3rd Person POV
[Underworld - Gremory Domain - Gremory Mansion]
Arto and Rias appear together through a portal in the Gremory Mansion's grand foyer—just in time for Venelana's tea tray to hover midair, frozen by the sight of her daughter being hand in hand with her boyfriend "So you still intended to let her go" she sighs, gesturing them to sit down as two chairs float before them.
As Arto and Rias sit down, Venelana gracefully pours them their tea "I thought I declined that offer" Rias exhales before answering "Yes, mother, but my intention of going has changed, I just wanted to spend a night with Arto talking about artifacts they sold at the Auction House..."
"...and people?" The matriarch suggests, her teacup pausing halfway to her lips. The silence that follows is charged—like the moment between lightning and thunder. Rias feels Arto's fingers tense imperceptibly around hers under the table.
Venelana sets her cup down with a precise click. "You'll see them bid on things far less pretty than artifacts, darling." Her amethyst eyes—glint in the chandelier light. "You know they sell people there, right?...." She looks at them for a moment "Of course you do, Arto bought Albedo from that Auction House in Sitri domain"
"I do, mother, and I know what it would be like there, but trust me, I just wanted a date with my future husband...." Rias' voice trailed off as Venelana's sharp gaze flicked between them. The teacup in her mother's hand steamed gently, the aroma of bergamot curling through the tense air.
Venelana's lips thinned. "A date," she repeated, slow and deliberate. "You know it would raise rumours around us, right?" Rias looks over to Arto, her lover, the greatest secret of Gremory clan, "He will be there under Arasto Atreides alias, right?" Venelana smiles "You're right, and it would cause...." she suggested, waiting for her daughter to answer.
"Rumors around the relationship between Gremory and Atreides, making Arto's made-up clan loses its neutrality it has been building" Rias answers fluently, like she has known the answer the moment the name Atreides was mentioned.
Venelana nods approvingly "You're smart, Rias, so smart that I can't just let you sit in the same gazing booth with your husband. One is because of what you just said, second is that Arto has a soft spot for you, he would not deny you if you act cute"
Rias' grip tightens around Arto's fingers—just shy of pain. "Then where do you want me?" The question comes out sharper than intended. Across the table, her mother's teacup clinks softly against its saucer.
"With me," Venelana says simply. "You will sit with us in the booth meant for the land owner. Let them see you observing—not participating." Her gaze flicks to Arto. "And let Arto sit elsewhere as the Baron of Atreides clan. A political divide that must be maintained."
Rias's nails dig into Arto's palm. "But—" "No whispers. No interactions. Not even a gaze at him" Venelana's tone brokers no argument. "Because like us, others are watching as well, and they know how to read even the slightest gestures."
She taps her teacup—once, sharply—and the porcelain rings like a verdict. "If they see the Gremory heiress paying a lingering gaze at Baron Atreides, they'll assume either collusion or courtship. Both undermine neutrality of Atreides"
Arto's thumb strokes Rias's knuckles—a silent plea for patience. "Your mother's right," he murmurs. "Atreides is at a position of a political hotspot of the Underworld, where every side is revolving around for the resource that only it can provide without political fallout, you read it too, right?" Rias turns to him "Dune? The novel?"
Venelana's teacup clinks down with finality. "Precisely." Her gaze flicks between them, calculating. "Rias will observe from my booth. You"—she points at Arto—"will bid as Baron Atreides. Albedo, or your wife Baroness Atreides can be there if you want....." Rias raises her hand "I can be Baroness Atreides!"
"Back then it was Grayfia, now you?" Arto raises an eyebrow to his lover "Yes, I want to sit with you, and how else could I do that other than being your official wife? I'll ask Grayfia for the disguise spell that made her look like Albedo and allowed her to accompany you in many meetings when Albedo was absent without getting noticed, not to mention we're both wearing masks to the Auction House anyway" Rias declares with a playful smirk.
Venelana sighs into her teacup—the sound of a woman who sees history repeating itself. "Grayfia taught you that disguise spell?" Rias nods enthusiastically. "She said it's useful for 'diplomatic emergencies.'" The air quotes are audible. Arto pinches the bridge of his nose. "That woman enables you too much."
Venelana's fingers twitch around her saucer. "If you're determined to do this," she begins, leveling a look at her son-in-law "You'll make sure to keep her cover up, and call Albedo for a quick crash course of Baroness Atreides's posture, I don't want any suspicion when my daughter is playing risky political game to be with her lover"
Arto pulls her phone out.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Albedo teaching chibi Rias how to be Baroness Atreides]
[Gremory Domain - Auction House]
Arasto appears at the Auction House in his usual tux, with Atreides crest, cane with a hawk at the tip and his most signature feature, the jet black mask covering his entire face. Accompanying him is none other than Baroness Atreides in her black dress to match her husband and compliment her perfect skin, the crimson ring of Atreides clan rests on her ring finger, signifying her status as the wife of the leader of the clan with the most formidable growth in the Underoworld.
And as called House of Mask, she also wears a jet black mask covering her entire face to match her husband, but unlike his hawk cane, she holds a fan with Atreides crest embroidered on it with gold thread, casually fanning herself as she walks with her husband towards their seats, nodding at some nobles she recognized who nodded back at her direction. "So, dear husband" Baroness Atreides, or Rias in disguise, starts whispering "What do you think of the crowd?"
Arasto leans in slightly as he speaks via a communicator inside his mask "As expected from the opening ceremony, Paimon sure doesn't waste any time to re-open this place to reassert their power play in Gremory Domain, a recognition, and a hub"
His cane taps rhythmically against the marble floor as they make their way to the box intended for them. "What will it be in today's session?" Arasto asks himself as he and his wife settle down their seat in the box where fruits, wines and a waitress of the Auction House is waiting. "Milord, milady"
The waitress bows deeply, her horns glinting under the chandelier light.Baroness Atreides—fans herself lazily, the motion practiced from hours of Albedo's frantic coaching. "Champagne," she orders, voice pitched lower, smoother.
The disguise spell works perfectly as her voice was changed perfectly, the waitress bows courtly before opening the wine bottle and pours masterfully into 2 crystal cups "Please enjoy, Lord and Lady Atreides, I will be of service right outside"
But before she leaves, Arasto raises his hand, gesturing her to stop and hands her a thick envelope "For your service, call it a day" The waitress hesitates—nobles didn't dismiss staff so casually—but the weight of the envelope makes her fingers twitch. A silent glance passes between her and the masked Baron. Then, with another bow, deeper this time, she slips out without another word.
Baroness exhales through her nose, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she looks over to other booths, mostly the ones of King and Prince houses have their waiters and waitresses presenced "I see, it's like a casual filter" Arasto nods "Yep, who would keep a waiter of the House in here? Either you're too arrogant to care about spies, or you're too naive to realize."
He leans back, not paying a single care about the wine, but waves his hand, and Rias can hear snapping sounds not just in their box, but in others as well, like a wave of applause came out of nowhere "Another casual filter?" she asks, watching as Arasto's fingers stop "recorders, cameras,....casual procedure, those who don't 'applaud' are either idiots, or they are here purely for buying. But we talk mostly under our masks, it's a sign that we are not casual players"
Rias looks around once more, searching for any surveillance devices before sinking back into her seat, waiting for the auction session to start "72 lots," she said "do you know where the source of the goods are?"
Arasto taps his cane twice against the floor—a deliberate, hollow sound. "The usual suspects," he murmurs through the mask's comms. "Noble estates liquidating embarrassing assets, fallen clans selling heirlooms, and..."
His fingers tighten briefly around the hawk's head. "Even powerful strays captured and sold for peerages, some exiled nobles who bare some values to be trafficked, more and more, elite goods are sold from all over the Underworld into these Auction House"
Rias' fan stills mid-flutter. The champagne bubbles pop quietly in her glass. She'd known, theoretically. But hearing it laid bare—the casual brutality of it—makes her stomach twist. Before she can respond, the chandeliers dim. A spotlight ignites over the central podium, revealing an androgynous figure in a silver half-mask.
