I stopped in my tracks, coldly staring through my mask at the fat pig blocking the doorway. "Oh? Raymond, you claim Emily is your woman? Are you married?"
"No," Raymond replied hesitantly, shaking his head.
"Engaged?"
"No."
"Any marriage contract?"
"No."
I clapped my hands, my voice dripping with mockery. "Young master Raymond, how fascinating. You share no marital ties with this lady whatsoever. On what grounds do you call her yours?"
"Half a year ago, in my parlor, old Leonard personally promised this marriage to my father! Servants witnessed it!"
"Hah. Everyone knows the Scott Clan rules Saxton City. Forcing servants and a small merchant to lie would be easy for you."
"You—you dare accuse me of lying?!" Raymond’s fat jiggled violently with rage.
"Not at all. We Mages honor truth. Without proof, we stay cautious." I wagged a finger before his eyes, calm. "Besides, I hear obese, short-tempered men die young. You’re neither, of course—but better safe than sorry."
"Outrageous! Unacceptable!" Raymond’s face flushed deep purple. He kept his 300-pound bulk wedged in the doorway. "Emily is mine! You won’t take her!"
I refused to waste time. Whispering a spell, a fireball swelled on my fingertip.
"W-what are you doing?!" Raymond flinched from the heat.
I waved the fireball. "Young master, I’m taking my servant to get notarized. Blocking me feels like a challenge. A Mage’s dignity can’t be insulted. Keep this up, and I’ll treat it as a duel request—I’ll attack without hesitation. You can kill me too; duels forgive accidents."
"You!" Raymond paled, then yelled past me. "Lord Lawrence! Will you let your Mage bully the Scott Clan?!"
Lawrence, silent until now, spoke evenly. "I saw only a routine servant interview—nothing involving your clan. But Raymond, you’re provoking a Mage. If Rylin accepts your duel, I’ll witness it."
Raymond froze. Staring at my fireball, he stumbled back—out of the VIP room, out of the hall, vanishing.
A minute later, the staff member returned with a sketch. "Baron Eaton’s old mansion at 28 Tulip Street. He passed three months ago; his heir’s selling it. A bit worn, but sturdy, spacious—perfect for an alchemy workbench. Even has a garden for magical plants..."
I listened patiently, then turned to the girl. "Emily, your thoughts?"
"You’re asking me?" Emily touched her chest, flustered.
"You’re my only servant. Household chores fall to you—I value your opinion."
"I... I suppose it’s fine..." She lowered her head, voice fading.
"Then we’ll take it." For me, it was just a stopover. "Can I pay in installments?"
"Of course! Fifty gold total. Ten down, then five yearly for ten years."
"Done. Also, prepare three copies of the master-servant contract. Notarize it with the property papers."
As a VIP, the guild moved fast. Half an hour later, I held two contracts and keys. Emily clutched her contract copy as we left with Lawrence.
Before parting, I bowed to Lawrence. "Thank you for today’s aid."
"I saw only an interview and Raymond’s provocation. Nothing more." His tone stayed neutral. "I reside at 31 Harbor Street, deriving magic formulas. Visit anytime—you’re Lord Hughes’s prized disciple, and I owe him a debt."
"Certainly."
The carriage ride to the new house was quiet. Emily stayed silent, shyly avoiding my gaze when our eyes met.
The medieval villa had two floors, many rooms—but thick dust coated everything. Empty. No furniture.
Emily spoke up. "Master, I’ll clean. But I need supplies first. And furniture... you’ll need a bed tonight."
"Handle it." I handed her three gold coins from my spatial ring. "I have errands. Might return late."
"Eh, master—this is too much!"
"Buy yourself new clothes. A pretty girl deserves many outfits."
Emily didn’t answer. She lowered her head, fidgeting with her slender fingers, lost in thought.
