On the central avenue of Savent City's new commercial district, a luxurious carriage sped past. Pedestrians and street vendors, upon recognizing the carriage's design, quickly scrambled out of the way. But the carriage was simply too fast—amid the frantic dodging, the entire stretch of the commercial street descended into chaotic uproar.
After turning right off the main road and continuing onward for a short while, the carriage finally arrived at its destination.
It was a lavish Baroque-style manor. The main building followed a U-shaped layout, with steep Mansard roofs above gray-white brick walls, decorated with all kinds of relief sculptures, pilasters, and arched windows.
The carriage passed through the wrought-iron gates of the front courtyard and rolled along a gravel driveway flanked by neatly trimmed boxwood trees. Further ahead stood a massive white marble statue towering over a central fountain. Powered by magitech alchemical pipes, the fountain's jets could shoot five to six meters high.
The drifting mist refracted the dusk light into shimmering rainbows, and together with the carillon mechanism playing beneath the fountain, the entire scene looked stunningly magnificent.
Opposite Hel, the burly man in a black suit—who had sat silently in the carriage the whole time—looked at Hel's awestruck expression with open disdain. He curled his lip and muttered as if talking to himself:
"Feel honored. The central fountain on Geddes Square alone cost three thousand gold. Just running it for a day burns through three gold coins. For bottom-dwellers like you, getting to see it even once is enough to brag about for a lifetime."
"Yes. When the Geddes family's fountain roars, the farmers of Savent can hear their own hungry stomachs echoing back."
Hel shot back without hesitation. The man's brows twitched, but bound by his young master's orders, he said nothing more and sank back into silence.
The carriage rolled past the fountain courtyard and stopped before the manor's grand entrance.
A pair of century-old walnut double doors, carved with gold-leaf reliefs, towered before them. The door knockers were intricately carved from ivory inlaid with emeralds. And at the base of each knocker, most striking of all, were two pigeon-egg-sized rubies—each worth a fortune—mounted openly on the door as decoration.
They passed through a series of halls and corridors filled with murals and ornate carvings before finally arriving at a moderately sized reception room. Inside, someone was already waiting.
The man had short brown hair and blue eyes. Just sitting there, he exuded an aura of arrogance—like a peacock standing upon a mountaintop, neck raised, eyes half-lidded, gazing down like a sovereign surveying tribute.
This man was none other than Fubot, the one who had given the speech at the café.
"Who are you? Our intelligence network has no information on you."
Upon seeing Hel, Fubot showed no courtesy at all. To him, Hel was merely a nobody. Though her clothing was neat, it lacked the extravagant luxury of nobility—so Fubot naturally saw no reason to treat her as one.
But Hel did not answer. Instead, she looked around with a smile and teased:
"So this is supposed to be an ambush banquet? Why don't you call out the people hiding behind the walls while you're at it?"
"Shut up and answer my question."
Fubot was already growing impatient. In his view, Leflina's sudden change in ideology was very likely connected to the person in front of him. Even if it wasn't, the things Hel had told her earlier were far too dangerous.
When he heard his subordinate's report at the time, he had been completely stunned.
Nonsense about "different classes having different perspectives," and "the people being the true driving force of civilization."
Rubbish—absolute rubbish. This wasn't comforting talk—this was digging up the very foundation of noble power.
If the common-born students accepted such ideas, how would the nobles continue tricking them into becoming obedient dogs? How would they keep squeezing coin out of those unruly peasants?
As the future heir of Gordon Trading Company, Fubot was no idiot—his political instincts were razor sharp.
It was precisely because he understood how dangerous Leflina's thinking was that he had scolded her harshly. And it was because Hel's ideas were even more dangerous that he had her dragged here.
The only problem was that he still didn't know Hel's background. Despite her plain clothing, he didn't dare make a rash move.
Taking a deep breath, Fubot stared coldly at Hel.
"I don't know whether you're the one who filled Leflina's head with those terrifying thoughts, nor do I care. But Leflina is a member of our society. I have the right to look out for her future. I want you to stay away from her—and stop polluting her loyalty to us with your twisted ideology."
Hel listened to his not-so-subtle threat without anger—instead, she looked at him with amused curiosity, as if seeing through him completely.
"So… you're afraid?"
"Afraid? Why would I be afraid? Because of those mud-covered peasants? They're nothing but penned-up sheep—stupid and short-sighted. Only by attaching themselves to us, the strong, do they have any chance of survival. Do you think I'd fear your little speeches for their sake?
Our Geddes family's guards alone could slaughter ten times—no, a hundred times—the number of commoners with ease. Why should I fear them?"
With a sigh, Fubot seemed almost regretful about wasting his time on Hel.
He waved his hand and said coldly:
"If you refuse my kind advice, then I can only employ… special measures. I'm sure the slave markets of Tredelon City would be most interested in a beauty like you."
As he spoke, he shook the bell on the table. Instantly, dozens of hidden doors in the walls swung open, and teams of burly men in suits surged out, clubs in hand.
Behind Hel, another group of similarly dressed men blocked the exit, completely sealing her retreat.
"So, we've finally reached the classic school-bully confrontation scene."
The corners of Hel's lips curved upward. She took the small parasol hanging from her arm, pressed a mechanism, and the handle detached from the canopy—revealing a slender sword gleaming coldly beneath.