Chapter 87: Beware of the Spy

‘Fr? This bitch really is funny,’ Craig couldn’t help but laugh inwardly, his gaze resting lazily on the woman standing beside his bed. ‘I have never met a spy so eager to expose herself.’

Under normal circumstances, any servant who dared to pry into the sensitive military strategy of a feudal sovereign would have been dragged straight to the castle dungeons for treason.

Private military assets, tactical deployments, and independent mercenary banners were state secrets of the highest order.

Yet, Craig didn’t drop his smile, nor did he order her execution on the spot.

He was deliberately keeping Arya Benova alive and comfortable.

Although he knew with absolute certainty that she was an enemy operative, he had yet to figure out which of his ambitious successor siblings had planted her inside Heaven’s Net Castle to destroy his rule from within.

Until he identified her true handler among the Darkstar bloodline, she was far more useful to him walking free as a predictable vector than dead in a grave.

Instead of rebuking her, Craig allowed his lips to curl into a relaxed, effortless grin.

He adjusted his posture against his propped pillows and let out a light, nonchalant exhale.

“My plans for the military company?” Craig murmured, leaning back with an unbothered air. “To be entirely frank with you, Arya, I am thinking of suspending all recruitment efforts for the time being.

Ascending to the Sword Runner class and managing the estate’s current borders has taken enough of my attention. I still need to get a few crucial affairs together before I even think about firmly establishing the enterprise.”

He waved a hand dismissively, his golden-crimson eyes softening into an easy, reassuring gaze. “So relax, Arya. Things are moving smoothly enough. There is no need for you to stress yourself over the estate’s defense contracts.”

Arya’s eyes sparkled with a flash of satisfaction, though she disguised it behind a warm, dutiful smile.

She bowed her head slightly, her voice sweet and attentive.

“I understand, My Lord Viscount,” Arya replied smoothly. “However, please be sure to inform me the moment you decide to officially open recruitment. I happen to have a close Superhuman friend—an exceptionally skilled martial practitioner—who I believe would be the absolute right fit to serve within your private military enterprise.”

Craig nodded with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Is that so? Good. Once the time is right and the foundations are laid, I will certainly let you know.”

“Thank you, My Lord Viscount. Please enjoy your rest,” Arya said softly.

She offered a final, flawless maid’s curtsy, picked up her empty tray, and turned on her heel to exit the grand chamber.

As she pulled the heavy wooden door open and stepped out into the grand hallway, she nearly bumped into a tall, imposing figure walking in the opposite direction.

It was Ser Damian.

The First Dragonknight stopped in his tracks, his wide shoulders blocking half the corridor as his stern, battle-worn face looked down at the head maid.

“My Lord Dragonknight,” Arya greeted sweetly, bowing her head with quiet reverence as she passed him in the threshold.

Damian offered a subtle, polite nod in return, remaining entirely oblivious to the instantaneous shift in her demeanor.

The moment Arya’s shoulder cleared Damian’s field of vision, the warm, innocent smile wiped cleanly off her face.

A cold, malignant, and intensely malicious glare flickered across her eyes as she cast a lingering sideways look toward the interior of the Viscount’s chambers before walking away into the dimly lit corridor.

From his propped position on the bed, Craig caught every single millisecond of that poisonous glare.

A dark, quiet grin spread across his face.

“Damian,” Craig called out calmly from the bed. “Lock the doors behind you.”

“Understood, My Lord,” Damian replied instantly.

He pulled the massive oak doors shut, sliding the heavy iron security bolt into place with a resounding CLANG.

Turning back toward the bed, the veteran Dragonknight adjusted his leather pauldrons and stepped forward, placing his right gauntlet over his chest in a formal military salute.

“Greetings, My Lord Viscount,” Damian spoke, his voice deep and resonant. “How is your health? Have you managed to rest well following your ascension in the central grove?”

Craig stretched his arms over his head, letting out a broad, lazy yawn that cracked his jaw.

“I’m fine, Damian. My mana pathways have stabilized quite nicely. Just… kinda hungry right now, to be honest.”

Hearing his lord’s casual complaint, Damian’s eyes sharpened with immediate concern. He bowed deeply at the waist, his tone brimming with unyielding loyalty.

“Grant me permission, My Lord!” Damian declared earnestly. “I shall head straight to the castle’s central kitchen this instant and demand that the head chef prepare a feast worthy of a newly ascended Ranker!”

Craig chuckled softly, waving his hand in the air to halt the overzealous knight. “Aha, don’t bother yourself with all that right now, Damian. Sit tight for a second.”

Damian paused, relaxing his stance slightly.

“As you command, My Lord.”

Craig leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his golden-crimson eyes locked onto the First Dragonknight. “Tell me something, Damian… what do you think about Arya?”

Damian blinked, caught completely off guard by the sudden, out-of-context question. He scratched his chin, his brow furrowing as he pondered his response.

“The head maid, Arya Benova?” Damian asked, clearly confused. He paused for a moment before answering honestly. “Well… since I barely have any personal interactions with the household staff, I cannot say much about her character.

But from what I have observed during her duties… she seems quite sweet, lovely, and thoroughly dedicated to the upkeep of your quarters.”

“Pahahaha!”

Craig threw his head back and burst into a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the high stone walls of the chamber.

Damian stood there, blinking in awkward silence, entirely unsure of what had prompted such amusement from his sovereign.

After a few seconds, Craig’s laughter tapered off into a long, heavy sigh.

The mirth drained from his face, replaced by a cold, sharp, and calculating aura that caused the ambient temperature in the room to plummet.

“Sweet and lovely, huh?” Craig murmured, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. “Damian… Arya is a spy. She was planted in this castle by one of my lovely successor siblings.”

Damian’s body went completely rigid. His hand instinctively dropped toward the hilt of his broadsword, his pupils contracting into pinpricks.

“A spy… inside your private chambers?”

“Precisely,” Craig said calmly. “Which is why she must never learn a single detail regarding our true operations. She cannot know anything about what is happening with the establishment of the Crimson Dragon Order, our recruitment timelines, or our actual strength.”

Craig raised a finger, his tone turning into an absolute, unyielding command. “Warn Annie immediately. Tell her to avoid all unnecessary interactions with Arya Benova, and to keep her mouth strictly shut around her.”

Damian’s mind raced as he processed the revelation.

The First Dragonknight’s face contorted with rising anger and disbelief.

He took a step closer to the bed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

“My Lord…” Damian gritted out, his knuckles turning white over his sword hilt. “If you already know that Arya is a rat sent by your siblings to target your life… why is she still breathing? Why is she being kept alive and allowed to walk these halls as the head maid?”

Craig’s lips curled into a slow, sinister arc, his golden-crimson eyes flashing with an icy, dangerous intelligence.

“It’s because…” Craig whispered softly, leaning into the dim light of the room,

“…I’m yet to figure out which one of them sent her..”