For a long, silent moment, Lancelot simply stared, doubting the evidence of his own eyes.
Before him, standing in the center of the softly lit room, was a woman.
She was clad in a thin red dress, a garment so sheer it seemed to cling to her like a second skin, half-shadow and half-silk.
The dim lighting did little to hide the generous curves and slender lines of the figure beneath; it only served to make them more alluring.
Her skin was pale and smooth, and beneath a slender neck the curve of her bosom was half-concealed, half-revealed, inviting his eye.
She was posed with one hand on a nearby table, her body angled to emphasize a bewitchingly narrow, wasp-like waist that looked as if a man could encircle it with a single hand.
Her long, shapely legs were bare, ending in delicate feet that were still glistening with tiny droplets of water, as if she had just stepped from a bath. It was a silent, powerful seduction, an irresistible invitation.
This woman's attire was undeniably an exercise in extreme temptation—utterly and exquisitely provocative.
Yet, this calculated provocation was almost secondary to her demeanor.
Her large, bright eyes, framed by long lashes, seemed to shimmer with a complex mixture of amusement, playfulness, and pure, unadulterated allure.
They were misty and intoxicating.
The corners of her full, crimson lips were curled slightly, revealing a smile that was somehow both roguish and bashful at the same time, as if she were daring him while simultaneously being shy about it.
This was a woman whose very bones seemed to radiate sensuality.
Every breath, every movement, every subtle expression, seemed precision-engineered to ensnare a man's complete and undivided attention.
'Holy hell,' Lancelot thought, his mind momentarily blank.
He felt a slow heat rise in his chest, entirely separate from his tactical analysis.
'Johnson, you little rascal... This... this is advanced-level bribery. You absolutely deserve a raise for this.'
Just as the thought crossed his mind, the woman in the room turned her gaze fully upon Lancelot.
\With a deliberate motion, she pushed off from the table.
She swayed her slender waist as she padded barefoot toward him, her entire body seeming to move in a perfect, hypnotic rhythm with each step.
The motion was flawless.
Any more exaggerated, and it would have seemed cheap, even vulgar.
Any more restrained, and it would have failed to showcase the natural, captivating charm she possessed.
As he watched her approach, Lancelot found himself truly understanding what it meant to "move with captivating grace."
When she reached him, she didn't press her body against his. Instead, her hand came to rest naturally on his waist, maintaining just the right amount of distance.
It was the precise, ambiguous space between a man and a woman that could drive one mad with suggestion.
Maddeningly irresistible.
"You are...?" Lancelot finally asked, his voice steady.
The woman smiled brightly, tilting her head back to look up at him—a significant tilt, given his towering height.
"Just as you guessed," she said, her voice a low, smoky whisper. "I'm Johnson's aunt, Lina. Though 'aunt' makes it sound so formal. I'm only three years older than him."
As she spoke, she stuck out her tongue playfully, a disarming gesture that instantly added a layer of youthful mischievousness to her potent charm.
'Three years older?' Lancelot did the quick mental math.
'Johnson is only seventeen. That would make her just twenty'.
Such youth, he mused, was truly like a flower in full, vibrant bloom.
A faint smile touched his own lips.
Then, Lancelot reached out, his motion deliberate.
He bypassed her hand, her waist, and her shoulders, instead placing two fingers under her chin and lifting it slightly, forcing her to meet his gaze directly.
"Where's the sword?" he asked, his tone perfectly even.
Lina froze.
A flicker of genuine, unfeigned surprise crossed her face.
She truly had not expected that.
She had braced for lust, perhaps for rough eagerness, or even for a practiced, charming response.
She had not expected, despite her meticulous preparations and charms, that this man's first and only thought would be... business.
Her pupils involuntarily contracted as she reassessed him.
Lancelot, observing Lina's reaction, felt his smile widen. Exactly.
He was no monk; he was as lustful as any man.
But he wasn't so far gone that he would lose all his senses at the mere sight of a beautiful woman.
In this world, this harsh new reality where strength reigned supreme, power was everything.
It was the only true currency.
With enough power, one could have anything one desired—women included, as many as he could possibly want.
They were a pleasant consequence of power, not the goal itself.
He would never, ever put the cart before the horse.
Lina, to her credit, understood this almost instantly.
She recognized what kind of person Lancelot was.
This was not some simple fool to be seduced; this was a potential partner to be negotiated with, a superior to be respected.
Knowing when to stop, she didn't push her luck or her beauty.
Instead, she played along with Lancelot's words, letting out a light, airy chuckle.
"I'll get it for you right away, my dear Lieutenant."
As she turned toward a nearby cabinet, she cast a single, slightly aggrieved glance back over her shoulder.
"You little minx," Lancelot murmured, amused by her quick recovery.
He raised his hand and gave her perfectly shaped, peach-like posterior a sharp, playful smack.
"Eep!" Lina let out a soft yelp, shooting him a flirtatious, mock-angry look before continuing on.
She opened the ornate cabinet and retrieved a long, cloth-wrapped katana.
Turning back, she presented it to Lancelot with both hands.
His eyes gleamed.
