Chapter 31: Chapter 31: The Serpent’s Banquet and The Living Main Course

The dining room at the Viperion Residence looked more like an art gallery than a place to eat. The walls were lined with maroon silk, adorned with paintings of beautiful women from various eras in pure gold frames. The floor was made of black marble polished so brightly that it reflected the crystal chandelier light from the ceiling like a dark mirror.

In the center of the room, a long table made of rare Mahogany wood was spread out. Upon it, dishes were served whose aroma alone could fill the stomachs of the Slums residents: Venison (Deer) in berry sauce, black caviar, and red wine that might cost as much as Dayat’s income for a month.

Dayat and Dola sat side-by-side on one side of the table. Across from them sat the host.

Count Alaric Viperion.

The man was handsome. Extremely handsome. His jet-black hair was slicked back neatly, his skin pale as porcelain, and his eyes were emerald green—cold, sharp, and calculating. He wore a dark purple velvet suit with gold buttons.

However, something made Dayat sick. Alaric didn’t look at Dayat. His eyes were continuously fixed on Dola. That gaze was not polite admiration. It was the look of a collector assessing the quality of an antique item.

Next to Alaric stood someone who made Dayat’s blood boil.

Valmir.

The Deputy Head Artisan of the Guild stood with a sly smile, bowing slightly toward Alaric like a loyal pet dog.

“Welcome to my residence,” Alaric’s voice was smooth and melodious, contrasting with the cruelty hidden beneath. “Please enjoy. This wine is fermented from Blood-Moon grapes of the year 780. Extremely rare.”

Dayat raised his glass slightly (mimicking Dola’s motion), but did not drink it. “Thank you, Count. A very… artistic house.”

“I am a lover of beauty,” Alaric replied, his eyes still fixed on Dola’s neck. “And I hear, you are a creator of beauty in another form. Mechanical weapons without magic. Valmir has told me much about your talent.”

Dayat glanced at Valmir. Valmir just smiled faintly.

“Valmir exaggerates. I’m just a tinkerer,” Dayat answered humbly.

“Oh, don’t be modest,” Alaric cut his venison with a silver knife. His movements were elegant but aggressive. “Your Crossbow… that double-wheel system… is brilliant. Extraordinary kinetic energy efficiency. I want to order a thousand units for my private army.”

“A thousand units?” Dayat was surprised. “That will take a long time, Sir. And my contract with the Guild…”

“The Guild can be managed,” Alaric waved his hand as if the Guild were just a fly. “I can buy Dalgor ten times over. I offer you a new position, Mr. Hidayat. To be the Personal Head Engineer of the Viperion Family.”

Alaric leaned forward.

“Salary of 100 Gold Coins a month. A house in the High District. Servants. Legal immunity. And access to all the rare materials I possess.”

100 Gold. That was equivalent to 10,000 Silver. Dayat could live in luxury for a lifetime.

The offer was very tempting. Too tempting.

“The condition?” Dayat asked warily. “There must be a condition, right?”

Alaric smiled. The smile widened, showing very white and even teeth.

“Of course. In business, there is always an exchange of assets.”

Alaric put down his knife. He pointed his silver fork at Dola.

“I want her.”

Silence.

The sound of a fork hitting a plate stopped.

Dayat froze. “Excuse me? What do you mean?”

“Your wife. Dola,” Alaric said casually, as if asking for salt. “She is very… special. Her skin. The symmetry of her face. Her eyes. I have never seen a specimen so perfect. She would be a beautiful addition to my Collection.”

Dayat glanced at the walls. Those paintings of beautiful women… were they former wives? Or… victims?

Dola sat still. Her face was calm, but under the table, her hand squeezed Dayat’s thigh with bone-crushing strength.

[Threat Analysis: Critical Level. Hostile Intent Confirmed.]

[Target Alaric views Subject Dola as a Material Object.]

“She is not merchandise, Count,” Dayat said, his voice shaking with suppressed anger. “She is my wife. A human being.”

