Episode-266

Words : 1623 Updated : Oct 3rd, 2025

Chapter : 531 “A honey and almond cake,” she explained, her voice a little too quick, a little too bright. “From the Golden Bee bakery in the Southern Quarter. It is... famous. They say their cakes are made with honey from the sun-petal flowers of the high meadows, and that the almonds are ground with powdered pearls. They say it has... restorative properties.” She finished in a rush, looking away again, as if embarrassed by the simple, almost domestic, kindness of her own gesture. Lloyd was speechless. Faria Kruts, the fiery artist, the proud noblewoman who had argued with him for days over the ethics of commercial art, had gone to a bakery. A famous bakery. To buy him a get-well cake. A get-well cake with restorative properties. The sheer, unadulterated, and deeply, profoundly, touching absurdity of it all was overwhelming. He felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest, a feeling so foreign he couldn’t immediately identify it. He was used to dealing with people as assets, as threats, as pieces on a chessboard. He was not used to dealing with... simple, genuine, uncomplicated, human kindness. Especially not from someone like her. He was still trying to formulate a response, his mind a blank slate of stunned disbelief, when she pressed the box into his unresisting hands. “It is a foolish trifle, I know,” she said quickly, her words a defensive flurry. “But my mother always says that a little sweetness can be a balm for any fever. And,” she added, a flicker of her usual wry, teasing humor returning, “I thought it only fair. After all the intellectual exertion I put you through during our... collaboration... I felt I might be partially responsible for your sudden collapse. Consider it an apology. For working your brilliant, soap-obsessed mind too hard.” She offered him a small, quick, and almost shy, smile. It was a smile that was a world away from the confident, challenging grins she had given him in the pavilion. It was a smile that was... gentle. And it was, he realized with a jolt that had nothing to do with the System or his Void power, utterly, completely, and devastatingly, beautiful. He looked down at the cake box in his hands, at the simple cream-colored ribbon. He looked back up at her, at the faint, becoming blush on her cheeks, at the genuine, unfeigned concern in her amethyst eyes. And Lloyd Ferrum, the Major General, the drab duckling, the man of three lifetimes and a universe of secrets, found himself, for the first time since his return to this strange, new world, utterly, comprehensively, and completely, flustered. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He just stood there, in the sunlit royal corridor, holding a box of restorative honey and almond cake, feeling the unfamiliar, and deeply, profoundly, unsettling, warmth of a simple, unexpected act of sweetness. The Ice Princess might have a grip on his political reality, but the Fire-Artist, it seemed, was staging a quiet, and surprisingly effective, siege on his heart. The silence in the sun-drenched royal corridor stretched, thick with a new, strange, and deeply flustering, kind of awkwardness. Lloyd stood holding the elegantly wrapped cake box as if it were a live, and potentially quite explosive, magical artifact. His mind, which could coolly calculate the trajectory of a lightning spear or devise a multi-layered marketing campaign in the space of a heartbeat, was now a complete and utter blank. Faria Kruts, the fiery, confident artist, had just disarmed him more completely than any assassin ever could, not with a blade or a spell, but with a simple box of honey-almond cake and a dose of genuine, unfeigned, human concern. He looked at her, at the faint, becoming blush that still stained her high cheekbones, at the way she was now pointedly avoiding his gaze, her attention suddenly, intensely, focused on a particularly uninteresting patch of marble flooring. The proud, challenging noblewoman was gone, replaced by a young woman who had just performed an act of unexpected, personal kindness and was now clearly, deeply, uncomfortable with the vulnerability it had created. He finally found his voice, though it felt slightly hoarse, unfamiliar. “Faria,” he began, the use of her first name feeling both natural, after the easy camaraderie of their collaboration, and strangely, shockingly, intimate in this new, charged context. “I... I do not know what to say. This is... incredibly thoughtful of you. Thank you.” The words felt inadequate, clumsy, but they were the only ones he could find. Faria finally looked up, offering a small, quick, and almost shy, smile. “It is nothing,” she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too quick. “As I said, a foolish trifle. A simple get-well gesture.” Chapter : 532 “It is not a trifle,” Lloyd countered, his own voice quiet but firm. He looked down at the box in his hands. “It is... a kindness. And one I appreciate more than you can know.” He met her amethyst eyes, his own gaze direct, sincere. “But you did not have to do this. You did not have to postpone your journey. My illness was... a personal matter. A result of my own problem in my training.” Faria’s expression softened, the last vestiges of her awkwardness giving way to a genuine, warm sincerity. