Just as the conversation seemed to be reaching a more relaxed point, a familiar figure appeared in the corridor next to the hall. The door was open, revealing Irene Vermilion in all her glory. Her cold gaze fell upon Lyon, her red eyes seeming icier than usual.

"Lyon, let's go." Her voice echoed through the hall, a cold and authoritarian tone that made everyone present look in her direction.

Lyon turned to the slime woman, a polite smile on his lips. "Miss Vermilion is calling me," he explained, although it was obvious that the slime woman had heard Irene. "I really enjoyed our conversation and you introducing me to these foods."

The slime woman smiled at him, a grateful glow in her eyes. "It was nothing, it was a pleasure to meet you, Lyon," she said, watching as he began to walk away.

Then her eyes turned to Irene, who was still in the hallway. The daughter of the most influential man in town did not look at her even once, her attention entirely focused on Lyon. The slime woman couldn't help but wonder, "Why would the daughter of the most influential man in town look at a monster like me?"

However, she maintained her facade of happiness, watching as Lyon and Irene walked together towards the exit of the mansion. Even if her heart was heavy, she refused to let it affect her expression. After all, she had an image to maintain, even if that image was of a monster.

As they left the opulent Moonstones mansion, Irene Vermilion's imposing figure stood out under the twilight. The moonlight seemed to highlight the coldness of her expression and the hardness of her voice, which cut through the silence of the night like an ice blade.

"Your mouth is dirty with milk," she said with a tone as cold and impassive as a winter's night. Without waiting for a response, she climbed into her luxurious carriage, the ornate details of it gleaming under the moonlight.

"Thank you, Mistress Vermilion," Lyon replied with a calm voice, contrasting with the coldness emanated by Irene. He quickly wiped his mouth, like a boy scolded for a minor fault.

With graceful movements and the dignity that was peculiar to him, Lyon climbed into the carriage, sitting next to the coachman. The carriage had a luxurious interior, with dark wood finishes and velvet cushions, reflecting the opulence of the Vermilion family.

"Straight home," ordered Irene, her cold voice echoing from inside the carriage, a clear order with no room for questions. The carriage began to move, the wheels making a soft noise as they crossed the stone streets.

Minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of the grand Vermilion mansion, an imposing building that rose against the night sky. Irene stepped down from the carriage, her figure quickly disappearing into the mansion.

"See you tomorrow, don't forget," the coachman said to Lyon, who was about to enter the mansion. The coachman's voice had a friendly tone, contrasting with the coldness of his mistress.

"You can count on it," Lyon replied, a gentle smile on his lips. With one last look at the receding carriage, he entered the Vermilion mansion, leaving behind the cold night.

Lyon walked through the corridors of the mansion, passing through luxurious halls and ornate rooms, until finally reaching the servant's area. The contrast was evident, the rooms were modest and simple, a reflection of the status of those who resided there. He reached the door of his room, a small space that he called his own.

Finally, a moment of rest, he thought, closing the door behind him. The straw bed seemed incredibly inviting after a long day. He quickly undressed and lay down, letting himself sink into the bed. Ah, finally I can sleep, he thought, closing his eyes as fatigue enveloped him.

Morning arrived faster than he would have liked. An insistent knock on the door woke Lyon from his deep sleep. He turned in bed, trying to ignore the disturbance, but the knock only became more insistent.

"Lyon, wake up! Mr. Vermilion is arriving today!" The maid's voice echoed from behind the door, fully waking him from his sleep. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. "Damn," he thought, throwing the blanket aside. He quickly got up, dressing in clean clothes that were folded in a corner of the room. Yesterday's clothes were not dirty, but it was always better to wear clean clothes when Mr. Vermilion was present.

"Unfortunately, I didn't bathe," he thought, feeling a twinge of shame. The Vermilion Mansion, despite its opulence, had strict rules for the servants. Each servant was entitled to bathe only once a week, on Sundays. Outside of this, it was uncommon for a servant to get a chance to bathe. It was an antiquated and cruel practice, according to Lyon, but there was nothing he could do about it. After all, he was just a servant in the Vermilion Mansion.

Shaking the worries off his mind, Lyon finished dressing up and left his room, ready to face another day in the Vermilion Mansion.

Lyon opened the door and found a young maid waiting outside. She looked at him, her eyes assessing his attire. Dressed in a light-colored cotton shirt and dark pants, he looked presentable. The maid, satisfied with what she saw, nodded.

"Please, follow me, Lyon," she said, her voice sounding soft and respectful. She started walking down the corridor, expecting him to follow.

But before they could take more than a few steps, a soft, pleasant voice echoed down the corridor. "One moment, please."

Both turned towards the voice, and Lyon was taken aback by the sight before him. A pleasant-looking woman stood a few steps away, her presence dominating the corridor. She had long brown hair that fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her beautiful face was lit up by expressive eyes and a warm smile.

