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Now, all attention turned to the remaining two houses. They had to at least match the previous offers—or surpass them.

Silence filled the hall.

"We will present a Shadow Contract in return," Draven announced after assessing the situation.

"With this contract, House Aestherisin will gain unrestricted passage through any territory controlled by House Noctarion," he added.

House Noctarion resided in what they called the Shadow Realm. But in truth, no one truly knew the full extent of their domain. Their secrecy was their greatest weapon.

Some claimed that House Noctarion's entire territory shifted with each full moon, making it impossible to map. Others believed their domain was scattered across the world, hidden in unseen pockets of shadow, capable of existing anywhere.

If a spy from any rival house suddenly vanished without a trace, it was widely understood—they had wandered into Noctarion's lands. And none returned.

It was also considered the mai reason why they had the least number of Damned attack compared to other houses at the moment.

It was also well known that House Noctarion possessed the ability to shadow travel within their realm—an ability that was, in essence, long-range teleportation.

In short, this contract would allow House Aestherisin to send their soldiers, their vampires, through the Shadow Realm without harm.

If there was a Noctarion shadow territory near House Aestherisin, they could simply step through it—emerging from the shadows near House Valeroth, or any other rival house, without concern for time or resources.

It was a tactical advantage like no other—a pathway for war or an escape route in times of peril.

"However," Draven continued, his voice measured, "if the requested access extends to House Noctarion's personalterritory, then a formal request must be made."

They were offering passage—but not entry. Noctarion was not about to let just anyone walk into their home.

The previous proposals had been impressive, but unrestricted movement through the Shadow Realm? That was an offer above the rest.

"You drive a hard bargain, Dravon Noctarion."

The words came from Kai Rylan, breaking the silence at last.

The offer was tempting. Too tempting.

Then, Sophia Sanguinary raised three fingers.

Her nails—long, purple, and wickedly elegant—caught the dim light, drawing the room's attention.

A silent question hung in the air. What was she offering?

"Three promises," she said simply, a smirk curving at her lips.

Murmurs rippled through the hall.

"House Sanguinary will offer three free promises to House Aestherisin."

A collective gasp followed her words.

"As long as the demands do not endanger the Grand Sanguinary or its royal family, they will be granted," she added smoothly.

That was the most tempting offer of the night.

Three promises—three favors that could call upon House Sanguinary's wealth, military, or personal resources.

It wasn't just an offer. It was all the previous offers, wrapped into one.

Victor's lips curled into a faint smirk. "All of you present tempting offers," he commented.

"But I doubt House Aestherisin will be able to fulfill all our orders for the enchanted armors," Sophia said, her voice smooth yet pointed.

"It is not impossible," Father replied, his voice heavy with authority. "But we must decide—and establish order."

His gaze swept across the hall, pausing on each noble house's representatives.

"There must be a priority—a sequence in which the initial requests will be fulfilled," he stated at last.

A murmur rippled through the hall, but no one dared challenge the necessity of his words.

"How will we determine that?" Draven asked, his dark eyes cold and unwavering.

Vicaris exhaled slowly. "It is quite simple, actually," he said.

Sophia's gaze snapped to him, her Purple eyes sharp with intrigue. "Oh? And what do you propose?"

I could feel it—the shift in Vicaris's posture, the tension in his muscles. For a brief moment, he was caught under her spell, blood rushing just a little faster, his pulse betraying the slightest hesitation.

She was a seductress, after all.

But then, just as quickly, he steadied himself. A knight of the highest rank. Disciplined. Controlled. He tilted his chin up, meeting her gaze directly—a silent challenge.

"A report," he said, his voice measured. "Every house will report their true losses against the Damned. The order of priority will be based on who suffered the most."

A heavy silence fell over the hall.

"And what stops someone from giving false numbers?" Malrik Valeroth interjected, his voice edged with skepticism.

The air grew thick with unspoken possibilities. Lies. Manipulations. The inevitable temptation to secure an advantage.

Then, Kai Rylan's voice broke the silence. "Elder Michael has an interesting ability," he said, gesturing toward a middle-aged vampire seated in the front row.

All eyes turned to him.

"He can tell when someone is lying," Victor added.

Murmurs of intrigue and caution stirred among the gathered houses. A truth-seer.

"But," Victor continued, "he requires a drop of blood from the person in question."

Ah. There it was.

The catch. The limitation. If Elder Michael could determine truth from falsehood at will, the Elder's Council would have been a battlefield of exposed deceptions.

But blood magic? That was different. Blood carried power.

And in Aestherisin, where secrets were currency, it was a dangerous commodity to give.

"House Aestherisin is indeed the house of mysteries," Nyxara murmured, though her red gaze was fixed not on the elder—but on me.

I held her stare, unflinching.

Father's voice cut through the air. "Does everyone accept this proposition?"

A heavy pause. The four house representatives exchanged glances. The weight of the decision was clear.

Then, at last, Nyxara spoke. "I accept."

One by one, the others followed suit.

"Elder Michael, step forward," Eldon announced, standing beside my father.

The elder rose from his seat, stepping into the center of the hall. His robes were deep crimson, embroidered with runes that shimmered faintly under the candlelight. A quiet authority radiated from him—not of brute strength, but of knowledge.

"Greetings to Their Majesties," he said with a deep bow.

He then turned to me. "Greetings to His Royal Highness."

And finally, he faced the four representatives, offering only a small nod. "Greetings to the Four."

The representatives inclined their heads in acknowledgment, but there was a palpable tension between them and the elder.

Slowly, Elder Michael raised his hand. A white cup materialized in his palm, appearing from thin air. It was unnaturally smooth, carved from something that looked like bone—yet it pulsed faintly, as though alive.

"This," he said, "is my Truth Prison."

Silence. Even the air felt heavier.

"Place a single drop of blood within," he continued. "If you answer my next question falsely, it will crush your heart and subject you to unimaginable pain."

A collective stillness. The weight of his words settled over the room like a vice.

So that was how it worked. Not a passive truth-sensing ability. A binding. A prison. It would hold one's heart captive, punishing deceit with agony.

"The number of questions asked depends on the number of drops given," Elder Michael went on. "But for this test, you will need only one."

His gaze swept across them, unreadable. "Now... who will step forward first?"