"Welcome, esteemed patrons," the auctioneer purrs, their voice amplified by hidden magitek. "Lot one: a chalice forged from the fangs of Fenrir's brood." The podium rotates, displaying a goblet that gleamed with unnatural frost. Rias' fingers tighten around her fan. This was no mere artifact—it was a trophy from the Norse
"Damn, what a chalice," Arasto comments, pulling Rias's attention towards the chalice instead of the commotion under and around them, Rias turns to him "Do you think your wolf form can take that thing on? I mean, Fenrir?" Arasto taps his mask "Maybe, I know I can take that wolf"
The auctioneer's gloved hands hover over the chalice as murmurs ripple through the crowd. "A relic of the Third Great War," they announce, "with verified bloodline resonance." Rias's fan snaps shut. Bloodline resonance meant one thing—whoever drank from this would inherit a part of the brood's power.
"Damn, a power booster no less, I can see why its price is steep, Fenrir's breed is dangerous" Arasto comments as the auctioneer placed the starting price at 5 millions gold marks. "5 millions? Let's see how far they are going to push this thing"
The bids came fast—a blur of raised paddles and sharp nods. Rias watched, fascinated, as the price climbed past ten million in under a minute. Nobles leaned forward in their boxes, eyes glinting behind masks. A woman in peacock feathers tossed her hair and raised her paddle with a smirk. "Twelve million."
"Do you think it has that value, husband?" Baroness Atreides asks, tilting her head "No, it's just nobles like pushing it for their own purposes, but remember, Rias, we are here to talk about the relics, not about the motives behind it, so lighten your gaze, enjoy the fruits, wine, me and the show"
The chalice finally sold for seventeen million to a hooded bidder in the back—far more than its practical worth. Rias exhaled through her nose, watching as attendants whisked the relic away. "They're paying for prestige," she murmured behind her fan. "Not power." Arasto's masked profile tilted slightly in agreement. "Exactly. Which is why we're ignoring the next three lots."
As predicted, the following items—a set of cursed tapestries, a dragonbone harp, and an illusory mirror—sparked only polite interest. Rias nibbled on a grape, studying the crowd's rhythms. Nobles bid just enough to maintain appearances, never truly engaging. Then the auctioneer's tone shifted. "Lot five: A living artifact."
The curtains parted to reveal a glass tank. Inside floated a beautiful mermaid—her scales flared beautifully under the light, her expression stretched between confusion and fear. Rias' champagne flute cracked in her grip. Arasto's hand closed over hers, catching the falling shards before they clattered. "Breathe," his voice filtered through the mask. "It's a normal sight in this place"
The auctioneer tapped the tank with a silver rod. "A rare albino specimen from the Pacific trenches. Note the bioluminescent patterning—ideal for ceremonial displays or private aquariums." Rias' stomach lurched. They were discussing her decor. Arasto's thumb stroked her wrist—once, sharply. "Don't react. Watch the bids."
Rias forced her fingers to unclench from the shattered flute. The mermaid's tail flicked nervously behind the glass, her gills flaring as she pressed webbed hands against her prison. The starting bid—three million gold marks—made Rias's jaw tighten. That was triple the average yearly income of a mid-tier noble household.
"Four million," a voice from the Orobas box. "Five," countered a masked figure in Asmodeus colors. The bids climbed with predatory leisure. Rias memorized each voice, each subtle gesture of the paddle. The Peacock Feather woman from earlier leaned forward, her smirk widening. "Seven."
"I didn't know we had mermaids in our world?" Rias said, gazing closely at the swimming mermaid, trying to escape but to no avail now that her face is in the hand of nobles in the Auction House. Arasto replies "I don't know either, they might have lived a life in secret, like Albedo's virgin succubus society, and this one is accidentally got lost and captured"
The bid hit eight million. The mermaid's tail lashed violently, sending bubbles spiraling in the tank. Rias' fan trembled in her grip. "We can't just—" Arasto's cane tapped gently against the floor
"We actually can't, some fates are just cruel that way, you have to accept that we can't save them all, we don't have enough finance to challenge the entire noble system of Underworld, not mentioning she is now in an entanglement of political dynamics, stepping in now would stir the water and make others look at us like we ruin their transactions"
Rias' knuckles whitened around the fan's spine. Arasto rubs her back gently to calm her down "What we can do is keeping the rest safe instead of saving one and be viewed as a troublemaker"
The bid hit nine million. The mermaid's luminescent scales dimmed as she curled into herself, her gills fluttering rapidly. Rias' chest ached—she'd seen that posture before, in the eyes of some strays cornered by GSHA hunters. "We're really just going to sit here?" she whispered, her disguised voice cracking slightly.
Arasto's fingers twitched against his cane. "For now, yes, we can just watch her being torn apart by the nobles wanting her for their fish tanks, but we now know people like her exist, and we can help them, as a whole, not as individuals."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only the mask's comms could pick up. "We help them stay safer, hiding them better, or maybe....move them to a new home where they are not hunted anymore"
Rias exhaled sharply through her nose, watching as the bid climbed to ten million—then twelve. The mermaid's eyes, wide and glassy, darted between the masked faces bidding for her life. Her tail twitched weakly, bubbles rising like silent screams.
"So that's how you'd do it?" Rias said from inside the mask, he nods "I believe it's the best course of action we could make, ensuring their community survive the hunt and the abuse, but you should be reminded about the use they have on these mermaids aside from their beauty, you see those scales?"
Rias turns her attention back to the tank where the mermaid is trapped. "What about them?" Arasto answers "Each scale is stronger than titanium, lighter than silk, and naturally repel magic attacks, making them invaluable materials for armor crafting, especially lightweight armors"
The auctioneer's gavel came down with finality—"Sold to House Belial for fourteen million!" The mermaid's tank shimmered as attendants wheeled it away, her terrified face pressed against the glass one last time before disappearing behind velvet curtains. Rias's fan snapped open with a sharp flick, the Atreides crest glinting dangerously in the low light. "I hate this."
Arasto's cane tapped once—a silent warning. "Emotions are fleeting, actions are what make changes, but it should always start with the emotional drive, and we have the tools to do so, just not here, not now." He turned his masked face toward her, the hawk's beak casting a sharp shadow. "Tell me, love, what are your actions as a leader?"
Rias inhaled sharply, her fingers flexing around the fan's spine. The mask hid her expression, but her voice trembled—just slightly—when she spoke. "Gather intelligence," she murmured, gaze flicking across the auction floor. "Identify their locations, and with our magic-tech, we protect them from hunts, from harm, from abuse, and of course, with returned favors for us."
Arasto's mask tilted in approval. "Like?" Rias' fan traced an arc through the air—slow, deliberate—as she scanned the nobles below. "Favors from their gods, Poseidon, Njord, whoever cares enough to bargain. Trade agreements. Safe passage through their waters." Her gloved fingers tightened. "And if no god claims them—then we claim them first. Atreides-backed merfolk sanctuaries."
"And how will they help us in return for our protection for them?" Arasto's cane tapped rhythmically against the floor as he awaited Rias' answer, because this is where a leader makes the way for both sides to benefit together.
Rias' fan stilled mid-flutter. The champagne bubbles in her glass popped quietly as she considered. "Their knowledge of the sea, they know the currents and waves like no others, they can help us protect the secret data back up in places where no one could find it, their scales—yes, their scales—could be offered voluntarily in exchange for our protection, crafted into lightweight armor for our frontline hunters."
Arasto's masked head tilted in a way that meant he was smiling underneath. "Good. Now the hard part—how do we find them without tipping off every noble house that wants exotic pets or armor materials?" His cane tapped the floor twice—a signal Rias recognized from their strategy sessions. Time to think three steps ahead.
