In a vast chamber lined with dark wooden panels and excessive gilded detailing stood a colossal desk carved from rare southern timber. Every inch of the room breathed wealth. Persian carpets swallowed the sound of footsteps. Heavy crimson curtains filtered the daylight, as if even the sun required permission to enter.
Behind the desk sat a man whose mere presence seemed to silence the room itself.
Pale blond hair slicked neatly back. Cold gray eyes sharp as honed steel. His posture was flawless, his tailored attire understated yet undeniably extravagant. Even his cufflinks gleamed with deliberate calculation.
Lord Strauss.
The current head of the Second Sacred Family of the kingdom.
His pen moved steadily across an official document sealed with the Strauss crest. His expression remained perfectly neutral. Focused. Methodical. He never worked halfway. Every signature, every clause, every agreement was a piece on a board only he could fully see.
Three firm knocks echoed against the door.
Hesitant. Respectful. Impossible to mistake.
His gaze lifted slowly.
— Enter.
The door opened with quiet precision. A maid stepped inside, posture immaculate. Black dress flawless. White apron pristine. Hair tied back with military exactness.
She bowed deeply.
— Master Valen is prepared. We may depart whenever you wish.
Strauss studied her for a moment. He always observed. Even servants.
— I see. Prepare the carriage. We leave at once.
— As you command, Lord Strauss.
She bowed again and withdrew, closing the door gently behind her.
Silence returned.
Strauss set his pen down and rose from his seat. He walked toward the grand window overlooking the gardens below. Fountains shimmered. Marble statues stood in perfect symmetry. Hedges were trimmed with obsessive precision.
Everything was under control.
Just as he preferred.
A thin smile curved his lips.
— What I desire… I obtain. Nothing will stand in my way.
This marriage was not an alliance.
It was an acquisition.
---
Meanwhile, at the Hellsing estate, the atmosphere felt entirely different.
The manor was vast and ancient, its gray stone walls carrying the weight of history. Unlike the flamboyant luxury of the Strauss domain, this place radiated restrained nobility. The kind born from endurance rather than conquest.
But today, the air felt heavy.
Servants moved swiftly through the corridors, preparing for the evening banquet. Chandeliers were polished again. Silverware shone brilliantly. Tables were arranged with anxious precision.
The news had spread quickly.
A diplomatic marriage.
Between the Fourth Sacred Family, the Hellsings.
And the Second, the Strauss.
Two families known for generations of rivalry. Political clashes. Territorial disputes. Unspoken grudges. Blood debts never formally acknowledged.
And now… a union?
Few truly believed in it.
In a secluded wing of the manor, Selena Hellsing stood before a tall window, motionless.
Behind her rested a formal gown displayed upon a mannequin. White. Elegant. Embroidered with silver thread.
A presentation dress.
Not yet a wedding gown.
But close enough.
Her eyes were calm.
Too calm.
The head governess watched her carefully.
— The guests will arrive before nightfall, Lady Selena. It would be wise to begin preparations.
Silence lingered.
— This banquet is crucial for the future of House Hellsing.
Selena inhaled slowly.
— For the future of Hellsing… or for the Strauss ego?
The governess hesitated.
— The decisions of family heads often surpass individual emotions.
A faint smile touched Selena's lips.
— "Individual emotions." A refined way of saying I have no say at all.
Her gaze shifted toward the training grounds outside.
The sound of steel striking wood echoed rhythmically.
Blanek.
He always trained harder when anger burned in his chest.
And he had been angry for days.
---
In the kitchens, whispers drifted between rising steam and clattering utensils.
— Do you think it's genuine?
— Between them? Never.
— Then why?
— Politics. It's always politics.
In his private study, Lord Hellsing stood before a massive map of the kingdom. Markers indicated territories, alliances, neutral zones.
His expression was severe.
He knew what many did not.
This marriage was not born of agreement.
It was born of pressure.
Strauss had moved carefully. Slowly restricting trade routes. Quietly supporting rivals. Applying economic and political strain without open conflict.
A strategic genius.
Or a serpent.
Likely both.
Lord Hellsing clenched his fist.
Sometimes protecting one's house meant accepting what one despised.
---
On the training grounds, Blanek drove his blade into the ground with force.
Nearby, Ryo observed silently, arms crossed.
— This marriage is a mistake, Blanek muttered.
Ryo's gaze remained distant.
— Mistakes are often calculated.
Blanek frowned.
— You know something.
A slight smile flickered across Ryo's face.
— Things are rarely what they appear to be.
Blanek gritted his teeth.
— If Strauss thinks we'll just accept this—
Ryo looked up at the darkening sky.
— Strauss always thinks several moves ahead.
A pause.
— But he isn't the only one.
---
The Strauss carriage crossed into Hellsing territory as dusk approached.
Inside, Lord Strauss appeared perfectly at ease.
Beside him sat his son.
Valen Strauss.
Silent. Refined. Difficult to read.
— You understand the importance of tonight? Strauss asked calmly.
Valen nodded.
— Yes.
— This is not merely a marriage. It is a statement.
His hand rested briefly on his son's shoulder.
— The kingdom must learn that the future belongs to those who seize it.
Valen turned his gaze to the passing landscape.
He knew forcing an alliance with a family that despised them was akin to lighting a fuse.
And this kingdom was already soaked in powder.
---
As night fell, lanterns across the Hellsing estate lit up one by one.
The manor glowed magnificently.
Solemn.
Tense.
Carriages arrived in succession. Nobles descended in silk and velvet, jewels shimmering beneath golden light. Smiles were polite. Words carefully measured.
But beneath every glance lay calculation.
If the Second and Fourth Sacred Families formally united, the balance among the Five would shift dramatically.
The First would observe.
The Third would calculate.
The Fifth would grow uneasy.
This was not romance.
It was strategy.
And something about it felt wrong.
Why now?
Why so sudden?
Why Selena?
And why did Strauss appear so confident?
Music began to play.
Servants circulated with trays of wine.
Laughter rose softly.
Yet beneath the elegance, beneath the diplomatic courtesy, something unseen moved quietly through the halls.
Someone was lying.
Someone was preparing something else.