Chapter 3 The Squire of Blood

Inside the elevator, which ascended with a silent, pressurized speed that made ears pop and stomachs lurch, Eric Vance stood as still as a monolith. Amidst the sea of nervous energy, he displayed a quiet, almost insolent confidence. While he lacked formal training and fancy degrees, he was deeply convinced that his iron will and unwavering determination would make him the ideal candidate. His fingers absent-mindedly traced his jawline, feeling the roughness of his skin, as the cabin carried fifteen people toward the 19th floor.

‘What is the exact role?’ he wondered, his eyes fixed on the floor display ticking upward. ‘The ad was vague, as if the position itself were a well-kept secret.’

The enclosed space had become a sensory trap. The air was thick with a suffocating mix of expensive floral perfumes and aggressive colognes, meant to mask the anxiety of the contenders. Since birth, Eric had possessed an extraordinary sensitivity to smells—a gift that often bordered on a curse. This unique trait had served him well in his previous odd jobs, allowing him to detect near-expired products before they were even unwrapped. But here, in this confined space, it was pure torture.

‘Someone is sweating a lot; the smell is foul.’ His gaze landed on a lone man cornered in the back. The poor guy’s forehead was slick with an oily sweat, and his hands trembled over his files. Despite his instinctive disgust, Eric felt a pang of compassion. He knew that kind of pressure, even if he refused to let it show.

Suddenly, the elevator jolted during a floor transition. A woman, thrown off balance by her high heels, stumbled against him. Thanks to his trained reflexes, Eric caught her firmly by the arms before she could collapse. His muscles rolled under his suit jacket, holding her steady with disconcerting ease.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice loud but betraying immense stress.

"It’s not a problem; make sure you’re more careful in the future," he replied, his low, calm voice contrasting with her agitation.

Ding! The doors slid open to the headquarters of the Draven Group. As soon as the signal rang, the crowd rushed out as if speed alone guaranteed the job. Eric, true to himself, stayed back. He preferred to observe. That’s when he noticed the man from the elevator—the sweating giant—struggling to move. His legs seemed to weigh a ton, as if his feet were made of lead. In his haste, he tripped and nearly took down the young woman Eric had just stabilized.

"Whoa! Help!" the man yelled, arms flailing.

Eric reacted with lightning speed. His right arm caught the man mid-air by the chest, while his other hand wrapped firmly around the woman’s waist to keep them both upright in a precarious but effective balance.

"Wha… what?" the big guy stammered, readjusting the thick glasses that had slipped down his nose.

"You okay, big guy?" Eric asked, releasing his grip.

"Ah… yeah, thanks. Your hands are huge, man. I’m Caleb, nice to meet you."

Caleb adjusted himself, nervously wiping his hand on a suit that, despite the sweat, looked like it cost a small fortune. Eric shook it firmly. He wasn't necessarily looking to make friends, but Caleb seemed well-off and could prove to be a valuable source of information.

"Eric," he introduced himself.

"Eric, you got a few minutes?" Caleb asked, dabbing his face with a handkerchief.

"Sure!"

"Excuse me, I’m Julianna," the young woman with the neat black bob interrupted. "Thank you for helping me twice. It feels like you’re my guardian angel today."

Eric gave her a slight, cynical smirk.

"It’s nothing. Anyone would help a pretty woman to score points with her. I just happened to be in the right place."

"You think I’m... pretty?" she whispered, visibly caught off guard by his bluntness.

He didn't answer. Instead, he placed an arm around Caleb’s back to guide him toward a more discreet area near a massive bay window. The 19th floor was spectacular. Rare and magnificent flowers were scattered along the interior balcony, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a plunging view of the city of Noctaria. Eric noticed the glass was treated: from the outside, no one could see what was happening here, making the place feel even more mysterious and extravagant.

"So, Caleb. Tell me, what is this job offer actually for?"

"Uh… what!? You made it this far, and you don't even know?" Caleb's eyes widened. "There were super strict tests and insane obstacles just to filter the candidates!"

