The Sovereign System.

"What? I thought you said we still have time?" Luke's voice betrayed his panic. There was still so much he didn't know about Victoria, and no guarantee he'd ever see her again. If he couldn't get answers now, he might never have another chance.

"I'll find you when I need your help. Until then…" She paused, a brief smile playing on her lips. "Don't die." With that, she opened the door and shoved him out into the hallway.

Luke didn't resist—he couldn't have, even if he'd wanted to. Her strength was overwhelming. He stumbled into the corridor, colliding with a few maids walking by. They blinked at him, their surprise evident. Clearly, they hadn't expected him here.

"Erm, sorry—I got lost on my way to the reception hall. Would one of you mind escorting me?" Luke managed to recover quickly, his tone light enough to dispel suspicion. A moment later, one of the maids nodded and guided him toward his destination.

Upon arrival, Luke sank into a chair, his thoughts churning. If William was occupied with a maid, it could be a while before he showed up. That was fine by Luke—his mind needed time to process everything.

The idea that Lhair could have infiltrated Valand City was deeply unsettling. Worse, it suggested that William Nox had betrayed not only Viscount Nero but possibly the entire Marxx Kingdom by allying with such a dangerous faction.

But why? If William had already gone so far as to frame Viscount Nero's murder and claim the title of City Lord, what more could he gain from Lhair?

'Unless…' Luke's eyes widened as a chilling thought struck him. 'Could it be that someone has been manipulating William from the shadows?' The notion made his stomach churn, but it wasn't impossible. William had served as Viscount Nero's right-hand man for two decades. If he had harbored ambitions for power, surely there would have been signs long before now.

As he brooded over the possibilities, the sound of a door clicking open snapped him from his thoughts. Luke rose from his seat, his eyes falling on the City Lord as the man strode in. William's clothes were disheveled, and his beard was unkempt.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, Commander. I was fighting my own battle in the bedroom," William said with a booming laugh.

'Gross...' Luke suppressed a grimace, masking his disgust with a polite smile. "You wanted to see me, City Lord?" he asked, steering the conversation forward.

William seemed unbothered by Luke's tone and showed no urgency himself. Instead, he walked over to the table, where two clay pots sat waiting. Silently, he poured two cups, handing one to Luke before settling into the chair across from him.

The sharp, slightly sweet aroma of mulled wine wafted into Luke's nostrils. Since arriving in this world, he'd only had ale—which tasted like piss, in his opinion. He hoped this wine would be a marked improvement.

Luke waited until William took a deep drink before raising his own cup to his lips. The wine was better than expected, its rich flavor washing over his tongue like rain over a parched desert.

"It's a fine wine," Luke said, raising his cup in a gesture of thanks before setting it down beside him. He had no intention of getting drunk—not in this man's presence. That privilege was reserved for brothers-in-arms, not treacherous swine.

"Spoken like a true noble," William spat, glancing down at his cup with mild disdain. "I'd much prefer an ale, though I don't expect you to understand that."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "City Lord, are you perhaps unaware of my status as a commoner?" he asked, his tone calm but probing. This wasn't the first time William had referred to him as a noble.

William's expression shifted to shock, then disbelief. But moments later, a grin crept across his face, partially hidden by his thick black beard. "Aye, you bastard. You could've fooled me. Here I was thinking another pompous asshole had come to take what's mine. Looks like I was wrong."

His entire demeanor softened at the revelation. William leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs and settling into a more casual posture. The tension in his body melted away, as though he'd decided pretense was no longer necessary.

The change was unexpected, but Luke knew better than to let this opportunity slip by.

"You seem to have some issues with the noble class, City Lord. I thought you wanted to join their ranks after ascending to your position," Luke remarked, feigning disinterest.

William scoffed. "How could I not have issues with those so-called nobles? They're nothing but a bunch of filthy cowards who rob the poor to line their pockets and fill their granaries—all in the King's name. I've only met one man who truly embodied what a noble should be."

His voice trailed off, and for a brief moment, a shadow of pain crossed his face. Luke considered pressing further, but before he could, William drained the rest of his cup in one swift motion, releasing a satisfied sigh.

"Let's not dwell on depressing matters," William declared, waving a hand dismissively. "Did you know there are places in the world without such a twisted class-based system? Places where everyone has the same opportunities…"

"It certainly sounds wonderful," Luke replied evenly, though inwardly, alarm bells were blaring. The Qin Empire, the Principality of Selis, and the Eyre Kingdom were all monarchies with rigid social hierarchies. The only known place on the continent that rejected such systems was Lhair.

"Aye," William said wistfully, his gaze distant. "Perhaps one day the Marxx Kingdom will change."

Luke's suspicion hardened. He was now almost certain that William was involved with Lhair. Yet he refrained from probing further—if William revealed too much, he might decide Luke knew too much to be allowed to leave.

"City Lord," Luke interjected, steering the conversation away, "should we discuss the reinforcements and supplies we'll be taking off your hands tomorrow?"

"Right, of course. Forgive me. This mulled wine may be sweet, but it only seems to bring me bitterness," William muttered, setting his empty cup on the ground.