“Everyone has a price,” Alaric chuckled slightly. “Come now. Don’t be naive. Beautiful women can be found again. With 100 Gold, you can buy ten women like her in the slave market.”

Valmir chimed in, his voice sickening. “Mr. Dayat, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The Count is known to be very… fond of his collections. Your wife will live well. She only needs to… accompany the Count in his private quarters.”

Dayat stood up. His chair screeched loudly on the marble floor.

“Offer declined,” Dayat said firmly. He pulled Dola’s hand to stand up with him. “Thank you for the meal. We are leaving.”

Alaric was not angry. He looked amused instead.

“Sit down,” Alaric commanded softly.

The dining room doors opened. Ten fully armed guards entered. They wore black armor with the snake crest, holding spears and swords. They surrounded the dining table.

“You do not understand your position, Mr. Hidayat,” Alaric said, sipping his wine. “You are in my house. In my territory. Do you think you can just leave after refusing me?”

Dayat looked around. Ten against two. Dayat didn’t have his Crossbow (confiscated at the front door). Dola was in human mode (weak).

“Is this kidnapping?” Dayat asked.

“This is re-negotiation,” Alaric replied. “I give you two choices. One: You hand over Dola voluntarily, take the money, and live rich. Two: I take Dola by force, and your body is thrown into the sewer.”

Alaric looked directly at Dola.

“What say you, Beautiful Lady? You must be smart. Which do you choose? A luxurious life with me, or watching your husband die foolishly before your eyes?”

Dola stared at Alaric. Her blue eyes suddenly flickered. The “Weak Human” mode slowly began to shut down. Her combat logic came back online.

“Logic Analysis,” Dola’s voice turned cold and monotonous, making Alaric wince. “The probability of Master Dayat surviving if I surrender: 0%. You are the type to eliminate witnesses. Conclusion: Negotiation failed.”

Dola grabbed a silver dinner knife from the table. Her movement was fast, almost invisible.

ZING!

The knife embedded itself in the mahogany table, right between Alaric’s fingers. It missed his skin by only one millimeter.

Alaric flinched, pulling his hand away. “You…”

“Option Three,” Dayat cut in, picking up his fork and holding it like a dagger. “We walk out of here, and if one person touches my wife, I guarantee the Count will need facial surgery.”

It was a bluff. A desperate bluff.

Valmir yelled. “Guards! Seize them! Kill the male! Secure the female!”

The guards moved forward. Spears were aimed.

“Dol, Plan B!” Dayat shouted.

“Plan B: Chaos,” Dola replied.

Dola didn’t attack the guards. She kicked the heavy dining table leg.

CRASH!

The giant Mahogany table flipped over. Plates, glasses, expensive food, everything scattered toward Alaric and Valmir.

“AAAA! My suit!” Alaric shrieked as hot meat sauce splashed his expensive suit.

“Run!” Dayat pulled Dola’s hand.

They ran toward the large window beside the room.

“Stop them!”

Two guards blocked the window.

Dayat didn’t stop. He jumped, kicking the first guard’s chest. Dola used her elbow to strike the second guard’s neck.

CRACK!

They crashed through the glass window, plunging out from the second floor into the mansion garden.

They landed, rolling on the wet grass. Dayat winced, his shoulder hurting. Dola immediately stood straight.

“CHASE THEM! DON’T LET THEM ESCAPE!” Alaric’s scream was heard from the broken window.

The mansion alarm bells rang loudly. Guard dogs started barking.

“Front gate locked,” Dola reported, scanning the area. “We must jump the side wall. Three meters high.”

“Can do!” Dayat ran.

They sprinted across the dark labyrinth garden (Hedge Maze). Behind them, the sound of dozens of guards’ footsteps grew closer.

The night that was supposed to be a luxurious feast turned into a life-or-death escape. And this time, their enemy wasn’t a dumb monster. Their enemy was insulted power.

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