"S-sir... Duke Astravore is here. He’s demanding your presence. Immediately."
Silence dropped like a blade.
Reynold didn’t even blink at first.
Just stared out the window as smoke coiled around his head.
Then he muttered, "...He’s early."
The butler, smart enough not to breathe too loudly, gave a slight bow and disappeared with the grace of a man dodging a bomb.
The door clicked shut.
"Stay in this room," Reynold said without turning.
He finally looked at me. "No?"
"I’m coming with you."
"Rael." His voice dropped. "This isn’t a discussion."
I stepped forward. "I started this. It’s my mess. I’ll deal with it."
His jaw tensed. "You think he came here to talk?"
"I don’t care what he came for." I looked him in the eye. "He thinks I’m weak. That I’ll break."
I pointed at the door.
"I’m going to prove him wrong."
He stared at me. There was a flicker of anger, yes, but also something else.
He walked toward me slowly. Stopped inches away.
"You’re an idiot," he said finally. "A stubborn and reckless idiot."
"Runs in the family," I said.
We held the silence between us for a few seconds. Then he sighed. That tired, fatherly sigh I’d come to expect.
"You don’t talk," he said. "Not unless I let you. You stay behind me. If things go south, you run."
"....." I didn’t reply. Mostly because I had zero intention of listening.
He stared for a moment longer and just... sighed again.
Then he snapped his fingers.
In an instant, the clumsy housewear vanished. The worn shirt and slippers flickered—gone. Replaced by a black military-grade overcoat, bearing the Ashborn family crest over his chest like a badge of war. A long cape unfurled behind him, draping over his shoulders.
His hair, moments ago lazily tied back, straightened into a clean, regal knot.
The cigarette fell from his lips and crumbled into ash before hitting the ground.
"...You resemble your mother a bit too much." He whispered before turning towards the door. "Let’s go meet the Duke."
He walked ahead without hesitation.
My mind was steady. Not because I’d reached some kind of nirvana but because it had to be for what was coming next.
Time to face my death flag.
[Alzareth Von Astravore POV]
The Ashborn Estate was too quiet.
Not many guards at the front. No welcome.
Astravore sat alone in the receiving hall, one gloved finger rhythmically tapping the armrest.
His eyes scanned the room.
The banners. The painted victories.
It was all inherited. Not earned.
That was the difference between them.
Reynold was born into greatness.
Astravore had dragged his family back to it.
When he was twenty, the Astravore name had been on the verge of getting pushed out of Ducal Rank.
And then he took over.
He rebuilt the family with blood, strategy and unforgiving image.
A man in his position couldn’t afford indulgence.
He wasn’t here to avenge insults. He was here to preserve equilibrium.
A noble son had crossed a line.
Not just any line—but one visible to every court, every informant, every rival watching from behind their masquerade masks and family crests.
If he did nothing—if the incident passed unanswered—it would stain him.
Worse than gossip. It would become a precedent.
Which is why the boy had to die.
Not because of the woman. Not because of some petty emotion.
The door creaked open behind him as he sensed two presence walking towards him.
As soon as I entered the room, I saw him. Sitting casually on a luxurious couch like he owned the place.
Golden hair like a lion’s mane. Crimson eyes. And that aura—wild and suffocating as if the room itself held its breath.
I only called him that because... well, I didn’t know the bastard’s actual name.
Didn’t care to, either.
I wasn’t here to make friends.
My father stepped ahead, placing himself between us without a word.
His posture was calm and controlled but his expression? Ice-cold.
Nothing like the man I’d spoken with just moments ago.
That look alone could freeze a battlefield.
My father took a seat on the couch in front of Astravore. I didn’t sit and just stood behind him.
Astravore didn’t look at me. Not even once. To him, I wasn’t there. Just furniture in the room. His reaction was too strange for someone whose wife I kissed.
I did what I could best do at the moment: trash talk that bastard in my mind.
"Greetings, Duke Astravore–" Before my father could even say anything, a cold voice cut through.
"Execution," he said flatly, addressing Reynold without a shred of emotion. "I’m here for it. Nothing else."
Reynold didn’t move but his eyes turned colder. "He’s awakened."
Astravore blinked once. Slowly.
"A B-Rank. Martial path," Reynold continued, his voice low. "The Empire’s Law forbids the execution of any Awakened noble above B-Rank without a formal trial sanctioned by the Crown."
I cheered, but even I knew this won’t save me from assassination.
Astravore’s lips curled—not a smile.
"How long," he asked, his voice soft, "do you think you can protect it?"
Fucking bastard. Go and learn some grammar from your momm—
Before I could even complete my thought a crushing aura flared. It didn’t explode. It descended. Silent and cold as a sword drawn in winter.
The marble beneath Astravore’s feet cracked in a perfect line.
I didn’t move. Not because I was brave. But because I couldn’t.
My body refused. Even my breath froze in my throat.
I felt a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time.
My mind blanked. My vision was on the verge of darkening.
I was seconds from blacking out—
And then the pressure eased. Not completely. But enough for me to remain conscious.
Still, my breaths came rough and shallow.
My gaze snapped ahead. A blue barrier shielded me from Astravore’s pressure.
My father—Reynold—stood firm but I felt it. The shift in him. His shoulders tightening and his fingers curling.
He didn’t flare back. Didn’t bark. He just stood there, holding the line. Even so, a vein in his temple pulsed. His coat shifted under the weight of Astravore’s presence.
And still, Astravore didn’t look at me.
As if I was an object being fought over and not a person.
That... pissed me off more than I expected.
This wasn’t my moment.