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The tower's entrance was an old iron door, rusted and weathered.
The gray-white walls were streaked with water stains, the marks of time left untouched.
Strangely, while the rest of the Boreas estate showed clear signs of regular maintenance, this tower alone had never been renovated.
As if covering those flowing white scars with new stone would somehow—
Ruin its past.
Allen's gaze swept over the walls and door before dropping to the ground.
Thick snow from last night lay piled at the entrance, undisturbed. No one had come here this morning.
His eyes lifted back to the iron door.
It wasn't locked.
Expected.
He reached out to push it open—
But then, several dozen meters away, Alifa—sweeping snow with what might've been deliberate slowness—suddenly noticed his actions. Her eyes widened, and she flailed as if to stop him.
Allen turned to look at her.
One eyebrow arched.
Waiting.
Alifa didn't speak. Instead, she dropped to her knees in the snow.
Allen withdrew the faint killing intent he'd let slip.
Then, without another glance, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Creak—
Darkness swallowed his vision.
Faint light glimmered on the floor. Allen followed it upward.
"Ironheart" stared down at him from above.
A spiral staircase coiled around the tower's interior, framing its gaze.
About twenty meters up, the stairs ended, connecting to an observation walkway lined with windows—the tower's proper lookout point. Below it, a zigzagging wooden ladder completed the ascent.
The musty, granular scent of aged stone filled Allen's nostrils.
Ironheart still watched.
And with its gaze came—
Music?
Faint, fragmented notes drifted down the tower's hollow interior.
At the base, only someone with Allen's acute perception could've caught them.
He narrowed his eyes.
Closed the door behind him.
Began climbing.
The lower stairs were short—132 steps.
Allen took 66 strides.
The spiral ascent was long—1,730 steps.
He walked 577 paces.
With each step, the music grew clearer.
Sweeter.
More teasing.
More... euphoric.
Finally, he reached the top.
Ironheart loomed overhead, now within arm's reach.
Allen lowered his gaze—no longer needing to stare back at the tower's namesake—and looked ahead.
The upper floor was narrow, barely large enough for a single bed.
No door.
And from within—
The sounds of pleasure only intensified at his arrival. Waves of ecstasy spilled through the open archway, rhythmic and heavy.
A pair of feline eyes locked onto him, glazed with desire. A tail swayed lazily behind its owner, brushing against the thighs of the figure behind her.
She tossed her head, hair swinging like a pendulum.
Clink.
The sound of chains.
Allen met her gaze for less than two seconds before—
Her pupils dilated.
Then contracted.
...
...
A long, shuddering exhale.
"Haaah..."
She collapsed forward, sweat trembling on her skin.
But within seconds, she recovered—pushing herself up onto all fours.
Naked.
Chained.
Moving like a cat.
She crawled toward Allen, hips swaying with each step—
Until she reached his feet.
Then—
Thud.
Clothes landed on her head.
She didn't react with annoyance, only a sultry smile as she gathered the garments over her arm.
Stretching like a feline, her back arched in a smooth, sinuous line—
Before rising to her feet.
She made no move to dress, simply draping the clothes over her arm as she turned.
Her gaze stuck to Allen's face.
Amber eyes gleamed with amusement.
A musky, animal scent lingered as she passed him.
Hips swaying.
Then—
Footsteps.
Descending the stairs.
Lill was gone.
Why had Allen expected the door to be unlocked?
Because he'd noted one thing clearly: Saulos hadn't slept in the Boreas residence last night.
But how could he know that, having only visited Sylphie's room?
The answer was simple.
He'd observed whether Lill—once Sylphie's personal maid, now the de facto head of the household staff—had been attending to Sylphie.
The logic was straightforward.
Allen's arrival had given Lill an opportunity to climb higher.
She was "eyes."
Once, she'd belonged to Philip.
Now?
She was Saulos's.
"Your restraint is better than James's."
A rough voice cut through the silence.
In Allen's line of sight—
Saulos, the martial-minded lord of the Fittoa region, was casually fastening his belt.
Broad-shouldered, his hair streaked with white, he barely glanced at Allen before turning to the window.
Even from two meters away, the view outside was unmistakable.
The entirety of Fittoa.
The veins of Roa laid bare.
The thrill of dominance.
The pleasure of rule.
This was one reason Saulos loved this place.
"Why haven't I seen you practicing sword forms on the rooftops these past few months? A warrior should hone his craft relentlessly. Why abandon such a good habit?"
His tone was low, measured—utterly unlike his usual boisterous roars.
This was the calm of a ruler in his element.
He didn't ask why Allen had come. With so many "eyes" feeding him information, little in Boreas Manor—or all of Roa—escaped his notice.
Allen stepped forward.
His snow-damp boots trod over discarded undergarments as he joined Saulos by the window.
A frigid wind rushed in—
Scouring away the last traces of musk.
Unlike Lill, whose beastkin blood granted natural resistance to cold—
Allen and Saulos, both human, wore only thin clothing.
Yet neither shivered.
Because both were warriors.
And so—
Some things didn't need to be said.
"Because it's unnecessary."
Saulos's brows rose as he turned.
Allen met his gaze evenly.
The cold air between them did nothing to dull the sharpness of their locked stares.
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