Chapter 209: Can you teach me how to read the environment?

As soon as the office door closed behind Damon, silence returned to fill the room like a physical presence.

Elizabeth remained motionless for a few seconds, her eyes fixed on the exact spot where he had been moments before. Only then did she let her shoulders slump slightly and release a heavy sigh, one of those that doesn’t ask permission to exist.

“Who’s behind you…?” she murmured to the void, her voice too low to be heard beyond the walls.

She brought her hand to her face, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingers, as if trying to ward off an impending headache. Thoughts overlapped too quickly—names, organizations, old agreements, unpaid debts, mistakes buried with insufficient care.

“This came too soon…” she added.

The lamps flickered.

It wasn’t a violent tremor. It was subtle. Almost respectful.

Elizabeth didn’t turn around immediately.

“You can leave,” she said, without raising her voice.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, the shadows in the far corner of the office shifted.

Not like smoke. Not like an illusion.

Like something that had always been there… just deciding to be seen.

A female figure emerged from the darkness, the fabric of a black cloak flowing over her slender body. The hood concealed her face almost completely, revealing only the outline of her chin and a pair of eyes too light to belong to the shadows that enveloped her.

She stopped a few steps from the bookcase, silent as a dangerous thought.

“I’m investigating,” the woman said, her voice low, controlled, without a trace of surprise at being discovered. “I don’t have a definitive answer yet.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a brief moment before turning.

“’Investigating’ doesn’t reassure me,” she replied. “Especially when it involves Damon.”

The woman inclined her head slightly, a gesture that could be read as respect… or mere formality.

“There are clues,” she continued. “Fragmented, contradictory. But they point to the underworld, not to a higher order. At least… not yet.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms.

“Be specific.”

“A dark guild,” the hooded figure replied. “Or something close to it. Someone was hired to locate the succubus who was imprisoned. The trail ends abruptly… the moment she is freed.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips.

“That’s still too vague.”

“I know,” the woman admitted. “But whoever hired them was careful. Layered payment. No direct signature. No names that matter.”

Elizabeth sighed again, this time more restrained.

“Nyx,” she said.

The woman slightly raised her face beneath the hood, recognizing the call.

“Tell me,” Elizabeth continued, “how’s Arven doing?”

Nyx didn’t answer immediately.

There was a pause that was too short to be casual, too long to be comfortable.

“Unstable,” he finally said. “The underworld there suffered a serious blow after the auction’s failure.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

“I figured.”

Nyx stepped forward, still remaining in the dim light.

“They closed deals,” he explained. “Everyone. Betting houses, smuggling routes, information markets. Nothing is flowing like before.”

“Strategic retreat,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Yes,” Nyx confirmed. “They’re restructuring. Burning names. Changing faces. And, mainly… seeking protection.”

Elizabeth rested her hands on the table.

“Protection against whom?”

Nyx tilted his head to the side.

“Against anything that has the capacity to destabilize what’s left,” he replied. “And Damon… unfortunately, fits into that category in their eyes.”

Elizabeth let out a dry laugh.

“He doesn’t even know half these people exist.”

“That’s never stopped the underworld from feeling threatened,” Nyx said. “Especially when something deviates from the norm.”

She paused.

“An incubus that breaks seals, survives, and walks away… doesn’t go unnoticed. Even more so when it interferes with ’valuable’ assets.”

“The succubus,” Elizabeth said.

“Exactly.”

Elizabeth walked slowly around the office, her footsteps echoing softly.

“So we have three possibilities,” she said thoughtfully. “A smaller guild acting on its own. An intermediary trying to gain favor with someone bigger. Or…”

She stopped.

“Or someone is using the underworld as a smokescreen.”

Nyx didn’t answer immediately.

That, in itself, was an answer.

“You think it’s something bigger,” Elizabeth said.

“I think it could become that,” Nyx corrected. “If Damon keeps drawing attention.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment.

“He always draws attention,” she murmured. “Even when he tries not to.”

Nyx watched silently.

“I want constant surveillance,” Elizabeth said, opening her eyes again. “Not invasive. I don’t want him to sense it.”

“It’s already underway,” Nyx replied. “Two layers. One internal. Another… outside the immediate reach of the mansion.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“And Arven?” she asked. “Any new names emerging as a possible ’protector’?”

Nyx took a deep breath.

“There are rumors,” she said. “Nothing confirmed. But they speak of someone who doesn’t belong to any traditional guild. Someone… neutral. Expensive. Very expensive.”

“A high-level mercenary,” Elizabeth concluded.

“Or something worse,” Nyx added.

Silence returned.

Elizabeth walked to the window and looked out, where the night shrouded Myrath like an overly indulgent cloak.

“Damon isn’t ready for this,” she said, more to herself than to Nyx.

