When the door slammed shut behind Victor, sealing him off from Countess Cliossa's chamber, he released a heavy sigh, struggling to calm his wildly beating heart.
"This is normal, isn't it, that I'm attracted to my 'own' grandmother? Damn these mages, what sort of grandmother is she?"
The woman had left an indelible impression, but recognizing the impossibility of any romantic feelings, he strived for rationality. This urgency partly explained his abrupt departure.
Victor headed for his carriage, collapsing into the seat, only now exhaling and opening his inventory.
Scanning the list, he spotted two small rings. Both resembled wedding bands, though runes glowing under mana input revealed their unique nature.
Experimenting with objects, the lord once donned these rings, transforming them into shield and sword. Their design surpassed anything he'd seen in this world.
Originally, he intended to gift them to Linea eventually, but now a superior candidate emerged.
Despite her beauty, she was his grandmother, irrelevant of emotional connection. Truthfully, he regarded none of the Shermain clan as kin, since his memories diverged from the original soul. To recall details, he relied on third-party observations.
Nonetheless, Countess Cliossa was likely a diamond knight, warranting favorable relations. He judged the rings suited her stature, perhaps exceeding it.
Consulting texts, he found no reference to shape-shifting weapons, concluding these rings were unknown in this realm.
Inventory overflowed with various gear, including his own personalized set, negating need for additional arms. Secure in his surplus, he concluded these rings could foster invaluable connections.
Retrieving the rings, he bounded from the carriage, returning to the salon hosting Cliossa.
Pausing at the threshold, he composed himself, adjusting attire before pushing through.
Inside, the countess gazed sidelong, her perfect posture and profile reigniting his fascination. Tearing his gaze away, he advanced toward her.
— Countess, these artifacts I recovered from a dungeon. I hope they'll please you, — extending the rings, he awaited her response.
Cliossa lowered her cup, turning her attention to the proffered jewelry.
— What makes them intriguing? — she inquired, curiosity sparking, then daintily retrieving them with a fluid sweep of her pale hand.
Each element of her dress, each movement, exuded grace, seeming almost inhuman.
— Place them on both hands and channel magic, — Victor advised, admiring her luminous emerald eyes.
Mesmerized by the rings' simplicity, she caressed her chestnut bun, considering their potential.
While seated, she slipped the rings onto her slender fingers.
Confidence bolstered by diamond-knight status, she dismissed fears of harm.
Magic users habitually disregarded safety protocols, often destroying themselves with powerful spells.
— Countess, I recommend standing, as the rings summon weapons, granting you more maneuverability, — cautioned Victor.
Slowly, Cliossa broke her fixation on the rings, nodding curtly.
Crossing to the room's center, she widened her stance, infusing mana into the rings.
Instantly, the chamber exploded in blinding light, vanishing moments later to reveal the countess garbed in full plate armor, twin-handed sword poised.
— Bloody hell, why didn't I get this result? — Victor exclaimed, surveying her metallic ensemble.
Armor exuded exotic charm, offset by a cowl atop her helmet and a skirt-like appendage concealing legs.
Even in armor, she retained elegance, the plating subtly accentuating her figure, though lacking exaggerated sexual emphasis seen in games or films.
Victor, now experienced in plate mail, appreciated its intricacies, particularly knowing such designs avoided contact points with bones.
Similarly, his paladin armor sported a protective hood, reinforcing its defensive qualities.
Silently, both evaluated the transformation.
Admiring her, he discerned functionality beneath ostensible decoration.
— Your Highness, some artifacts exhibit multifaceted abilities. I suggest exploring my gift further, — he recommended.
— I-I see, — she stammered, tracing patterns on her armor and admiring the silver-hued blade, glowing coolly.
Wielding the sword, she swung it, slicing through the wall effortlessly.
Knife-thin cuts pierced successive layers, ending in oblivion.
Victor and Cliossa stared at the thin slash, only after a minute exchanging glances.
— Remarkable, the blade amplifies my energy, condensing it perfectly, — awestruck, she admired her new weapon, ignoring the ruined wall.
— Can I remove it? — she finally asked.
— Simply infuse mana into the rings, — he instructed.
Light returned, restoring her pristine form, cheeks flushed faintly.
— What do you want? — she asked, resuming her seat.
— Nothing, really. I simply wished to gift you something, — he said truthfully, aware his desires were unobtainable.
Cliossa hesitated, then her maid knocked, admitting a statuesque woman in her thirties, clad in severe black.
