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"Forget it, then."
Lucian wasn't surprised by her refusal. It was a Divine Weapon, after all; it was perfectly normal for her to be reluctant.
"Huh?" Bheara tilted her head, blinking in pure bewildernt. "What do you an, 'forget it'?"
"You rejected my request. What else am I supposed to do?" Lucian countered effortlessly.
"You could try asking a few more tis! I might just agree, you know," Bheara pressed, sounding genuinely anxious that he was giving up so easily. "Or you could just steal it! Even though it's mine, it's not like I can actively control it right now, right?"
"A true gentleman doesn't seize what others hold dear," Lucian replied breezily. "Besides, a replica will serve my purposes just fine. I only require it for the aesthetic landscape."
"You... you are utterly infuriating," Bheara said, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
"Thank you for the complint," Lucian shot her a side-eye. "I've got your personality completely figured out. If I kept pestering you, you would eventually drop hints leading to 'order' you to hand it over. Am I wrong?"
Bheara was an intrinsically honest god. She was bound by an absolute vow to never utter a falsehood. However, she could use silence to deflect questions. In those monts, she would subtly shepherd the questioner toward a specific choice—one designed to supposedly move her heart. To Bheara, begging was worthless, and trading was equally futile.
Faced with this roadblock, most deities would inevitably fall back on ordering her to give them what they wanted. But there was a fundantal catch: they were all peers. In fact, in terms of combat power, Bheara completely eclipsed most of them. What right did they have to order her around?
Even in a strict hierarchy, the inherent nature of a god was proud and untad. Being commanded was fundantally insulting. Because of this, Bheara had famously sworn that she would rcilessly slaughter anyone arrogant enough to order her. If Lucian chose to command her, she might not actually kill him, but she would be profoundly disappointed in him. At her core, Bheara was a trickster deity. She deliberately cornered people with impossible choices just to see how they would react under pressure.
The thod to break her ga was incredibly simple: completely detach from the desire. Walk away. Unfortunately for her, Bheara's specialty was making her offers impossible to refuse. If that failed, it simply ant she hadn't played her hand well enough.
"Tch. How do you even know that?" Bheara clicked her tongue in sheer annoyance. "If you did have to answer the question, what would you do?"
"There's no need for to answer that, is there?" Lucian replied, seamlessly reflecting her own signature deflection tactic right back at her.
Dmmit...* Bheara clenched her fists. She really wanted to punch him in the face. She was finally tasting the exact sa suffocating frustration she had inflicted on countless others over the millennia.
"As long as you give an answer—no matter what that answer is—I will allow you to take the Spring of Life," Bheara declared, taking another deep breath to center herself.
"Borrow?" Lucian corrected.
"Why on earth would I lend it to you?" Bheara shot back instinctively, before imdiately catching herself. "Wait, no! You can't just give a cop-out answer like 'Why do I have to borrow it from you?' That doesn't count!"
"Talk about ruining the fun," Lucian chuckled softly, before giving a proper response. "Since 'ordering' is off the table, the only orthodox route remaining is a formal commission."
"A commission?" Bheara frowned slightly.
"I commission you to give the Spring of Life, and my paynt will be unparalleled amusent," Lucian explained calmly. "You trickster gods don't actually care much about Divine Weapons anyway. Trading a dusty relic for top-tier entertainnt is actually a pretty solid bargain for you, isn't it?"
"A commission... I see." Bheara stared at him blankly.
The proposition perfectly resonated with her twisted sensibilities, and it had genuinely caught her completely off guard. It was still a transaction at its core, but the tric was entirely subjective. Equating a Divine Weapon's value to fleeting amusent was pure absurdity. No sane person would ever accept that trade. But she wasn't a sane person. If Lucian officially presented the offer, she would absolutely accept it.
"Beyond the orthodox route, what else were you planning?" Bheara asked, her curiosity fully piqued.
"I already gave it to you. It's exactly what I did a minute ago," Lucian smiled.
"What's that supposed to an?" Bheara blinked, a surge of eager anticipation bubbling within her.
"You just said that as long as I answered, you'd let take the spring, regardless of what I said," Lucian pointed out. "But you wouldn't make a reckless promise like that to just anyone. It ans your offer was entirely dependent on who I am. So, the answer is simple: I simply play the part of a perfect gentleman, exhibit impeccable character, and leave the rest to fate." He paused, his smirk widening. "At its core, it's a manipulation tactic to make you 'willingly' compromise your own interests."
Hearing this, Bheara froze in place.
Compared to his previous answer about a 'commission,' this second answer struck directly at the core of her psychological gas. The commission was rely a display of his attitude, but Lucian had effortlessly stripped away the fluff and surgically exposed the chanical truth behind her actions.
"You... you are far more interesting than I imagined," Bheara finally breathed out after a long silence.
It sounded abstract, but it was easily understood through a simple taphor. Imagine Bheara holding a life-saving dicine. She refuses begging, rejects trades, and is entirely immune to moral kidnapping. When backed into that corner, a normal person's first instinct is to take it by force—the order. But coercion breeds disgust. Bheara wanted a different outco, so she constantly forced people into these impossible dilemmas, punishing those who resorted to violence.
The difference between a commission and a trade boiled down to a massive disparity in perceived value. To a normal person, a Divine Weapon and a joke were galaxies apart. But to Bheara, that bizarre, unexpected disparity was exactly what she craved. However, accepting that disparity required a foundational prerequisite: Bheara's goodwill. By saving the people of Beltane, Lucian had effortlessly secured that prerequisite. His gentlemanly display wasn't just a fleeting act; it was a consistent testant to his character.
"By the way, since I humored your question, shouldn't you offer sothing of equal value in return?" Lucian asked, his eyes gleaming with amusent. "You promised I could take the spring if I gave you an 'answer.' But I just gave you two answers."
The commission and the gentlemanly conduct were two completely separate solutions. The first fulfilled her original condition. The second fulfilled a brand-new question born purely from her own curiosity.
"Ha! You actually set a trap for !?" Bheara gasped, her eyes widening in mock outrage.
She lunged forward, grabbing his cheeks and squishing his face between her hands. Her figure was flawless, and at this incredibly close range, Lucian was treated to a spectacular, eye-catching view. Bheara was right; he had laid a trap the mont he used the phrase orthodox answer. If there was an orthodox answer, there naturally had to be an unorthodox one. A normal person might have glossed over it, but Bheara was a god fad for her perceptive nature. She was practically guaranteed to notice the hidden implication and ask about it.
She just hadn't expected the implication to be a perfectly laid snare, waiting for her to step right into it.
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