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “But when the news of your collapse reached my father’s residence... it was not just a matter of a colleague falling ill, Lloyd.” She took a small, hesitant breath, as if choosing her next words with great care. “My father, the Marquess,” she began, her voice now a low, serious murmur, “was... deeply concerned. Profoundly so. He sees you not just as the Ferrum heir, not just as a business partner for a potential art venture. He sees you as the man who saved the life of his daughter. And the man who provided the only hope for the life of his son.” The weight of her words settled between them, a quiet, powerful testament to the bond that had been forged between their two houses in the fire and shadow of Galla Forest. “He insisted I come,” Faria continued, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. “He said, and I believe I am quoting him directly, ‘The boy who can wrestle giant snakes and make kings beg for his soap is not a boy who simply catches a common cold. If he has fallen, the cause must be significant. Go. See to him. Ascertain his condition. And do not return until you are satisfied that the future of our most important, and most eccentric, new ally is secure.’ My father,” she added, her eyes twinkling with a familiar, affectionate exasperation, “can be rather... dramatic.” Lloyd felt a genuine laugh escape him, a sound of pure, surprised amusement that seemed to break the last of the tension between them. “Your father and mine would get along splendidly, I think,” he said. “They seem to share a certain flair for... dramatic overstatement and a belief that any problem can be solved with a sufficiently forceful application of will.” Faria laughed with him, a bright, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet corridor. “Indeed. It is a terrifying thought.” Her laughter subsided, and her expression became soft again, her gaze holding a quiet, sincere warmth. “But his concern, Lloyd, and mine... it is genuine. We were worried. You have become... important... to my family. To me.” The simple, unadorned confession hung in the air, a statement of fact that was more powerful than any flowery declaration of friendship. He was important to her. The thought sent another strange, warm, and deeply unsettling, jolt through him. “And the cake,” she added, a faint blush returning to her cheeks, “was my idea. Mother,” she corrected herself, a shadow of the memory of her mother, Joynab’s, pragmatic advice crossing her face, “insisted it was a proper gesture. A way to convey our family’s sincere concern and well-wishes. She said... she said it is important to tend to one’s valuable alliances.” Lloyd heard the subtle shift, the echo of the Marquess-Consort’s political calculation beneath the simple act of kindness. But he also saw the truth in Faria’s eyes. The cake may have been her mother’s suggestion, a strategic move in the Great Game. But the concern, the worry, the genuine warmth that radiated from her now... that was all her own. Their conversation flowed easily after that, the earlier awkwardness forgotten, replaced by the comfortable, stimulating rapport they had discovered in the garden pavilion. They spoke of the painting, of the public reaction to it, Faria’s eyes shining with an artist’s pride as Lloyd described the crowds that still gathered in the market square to gaze at her work. He told her of the success of the brand, of the new distribution partnerships, careful to frame it in terms of commercial strategy, not of the System Coins that were his true, secret motivation. She, in turn, spoke of her brother, Elian. The first treatments with the distilled essence of the Dark Vein flower had begun. The effects were not dramatic, not a miracle cure. But for the first time in years, the slow, inexorable decline of his health had been arrested. He had not gotten worse. It was a small victory, a fragile foothold against the encroaching darkness, but it was a victory nonetheless. And her voice, as she spoke of it, was filled with a fierce, burning hope that was beautiful to behold.

Episode-266

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