Genetic Ascension

Chapter 1222  Deadpan

Sylas could feel Ansla freeze when she heard the voice.

Despite how misty-eyed she had grown, all such lustful thoughts flew from her mind the moment it landed. It was like this voice carried its own magnetic power, one stronger than what Sylas was currently displaying by several orders of magnitude.

With a slight shift of his gaze, Sylas turned to the table.

He had heard the conversation between Ebison and his sister Whey. No one here was hiding their voices; it was only a matter of if you could pick out what was happening in all of the chaos.

For Sylas, a Rune Master with such delicate and expert control over the world around him, this came naturally to him. Something like filtering noise was far easier than controlling the ground to become its own personal treadmill for him.

The difficulty was in the fact there were only Demon Runes around. But with Sylas' talent, he had simply been in this world for too long for something like this to stifle him.

He could guess that this was likely the Duchess. In fact, the reason he had spoken out before to begin with was to get someone to accuse him of claiming that he could gain even the Duchess' favor. Then he would work from there.

What he didn't expect was for the woman herself to step out.

However, surprise was one thing. With his thinking speed and his Contested Title, Sylas' ability to adapt to new information wasn't something even most E-Grades could fathom.

So, still holding Ansla's waist, he looked toward the cloaked woman before looking back toward Ansla.

"What do you think?" Sylas asked Ansla. "Would you allow me to show her?"

Ansla choked on air. A part of her felt like she was floating on a cloud, and the weight of Sylas' previous words felt even heavier now. Asking her whether he should entertain the Duchess or not was elevating her to the pedestal she would always want her man to place her on.

However, fantasies were one thing. Real life was a

completely different matter.

This question was dangerous. So dangerous the silence in the room somehow became heavier.

Ansla found herself on the spot, growing more flustered as her breathing became heavy.

Surprisingly, it was the Duchess who spoke again.

"It seems that I've stepped into the middle of quite a love story. My apologies, I should have known after all I've heard about Young Miss Ansla that she wouldn't choose a man so lightly."

Sylas didn't look toward the Duchess although she was speaking, his gaze still on Ansla as he waited. It seemed that the only words he wanted to hear right now were hers.

Luckily, the Duchess' words snapped Ansla awake and she took a breath. All things considered, her composure won out and she slowly pressed a hand against Sylas' chest,

straightening herself and making a small bit of distance.

"Of course. Of course." Ansla looked toward the Duchess, smiled lightly, and then curtsied elegantly. "It would be my honor."

She didn't elaborate on what she meant by this, or what exactly would be her honor. Sometimes, speaking fewer words made more sense.

Ansla lifted her gown with a pair of gentle fingers and then quickly walked off of the dance floor. The clicking of her heels seemed to be the only sound left, and the pressure was so great it was a wonder she didn't trip and fall over.

Sylas, however, seemed unmoved, watching her walk back to her seat for a moment. There didn't seem to be any

eagerness in his expression as he finally turned to face the Duchess.

Then, with a stride that was far more confident than anyone would expect, he crossed the distance toward the table of five cloaked figures, reaching out a hand.

The Duchess watched the hand as though she had no

intention of taking it.

To the side, Ebison sneered, though no one dared to make a sound. Many felt the only one foolish enough to try to use the Sanguan as their shield and blade was Sylas. No one else wanted to try to use them so casually.

This time, Sylas was digging his own hole, so why not allow him to.

Sylas raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

The Duchess' head tilted to the side. Her face couldn't be seen beneath her cloak, but her voice projected just fine.

"What is interesting?"

"You interrupted my dance with my woman, and now you're wasting my time. What wouldn't be interesting about this? Is there perhaps a child hidden beneath that robe? One more intent on seeing chaos in the world than speaking words of substance?"

The Duchess' body seemed to freeze for a moment. Maybe in her entire life, this was the first time anyone had ever spoken to her like this.

A chilly wind passed through the air, enough that even Sylas and his ice affinity felt the frost, goosebumps racing up his forearm. But one would have never guessed from Sylas'

expression that he was experiencing such a thing at all. In fact, his hand was still being held out in a calm fashion, not quivering in the slightest.

"Honestly speaking, I'm not very interested in dancing with a woman who feels the need to cover herself either."

There wasn't anger in Sylas' voice. Maybe there was—one would have thought that he was just losing his temper after being embarrassed. But everything about his actions from start to finish denoted a confidence that came from the depths of his bones.

The True Pride Seed seemed to flourish all on its own.

The Duchess' sneer practically hung in the air, taking tangible form. Her cloak fluttered and its hood almost slowly peeled off all on its own. What was revealed from the face alone could only be described as the most perfect specimen of a woman.

Skin that was all of smooth, pale, and somehow caramel. Lips that were naturally pinkish red. Hair that flowed in cascading rivers that wafted an intoxicating, lustful scent.

It was the sort of face that toppled nations and, quite objectively, was a tier above Ansla.

Yet Sylas' face was entirely deadpan.

"Passable."