle light. Bread still steaming hot sat in gold woven baskets.

  This isn't dinner, Arka thought cynically, stomach churning between hunger and disgust. This is a logistical exhibition.

  Ironically, at a table that long and crowded, there were only two chairs.

  One at the north end, one at the south end. Six meters separated them, creating a cold chasm of formality. Clearly, there was no chair for a "shabby bodyguard" like Arka.

  Mistress Cheng, assisted by her servant, sat slowly at the far end chair. Her movements were graceful, silk skirt blooming to cover the chair legs.

  William walked toward the chair at the other end, separated by an ocean of food from the Hostess.

  William’s step paused for a moment in front of the chair.

  Arka, standing alert a few steps behind William, sharpened his gaze too.

  It was a wooden chair with a high back upholstered in red velvet and dragon carvings on the armrests. Luxurious. Inviting.

  However, when Arka saw William staring at the seat, he felt it too. His sensitive void instinct caught a subtle danger signal.

  A strange shiver crawled up Arka’s spine. That chair... was not merely an inanimate object.

  The tense atmosphere in the room was broken not by the clink of a fork, but by the shift of Mistress Cheng’s gaze.

  The old woman’s eyes leaped over the mountain of roast pig in the center, past William, and landed right on Arka standing awkwardly.

  Arka felt goosebumps rise. That wasn't the look of a welcoming host. It was the look of a python just finding a small mouse lost in its cage.

  She stared at Arka like game. Assessing his meat, weighing his life.

  "And this dusty little creature?" Mistress Cheng asked.

  Her voice was no longer smooth like sandpaper, but sharp like glass shards. She pointed at Arka with an index finger boasting a long nail protected by a sharp gold guard.

  "Is this your servant? Or a pet you forgot to cage?"

  William was about to open his mouth, perhaps wanting to save the situation with diplomatic language, but Arka’s mouth moved faster than his brain.

  "Arka," he answered directly.

  He straightened his body, slightly offended being called a pet.

  "Arka Sagara... of House Sagara."

  Silence.

  One second. Two seconds.

  The name "Sagara" hung in the air, heavy and dangerous.

  Arka saw a drastic change on Mistress Cheng’s face.

  The grand and terrifying porcelain mask collapsed instantly. Her pale white face turned into something... hideous. Her small red lips curved downward, eyes widening until red veins showed, nose wrinkling in disgust.

  Her face became ugly.

  Not physically ugly, but ugly because pure hatred rotted from within and ruined her expression. Her artificial beauty evaporated, replaced by the deep grudge of a witch.

  "Sagara..." she hissed.

  And then, the explosion happened.

  "RAJENDRA?!" she screamed suddenly. Her voice shrieked high, making candle flames in the room flicker in fear.

  "You are the grandson of Rajendra Sagara?! That cursed Old Fossil?!"

  Arka took a step back, shocked. He didn't expect his Grandfather’s name—whom he knew as an old hermit fond of drinking tea and ordering stance training—could trigger a nuclear reaction like this.

  Mistress Cheng stood from her chair, slamming the ebony table hard until silver plates rattled.

  "How dare his dirty blood enter my castle!" she cursed. Breath hunting.

  "Your grandfather... is the biggest bastard on the entire continent! A master deceiver with a venomous sweet mouth!"

  The old woman pointed at Arka’s face from afar, as if seeing Rajendra’s shadow there.

  "He promised the moon and stars! He talked of destiny, of eternal love under peach trees! Tch! Trash!" Cheng spat a little.

  "Cheap love tricks! He seduced me when he needed help, then what?! Once he got what he wanted, he went to meditate on that damn mountain and left me rotting in this cold North alone!"

  Arka gaped.

  "He said he'd return when the first snow fell! How many times has snow fallen since then?! Fifty years, Boy! FIFTY YEARS!"

  Mistress Cheng’s scream echoed in the ceiling of Black Keep.

  Arka swallowed, glancing at William who was now massaging his forehead in despair.

  Oh boy, Arka thought. Turns out my biggest enemy here isn't the Iron Mountain monster... but Grandpa's ex who can't move on.