Rias' fan snapped open with deliberate calm. "Robin's network." The words came out smooth, practiced. "Her Nico clan eyes are everywhere—and I believe she knows the capital of merfolks, Atlantis, is" Arasto tilts his head "Atlantis? I heard Robin talked about it once when we mentioned Plato in one of our discussions"
The auctioneer announced the final bid—fourteen million—as the mermaid's tank vanished behind the curtains. Rias' grip on her fan tightened, the Atreides crest gleaming like a promise. "Robin's eyes," she murmured, "We can use to track down Atlantis so that we can start...negotiating"
Arasto's cane tapped once—approval. "Good. That's what I expect from a leader, seeing the situation, knowing what to do to bring the most benefits, and using the most out of what she has to complete the goal, and most importantly, it started with a heart filled with compassion and care, that's better than me...."
"What would you do if it was you?" Rias asks suddenly, her fan pausing mid-air as the auctioneer announces Lot Six—a set of dragonbone knives rumored to have slain a demigod. Arasto's mask reflects the chandelier light like a void.
"Me?" His cane twirls once between gloved fingers. "I'd not have thought about what you just laid out, I would just sit there and think about what other nobles are trying to do via this purchase, you know, what Sona warned you about, I would never think of helping the mermaid because it never crossed my mind to do so, I would just see her as a commodity being traded, and that's why I said you're better than me."
Rias' fan resumes its slow arc, hiding the way her lips press together. The knives on display gleam under the spotlight, but neither of them glance toward the podium. "That's a lie," she says softly. "You helped Albedo."
Arasto's mask tilts just enough to catch the chandelier light at a sharp angle. "I bought her without a single mind thinking about helping her fellow sisters, I bought her at first to enrage Riser Phenex, who was desperate to own her, to humiliate him before the entire Auction House by something that was should set the gap between us, wealth, and to market my own image to the noble houses for better business with Atreides later on, see? It was never about her, it was always about me and my gain"
Rias' fan stops mid-sway. The dragonbone knives sell to a masked figure in the back—seventeen million, a record for the night—but neither of them reacts. "And that is also a lie, or half a truth, it was never clear about the nature of words you say, love" She taps the edge of her mask against his beak lightly. "You released Albedo immediately after purchase. No contracts. No conditions. For her to choose her next path, to be free again, or to return to you...."
"...and when she did, you delved into her own species record to find how to set her kind free from the obligation of one choice that could decide their fate. More than that, you love her, care for her, teach her knowledge so that now she is the formidable Baroness Atreides"
Rias leans forward, the mask's hawkish profile nearly touching Arasto's. "You can lie to the entire world, but to us lovers of yours, we know for certain that the man who loves, cares for and cherishes us, is the real Arto Abyssgard, not the mask he wore for others"
Arasto's cane slips—just slightly—before he catches it. The auctioneer's voice drones on about Lot Seven, a set of enchanted shackles purported to bind even archangels. Neither of them glances toward the podium.
"And it's exactly," he murmurs, the word barely audible through the mask's comms. "what shackled us all into a family" Rias finished his sentence, just loud enough for the mask to pick up.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by Arto being kept down by his family]
The lots go by one by one with a few more living artifacts being sold—another mermaid, a pair of winged children claimed to be descendants of Harpies, and a wounded kitsune with her tails bound in silver chains.
Each time, Rias' fan trembles slightly, her grip tightening imperceptibly beneath the silk gloves. Arasto remains still as a statue beside her, his cane resting between his knees like a scepter. Only the occasional tap of his fingers against the hawk's beak betrays his attention.
"So that's how things go in here, hearing from you was never enough to portray all the monstrosity they are doing here to people" Rias said "Because partly....you're like them"
The accusation should feel like a dagger, but to Arasto, it was the moment he sees his student knowing that her mentor isn't perfect like how he treats her, that is something he was expecting, and now, he feels proud that she is not blindly following him anymore "You would've let them be sold away if it didn't serve your interests"
The auctioneer's gavel cracks against the podium—another lot sold—but the sound barely registers. Arasto's masked profile remains impassive, but his fingers tighten around the cane. "Correct," he says, voice filtered through the hawk's beak. "And you wouldn't. That's the difference between us."
Rias' fan snaps shut. The kitsune on stage whimpers as silver chains clink—her tails bound tight enough to bruise. "Then why bring me here?" Her whisper is sharp, barely audible over the bidding war erupting for the fox-girl. "To show me how not to lead?"
Arasto's cane taps once—soft, deliberate. "To show you the cost of leading." The kitsune's ears flatten as the bids climb past ten million. "Compassion without strategy gets people killed. Strategy without compassion makes you them."
He tilts his mask toward the Belial box, where champagne flutes clink over the fox-girl's terrified silence. "You're here to learn the balance, to know that I am the darkness that casts the light you stand in, I am the strategy and you are the compassion"
Rias' exhale fogs the inside of her mask. The auctioneer's voice crescendos—"Twelve million to House Glasya-Labolas!"—as the kitsune's chains rattle. Her golden eyes darted wildly, locking onto Rias' masked face for one fractured second. A plea. A mirror.
"You're wrong," Rias says suddenly. Her fan flips open, the Atreides crest glinting. "I'm not just compassionate. And you're not just strategic." She leans in, her whisper slicing through the comms.
"You bought Albedo for politics. But you freed her because somewhere under all those lies, you still care. That's why you brought me—not to teach me about costs, but to remind yourself that you're not the monster you pretend to be."
The cane slips again. The kitsune's final whimper echoes as the gavel falls—sold. Arasto's glove creaks around the cane's handle. "Clever girl," he murmurs. The words sound like surrender.
A chime interrupts—Grayfia's coded ping through their earpieces. Lot Twelve: Unwakened Sacred Gear wielder. Female, 17. A slave sold for causing catastrophic damage at her working site
Rias' spine stiffens when she sees a cage was dragged towards the stage, inside is a red-haired girl no older than her, chained by wrists and ankles, her figure is thin to the bone, with right eye missing, the other filled with defiance
The auctioneer smirks as he pulls her chains taut. "Note the left eye's mutation—likely linked to her Sacred Gear's latent abilities. Ideal for breeding programs or experimental research, even extraction because apparently this little girl here is holding the power she and we have yet to understand"
Rias' fan stops mid-flutter. The girl's remaining eye—a brown shade with something she never expected to see from anyone else other than Arasto himself, she looks closer to the girl in the cage, the fire in her eyes is like a match to his but different in color, his is blue and hers is red, but both burns with the same intensity—locked onto Arasto's mask with terrifying clarity.
It's like they found each other in the crowd, like Arasto finally found his....kin, his soldier, another Abyssgard—different fire, but same intensity and that...will inside of it.
The girl's gaze burns through the mask's hawkish veneer, her chained wrists twitching as if sensing something beneath his disguise. Rias sees Arasto's fingers freeze around his cane—not in calculation, but recognition.
"Starting bid: five million," the auctioneer announces, but the number barely registers. The girl's lips peel back in a silent snarl, her defiance radiating even as chains dig into her bony wrists. Rias watches Arasto's posture shift—subtle, imperceptible to anyone not trained by Grayfia's merciless drills—his shoulders squaring like a soldier bracing for deployment.
"Six million," calls a voice from the Glasya-Labolas box. The girl's eye flicks toward the sound, her nostrils flaring. And for the first time in this session, Arasto takes his paddle "Eight millions!" Baron Atreides has joined the bidding war—a strategic impossibility. Rias' fan trembles against her thigh.
The auctioneer's grin widens. "Eight million from House Atreides—do I hear nine?" The girl's gaze snaps to Arasto's mask, her scowl deepening. She doesn't look grateful; she looks disgusted from the sight of people putting tag prices over her, can't blame her, without proper communication, all nobles here are the same, even Arasto, who is now bidding for her, is no better than the rest.
