Duke Reinhardt's cold, sharp gaze swept impassively across everything before him, like a predator surveying its domain.
The Baron's face, plastered with a fawning smile; Gregor's obsequious, cringing posture; the servants, some numb, some fearful, some stealing furtive glances… all of it was no different from the dust on the road in his eyes, failing to stir the slightest interest.
He had seen such scenes countless times, and had grown weary of them. If not for the King's request, he wouldn't have bothered appearing at this utterly tedious hunting festival.
His gaze continued its sweep, moving aimlessly over the lower-ranking beings assigned menial tasks at the camp's edge. Typically, the eyes of such people held only two expressions: complete numbness or pure terror.
However, just as his gaze was about to pass over the muddy area by the stream, it paused unexpectedly for a moment.
There was a figure there.
A girl, covered in mud, dressed in ragged burlap, head bowed in the same humble, submissive posture as the other servants.
But… something was different.
Though her head was lowered, her spine wasn't completely slumped in fear like the others. Instead, it held an extremely subtle, almost imperceptible stiffness—more like a stubbornness forcibly suppressed than pure submission. On her exposed arms and legs, one could see unhealed scratches and the scars left by chilblains, clear evidence of long-term mistreatment. Yet, even in such a wretched state, she strangely lacked the soul-crushed, zombie-like numbness of someone utterly worn down by life.
The very instant the Duke's gaze fell upon her, the girl seemed to sense it, her body giving an almost invisible flinch! But she didn't collapse in fright like others might have. Instead, she bowed her head even lower, her body tensing further, like a startled small animal, refusing to yield, ready to fight back, futilely trying to hide herself deeper.
Duke Reinhardt's eyes narrowed slightly.
He had seen countless people, encountered every kind of gaze imaginable: fawning, greedy, terrified, despairing, numb… Yet this small thing in the mud, in that fleeting glimpse (perhaps he was mistaken, perhaps not), her eyes, which should have been empty or fearful, seemed to flash with something incredibly complex—fear, yes, but also pain, a deep-seated hatred and unwillingness (不甘心), and even… a chilling wariness out of sync with this ignorant era?
Like… a spark struggling in the darkness. Faint, yet stubbornly resilient.
Now, this was interesting.
In this hunting ground filled with hypocrisy, stupidity, and numbness, to actually encounter something so… alive.
The Duke's gaze lingered on her for a few extra moments. He assessed her like an experienced hunter evaluating unexpected prey. Her thinness, her wretched state, her lowly status—all clearly visible. But that subtle sharpness hidden beneath the submissive posture pricked his interest like a tiny thorn, piquing the curiosity of a predator long bored with everything.
It wasn't just curiosity. It was more like… seeing a rare, untamed wildness, and feeling the possessive urge of the powerful to completely dominate it, crush it, just to see how far it could struggle. A cruel amusement.
Elara felt like she was suffocating!
That gaze! That gaze landing on her like a physical weight! Filled with cold scrutiny, assessment, and… an unmistakable possessiveness that made her soul tremble!
She felt like an object, dissected and priced from the inside out. All her disguises, all her attempts to hide, seemed transparent under that stare!
An icy chill raced down her spine. Her heart hammered against her ribs, almost bursting! She desperately controlled her breathing, digging her nails deep into her palms, using the pain to fight the terror threatening to overwhelm her.
Look away! Please, look away! she screamed silently in her mind.
As if in answer to her prayer, or perhaps simply because his interest waned, the suffocating gaze finally, slowly, with casual arrogance, moved away from her.
Duke Reinhardt seemed to murmur a command to the Baron beside him. The Baron immediately bowed and scraped, looking immensely grateful. Then, without further pause, the Duke turned his horse and, with his troop of iron-blooded knights, proceeded deeper into the core area of the camp.
Only after the procession had completely disappeared from view did the oppressive atmosphere gradually dissipate. The surrounding servants dared to breathe again, cautiously resuming movement.
But Elara felt as if she had just been pulled from icy water, shivering, cold sweat soaking her back.
She knew that brief, intense stare was no accident.
She had been noticed.
Marked, like prey, by someone infinitely more terrifying than Gregor, than Hugo, even than the Baron himself.
Why? She didn't understand.
But that didn't matter. What mattered was the unmistakable aura of danger, the predatory intent she had clearly sensed behind that gaze!
The tiny spark of hope for survival she had just rekindled felt as if it had been mostly swallowed by this sudden appearance of a dark behemoth. Elara's heart sank into a deeper, colder abyss of despair.