"I just applied and passed the stages," Eric replied, shrugging.

"Heh… some people have serious backing or a hidden talent, I envy you."

Julianna, not wanting to be left out, chimed in:

"I can tell you! Don't forget me, I have my info too. Look around, the others have already formed clans to help each other and eliminate us!"

Eric observed Julianna. She was small, delicate, with short black hair, but he sensed a certain intelligence in her gaze. However, he didn't really care who gave him the information.

"Just tell me, time is ticking," Eric said, putting his hands in his pockets.

But before she could open her mouth, the sound of a buzzer echoed through the entire floor. A synthetic voice, soft but ruthless, rose:

"Candidate 106: Eric Vance, please report to the White Door. Thank you."

Caleb and Julianna looked at him with sudden shock. Their gazes shifted from gratitude to a form of almost sacred respect. Eric didn't immediately understand the change in atmosphere, but he knew this job was his only chance to save Gilbert and pay off his family's debts.

"Sorry, I'll see you after the interview," Eric said, turning away.

"Wait!" Caleb shouted behind him. "Are you really going to become her Squire?"

Eric was already walking down the hallway, spotting the numbers and colors. ‘Squire? What is this medieval nonsense ?’ he wondered. He finally stopped in front of a massive set of pristine white double doors, where a gold plaque displayed the owner's name.

[Catherine Draven]

He didn't think twice. He wasn't the type to hesitate. He gave three powerful knocks and entered without waiting for an invitation.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, a complex scent hit him. The smell of fresh roses and sweet strawberries, but with that lingering metallic aftertaste he knew all too well: blood. He scanned the room, and his eyes landed on a familiar silhouette that made his annoyance spike.

"Hello, little dog~ Look who we have here," she said with a smile that was anything but kind. "How does it feel to know that the 'hysterical' girl in the ridiculous jacket is the one who decides whether or not you eat tomorrow?"

Eric remained unmoved. She was almost unnervingly beautiful, close to perfection, but he was vaccinated against those kinds of tactics. The beauty of his mother, Eunice, had immunized him against angel faces that hid demons.

"I’m Eric Vance. Where’s the real recruiter?" he asked coldly. "They didn't actually leave an irrational girl like you in charge of the recruits, did they?"

He knew he was being provocative, but he hated being played with. Catherine froze, her eyes shimmering with a scarlet light. Eric didn't flinch. He walked over to the water machine in the corner of the office, slowly filled a cup with fresh water, took a sip to refresh himself, and then walked back to the desk to insolently place the cup right in front of her on her flawless marble.

"You should learn how to interact with humans before you pretend to be anything more than a luxury intern," he dropped.

Without waiting for a reaction, he went to flop down on the black leather sofa. The comfort was a thousand times better than anything he had ever known; he leaned back and let out a long sigh. The stress of the day, Gilbert’s illness—everything seemed to evaporate for a second.

"Hey, kid, what's your full name, anyway?"

Catherine’s face turned the color of her jacket. Her hand suddenly closed over the cup Eric had just placed, crushing it in a sharp snap, spilling the remaining water over her files. She stared with pure hatred at this man who had just put his feet up on her imported marble table.

"Who are you calling a kid!? I am much older than you, and my name is Catherine Draven!"

Eric looked up at her with a small, mocking smile at the corner of his lips.

"Catherine, huh? It’s a nice name, and it suits you rather well. But I see where you’re going with this, and I have no intention of putting up with your princess tantrums."

For a moment, Catherine’s expression froze. Then, she stood up, her aura suddenly becoming icy and oppressive.

"You, a Vance, dare to enter my family’s territory and act with such arrogance? Do you want history to repeat itself? Do you really think you can disrespect me here?"

Eric sighed, staring at the ceiling with weariness. ‘Her delusions and irrational personality are off the charts,’ he thought. He had no idea what she was talking about with her stories of territory, lineage, or the past. To him, she was just a spoiled heiress who needed to be put in her place.

He looked back at her, his eyes defying hers.

"Right… when do we start this interview, Catherine?"