"Ten," rasps a hooded figure in the back. Rias' knuckles whiten. She knows this isn't the plan of them being here. But Arasto's paddle lifts again without hesitation. "Twelve." The cage rattles as the girl lunges against her chains, her voice raw from disuse. "I'm not livestock!" The defiance cracks halfway, revealing something worse: fear.
The Glasya-Labolas noble leans forward, intrigued. "Fifteen." The bidding goes on, Rias can see how serious her husband is in this lot, unlike the cold, calculating strategist she usually imagines him to be when standing on political battlefield like this Auction House, she sees a man who is willing to throw away every single plan they have for this girl, and that makes her wonder—who is she to him? Arasto lifts his paddle again. "Eighteen."
The auctioneer's gavel hovers. The girl's single eye burns with hatred—not just at her captors, but at Arasto, at the entire grotesque theater of nobles bidding over flesh. Rias' fan snaps open, hiding her whisper. "You know her." "Nineteen!" another price placed on the poor girl.
Arasto's mask doesn't turn. His glove tightens around the paddle. "Twenty million," he counters, voice like forged steel. The hooded figure hesitates. Murmurs ripple through the boxes. Twenty million could buy a small estate—or a squad of elite warriors. Spending it on a malnourished, half-blind slave? Madness.
"Twenty million to Baron Atreides!" The gavel falls. Chains clank as attendants drag the cage toward the VIP exit. The girl thrashes, her raw scream echoing off the gilded walls—"I'll kill you all!"—before the curtains swallow her.
Rias exhales sharply. Around them, nobles resume sipping champagne, discussing the next lot as if they hadn't just witnessed a human being sold like livestock. Arasto sighs a long one that could be heard through his mask as he sits down his chair with a loud thump—a pressure van released as he has now returned to his usual state.
"What do you see in her?" Baroness Atreides asks—too softly for the comms to catch. The mask hides Rias' expression, but not the tremor in her fan's edge. Arasto's cane taps once, slow and deliberate. "An ember," he murmurs. "similar to mine, a fire striving for a freedom that was denied from birth, a fire of a soul that was tormented till broken....."
"You saw yourself in her..." Rias' whisper barely reached Arasto's ears beneath the hum of aristocratic chatter. The auctioneer announced Lot Thirteen—a cursed violin said to drive listeners to madness—but neither noble glanced at the stage.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by Arto and the girl looking into each other's eye]
The auction session ends unlike what Rias expected, it's not just her who became shaken by the cruelty of nobles treating humans—and other creatures—as commodities, Arasto himself was shaken too, but not because of the same reason, he was shaken because the girl in the cage was not just some random Sacred Gear wielder
Standing up, Arasto turns to the entrance of the booth, Rias stands up also to follow her husband to the Post Auction Office, where they will acquire what they bought.
The path there was filled with silence as they only walked, not saying a single word, she was disgusted by what they are selling here, he was shaken by the sight of another soul that resembled his...."Baron Atreides..."
A voice reaches them when they are near the Post Auction Office, a nobleman from Belial clan, who bidded for the red-haired girl in the cage "You sure are active on your path to build your peerage, I can see your determination to win that girl" He chuckles
"Indeed," Arasto answers "that girl is filled with potential though malnourished and devastated, even you were interested, how can you blame me when seeing something worth investing in?
The nobleman's smile sharpens, his crimson eyes flicking to Rias' masked face. "Baroness Atreides," he purrs, bowing slightly. "Your husband's tastes are... interesting. A succubus, now a feral stray?" His chuckle curls around the words like smoke. "One might think he collects broken things."
Rias' fan snaps open with deliberate calm, the Atreides crest gleaming under the corridor's chandeliers. "Well, it's always cheaper to turn broken things into loyal things, am I right, Lord Belial? A little hope and care could make broken souls cling to us for life"
The nobleman laughs "I see, what a strategy you have there, Atreides, I hope you succeed in your endeavor" He extends his hand for a shake, which Arasto deliberately takes "And I do hope you succeed as well with the artifacts you bought I saw some interesting things you acquire tonight, very fascinating choices I must say, especially that Harpy siblings"
"Keen eyes you have there, Baron Atreides," Lord Belial mused, withdrawing his hand with a flourish. "Though I wonder—does your acquisition of damaged goods extend beyond political utility?" His crimson gaze lingered on Rias' concealed face. "Or is there... personal interest at play?"
Arasto's cane tapped once—sharp as a gunshot. "All investments are personal," he countered, voice smooth through the mask's modulator. "Would you bid twenty million on art you didn't adore?" The Belial lord chuckled, but his eyes narrowed at the deflection.
The trio parted ways with fabricated etiquette, Belial's lingering smirk dissolving into the gilded shadows. The Post Auction Office loomed ahead—a sterile chamber where flesh transactions were finalized with ink and wax. Arasto and his wife come to the counter "I want to make payment for lot 12" he hands over his black card to the clerk, who nods professionally
"Your delivery will come shortly after going through safety procedure, milord, we don't want our esteemed guests to be attacked by what they bought" the clerk masterfully does the transaction procedure, after which the clerk hands over the black card back to Arasto "Transaction completed, Lord Atreides, we will deliver her to you shortly, you can take a seat in the lounge, or we can make personal delivery if you want"
Arasto turns towards the lounge where some nobles are examining the goods they bought today "We'll wait"
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto teasing chibi Rias]
The lounge's door open as the staff of the Auction House reels a cage in with the exact person Arasto just paid 20 millions to buy—the Sacred Gear wielder, a red-haired girl with one eye missing and the other burning with defiance, her chained wrists clutching the bars of the cage as she scans the room, searching for escape routes or potential threats.
Arasto doesn't move from his seat, his mask angled slightly toward her as he swirls a glass of untouched champagne—a prop, not a drink. Rias watches the girl through the hawkish profile of her own mask, the fan in her hand still but ready.
The girl's single eye locks onto the Baron first—like a predator sizing up the apex in the room. Her lips peel back in a silent snarl, her chains rattling as she shifts her weight. "You," she spits, voice hoarse from disuse but sharp as a blade. "You're the one who bought me."
Arasto sets the glass down with deliberate calm. "Correct." The word seems to incense her further. She lunges against the cage bars, the metal groaning under her weight. "I'm not yours."
He bends himself before the cage to match her height, his voice goes low like a whisper so that other nobles could not hear "You never were" He turns to the staff and nods "You've done well, I'll take it from here, no need for any further slave branding or anything." The staff bows "As you wish, milord" before leaving the lounge.
The girl's remaining eye widens—just a fraction—before narrowing again. Her breath comes fast, ragged, as if she's waiting for the trick, the trap. Arasto touches the metal bar of the cage before he and the Baroness disappear under a teleportation spell...into a vast grassland stretching towards the horizon.
The masked nobles come closer to the cage and open it, the girl immediately lunges towards them to attack the two, her strike was blocked by the Baron before he pushed her back, she looks at them both, eyes filled with fury, disgust and somewhere deeper, confusion not just about their identity, but also their motive, "What do you want?" she asks in snaring tone that sounds more wounded animal than human.
Arasto doesn't answer, instead, he summons a sword and throws at the new bought slave "Pick it up" he summons his own sword "Defeat me in a fight, then I will release you without any more problem, if not, you have to listen to what I say, deal?"
The sword clatters against the grass. The girl hesitates—her single red eye flicking between the weapon and Arasto's masked face. Then, with a sudden burst of motion, she snatches it up, her chains clanking as she twists into a defensive stance. "Fine," she hisses. "But when I win, you'll regret ever laying eyes on me."
Rias steps back, her fan snapping shut with a quiet click. Arasto doesn't shift—his sword held loosely at his side, his stance relaxed. The girl lunges first, her swing wild but fueled by desperation. He parries effortlessly, their blades singing as they clash.
Rias makes her distance for the duel to continue, but she can now see what her husband saw in this girl, the way she moves—like a wounded beast fighting not to kill, but to survive.