“Maybe not,” the hooded figure replied. “But he’s not as defenseless as he seems either.”

Elizabeth smiled slightly, humorlessly.

“That’s precisely the problem.”

She turned back to Nyx.

“Keep investigating,” she ordered. “I want names. I want routes. I want to know who’s breathing wrong in the underworld.”

Nyx gave a deep nod.

“As you wish.”

“And Nyx…” Elizabeth added.

The woman paused.

“If you find out this goes beyond a dark guild…” Elizabeth paused. “I want to know before Damon notices.”

Nyx held her gaze for a few seconds.

“Understood.”

Without another sound, she took a step back.

The shadows enveloped her again, swallowing her silhouette until nothing remained but ordinary darkness.

Elizabeth stood there, alone.

“Incubi…” she murmured. “There must be fewer than five left in this world…” She looked at the door through which Damon had exited. “Why did someone like you show up being sold?” she questioned, remembering the day she bought Damon.

Elizabeth sighed, “It’s getting harder to find more demons every day,” she commented to herself, “I have to find more…”

…

Ester advanced without warning.

The spear cut through the air in a low arc, too fast to be just a test. Damon managed to raise his own weapon in time to dodge, the impact vibrating to his shoulder—and that was all he got in return.

She gave him no space.

One step. Two. The tip of Ester’s spear danced in precise lines, each thrust forcing Damon to recoil, mistime, lose his balance. There was no anger in her movements. There was correctness.

On the lawn, a few meters away, Lily sat cross-legged, resting her chin on her hand, her wings relaxed behind her.

“This is going to hurt,” she commented, with quiet amusement.

Damon tried to react. He spun his spear, searched for an opening, risked a sideways advance.

Ester punished him for it.

The shaft of the weapon struck his ribs hard, robbing him of his breath. Before he could catch his breath, the blade grazed his shoulder, cutting through the fabric and leaving an immediate sting on his skin.

He took another step back. Too late.

Esther’s leg swept across his base, unbalancing him, and the spear’s tip stopped inches from his throat.

She didn’t finish him off.

She retreated.

“Get up,” she said coldly.

Damon gritted his teeth and obeyed.

The second assault was worse.

He was there, physically. But his mind… wasn’t. The blows came fragmented, delayed, as if he were always half a second behind what he needed to do.

Esther noticed.

She always noticed.

Her spear struck Damon’s wrist, almost making the weapon slip. A sharp twist, an impact on the shoulder, another on the abdomen. Each blow calculated not to kill—but to teach.

Or break.

Damon fell to his knees.

He tried to stand again.

He couldn’t.

The final blow came as a final point: the spear shaft pressing against his chest and pushing him back against the ground.

He lay there, panting, staring at the clear sky above the training yard, the sound of his own heart pounding too loudly in his ears.

Silence settled.

Lily tilted her head, assessing the scene.

“Wow,” she said. “That was… educational.”

Esther spun the spear once before setting it down. She walked to Damon with firm steps and stopped beside him.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

He took a deep breath, still staring at the sky.

“I’m… pensive.”

There was a short pause.

Then, in a movement too quick to allow reaction, Ester plunged the spear into the ground beside his head.

The blade sank into the earth with a dry sound, just inches from his face. Damon didn’t move.

His heart did.

Esther leaned slightly, her shadow covering part of his face.

“Next time,” she said, her voice low and absolute, “you die.”

She kept her gaze fixed on him.

“Don’t get pensive in combat.”

With a sharp tug, she pulled the spear from the ground and stepped away.

Damon closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

On the lawn, Lily smiled, satisfied.

“She has a gentle way of teaching,” she commented.

Damon remained on the ground for a few more seconds, just breathing.

Then he braced his forearm on the grass, strained his whole body—which protested in unison—and slowly stood up. His legs trembled slightly, but he stood. Not out of stubbornness. Out of determination.

Esther watched him without saying anything, the spear resting on her shoulder.

Damon brushed the dirt off his uniform, grimaced at the pain in his ribs, and, still serious, said:

“When you were a general… were you ambushed?”

The question made Ester raise an eyebrow slightly.

“All the time,” he replied without hesitation. “Some poorly planned. Others almost fatal.”

Lily, still sitting on the grass, smiled curiously.

“Oh. War stories. I like that.”

Ester ignored the comment and continued:

“But ambushes didn’t kill me.”

Damon stared at her.

“Why?”

Ester twirled the spear slowly between her fingers.

“Because I wasn’t blind,” she said. “I read the environment. The wrong silence. The shifting wind. People who look away too quickly. Paths that were too ’safe’.”

She tapped the spear’s tip on the ground.

“An attack rarely begins with the blow. It begins before.” When someone decides you’re not paying attention.

Damon was silent for a moment, absorbing it.

Then he asked directly:

“Can you teach me that?”

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