He sighed, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the armrest of his chair. His gaze locked onto Luke, studying him intently. The scrutiny was unsettling, but Luke met the man's eyes without flinching. Any sign of weakness could invite suspicion—or worse.

"I must admit, I underestimated you, Commander Drakon," William said, his gaze steady and unyielding. "At first, I thought you were a snake in the grass, charming those around you with your silver tongue to do your bidding. Yet you brilliantly defeated Ryder in the courtyard, using both his anger and disdain against him. Had you not held back at the last moment, he wouldn't have even known how he died."

Luke sensed a compliment buried within the words, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"Even with your… afflictions," William continued, his eyes lingering on the fake scars marring Luke's face, "you've managed to rise to the position of temporary commander and join the war effort. To earn the Deputy General's seal—such trust from high-ranking officers—is no small feat. While I can't discern your exact age from your face, your hands and build tell me you're in your mid-teens. To achieve so much at your age is impressive, perhaps to a fault."

'Fault?' The word struck a nerve, sending a cold shiver down Luke's spine. The phrase carried a strange weight, the tone laced with regret and a hint of something deeper. Luke subtly shifted in his seat, leaning forward as he prepared himself to act if things took a dangerous turn.

William didn't seem to notice—or perhaps he didn't care. He let out a deep sigh, the smell of alcohol clinging to his breath. "I fear that in time, you will be little more than a tool in the eyes of those nobles. Should you ever find yourself in such a position and wish to escape, know that there will always be a post for you here."

Luke's eyes widened briefly, unable to fully mask his surprise. 'Compassion? From him?' The notion felt almost absurd, yet the sincerity in William's words was unmistakable. After a moment, he composed himself and offered a gracious nod. "Thank you, City Lord. I will keep that in mind should the time come."

William waved the matter away, his earlier tone of melancholy dissipating as he shifted to the business at hand.

"I have ten thousand soldiers to lend you, two thousand of whom are cavalry. I sent out the rally notice shortly after your duel. They should be ready to march at dawn," he said.

Luke nodded, satisfied. This was close to what he'd anticipated, and the inclusion of such a large cavalry contingent exceeded his expectations. "This will suffice, thank you, City Lord. May I also inquire about the supplies?"

"Sixty wagons, carrying approximately sixty thousand pounds of grain. Any more, and we'd risk our own citizens going hungry," William replied, his tone firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

"This will do," Luke said, rising from his chair. Though pleased with the outcome, he was eager to leave. The way William kept studying his face made him uneasy, as if the man could see through his disguise.

The City Lord stood as well, extending a massive hand. Luke obliged, grasping it firmly. But before he could pull away, William yanked him forward with unexpected force, causing him to stumble and nearly trip.

Luke's face was mere inches from William's, the grizzled City Lord's eyes narrowing as they scrutinized the disguise. The vice-like grip on Luke's arm was unrelenting, making escape impossible.

'Shit! He's going to figure it out!' Luke's mind raced, his body squirming instinctively as he fought to appear calm. He did his best not to let panic or suspicion show on his face.

"Your face…" William's voice was cold, his eyes flickering with anger. "It's not really disfigured, is it?"

Before Luke could muster a response, William barked an order. "Maid! Bring a pot of water!"

The blood drained from Luke's face. It was clear what William intended. Once the water arrived, the charcoal masking his features would be washed away, and his true identity—Luke Nero—would be exposed. His cover would be blown, and his life likely forfeit.

"W-What are you doing, City Lord? This is highly uncalled for!" Luke shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. He pulled against the man's iron grip, but it was useless.

"Quiet!" William thundered, his breath reeking of alcohol. The stench made Luke's stomach churn as he continued to struggle. But the man's strength was overwhelming. Resistance was futile.

'Kayson… please, save me!' Luke screamed internally, hoping against hope for some intervention. But there was no response. The system offered no telepathic abilities, no means of summoning aid. He was utterly alone.

Moments later, the maid entered with a basin of water. She hesitated upon seeing Luke restrained and struggling, but William's sharp glare and barked command spurred her to action. She placed the basin on the table and quickly retreated, her face pale with unease.

Before Luke could plead again, William grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his face into the cold water. The shock of it stole his breath as water rushed into his nose and mouth. He thrashed violently, his struggles sending water across the table, but William's grip held firm.

After what felt like an eternity, William released him. Luke's head shot up from the basin as he gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. The cold water had washed away much of the charcoal, leaving his skin cool and raw in the open air.

Luke glared at the City Lord, hatred burning in his eyes. He reached for the long brass candlestick beside him, gripping it tightly as he shifted into a defensive stance. If William advanced, Luke was prepared to fight—even if the odds were against him.

But what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

William wasn't angry. He wasn't gloating or preparing for a fight. Instead, his expression was one of shock, followed by profound regret.

"I am deeply sorry for offending you, Commander," William said, his voice unusually soft. He bowed deeply, his tone filled with sincerity. "Please forgive me this once, and I will owe you a favor in the future."

'Huh?' Luke froze, his grip on the candlestick slackening. 'He doesn't recognize me?'