This woman was truly clever; she knew exactly what he wanted most.
"Flame Dragon," Lina said, her voice now more respectful.
"Forged from a special volcanic metal Fire Rock Iron, found deep within an active volcano."
"Swish..."
Lancelot took the sword and, with a single, smooth motion, drew the blade.
As the sword left its sheath, it was as if flames burst forth in the dim room.
For a brief moment, Lancelot felt as if he were staring into the heart of a raging sea of fire.
He then examined Flame Dragon closely.
The sword's design, its hilt, and its guard were identical to Frost Demon's.
But where Frost Demon was a pale, icy blue that exuded a chilling cold, Flame Dragon was a deep, vibrant crimson, adorned with swirling, flame-like patterns along the steel.
It radiated an intense, palpable heat, almost as if the blade itself were glowing red-hot.
Lina's eyes now held a trace of genuine reluctance.
"Frost Demon and Flame Dragon... they were forged by my grandfather after he spent his entire fortune to commission them."
Just as she finished speaking, the familiar mechanical voice echoed in Lancelot's mind.
"Ding! Host has acquired the Grade Blade-grade weapon, Flame Dragon."
"Ding! Host possesses the matching set of Grade Blade weapons, Frost Demon and Flame Dragon. Sword Spirit 'Twin Blades Burns' is now fully activated!"
Host: Lancelot
Rank: Lieutenant
Talent: Superhuman Body [Strength, speed, and durability at the level of a One Piece superhuman]
Weapons: Frost Demon, Flame Dragon
Sword Spirit: Twin Blades Burns
Sword Styles: One-Sword Style, Two-Sword Style
Techniques:
One-Sword Style (Frost): Iaido: Frost Slash, Ice Tiger, Dragon Fang
One-Sword Style (Flame): Iaido: Inferno Slash, Flame Tornado, Fire Phoenix
Two-Sword Style: Frostfire Slash, Frostfire Whirlwind, Frostfire Twin-Step Ascent, Frostfire Crescent Slash
Rank: Iron-Cutting Level
Combat Power: Captain
Speed: Captain
Physique: Captain
Sword Skill: Comodore
Observation Haki: Beginner
Overall Strength: Captain
Lancelot's eyes lit up.
The moment he possessed both blades, his knowledge and mastery had taken a qualitative leap.
His sword skill had directly surged to the level of a Marine Comodore, although his overall combat strength still a Captain.
He had finally breached the rank of cutting iron.
After a moment of quiet celebration, he sheathed the blade and turned his full attention back to Lina.
With a hint of genuine curiosity, he asked, "I'm curious. How exactly did that kid Johnson convince you to do all this?"
Lina was momentarily taken aback by the question.
Then, a wry smile touched her lips.
"Actually, it wasn't him who convinced me," she said softly. "It was your strength... and your background... that did."
"Huh? What do you mean?" Lancelot was puzzled.
At this, Lina slowly walked over to a corner of the room where a simple wooden training sword rested against the wall.
She picked it up.
She then assumed a perfect, practiced sword-swinging stance.
"Ha...!"
With a light shout, the wooden sword in her hand swung out.
In a flash, the solid wooden table before her was cleanly severed, the two halves sliding apart with a faint shlick.
The cut was perfect, almost surgically clean.
"Iron Cutting?" Lancelot couldn't help but exclaim in genuine surprise.
He had just attained this level himself through a system.
He hadn't expected this woman, who seemed all charm and seduction, to possess such profound ability.
But... wait.
Just as he was marveling at Lina's skill, Lancelot suddenly realized something was wrong.
At this moment, Lina was panting heavily, her face pale and beaded with sweat.
She looked drained, hardly the picture of a powerful swordsman.
Her current state was even weaker than that of an ordinary person.
Lina leaned on the wooden sword for support.
"I have... excellent swordsmanship talent," she panted. "But unfortunately, my physique is frail, even among normal women. No matter how much I train, my physical progress is almost zero. So... I have the knowledge of how to cut iron, but my actual strength... is limited to just that one swing."
She looked up, her eyes burning with a desperate intensity.
"And there's only one way to change this. A Zoan-type Devil Fruit... but Devil Fruits are not something a person like me can ever hope to obtain. However... your father is a Vice Admiral. One permanently stationed in the Holy Land Mariejois!"
At this point, Lina straightened up, despite her exhaustion, and bowed deeply to Lancelot in a formal swordsman's salute.
"If you can procure a Zoan-type Devil Fruit for me, i pledges my life and my sword to serve you."
Hearing this, Lancelot narrowed his eyes slightly.
"So that's it."
Now he understood everything.
This was her pitch. This was her gamble.
But...
"If I had a Zoan-type Devil Fruit, I could directly recruit an already-strong fighter. Why should I give it to you?" he asked, testing her one last time.
Lina took a steadying breath and took a single step forward.
"Because," she whispered, "I can give you something that they cannot."
As she spoke, her fingers went to the shoulder of her thin gauze robe.
Slowly, deliberately, the red dress... slipped off, pooling at her feet like spilled wine, revealing a figure that was, by any standard, utterly flawless.