Her clothing was simple but elegant, a combination of a dark-colored skirt and a light-colored blouse that accentuated her slim figure. Her breasts were modest, but what really stood out were her thighs. They were thick and well-shaped, looking like logs within the blue stockings she wore.

"Miss Celeste, I was..." The maid began to speak, her words wavering and trembling like leaves in the wind. Her expression was pure nervousness, a mix of apprehension and respect for the woman in front of her.

Celeste, on the other hand, sported a charming smile that shone like the sunrise, its warmth seeming to light up the corridor. "Clara, don't worry," she said, her voice was like a gentle melody, calming the maid's heart. "Please, leave Lyon with me. I need a favor from him."

Clara's expression faltered, evident concern in her eyes. "But ma'am, Mister Vermilion..." Her words were abruptly cut off. Celeste raised a finger, a silent gesture to silence the maid.

"Leave it to me, Clara," Celeste said, her voice taking on a tone of seriousness. "Nothing will happen to you, I promise. You trust me, don't you?" Celeste's expression changed, a shadow of sadness covering her normally cheerful face. Did she really feel upset by the maid's insecurity? It seemed hard to believe.

"Alright, if you say so," Clara finally gave in, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. Celeste's words had the weight of a promise, a protective shield that Clara knew she could trust. "With your permission, then," she added, bowing in a small curtsy before walking away, the tension in her shoulders visibly eased by Celeste's assurance.

With a curious gaze, Celeste, the woman with beautiful thighs, assessed Lyon. "You must be the Lyon, right?" She asked, her voice was soft, but carried a strange energy. "One of the maids mentioned your name. I was in need of a small favor, could you help me?"

Intrigued, Lyon raised an eyebrow. The woman's request was somewhat unexpected, especially considering he hardly knew her. "And what would that favor be?" He asked, trying to hide the caution in his voice.

With a light smile, Celeste explained. "I need a plant that grows deep in the Stone Range. Could you collect it for me?" The question was not an order, but a request, which left Lyon even more surprised. He barely knew who this woman was and yet, she was asking for his help.

For a moment, Lyon pondered. He wasn't sure who Celeste was, but the respectful way in which Clara, the maid, treated her suggested she was someone of importance. Perhaps she was a member of the Vermilion family or an influential figure in the mansion. Either way, refusing her request could bring more trouble than benefits.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I am worried about Lord Vermilion's return. Will there be a problem if I am not here when he arrives?" Lyon asked, choosing his words carefully. He held no particular respect for the feudal lord, but he needed the money and didn't want to risk his job because of a favor.

Celeste let out a small laugh, a pleasant sound that seemed like a melody amidst the silence of the corridor. "Don't worry, Lyon," she said, her voice taking on a relaxed tone. "My father, Lord Vermilion, won't be mad at you for helping his daughter."

Lyon blinked, surprised by the revelation. So Celeste was Irene's sister, the cold and intimidating Vermilion heiress? He was expecting Celeste to be someone of importance, but he never imagined she would be a Vermilion. That explained Clara's respect and also the unexpected request.

The Stone Range, a cluster of imposing mountains to the north, stood like a natural wall, cutting the horizon with their robust and pointy silhouettes. "Take this," said Celeste, drawing Lyon's attention with a wave of paper. It was a detailed sketch of an exotic plant, its leaves drawn with almost artistic precision. "If you can bring this plant to me, I'll ensure you are generously rewarded."

Celeste's voice seemed to float in the air as she walked away, leaving behind a trail of delicate perfume and a feeling of anxiety in Lyon's stomach. He sighed, looking at the drawing on the sheet and then in the direction where Celeste had disappeared. A restlessness took over him, a nervous tension that seemed like a harbinger of future problems. Without further ado, he left the imposing Vermilion Mansion, his steps echoing on the stone pavement as he headed north.

The journey to the Stone Range was swift, but each step seemed to carry an aura of apprehension. Upon arrival, the desolate and austere beauty greeted him, along with a weather-beaten wooden sign that read 'Stone Range'. With a determined look, Lyon penetrated the rocky vastness, ready to face the unknown.

Two passersby, watching the scene from some distance, exchanged looks before turning their attention to the servant venturing into the dangerous range. "Is that man insane?" The first one asked, his forehead furrowed in perplexity. "Apparently, since he's entering a territory known to be infested with dangerous creatures. This place is known to be a training ground for nobles to hone their skills," retorted the other, a vague tone of amusement in his voice.

"Should we warn him?" Concern infiltrated the first one's voice. The second one laughed, a bitter and resonant laugh. "No, he entered of his own will. He must be aware of the dangers that await him. Who knows, maybe he's even seeking a quicker end to life. Why should we interfere?"

The callousness of the response was a cruel reminder of the hardness of life in this world. The man who laughed was already wrestling with his own demons, with enough problems to deal with, without worrying about the potential self-destruction of an unknown servant.