Each slash carries the weight of stolen years, every feint born from a thousand narrow escapes. She fights dirty: kicking dirt at Arasto's mask, using her chains like whips, biting when he pins her wrist. But he counters without breaking rhythm, his sword a mere extension of his will, redirecting her fury rather than crushing it.
On the seventeenth clash, the girl's exhaustion betrays her. Her knee buckles mid-strike. Arasto's blade halts a hair's breadth from her throat. "Yield," he says, voice stripped of theatrics. She spits at his mask. "Never."
A laughter from the mask as he steps back "Then stand up" The girl staggers upright, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her fingers tremble around the sword's hilt, but her eye burns brighter—not with defeat, but with a fury that refuses to gutter out. She lunges again, this time aiming low, a sweeping slash meant to cripple rather than kill. Arasto pivots, his blade intercepting hers with a metallic screech.
He counters effortlessly against all her blows, never once actively attacked his opponent, just parried, dodge, and let her exhaust herself in a fight she was never meant to win, even so, the fire in her eyes never wavered, it's burning past the hatred for the noble that bought her, towards those who trampled on her soul...."Not just yours, right?" Arasto asks as he pushed her out, making her fall to the ground "You're fighting for not just your freedom....who else are you trying to protect?"
The girl scrambled up, her breath ragged, sword trembling in her grip. "Shut up," she snarled. "You don't know ANYTHING!." Arasto's sword dipped slightly, the edge catching the twilight. "Then tell me." The words weren't a command—they were an invitation, quiet and dangerous.
She lunged again, chains whipping like serpents. Metal screeched as he deflected as he once again pushed her back like he was playing with her other than fighting seriously "I don't talk to slavers!"
"Then fight your way out, warrior, fight so that you can go find them, save them, protect them, most importantly, lead them to break out of chains" He announces, pointing his sword at her
The girl's eye widened—just for a fraction of a second—before her lips curled into a snarl. "Don't PRETEND to understand," she spat, swinging wildly. Her blade grazed Arasto's sleeve, tearing the fabric but leaving his skin untouched. He didn't flinch.
Rias watched from the sidelines, her fan trembling slightly. The girl fought like a storm—all fury and no form—but there was something beneath it. A precision buried under desperation. Every time Arasto deflected, she adjusted. Every time he pushed her back, she learned.
On the twenty-third clash, the girl's knees finally gave out. She collapsed onto the grass, her chest heaving, the sword slipping from her grip. Arasto lowered his blade "If you fight like this, how do you expect to free your miserable friends?"
The girl's eye flashed—not with defeat, but with a renewed, searing hatred. "Don't...don't you dare talk about them," she rasped, fingers clawing at the dirt as she forced herself up. Blood trickled from her split lip, mingling with the sweat streaking her gaunt face. Her chains clanked as she swayed, but she didn't fall.
"You're weak, you know that? So weak that you can't even protect yourself, let alone your friends, now you are here, powerless, only alive because of my mercy while your friends are being whipped into labor...." The girl's remaining eye dilated—a fracture of raw agony before her face twisted into something feral.
She launched herself at Arasto, not with the sword this time, but with her bare hands, her chains whipping through the air. He sidestepped, grabbing her wrist mid-lunge, twisting just enough to send her crashing onto her back. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her, but her fingers scrabbled for the dropped blade.
Arasto looks at her trying to push herself up again, he takes the sword she dropped and throws it at her "Pick it up" The blade lands in the dirt beside her face. "Come on, pick it up, lying there and one more of your friend will die in torment from the slavers"
The girl's ragged breathing hitched. Her fingers twitched toward the sword—then clenched into fists. "YOU—" she choked out, her voice cracking like dried earth. The chains around her wrists trembled, not from exhaustion now, but from something far more dangerous.
Arasto didn't move. His mask hid his expression, but his posture was loose, almost indifferent. "What's your name?" he asked, as casually as if they were exchanging pleasantries over tea. The girl's eye burned hotter. "Fuck you."
Rias' fan snapped open with a quiet click, her masked face turning slightly toward Arasto. A silent question.
He ignored it. Instead, he crouched, bringing himself eye-level with the girl sprawled in the dirt. "Fine. Die nameless, then. Let your friends wonder what happened to the one who led them into a strike against the slavers, let them remember the one who took all the punishment in their stead, let them hold on to a dead hope that one day you will return to save them—"
The girl's chains exploded outward—not with physical force, but with a sudden, searing burst of golden light. The Sacred Gear embedded in her flesh activated for the first time in years, its markings flaring like wildfire across her skin into something that looks like an armor, covering her form as she launched herself at Arasto with a guttural scream.
His sword met hers mid-air, the impact sending shockwaves through the grassland. Rias staggered back, her fan slipping from her fingers. The girl wasn't just fighting now—she was unleashed, every movement fueled by a lifetime of stolen autonomy. Her blade moved faster, sharper, as if the Sacred Gear had rewired her muscle memory into something lethal.
Arasto parried, it was never enough even with this thing activated, she still has to learn much "Heh, shiny armor you have there, Knight, now I can finally do some damage" He throws a punch at her armor with his free hand, it hits like a warhammer, sending a shockwave through her body was she was thrown back meters away, rolling on the grass before stabilizing herself, panting.
The girl's Sacred Gear flickered—its golden radiance dimming as her stamina wavered. Blood dripped from her nose, splattering onto the grass. But she didn't drop the sword. She couldn't. Not when Arasto was already advancing, his blade humming with restrained power. "Is that all?" he taunted, twirling his weapon lazily. "Some knight you are."
Her right eye burned brighter than the armor's fading light. With a snarl, she charged again—this time feinting left before twisting into an upward slash aimed at his ribs. Arasto blocked, a kick in her face, sending her away again "You have potentials, that's why I bought you out, now that I have confirmed the power sleeping inside you, it's time to conclude this little spar of ours"
Before she could stand up, chains spawned out of the earth as they bound her limps, once again in chains as the noble before her moved with a speed that her eyes can't follow, only for his blade to rest on her throat "Do you yield?" he asks, voice colder than the steel pressed against her skin.
The girl's Sacred Gear flickered out—exhausted. Her armor dissolved into golden motes, leaving her trembling and bare. But her eye never wavered. "I'll NEVER yield to you," she spat, blood dripping from her nose and lip.
Arasto's blade didn't move. "Then you'll die here," he said simply. "And your friends will rot in chains, wondering why you abandoned them. But before you die, girl, let your grave have a name"
The girl's chest heaved—each breath a shuddering battle between pride and desperation. Her fingers twitched against the earth, smearing blood across the grass. "...Erza," she rasped at last, the name tearing from her throat like the last word she could say as his blade start digging into her neck "Erza Scarlet"
Arasto's sword withdrew with a whisper. The chains binding her dissolved into shadows. He stepped back, sheathing his blade with a crisp click. "Good," he said, as if she'd passed a test she hadn't known she was taking. "Now we can talk, Erza Scarlet."
The grass whispered as Rias approached, her fan folded tight against her palm. Erza's single eye darted between them—defiance flickering with something sharper, something wounded. Arasto removed his mask first, letting it clatter to the earth. His face was bare, unguarded, and far younger than Erza expected, she thought it's someone of mid 30s or 40s, but this guy is barely out of his 20s, yet has the eyes of someone who's seen centuries. "You're not a noble," she accused, voice hoarse.
"Rich enough to be one, not arrogant enough to be one," Arasto corrected, wiping blood from his split lip—a souvenir from her last desperate bite. His gaze drifted to the horizon where the sun dipped below the grasslands. "And you're not just a slave."
Erza's chains lay broken around her wrists like shattered promises. She flexed her fingers, watching the golden motes of her Sacred Gear fade completely. "Then what am I?" The question was a blade, sharpened on years of stolen choices.
Rias' mask hit the grass beside Arasto's. Her true face was softer than the Baroness' icy facade, her crimson eyes bright with something Erza couldn't name—pity? Recognition? "Free," she said simply.
