Empire — worked. He had spent enough time on campus to grasp the edge of the rigid hierarchies of power — from titles to bloodlines to mere proximity to power — determined one’s worth. That didn’t mean he had to like it.


    presence — the kind of quiet authority that came not from rank or titles but from sheer competence.


    her being interviewed, he was the one being evaluated.


    wasn’t trying to flatter or stick a knife in him — only determine whether he was competent enough to be her employer.


    didn’t know about running a proper household.


    needed — Margaret.


    expected outcome. As if she had known she would be hired the moment she walked into the room.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    lot stricter around Blacksword Manor.


    small—quite a bit shorter than Hatsune, with slender frames and hunched postures. Their green-scaled tails dragged just slightly behind them, moving with a hesitance that spoke of uncertainty, if not outright fear.


    . They were used to protecting each other.


    . Common class."


    . They were a unit that worked together, relied on each other, and probably had for years.


    hopeful.


    meant—for them.


    saved them.


    knew it.


    mountain of muscle and brute strength, standing easily over eight feet tall. His broad shoulders trained against the simple tunic he wore, thick cords of sinew and knotted muscles bulging beneath the fabric with every slow step. His gray-green skin was a patchwork of scars, old wounds crisscrossing his powerful frame like trophies of violence — proof that he’d been subjected to a lot of pain before, but never enough to break him.


    strong. He knew he was strong.


    Grognak. We’ve… had problems with him in the past."


    ownership. The gaze of a creature that saw something small and delicate and thought, Mine.


    "If you take me on," the ogre said, his deep, gravelly voice laced with lazy arrogance, "might I receive part of my pay as time with the cute bunnykin?"


    changed.


    felt it.


    truly sensing—him for the first time. A flicker of unease passed over his brutish features.


    fear.


    attempt resistance as the Sentinels seized his arms and dragged him back toward the door. His thick fingers twitched at his sides, as if his body had to fight the ingrained urge to lash out—


    didn’t.


    unwise.


    fill the room with his presence. Instead, he paused just inside the doorway and gave a polite, short bow before standing attentively.


    . If a Camp Cook was experienced with anything similar to what he had to do while camping when he was younger, then Baruk wasn’t just a simple meal-maker—he would be adaptable, used to working under rough conditions, often with limited resources. They knew how to stretch supplies, how to forage when needed, how to turn whatever could be eaten into something worth eating. That was a kind of practicality Klarion appreciated, especially because he had yet to sort out an income source for Blacksword Manor. Otherwise, the gold he had earned in the Dungeon and from the duel would not last long.


    already thinking that far ahead—already planning the path to advancement—spoke volumes. This wasn’t just some orc who cooked because it was all he knew. This was someone with drive. Someone who wanted more. And Klarion respected that.