Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 393: Chapter 393 The Duke’s Daughter

Arianne’s eyes twinkled as the carriage began to move. “You’re not disappointed, are you?”

Michael met her gaze with a faint smile. “I wouldn’t dare say that aloud.”

She laughed, light and genuine, before turning her gaze to the window for a moment. The city lights painted soft reflections on the glass.

“Have you ever been to a private auction like this before?” Michael asked, shifting the conversation.

Arianne turned back to him and nodded. “A few. Not often. Most are terribly boring, truth be told—but tonight should be different.”

“Different how?”

She shrugged lightly. “Well, it’s not hosted by my father directly. He’s just sponsoring part of it. The actual goods come from several parties. Mercenaries. Traders. Even adventurers returning from outside the kingdom. That’s why the items can be… unpredictable.”

“Unpredictable?” Michael raised a brow.

“It can be anything,” she replied. “Enchanted jewelry, forbidden grimoires, beast remains, cursed items, relics from ancient ruins… whatever can be smuggled into the capital and deemed valuable enough for trade.”

Michael’s gaze sharpened slightly. “So they don’t screen the goods?”

“They do,” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “But discretion is key. Nobles don’t mind buying risky items as long as they can say it was part of a ’collection’ or ’research.’”

Michael leaned back against the seat, absorbing her words. “Sounds like a gamble.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Arianne said, then paused. “Do you enjoy these sorts of things?”

Michael paused, his gaze distant for a moment. “It’s my first—anywhere, really.”

Arianne raised a brow, a hint of curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Anywhere?”

He gave a faint, unreadable smile. “Let’s just say I don’t exactly have a long history with noble gatherings.”

She studied him for a second, then simply nodded—as if sensing there was more behind his words but choosing not to dig.

“Well,” she said, her tone light, “you’re in for a strange evening. Everyone at that estate is either powerful, wealthy, or pretending to be both. Just try not to look too bored.”

Michael chuckled under his breath. “No promises.”

Arianne’s laughter was soft, genuine. It made the carriage feel a little less like a noble prison and more like a shared moment. “Good. Because something tells me this auction isn’t going to be the quiet kind.”

Michael’s fingers tapped once against the window frame. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”

“Really?”

“No,” Michael admitted with a small grin. “It just felt like the right thing to say.”

Arianne let out a soft, melodic laugh, the kind that lingered in the air.

One might expect Arianne to resent whoever won her father’s political competition—or even resent her father himself.

But in truth, it was neither.

Using one’s daughter as a political tool wasn’t uncommon in the world of nobles. Girls born into noble houses often grew up knowing they might be “sold off” one day. Some even prepared for it.

Sons inherited the property and titles.

Daughters strengthened alliances.

That was just how it worked.

What made Arianne different—what kept her from feeling bitter—was the simple fact that she knew her father loved her.

That love dulled the sting of feeling like a bargaining chip.

But would a loving father offer up his daughter in a political marriage?

Yes. In noble society, absolutely yes.

Most traditional nobles, like Duke Evermoon, viewed love for their daughters as finding them a powerful, secure match. That, to them, was the best kind of affection—even if it was mixed with personal ambition.

So no, Arianne didn’t hate Michael.

She didn’t even dislike the idea.

Ever since she was young, she had only hoped for one thing.

If she didn’t fall in love with someone first… then whoever her father chose had better be strong and handsome.

Yes. Arianne was a little shallow when it came to appearances.

And Michael?

Let’s not even talk about how he looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves.

He was powerful—one of the strongest in the kingdom—and just so happened to meet her personal standards without even trying.

She didn’t have a crush on him.

Not yet, at least.

But she found him… agreeable.

It was like how, in the modern world, a girl didn’t need to be in love to find a man attractive if he dressed well and was financially stable.

Michael was like that—except his strength was more appealing than his wealth.

All in all, she was satisfied with him.

At the very least… he wasn’t Uga.

She’d seen that match too.

And for more reasons than one, she was deeply relieved.

The carriage rolled smoothly along the stone-paved road, the noise of hooves and wheels dulled by the expensive construction of its frame.

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between the two.

“So,” Arianne finally said, her voice light but curious, “if this is your first auction, what exactly are you hoping to find tonight?”

Michael tilted his head slightly, considering the question. “Anything interesting actually.”

Michael glanced sideways at her as the estate loomed closer. “What about you?”

Arianne tilted her head. “Me?”

He gave a small nod. “You said the auction might be interesting tonight. Any reason in particular? Or are you just playing host?”

She looked thoughtful for a second, then shrugged lightly. “Nothing in particular. But…” her voice dipped, a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes, “it would be great if I saw a rare beast species I could tame.”

A flicker of light passed through Michael’s eyes.

At last—an opening to steer the conversation toward something that genuinely intrigued him.

“Are you a beast tamer, Princess?”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Michael added lightly, “but I recall your conversation with the Duke yesterday—about a Flame Lion. I’ve seen one before. They’re… majestic creatures.”

Arianne’s eyes immediately lit up. Her posture straightened ever so slightly, and her earlier composed elegance gave way to something far more honest—excitement.

“You’ve seen one?” she asked, her voice rising with interest. “Where? Was it a wild one or tamed? Male or female? Was its mane flared? Did it roar?”

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