— Madam, you have a guest, — announced the newcomer, inviting the figure lingering outside.
"Who is she?" Victory wondered, spotting his fiancée.
Sylvia glided in, clad in floor-length turquoise silk, bowing elegantly before Cliossa. Granted permission to sit, she acknowledged Victor, then settled opposite the countess, right of her betrothed.
An awkward tableau ensued, as Sylvia displayed maximum civility toward Cliossa, unusual for a mere countess.
Technically, as a ducal heir, Sylvia outranked any graphal aristocrat, especially foreign royalty.
Yet, Victor recalled a detail from the deceased's memories.
Cliossa was a diamond knight, exempting her from traditional hierarchies. While not compulsory, this exception felt natural, compounded by her maternal link to Alexander.
— I'm guessing you're not thrilled to marry my grandson, — Cliossa prodded.
Victor noted her direct communication style, devoid of aristocratic niceties.
— Why do you say that? — Sylvia asked.
— Girl, don't play me for a fool; even your father couldn't save you. — Locking emerald eyes on Sylvia, Cliossa asserted dominance. — I was in your shoes, married off to the previous Shermain, whom I barely knew but later loved, foolish man.
Speechless, Victor and Sylvia listened as she insulted her dead husband.
— You'll both submit to this union, — she concluded sternly. — If you resist, find a lover, like every other aristocrat.
Victor reflexively balled his fists, not escaping Cliossa's notice.
— Interesting, — she teased, observing his reaction. — Watch your grandson bristle at such talk.
Playfully mocking him, she highlighted his unexpected outburst.
— Overall, your emotions are irrelevant. I even proposed Alexander wed you himself, strengthening the alliance, but sadly, that fool ignored me, — calmingly, she scrutinized Sylvia.
Chaotic thoughts flooded Victor's mind.
"Wait, I'm not the only eligible bachelor. Andreas fits better, or at worst, Father could've married her himself."
Rapidly analyzing, he struggled to comprehend logic.
Andreas, talented and charismatic, contrasted with Alexander, weak and unremarkable. Still, marrying Andrea would entail shifting loyalties, depriving the county of an heir.
Marriage to Alexander raised similar dilemmas. Age gaps aside, nobles cared little for chronology.
Victor contemplated alternatives, envisioning Andreas' union with Sylvia, merging their territories, but knowing vassals would rebel.
Seeking answers, he planned to consult his father, recognizing the situation's complexity.
Sylvia, too, was shaken, never contemplating alternatives and disturbed by hints of an aged spouse.
Feigned poise fractured, she recalled adolescent romance tales. Originally, she pictured her husband as a handsome prince, not an aging count.
Prince Daniel's rejection wounded her pride. Every reminder of his public snub at Lanteris' ball reopened wounds.
Promising eternal love since childhood, he grew colder yearly. Upon discovering her limited mana reserves, she loved him more fervently.
Months ago, buoyed by concentration crystals increasing her mana, she wrote him, hoping for reconciliation. Ignoring her plea, he fled their rendezvous, devastating her.
Becoming Princess consort held no appeal; she mourned lost love.
— Well, children, you'd better get along, or else you'll spend your lives as strangers, — Countess Cliossa picked up the freshly poured tea from the tray and continued: — After our wedding, my husband spent thirty years courting me, and only then did Alexander arrive.
She chuckled, as if remembering something funny or pleasant, then quickly returned to the conversation.
— It's been twenty years since he died, and I remain faithful to that fool, ready to kill anyone who tries to replace him. — Placing her cup back on the table, she redirected her gaze to Sylvia: — If you don't want others dictating your life, grow stronger.
Following this statement, she glanced at Victor.
— You are my grandson, but watch yourself if you intend to mistreat this girl. I'll personally keep tabs on both of you, — she warned.
Having completed her lecture, she demonstratively waved her hand, signaling the meeting's end.
— Countess… — Victor began, only to be cut off by her gesture.
— Call me Cliossa or grandmother; there's no need for formalities, — she said calmly, looking at Sylvia.
This was her way of communicating her deep appreciation for her grandson. Although Sylvia didn't grasp it, the countess hoped she would someday understand.
— Then we'll take our leave, C-Cliossa, — Victor struggled to pronounce her name. Addressing her as "grandmother" was inconceivable, as that term evoked memories of a person from Earth, not fitting this elegant lady.
Cliossa smiled faintly, watching them depart.
Meanwhile, the pair exited the room, briefly glancing at each other before bowing and proceeding in separate directions, escorted by servants.