An hour crawled by, and Damien found himself in the entrance hall of Valtor Manor, waiting for Sabrina with increasing curiosity. The manor felt unnaturally quiet, like a place waiting to exhale. He tapped his foot on the marble floor, killing time by examining the various portraits of stern-faced Valtors lining the walls.
[Master, I'd wager good money that Sabrina is fuming right now. Your little command about "wearing something cute" probably has her cursing your name.]
'That's the point,' Damien thought with a smirk. 'Let her think I'm still the same shallow noble brat, just with a new veneer of politeness. The lower her expectations, the more room I have to surprise her.'
The sound of footsteps pulled his attention to the staircase. Sabrina descended with visible reluctance, her face a mask of professional detachment that couldn't quite hide her discomfort.
Damien's eyebrows rose.
She wore a dark blue dress that looked like someone had specifically tailored it to make her life difficult.
The neckline dipped low, low enough that looking at her for more than two seconds felt like a declaration of intent, and the fabric pulled across her chest with each step she took down the stairs.
The cut cinched tight at her waist before falling open over her hips, the hem ending well above her knees in a way that suggested whoever had originally picked this dress had very specific ideas about what a beautiful slave should display for company.
Her black hair was loose around her shoulders rather than pinned back in its usual severe arrangement, and with it down like that, the red of her eyes had nowhere to hide.
She looked absolutely nothing like the tightly controlled maid who had glared at him across the breakfast table.
She looked like trouble dressed in dark silk.
"Someone who belongs with me," Damien said, which was not what he had intended to say at all.
Sabrina's jaw tightened. "This dress was a gift from your father for 'special occasions.' I haven't worn it since the last time he entertained guests at the main estate."
The subtext wasn't subtle. Roderic Valtor liked showing off his beautiful slave to visitors. Damien felt a flicker of genuine disgust toward his "father."
"It suits you," he said simply, offering his arm. "Let's go."
Sabrina took his arm with all the enthusiasm of someone touching a dead fish. Her fingers barely grazed his sleeve, maintaining the maximum possible distance while still technically fulfilling his expectation.
The moment they stepped outside, Damien was assaulted by the frontier town's reality.
The summer heat pressed down like a physical weight, and the air carried a distinctive blend of animal dung, unwashed bodies, and rotting garbage that made his nose wrinkle.
"Gods, it stinks out here. And the heat is unbearable," he complained, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose. "How do people live like this?"
"They have no choice, Young Master," Sabrina replied flatly.
"Hmm, yes, I suppose they don't."
As they made their way down from the hill where Valtor Manor perched, Damien reached out and took Sabrina's hand in his. She stiffened immediately, her fingers going rigid in his grasp.
"Young Master," she said through clenched teeth, "people will talk if they see us like this."
"Let them talk," Damien replied cheerfully. "It might improve my reputation to be seen with such a beautiful woman."
Her eyes flashed with barely contained fury. "I am not an accessory."
"No, you're not," he agreed, but kept holding her hand anyway.
[+50 IP! She really hates this!]
Damien glanced at Satana, who floated alongside them with a delighted expression.
'Interesting. So small acts of annoying people actually generate Infamy Points. Not just big villainous deeds.'
[Of course! Being a villain isn't just about world domination, Master. It's about being a consistent asshole in everyday life too!]
Damien tucked that information away for future reference. The system would reward him for practically anything that generated negative emotions directed at him. Useful.
They reached the town square, a dusty open space surrounded by wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Locals paused in their activities to stare at the odd couple – the silver-haired noble in fine clothes holding hands with a beautiful woman in an expensive dress. Whispers followed in their wake.
"That's the Valtor boy..."
"Heard he got exiled after that duel..."
"Who's the woman? Too pretty for a place like this..."
"Poor girl, stuck with that wastrel..."
Damien spotted a slightly larger building with the town's crest above its door. Two bored-looking guards flanked the entrance.
"The guard station," Sabrina supplied, following his gaze. "Though I'm not sure why you'd want to—"
"Perfect," Damien said, changing direction and pulling her along. "I'd like to introduce myself to our fine protectors."
The guards straightened as they approached, their eyes widening at the sight of Sabrina in her revealing dress. One of them, an older man with a bushy mustache, actually removed his helmet and smoothed his hair.
"Welcome to Harrow's End Guard Station, m'lord," the guard said with a hasty bow. "What can we do for ya today?"
"I'd like to speak with whoever's in charge," Damien said, affecting the bored drawl of nobility. "Captain... whatever his name is."
"Captain Vrell, m'lord. I'll fetch him right away."
The guard disappeared inside, leaving his younger companion to stare awkwardly at Sabrina's chest while pretending not to.
[That one's going to have dreams about her tonight\~]
Damien resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Satana's commentary. A minute later, the door opened, and three people emerged.
The older guard returned, accompanied by a grizzled man in his forties with a weathered face and a young woman with striking blue hair and an extremely curvaceous figure barely contained by her guard uniform.
"Lord Valtor," the older man said, his voice rough with age and alcohol. "I'm Captain Freddie Vrell. This is my lieutenant, Cassidy McKee. What brings you to our humble station?"