Word value

"I'm all ears," she agreed to listen to his proposal.

Duman stared at her, waiting for her to come down from the tree to talk, but after several minutes, the woman remained seated without the slightest intention of moving. Instead, the surrounding vines were lively and swayed back and forth even when there was no wind.

As much as she had lost her memory, it seems that it was in her nature not to let her guard down until there was something to guarantee her safety.

His olive-green eyes fell back to the Legacy and then to the veil. He was slightly curious as to the mysterious reason why the woman covered her face, for even after suffering from amnesia she would not remove it. Unfortunately, though, now she would not remember why.

Then again, ensuring her safety was as easy as walking for him.

Once they reached Belenos, they would be safe. Not from human machinations, but at least they wouldn't be besieged by beasts left and right. Only in Iabet would they be completely out of harm's way, for this was his territory and no one dared to touch him or his subordinates.

His father and his first wife, the Great Erna, are people who prioritize integrity and dignity above all, strongly condemning conspiracies and immorality. That is why none of the children born from different Ernas contended to death for power, but rather sought the fair way to win their position, either among the jarlar or as a Vikram.

Although Duman differed in some doctrines, basically, everything that had a certain benefit for him must fall into his hands. And for this, he would use whatever means necessary, regardless of whether they were dishonest or dishonorable.

"I give you my word that your welfare will be guaranteed, even when we reach our destination," the hilmir promised. The muscles of his face relaxed, giving an inoffensive and trustworthy impression.

Not to be conceited, but his appearance, aside from his abilities and achievements, was remarkable, even among the jarlar.

A square, sharp jaw set off by a pair of high cheekbones. Full lips, straight and thick brows that rested above a pair of olive-colored eyes. His taut, tanned skin enhanced the defined muscles of his body, maintaining a healthy appearance thanks to routine workouts.

He may not be as strong as Samael or as nimble as Zagan, but he wasn't far behind either. His strength lay in his head, but that didn't mean he should neglect his body.

Thus, whenever the ladies put him in a tight spot, the ace up his sleeve was his face. Women couldn't refuse when he pretended to feel dejected, much less when he wanted to gain their trust by pretending to have a rare moment of weakness.

However, contrary to his expectations, the woman didn't flinch.

"What is your word worth?" she spat apathetically.

"What?"

"Do you have trouble hearing?"

'Right, amnesia.' Only then did hilmir understand.

Facing her was not a hilmir, nor a saintess, nor the finest paladin of the Creed. Just a group of people who had attacked her to take her possessions and whose true motives were still an enigma.

So, what value did the words of a complete stranger have?

None.

The weight of words depended on trust, belief, or power.

If you can't trust the other person, you can't believe them. If you can't believe them, their words are meaningless. When something loses meaning, then it no longer has value. And anything worthless is useless.

If you cannot trust or believe in the other person, you can at least entrust yourself to their power. You may not confide in a king or a deity, but you will instinctively rely on the power they wield.

Duman knew this better than anyone.

"You are right, my words are worthless to you" the hilmir admitted. Astonishment lit up his eyes for a second after realizing that he had spoken without thinking.

A feeling of nostalgia coursed through his body, recalling the last time someone asked him that very question, but on the outside he was unperturbed.

After a few seconds, Duman shook his head slightly, focusing on the woman again. She actually looked a bit like that person. At least her character, because physically they were like heaven and earth, total opposites.

The hilmir brought his left hand to the middle of his chest and introduced himself with proper courtesy, his demeanor a little more sincere.

Just a little, because he still planned to use her until he figured out how to get hold of the scepter.

"My name is Duman of the House of Vikram. Second hilmir of the kingdom of Hathor and next Great Rig."

"Hilmir? Great Rig?" The woman questioned, frowning more and more. Was such a long introduction necessary?

As if he had been waiting for that reaction, Duman explained patiently, adopting the attitude of a teacher lecturing a child about the world.

"Great Rig is the title used in our kingdom, Hathor, to refer to our ruler, while Great Erna is the title given to his official wife and Erna to his second wife. Hilmir is the title that the sons of the Great Rig are given, while the women are called Drott," he paused to give her time to take in the new information and resumed after licking his parched lips. "As you may have understood by now, my position allows me to wield social, political, and material power anywhere within the kingdom of Hathor, or beyond, but only up to a certain extent."

'Basically king, queen, prince, and princess.' That thought suddenly popped into her mind. Disoriented by the sudden memory, she shook her head slightly and turned to the other three members of the group, wondering about their identities.

Duman saw her attention was now on the others and took it as consent to proceed.

"They belong to the Holy Creed, the most influential and prestigious religion in Hathor." Extending his free hand toward the paladin, he encouraged him to come forward as well.

Beside him stood a young man who was a head shorter than the hilmir. His pale, smooth skin made him look much younger than the rest, even the Saintess. Slender body and light gray clothes that emphasized his graceful figure, and long purple hair tied in a high ponytail to prevent it from hindering his movements. Thin, rosy lips under an upturned nose, and slanted violet eyes that cast a mystical air.

'He looks like a grape.' Although she didn't feel hungry, she now had an inexplicable craving for juicy fruits.