Erza barked a laugh that sounded more like a cough. "Free to do what? Serve you instead of them?" She jerked her chin toward the unseen auction house.
Arasto crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Free to leave." He tossed a small pouch at her feet; it jingled with coins. "Enough for passage anywhere. A fake identity. A fresh start. But after what happened between us, you know you're too weak to leave on your own to save your friends, so....I have a deal to make with you."
Erza's remaining eye narrowed. The pouch sat untouched between them, its leather stained with dew. "What deal?"
"Training." Arasto tapped his sword hilt. "You're strong—but not strong enough. You want to save your friends? You'll need to become something more than just angry." He flicked a glance toward Rias. "And we can make you more, starting with your sword fighting to your magic to your Sacred Gear, we can teach you to be a person strong enough to save your friends."
Erza's fingers twitched toward the pouch. "And what's the price?" Rias knelt beside Arasto, smoothing her dress "Your service to us and your silence, you are not to tell anyone about the man's existence, when your training is done, you are free to go where you want, we will provide you with intels and supplies, but when we call, you must return to aid us."
Arasto flicked a coin between his fingers—gold catching the dying light. "Call it...an investment." He tossed it into the pouch. "Train with us, learn from us, then carve your own path. But until then?" His smile was all edges. "You obey."
Erza's gaze flickered between them—calculating, weighing. The chains around her wrists felt lighter than the ones binding her choices. "...How long?"
"Until you're strong enough, time is wacky when time-dilation kicks in" Arasto snaps his fingers as the grassland disappears, leaving only an empty room with a door leading out. He reaches his hand out to Erza "Do we have a deal?"
Erza's fingers twitched toward his hand—not yet touching, but hovering in the space between distrust and necessity. Her single eye flicked to the door, then back to Arasto's outstretched palm. "What's the catch?" she demanded, her voice a rasp of worn steel.
"The catch," Rias interjected, stepping forward with a rustle of silk, "is that you'll have to steel yourself because his training regimen isn't mercy." She nudged the coin pouch closer with the tip of her shoe. "But neither is slavery."
Erza's fingers curled into fists at her sides—her chains lay broken, but the marks they'd left were deep. The door behind them promised escape; Arasto's hand promised something murkier. Survival? Betrayal? She swallowed hard, her throat clicking.
Arasto's outstretched hand didn't waver. "Tick-tock, Knight. Your friends aren't getting any freer while you deliberate." That did it. Erza's hand shot out, gripping his forearm with enough force to bruise. "Teach me," she snarled. "But if you're lying—if this is some twisted game—"
"Then you'll kill me?" Arto's chuckle was low, almost fond. He patted her knuckles with his free hand. "Promises, promises. Again, do we have a deal?" Erza's grip tightened—her fingers digging into his forearm hard enough to leave crescent marks. The silence stretched taut between them, broken only by the distant hum of the simulation room's machinery cycling down. Finally, she released him with a sharp exhale. "...Deal."
Rias' fan snapped open with a flourish. "Excellent." She smiles, removing her own mask as her disguise fell off, leaving another redhead in the room instead of the raven-haired Baroness Erza saw before "Before we move on, let us introduce ourselves, I am Rias Gremory" she extends her hand to Erza "Welcome to the family, Erza Scarlet"
"It's only me left, but let me introduce myself, my name is Arto Abyssgard, it's a pleasure to start working with you, Erza" Arto bows his head slightly like a courtesy of a knight "It's about time we go see the rest of the family, follow us" Arto turns towards the door, which opens automatically for them to walk through.
And the sight before Erza is something she could never imagine, a long hall glowing in white and blue light with countless doors stretching down from the direction opposite to where they are heading to, inside the hall are countless people wearing white trench coat, holding square, flat object walking along the hall, and they all greet Arto and Rias respectfully before being on their way into the rooms behind the doors.
"Welcome to the Simulation Room, Erza," Arto said, gesturing to the vast, sterile hallway stretching endlessly before them. The hum of machinery vibrated through the floor, punctuated by the rhythmic tapping of fingers on holographic screens. Erza's eye darted between the doors, each labeled with cryptic alphanumeric sequences—she can't read them....
A woman in a white coat approached, her raven hair reached her back, her face screams beauty and intelligence "Good day to you both, Arto, Rias" she speaks, her voice smooth like silk, warm like a bonfire "I see you're done with briefing our new member" her blue eyes meets Erza's brown ones as she extends her hand "Nico Robin, administrator of Simulation Room, it's good to see you're on board with us, miss Erza"
Erza hesitated—her fingers twitching toward Robin's outstretched hand before she stiffened. "What is this place?" she demanded, her voice rough from disuse. The hallway stretched endlessly, doors sliding open and shut as technicians hurried past, their tablets glowing with schematics Erza couldn't decipher.
Robin's smile didn't waver. "Think of it as... a forge," she said, withdrawing her hand gracefully when Erza didn't take it. "One where we make new things with magic, materials, even military training and manufacturing, you can find them in this place, quite a fascinating facility to my opinion, if you'd like, I can take you a tour...but now," Robin leans down to match Erza's height "You need a fresh bath, new clothes, and a new quarter," She turns to Arto "I'll notify Grayfia about the new arrival, now go introduce her to the family"
Arto nodded, gesturing for Erza to follow as they moved deeper into the hallway until they reach a single door and when it's opened, it took her to a place that looks like a basement "This is the entrance of the Simulation Room, at the basement of a ORC clubhouse in Kuoh Academy, now we're going upstairs"
The door to the basement opened to reveal a lavish clubroom bathed in afternoon sunlight filtering through stained-glass windows. Akeno lounged on a velvet couch, her ledger forgotten on the coffee table as she looked up with a raised eyebrow. Beside her, Nami—perched precariously on the couch's armrest—nearly dropped her pen when she caught sight of Erza's battered form. "Oh, hell," she breathed, scrambling upright. "You bought a skeleton"
Koneko, mid-bite into a cream puff, froze. Chocolate smeared her cheek as she stared at Erza. Kuroka, draped over the backrest like a lazy panther, flicked an ear. "Haa~? Thought we weren't taking strays anymore, nya~?"
Kiba, who is testing some alchemical things on the table, turns to the newcomer with a smile. Rias takes this chance to introduce Erza "Everyone, this is Erza, a Sacred Gear wielder Arto and I found in the Auction House and decided to buy her freedom, may we give her a warm welcome?"
The clubroom fell silent. Akeno's fingers paused mid-calculation, her ledger forgotten as she took in Erza's gaunt frame and bloodied lip. Nami whistled slowly, twirling her pen between her fingers. "Damn," she muttered, eyeing the bruises mapping Erza's arms like constellations of violence. "You really know how to pick 'em, boss."
Erza's fingers twitched at her sides—halfway between forming fists and reaching for a sword she no longer had. Kuroka's tail flicked as she slithered off the couch, circling Erza with feline curiosity. "Haa~? Not much meat on this one, nya~," she mused, poking Erza's ribs. Erza's remaining eye flashed crimson, her body tensing like a coiled spring.
Before she could lash out, Arto's hand landed on Kuroka's head, ruffling her ears with practiced ease. "Play nice," he chided, his tone light but edged with steel. Kuroka pouted but retreated, flopping onto the couch with exaggerated drama.
Koneko, still clutching her cream puff, slid off her seat and approached Erza with slow, deliberate steps. Without a word, she held out the pastry—half-eaten, the cream smudged with chocolate.
Erza stared at it, her expression caught between bafflement and something perilously close to longing. "Eat. You're too thin" Koneko said flatly, pressing the pastry into Erza's hand before going back to her seat to grab another.
The cream puff sat heavy in Erza's palm, its sweetness cloying in the air. Her fingers trembled—whether from hunger or the sheer absurdity of the gesture, she couldn't tell. Akeno leaned forward, her ledger forgotten as she poured tea into a fresh cup. "She's right," she said, sliding the saucer toward Erza. "You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."
