The Duke’s Demands

Duke Oscar maintained a remarkably calm expression, his golden-crimson eyes unreadable as he stared down at his seventh son.

The sheer weight of the silence in the office was suffocating, yet the master of the Western Continent's Northern Region did not immediately explode into anger or dismiss the proposition.

Instead, Oscar slowly leaned back against the edge of his mahogany desk, folding his massive arms across his chest.

"Craig... do you truly understand the exact nature of what you are requesting from me right now?" Duke Oscar asked, his deep voice smooth, quiet, and loaded with implicit warning.

Craig nodded smoothly, a calm, polite smile remaining fixed on his face.

"Naturally, Your Grace," Craig answered without a single hint of hesitation.