Marceline rose from her seat and made her way to the shelf where row upon row of aged red wines were stored. Her slender fingers grazed the caps of the bottles as she searched for the perfect choice.
A gentle smile played on her lips, and her blue eyes, now a shade deeper since the last time, scanned the labels as she absorbed the information about each bottle.
The wines on this shelf alone were beyond the reach of even noble branch families. It was a collection so rare and valuable that even nobles themselves would not drink these wines casually.
The entire collection was worth millions of credits, yet here it was, casually housed in the VIP section of a train.
After a few moments, Marceline finally settled on a particular bottle. The label read Red Lamb.
This wine was a famous vintage, renowned for its extremely rich taste and slightly bloody scent. It was highly intoxicating, so only a few could handle it.
But it was precisely because of this that the nobles loved it. Even among them, the Red Lamb was a costly purchase, and they would feel a pang of regret if it were consumed too quickly. However, as nobles, they couldn't be seen scrimping, so they appreciated its high toxicity, knowing it wouldn't be finished too soon. Only a madman would drink more than a single glass of the blood-red liquid.
Marceline picked up two glass cups and returned to the large cushion on one side of the room. She gently placed the glasses down, opened the bottle, and poured just the right amount into each.
She picked up one of the glasses and stared out the window, lost in thought for a moment before snapping out of her trance. She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip, closing her eyes as she savored the taste.
The wine was strong and thick, yet light and smooth at the same time. It had a sweet flavor with a sharp aftertaste.
She felt the liquid slide down her tongue, gently making its way down her throat, leaving a slight burning sensation in its wake.
She took a deep breath, not only tasting its lingering flavor but also smelling it—the faint scent of blood, pure blood.
It made her wonder what actual blood tasted like. Was it sweet? Could this wine actually be made from blood?
She wouldn't be surprised if it was. After all, she had heard of humans doing far more drastic things.
At that moment, the door to a small room opened, and Ichor stepped out, dressed in a new set of clothes—a black turtleneck, pants, and boots.
His amber eyes glanced around the room, taking in the red mink carpet, the lace curtains, and even the golden chandelier that hung from the center of the room.
Despite being on a train, there was no vibration whatsoever. If a man were blindfolded and brought into this room, he wouldn't even know he was on a train. He'd think he was in a noble's mansion or perhaps even the king's household.
Marceline looked at him, and their eyes locked for a moment. Then she gestured toward the glass of wine on the table.
Ichor walked over, picked up the glass, and sniffed its contents slowly. He swirled the liquid for a few moments before taking a sip.
Marceline watched him, her lips curling into a small smirk. Her eyes narrowed as she stared, her blue eyes boring into him.
Ichor walked over to the cushion and sat down, placing the glass on the table.
"What?" he asked.
Marceline's smile faltered, and she looked away as if realizing she had been staring for too long. A light blush formed on her cheeks as she fiddled with her glass, hesitant.
Then she did something that surprised Ichor—she tilted her head back and downed the contents of the glass in one go.
The red liquid vanished quickly, sinking into her stomach. Marceline's face reddened slightly, the highly potent alcohol already working its magic, but it wasn't enough for her.
She poured herself another glass and downed it like a shot, ignoring the surprised look Ichor was giving her.
"Wow. You just drank two glasses of Red Lamb like it was water."
"So? You think it's too expensive?"
"No. I just think that's unusual of you," Ichor replied, resting his head on the headrest and closing his eyes.
The room fell into silence for a while.
"We're all changing… Do you think it's the pool?" Marceline asked.
Ichor remained silent for a while, his eyes closed as if he were deep in thought or perhaps resting.
Marceline stared at him, studying his face. Though Ichor had a manly look, his features softened when he was relaxed—like his long lashes, smooth skin, and full lips. His pale skin gave him a cold appearance, but Marceline had been wondering if he truly was.
She felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch his skin. To her surprise, she actually did. Her slender fingers gently touched his alabaster skin. The softness and warmth made her heart beat faster and sent a shiver down her spine.
Ichor opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly to look at Marceline.
"I don't know," he said, finally replying to her earlier question.
"You don't know?" Marceline asked again, a hint of surprise and disbelief in her tone.
"I'm not Yvonne or Zandov. Why do you sound surprised?" Ichor chuckled.
Marceline withdrew her hand, a slight giggle escaping her lips. Her body, which had been slightly tense and always controlled, suddenly relaxed. Her expression became carefree, and her face returned to normal, with only a slight blush remaining on her cheeks.
She leaned over the table and picked up the bottle of Red Lamb, a smile on her face. Not a gentle or caring smile, but one of pride and elegance.
"The Red Lamb… known for its toxicity. What most people don't know is that although it seems like the alcohol takes effect immediately, it doesn't. The true effect of this vintage wine kicks in about thirty seconds later."
Ichor's eyes narrowed as he began to understand why Marceline had drunk so much in such a short time.
"And the effect of this is that the 'drunkard' becomes their ideal self for a set amount of time."
Marceline placed the bottle back on the table and then turned to look at Ichor.
"So in one hour, we'll have a chat and wipe out all enemies."