Derheim had already started walking away, his back turned, when Dante felt a sudden realization wash over him like a cold wave. Something about the old man's offer, something about the way he walked away without pressing further, gnawed at the edges of Dante's mind.
"Wait, Derheim!" Dante called out, his voice cutting through the silence.
The older man paused but didn't turn around. Dante hesitated for a moment before speaking again, the words coming out almost reluctantly. "I'll go."
Derheim turned his head slightly, just enough for Dante to catch the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Good," was all he said before continuing toward the exit of the arena.
Outside, a grand carriage awaited them, its dark wood gleaming under the midday sun, polished to perfection. The horses, large and powerful, were adorned with intricate silver harnesses, their coats as black as midnight. Dante couldn't help but notice the crest emblazoned on the side of the carriage—a symbol of wealth and power that only a duke could wield.
As they climbed into the carriage, Dante took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The interior was spacious, lined with plush velvet seats and adorned with golden accents. The carriage creaked slightly as it began to move, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels over the cobblestone streets filling the silence between them.
Derheim broke the silence first, his tone casual but probing. "So, Dante, why did you attack me back there?"
Dante leaned back, staring out the window at the passing scenery. "Because being near you is hell," he replied bluntly, his voice laced with irritation. "Our auras... they oppose each other. Yours might not be severe, but mine is."
Derheim nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "And how is it now?"
Dante shifted his gaze back to Derheim, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Fine, now that you aren't telling me to do something. But the moment you do, expect a knife, old man."
Derheim chuckled softly at that, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to fill the carriage. "Duly noted," he said, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.
As the carriage rolled to a stop, Dante caught sight of the mansion looming before them. It was enormous, a sprawling estate that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. The architecture was grand and imposing, with tall, arched windows, towering columns, and intricate stone carvings adorning every surface. The grounds were meticulously maintained, with lush gardens and flowing fountains that added to the sense of opulence.
Dante stepped out of the carriage, his eyes taking in the sheer scale of the place. "As expected of a duke," he muttered to himself, a mix of awe and resentment in his voice.
Before he could take in more, an incredibly beautiful girl approached them. She had long, flowing hair, and her features were delicate yet striking, with eyes that seemed to sparkle with an inner light. She wore a maid's uniform that somehow managed to look elegant rather than plain.
Dante 2 immediately made his presence known, his voice practically salivating in Dante's mind. "Damn... look at her. Just... wow."
Dante suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his alter ego's reaction and instead turned on the charm. He flashed a flirtatious smile at the girl, his voice smooth and confident. "And who might you be, beautiful?"
The maid blushed slightly but maintained her composure. "I'm Frey, my lord. I'm here to show you to your room and around the mansion."
Dante's grin widened. "Frey, huh? A name as beautiful as the girl herself."
As they walked through the mansion, Dante couldn't help but constantly hit on Frey, his comments ranging from playful to downright shameless. Frey, for her part, seemed flustered but not entirely displeased by the attention. She guided him through the grand halls, pointing out various rooms and features of the estate, all while trying to maintain a professional demeanor.
They passed by numerous servants and guards, all of whom greeted Derheim with respect and deference. Dante noticed the way they glanced at him—curious, wary, perhaps even a little fearful. He couldn't blame them. He was a wild card, an unknown element in their carefully ordered world.
Eventually, they arrived at a grand staircase leading to the upper floors. Derheim, who had been quietly observing their interactions, finally spoke up. "Dante, behave yourself. Frey is here to help you, not to be the target of your... attentions."
Dante put on a faked expression of being wronged, his eyes widening in mock innocence. "What? I'm just being friendly."
Frey, noticing his expression, couldn't help but smile. "It's alright, Lord Derheim. I can handle it."
She placed a comforting hand on Dante's shoulder, and in that instant, Dante felt a surge of something—an instinct, a reflex. He sensed a threat, subtle but real, and in a split second, he reacted. A blood blade, sharp and deadly, formed in his hand, and he launched it toward the distant figure he had sensed.
Derheim's eyes widened as he raised a hand, a shimmering barrier of wind forming just in time to block the attack. The blood blade dissipated against the shield, harmlessly scattering into the air.
"I thought you were joking," Derheim said, lowering his hand, a hint of disapproval in his voice.
Dante just clicked his tongue, annoyed that his attack had been so easily deflected. "Can't be too careful."
The rest of the tour was more subdued, with Dante occasionally glancing around, taking in the opulence of the mansion. The servants continued to move about, each carrying out their duties with precision. Dante noticed the subtle hierarchies in place—the way some servants seemed to command more respect than others, the way certain areas of the mansion were guarded more heavily.
As they reached his room, a grand chamber with a large bed, luxurious furnishings, and a balcony overlooking the estate, Frey turned to him with a gentle smile. "This will be your room, Lord Dante. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."
Dante smirked, leaning slightly closer to her. "Does that include you, Frey?"
Before she could respond, Derheim stepped in. "Dante, enough."
Dante sighed theatrically but backed off, watching as Frey gave him a small, amused smile before excusing herself. As she left, Dante couldn't help but admire the sway of her hips, Dante 2 whispering in his mind, "She's something else, isn't she?"
Dante ignored the voice, turning his attention back to Derheim, who stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "This is your home now, Dante," Derheim said quietly. "Make the most of it."
Dante didn't respond, instead moving to the window and looking out over the vast estate. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the gardens and fountains. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply take it all in—the beauty, the wealth, the power.
But deep inside, the darkness stirred, reminding him that this was not his world. Not yet, at least.
As the night began to fall, Dante remained by the window, his mind a whirl of thoughts and plans. The mansion might be grand, but it was also a cage—a gilded prison where he would have to tread carefully. Derheim's offer was tempting, but trust was a luxury Dante couldn't afford.
He would play along for now, learn what he could, and bide his time. But when the moment came, he would strike. And when he did, not even Derheim would be able to stop him.