Erza's throat worked silently. The last time she'd been offered food, it had been laced with sedatives—a "gift" from slavers before branding. Yet here, in this absurdly lavish room, these strangers offered her sweets with no strings attached. Her grip tightened around the pastry, crushing it slightly.
"Have a seat, Erza" Rias places a hand on her back, guiding her to the seat next to Koneko and Kuroka "You can eat the pastry while we introduce ourselves, you've already known me, Rias Gremory"
Erza hesitated before lowering herself onto the couch, her posture rigid as if expecting chains to snap shut around her wrists again. The cream puff Koneko had given her remained clutched in her fist, uneaten. Across from her, Akeno set down her ledger with deliberate softness.
"I'm Akeno Himejima," she said, pouring another cup of tea—this one steaming with an earthy aroma. "Finance division. And an occasional lightning rod." Her fingers crackled with static for emphasis before she pushed the cup toward Erza.
Nami leaned over the couch's armrest, her orange curls bouncing. "Nami, CFO and professional headache for anyone who tries to screw with our money." She grinned, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Also, the reason you'll never go hungry again."
Koneko, now demolishing her third pastry, nudged the plate toward Erza with her elbow. Kuroka draped herself over the back of the couch, her tail flicking idly. "Kuroka, nya~. Professional nuisance and part-time assassin." She winked. "Don't worry, I only bite if you ask nicely."
Kiba set down his alchemical vial with a soft clink. "Yuuto Kiba. Spellblade specialist." His smile was disarmingly kind. "If you ever need a sparring partner, I'm available."
Erza's fingers twitched around the crushed pastry—cream oozing between her knuckles. The room smelled of chocolate and parchment, warmth radiating from the stained-glass windows casting jewel-toned light across the carpet. It was too much. Too soft. Too unlike the cold auction blocks and damp cells she'd known. Her throat tightened.
"Take your time to adjust, Erza, not everyone is used to being treated nicely" Arto said before gesturing Rias to come back to him for another section of today's introduction of Erza Scarlet into the family "Okay, now that we have known each other, let's talk about why we 'acquired' Erza"
The air shifted. The casual warmth of introductions evaporated as Arto leaned against the mahogany desk, his fingers steepled. Nami's pen stopped mid-scribble. Koneko froze mid-chew. Even Kuroka's tail went still. Erza's spine straightened instinctively, her fingers tightening around the ruined pastry.
Arto's gaze locked onto hers—unflinching. "You're not just any Sacred Gear wielder," he said, his voice dropping into something colder, sharper as he projected a holographic record of the spar between him and Erza back in the Simulation Room. "That armor? The way it manifests? That's not just any Gear—that's Requip: The Knight....."
"A lost Sacred Gear with the last record dated back to the First Crusade from 1096-1099" Robin makes her appearance from the basement of the clubhouse, holding a datapad with a holographic projection of a medieval knight clad in golden armor, slaying through a horde of enemies
"It's quite interesting to see it finally appeared again after the last wielder of it which was believed to be Godfrey of Bouillon, the leader of the crusade, died in 1100, quite a coincidence to see another wielder of Requip appearing in front of us now"
Erza's fingers twitched toward her empty hip—where a sword should have been. The holographic knight flickered, its blade cleaving through phantom enemies. "What are you implying?" Her voice was rougher than she intended, edged with something brittle.
Robin tapped the datapad, freezing the projection. "Nothing sinister," she assured, though her smile carried the weight of centuries Erza couldn't fathom. "Only that history has a way of repeating itself. And we'd prefer it didn't—at least, not the bloody parts."
Robin pushed off the desk, the hologram dissolving into golden motes. "Requip isn't just armor," she said, stepping closer. "It's like....a toolbox for you to create armors and weapons based on your knowledge, plan and desire in combat, if you want it to be flexible, you can make a flexible one and store it inside the Gear for later use, you want to make a tanky one you can make it, a stealthy one you can make it. The designs, powers and abilities are entirely up to you, the only limit is your imagination, knowledge and experience in combat."
Arto claps his hands together "Then it aligns perfectly with the training program I set out for Erza, with that progressing metric, her Sacred Gear will get stronger along with her progress and magic study and combat training"
The hologram flickered again—this time projecting a skeletal framework of armor pieces rotating in midair. Kiba leaned forward, his eyes tracing the intricate joint mechanisms. "Fascinating," he murmured. "If the armor adapts to the user's combat style, then theoretically, she could develop specialized sets for different opponents."
Erza's eye darted between them, her fingers still sticky with cream. The casual banter grated against her nerves. These people spoke of her power like it was a puzzle to solve over tea. Her jaw tightened. "I don't need your theories," she bit out. "Just tell me how to get strong enough to break my friends out."
The room fell silent. Rias exhaled through her nose, folding her hands in her lap. "Direct," she mused. "I appreciate that." She turned to Arto. "But...." Arto nods and shoots the question "Are you literate?"
Erza blinked—once, twice—her lone eye narrowing into a razor-thin slit. The question hung in the air like a bad joke. Her fingers twitched toward the phantom weight of a sword hilt. "...Excuse me?"
Arto leaned back against the desk, unfazed. "Literacy. Reading. Writing." He gestured to Robin's datapad, its screen still pulsing with historical records. "Half of your training involves studying magic and combat theory. If you can't parse basic text, we're starting from scratch."
A vein throbbed in Erza's temple. The cream puff in her hand oozed between her fingers, forgotten. "I—" Her voice cracked. Arto sighs before taking the datapad from Robin's hand, turns on some random text and holds it before Erza's face "Can you read it for me?"
Erza stared at the glowing symbols—curved, angular, utterly alien. Her mouth opened, then shut. The silence stretched.
Arto doesn't seem to be disappointed by Erza's illiteracy, he only sees himself the first time I looked at letters 'I was unlettered until over 20, this is nothing' he muses, tapping the datapad to switch the display to pictorial diagrams of armor schematics. "No matter. We'll teach you."
Erza's fingers clenched around the ruined pastry, cream seeping between her knuckles like mortar between bricks. "I don't have time for—whatever that is"
Robin shakes her head "Well, if you want to be strong enough to save your friend, you have to at least know how to read the map to find them, your slavery childhood has denied you most basic knowledge, without them, getting out of this town on your own is a hardship, let alone finding your friends"
The truth landed like a blade between her ribs. Erza's remaining eye burned—not with fury, but something far worse: shame. She turned away sharply, her tattered sleeve smearing cream across her thigh. "There is nothing to be ashamed about" Robin places a hand on Erza's shoulder "It's not your fault to be in this state, and we won't blame or laugh at you because of it"
The smile of Robin really warms Erza's heart as she recalls her past again "From tonight on, I will be your teacher, I will teach you everything you need to know to survive in this world"
Arto places a hand over his ear "I see, thank you, Grayfia" he turns to Erza "Your room in our home has been prepared, you can move in right away if you'd like"
Robin squeezes Erza's shoulder gently before withdrawing. "First lesson starts tonight. I'll see you in your room, now go see your new home, I must return to the Simulation Room to continue my work"
With that, she walks downstairs to the basement again, leaving Erza with the rest of the girls. Koneko nudges Erza's elbow—hard. "Eat," she orders, shoving a fresh cream puff into Erza's slack hand. "You'll need energy." The pastry's warmth seeps into Erza's palm, its sweetness cloying. She stares at it, the cream pristine this time—untouched by her crushing grip.
Akeno rises smoothly, her ledger tucked under one arm. "I'll escort you," she offers, her voice lilting like windchimes. "The mansion can be... overwhelming at first." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes—sharp, assessing. Erza recognizes the look: a predator sizing up prey. Yet when Akeno extends her hand, it's palm-up. An invitation, not a threat.
