Aslan lifted his head and fixed his gaze on the girl standing calmly before him, seemingly unfazed by the chaos still raging around the castle. At first, he thought her poise was born of extraordinary courage—almost inhuman. But then he caught the subtle, unsettling flicker in her eyes.
Most of the fairies Aslan had encountered were straightforward beings. While not all were pure of heart, their moods were simple, their intentions mostly benign toward humans. Compared to them, the darkness in this girl's gaze was impossible to hide.
This was not the charm of a yandere—whose obsession could be oddly alluring—but something far more disturbing. A morbidity that repelled rather than attracted. It whispered: Stay away. It would be best if we never cross paths again.
Though she looked dignified and her features were undeniably beautiful, the girl's soul was corrupted. She had no real understanding of restraint, her possessiveness barely concealed beneath a veneer of politeness. That arrogant willfulness was written plainly in her eyes.
Truly, it was the Dark Ages of Great Britain—a time and place where such a person could be born.
In Aslan's eyes, this kind of noble girl did not belong in this world. She seemed better suited for the brutal, cutthroat lands of Akame ga Kill than here.
Yet something was off.
Despite her morbid personality, her refined education appeared to have kept her from spiraling into bloodthirsty madness. At least there was no taint of bloodlust clinging to her.
Her desire was simple: she wanted her own knight's sword. The bigger, the better, and the more unique, the more she craved it.
"Mr. Blacksmith," she said with a seductive smile, "I have prepared all the materials for forging a knight's sword. Might I gain your favor?"
The possessiveness in her eyes was not love directed at Aslan. It was pure possession. Aslan was handsome, yes—but more important was the skill in his hands.
Finally, a girl who appreciated his forging ability rather than his looks. That was rare.
"My dear daughter," the lord's voice called from behind her, "I know you want a knight's sword of your own, but can you restrain yourself? This is hardly the right moment..."
Most of the nobles were taken aback by the girl's boldness. After all, they were caught between grief and relief, and needed calm more than chaos. The last thing they wanted was distraction now.
The girl just pouted and grabbed Aslan's arm firmly. "Leave this to Father. Mr. Forger is coming with me to my chambers."
Without waiting for a response, she pulled him up the castle's grand stairs. Nearly half the castle belonged to her, a testament to her father's doting indulgence.
Along the way, Aslan's eyes swept over the countless swords adorning the walls. But none bore the hallmark of legendary craftsmanship passed down through generations.
Fairy-forged swords were treasures beyond mere purchase—they chose their owners by their own mysterious standards. This girl, he was certain, would never meet those standards—unless she sought a magic sword.
Halfway up, Aslan gently shook off her hand. As a gentleman, he wouldn't embarrass her in public—but now, alone, he decided to be direct.
His forging techniques came from kind-hearted fairies. The people he chose to serve were never twisted or sick at heart like her.
Weapons he forged often gained a life of their own. Forcing such a blade into her hands would only corrupt it into a cursed weapon—an outcome disastrous for both wielder and sword.
"Miss, please let me go. I will not forge a special weapon for you. You are not someone I recognize."
The girl froze, a flicker of disbelief washing over her face. Shock quickly followed, then simmering resentment. Her eyes darkened with wild, unrestrained emotions, yet her expression remained controlled—a chilling, unnatural mask.
For a moment, her demeanor became eerily strange.
SAN value reduction warning!
She stared at Aslan with blank eyes. When she realized she couldn't suppress her turmoil, she closed them and smiled faintly.
"Ah... is that so? Maybe you don't know me well enough. After all, you are our savior. My father thinks so too. So... how about entertaining me for two days?"
Aslan regarded the girl carefully. Truth be told, he hoped she would back off when challenged. He could leave now, but he hadn't forgotten his true reasons for coming.
He had come not only to learn unparalleled forging techniques, but also to find a magician who could teach him magic.
His first goal was achieved, but the second was still unfinished. This gathering was his best chance to find one.
That was all.
If this girl continued pestering him, he would make her regret it. Anyone who persistently intrudes into another's life despite clear rejection deserved a lesson—and it had to be a lasting one.
Aslan touched his forging hammer, turned away from her, and strode toward the hall.
If Melusine had seen this scene, his dragon would have surely been vexed again. The girl should count herself lucky that Melusine was not Qingji, or she would have been reduced to ashes by now.
When Aslan returned, he found Melusine sulking over a roasted lamb on the table. The dragon's expression was sour.
"You annoying Aslan! Why do girls keep liking you? I'm so pissed!"
Aslan smiled helplessly and slipped behind the dragon, wrapping an arm around him.
"It's not me they like—it's my ability. Now, how about finding that magician?"
Aslan wasn't well-versed in magic, so his perception of magicians paled next to Melusine's instinctive magic sense.
They had agreed that Melusine would take the lead in seeking out a magician here.