Erza hesitates. The pastry weighs heavy in her hand. She lifts it to her mouth—bites. Sugar explodes across her tongue, rich and cloying. Her stomach lurches in protest after weeks of gruel. She swallows convulsively as tears start falling from her remaining eye, it is her first time eating something like this—something this delicous—since she was enslaved
Koneko turns to her, brushing the tears away "Good?" she asks plainly. Erza nods—once—sharply, the motion jerky like rusted gears grinding back to life. Kuroka snorts from her sprawl on the couch. "Haa~? Crybaby," she teases, but there's no venom in it. Her tail flicks lazily, brushing Erza's knee in what might've been accidental comfort.
Rias comes to Erza as well "You can relax, it's not trap, no lie, the deal is done between you and us, now let us fill our part of the agreement"
Erza exhaled sharply through her nose—half a scoff, half surrender—as she wiped her eye with the back of her wrist. The cream puff's remnants clung to her fingers, sticky-sweet. "Promises are cheap," she muttered, but the defiance rang hollow even to her own ears.
Akeno's hand lingered in the air between them, unwavering. "So is pride," she countered lightly. "And it digests worse." Her fingers twitched—an impatient flick—before Erza finally relented, gripping her wrist instead of her palm. Akeno's smile turned razor-thin. "There. Was that so hard?"
[Arto's mansion]
Stepping through the portal to Arto's mansion, Erza almost fainted by the sight of the place looking outside in—a sprawling estate of polished marble and enchanted glass, its gardens teeming with flora that smell like heaven. Her boots sank into the plush carpet of the foyer as Grayfia materialized at the base of the grand staircase, her pristine maid uniform immaculate.
"Welcome to the Abyssgard residence," Grayfia intoned, her voice cool as silver. Erza's fingers twitched toward her absent sword—old instincts flaring—Arto stops her "No need, it's just the head maid of this house, don't be scared"
"Before you ask, yes, we have a head maid taking care of the house. No, she is fully paid to do her job. No, she is in fact straight-up noble princess, being a maid is just her hobby and a facade of her true role as Boss' secretary" Nami starts counting fingers while pre-answering Erza's questions "She has full authority in this mansion, meaning she can kick anyone out if she likes, so don't piss her off"
Grayfia's expression remained impassive, though the faintest twitch of her lips betrayed amusement. "Your room is prepared," she said, turning with precise elegance. "Follow me."
Erza's boots scuffed against the marble as she trailed behind, her gaze darting to the vaulted ceilings adorned with enchanted chandeliers—their light shifting hues like captured auroras. Portraits lined the walls, their subjects blinking lazily at her passage. One—a smirking Nami lounging on a pile of gold—winked. Erza recoiled.
"First rule," Grayfia said without turning. "You are free to make messes in your room, but don't do it in the common living space, if you need your room cleaned, you can call me or do it yourself for privacy."
Her heels clicked with metronomic precision against the marble floor, leading Erza past a hallway lined with doors—each subtly marked with glowing runes. Behind one, muffled explosions and Nami's gleeful cursing suggested someone's financial experiments had gone awry again.
Erza's fingers tightened around nothing. The absence of shackles still felt like a trick. "And if I refuse?" Grayfia paused at a branching corridor. "Then you'll sleep in the hallway," she said, utterly deadpan. "Though Koneko will inevitably feed you, which defeats the point."
The door to Erza's quarters slid open soundlessly—revealing a room with pure white wall, a large bed enough to fit 4 of her in, a large wardrobe filled with simple clothes, a studying desk and a book shelf, "The bathroom is behind this door"
Grayfia comes to the door inside the room and with a click, it's opened, inside is a bath tub big enough for Erza to sink her whole body inside "The water will automatically fill and adjust to your preferred temperature, it's also enchanted to clean you as you soak, so you don't need to scrub yourself. There is also a stargazing shared bathroom on the highest floor where the ladies bath and bond, you can join them if you want, nothing is obliged, it's all up to you"
Erza's fingers hovered over the bath's edge, tracing the smooth porcelain. The luxury felt like a taunt—water that warmed itself, soap that lathered without effort. In the auction houses, baths had been ice-cold troughs, if they were granted at all.
Grayfia cleared her throat. "There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe—simple tunics and trousers for now. Tailored attire will come later, once Robin assesses your measurements." She paused, then pointed at the small panel near the entrance of the room "It contains all the functions like air conditioning, light control, even a....creative mode"
She presses a button on the flat panel, revealing a holographic interface "You can customize your room however you like, wall color, even some paintings if you want, but that's for when you know what you're doing, so I recommend you to keep everything in here as simple as possible"
Erza stared at the holographic controls, her fingers twitching as if expecting a trap. The panel shimmered with unfamiliar symbols—circles within circles, shifting like mercury. Grayfia sighed, tapping a sequence that made the walls ripple from sterile white to a soft twilight blue. "Like so," she said, then tapped again—the ceiling dissolved into a perfect replica of a starry sky. Erza stumbled back, her boots catching on the plush rug.
Grayfia caught her elbow with glacial efficiency. "Breathe," she ordered, not unkindly. The stars above pulsed gently, constellations twisting into shapes Erza didn't recognize—dragons coiled around swords, foxes leaping through ringed planets. "The system is intuitive once you know how to read, don't worry"
She released Erza's arm with a crisp nod. "Dinner is at seven. Don't be late—." With that, she vanished into the hallway, her footsteps swallowed by the mansion's eerie silence. Alone, Erza exhaled sharply. The first thing she looks at is the bed—too soft, too inviting. She pressed a tentative hand against the mattress, recoiling when it yielded like warm butter beneath her fingers.
The wardrobe came next. Inside hung rows of simple linen shirts and trousers, each identical save for slight variations in shade. Her fingers brushed the fabric—clean, crisp, smelling faintly of lavender. Nothing like the scratchy burlap she'd worn for years. She snatched the nearest outfit and dressed hurriedly, as if the clothes might dissolve beneath her touch.
The desk caught her attention last. A stack of parchment sat beside an inkwell, its surface shimmering with unnatural iridescence. Above it, the bookshelf groaned under the weight of tomes—some leather-bound and ancient, others sleek with metallic spines. Erza reached for the nearest one, flinching when its cover shifted beneath her fingers, the title reforming into jagged symbols she couldn't decipher.
'How could this be real?' The thought clawed at Erza's throat as she looked around the room, she could be waking up at any moment now, or she is still in some kind of simulation, Arto said, or maybe.....she is already dead after that fight with that masked noble, and this is afterlife. She pinches her own cheek—hard—and winces. No, she's awake.
She turned back to the book in her hands, its pages fluttering unnaturally as if sensing her frustration. The symbols rearranged themselves again—now resembling chains, now flowers—but never forming anything she could understand. With a growl, she slammed it shut, only for it to emit a faint chime and float gently back onto the shelf. Erza stared at her palms, her fingers still tingling from the book's strange energy.
A knock shattered the silence. "Hey, new girl!" Nami's voice carried through the door, muffled but unmistakably smug. "Thinking you might want to take a shared bath with us—unless you're scared of a little bonding?"
Erza stiffened, her fingers curling into fists. The idea of stripping bare before strangers—before enemies—sent a cold flush up her spine. Before she could retort, the door slid open anyway, revealing Nami leaning against the frame with a towel slung over one shoulder. Her grin faltered slightly at Erza's defensive stance. "Relax," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Nobody's gonna bite. Unless you ask nicely."
Erza's remaining eye narrowed. "I don't—"
"Yeah, yeah, you don't trust us," Nami interrupted, waving a hand. "Newsflash: we don't care. You stink like a dungeon floor, and Grayfia'll skin us alive if you track grime into those fancy sheets." She tossed a second towel at Erza's chest. "So move your ass, Scarlet."
Erza caught the towel instinctively, the fabric soft against her calloused fingers. The scent of citrus and sea salt clung to it—something expensive, wasteful. Her jaw tightened. Every instinct screamed to refuse, to barricade herself in this gilded cage until she could carve her own way out. But Nami is not a patient person as she comes to Erza, pulling hand "Come on, girl, you're not the only broken soul in this household"