The corridor did not relax after Veinhelm left.
Blood crept along the gaps between the
obsidian tiles, crawling in thin red rivers around Sebastian's headless body.
The metallic scent hit late, thick and intrusive, waking everyone from their
stunned trance.
A servant moved first.
He was young, uniform slightly too big
for him, hands shaking as he tried to bow and walk at the same time.
"A–Alexander, sir, should we—"
Alexander snapped out of it with a
full-body flinch.
"Shut up," he barked, voice cracking
more than he'd like. "You saw nothing. You heard nothing. Anyone who spreads a
word dies before the gossip leaves their mouth. Clear?"
The servants bowed so low their
foreheads almost touched the bloody floor.
"Y–Yes, Lord Alexander."
Silvia watched their fear, measured
it, then watched Alexander again.
He was loyal, that much was obvious.
Loyal and terrified.
Veinhelm's footsteps were still
faintly audible, echoing away. He hadn't even looked back.
So that's how it is… she thought.
A tyrant's son, cursed from birth,
notoriously weak in prowess. A walking scandal wrapped in noble armor. For
years, the empire had laughed at Veinhelm Drakan behind closed doors.
Yet now, a man whose weakness was
practically public property had just killed Sebastian—the Lathias family's monster—with one hit.
No spell cast. No chant. No visible barrier.
Silvia exhaled softly, forcing her fingers to relax around her staff. She stepped toward the corpse. The two remaining Lathias assassins had fled long ago, leaving only their leader's
remains behind as a rude offering.
The body was intact. No obvious wounds
other than the clean severing.
Silvia knelt by the torso, extended
three fingers, and hovered them a hair's breadth over the dead flesh. She
didn't need to chant, not for something this simple.
She opened her eyes.
"…That's annoying," she muttered under
her breath.
" no traces of enchantment , aura or even mana. How… "
*
*
*
A memory of impact that never quite
reached me.
Like my body had been a window and
Sebastian had dived through it, only to find glass where he expected empty air.
{ Absolute Counterattack }
The name of the spell still lingered
at the edge of my vision, like someone had scribbled it inside my skull.
[ 'Mystic' Spell { Absolute
Counterattack } ]
[ Cooldown: 7 minutes 14 seconds ]
I walked as if nothing had happened,
back straight, pace controlled. The corridor bent toward the inner halls of the
tower, my new home, my new prison.
Inside the armor, my hands were slick
with sweat.
I almost died.
If Sebastian had a follow-up strike instead of putting everything into that one killing blow, I was done. If the other two assassins had taken the chance instead of running, I'd be in
pieces on the ground.
For all the tyrant's aura, there was nothing under it. No strength. No cultivated swordsmanship honed through blood and grit. Just my sabotage spell, placed half as a joke on an impossible
character.
I almost laughed.
You dumbass… that stupid edit saved
your life.
"And here I thought dying in a truck
crash was the dumbest way to go," I muttered.
The torches lining the walls flared as
I passed, obedient to whatever enchantments my predecessors had installed. The
Drakan crest gazed down from banners: a dragon eating its own tail.
Fitting.
"Veinhelm."
I stopped.
The voice came from behind, soft and
even, like someone reciting a line from a play they weren't sure they believed
in.
I turned.
Silvia was there, a few paces back,
the hem of her servant's dress untouched by blood, her staff held loosely as if
she didn't need it. Her hood shadowed half her face, but I remembered every
detail from design meetings and in-game events. Her expressions, her manner,
the way she always seemed slightly detached from everyone else.
Only now I was on the receiving end of
that detachment.
" What? Will you have a go as well? " I asked, the words leaving my mouth colder than I intended.
Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine
properly for the first time since she'd entered this cursed house.
"Me?…" she smiled as if this was hilarious
Cheeky.
I could feel the trait 'Egoistic'
twitch under my skin, wanting to snap at her, demand kneeling, obedience, all
that pointless theater.
Instead, I turned my back to her and
continued walking.
"If you have something to say, say it
while you can still walk in my shadow," I said. "I'm not in the mood to babysit
slow tongues."
Soft steps. Not hurried, not hesitant.
Measured.
She followed.
To the servants, it looked like this:
The newly enthroned High Lord Drakan, walked the corridor like
a man who had just swatted a fly.
Behind him, a lowly servant girl—new,
recently chosen to help in the study—trailed like a mute extension of his will.
They didn't see the way her eyes
cataloged everything.
The relaxed demeanor after a fatal encounter.
The aloofness to his house members.
The way his gaze lingered a touch too
long on the torches, the banners, the floor—as if he didn't care about anything.
Silvia took it in hungrily.
That's not the Veinhelm I've heard
about.
The old rumors painted him
differently.
Veinhelm, the spoiled brute, drunk on
inherited authority.
Veinhelm, the coward who hid behind
his father's name.
Veinhelm, who never lifted a blade
himself unless the opponent was already half dead.
That man would have screamed when
Sebastian attacked. Or begged. Or fumbled for guards. He definitely wouldn't
have stared down the deathblade and let it come.
She watched his back.
Even if she couldn't see through it, the aura was real. The oppressive
weight, the way the corridor seemed narrower around him—that part matched the
stories.
But the man inside it? His timing, his
choices, that moment when he willingly let go of his sword as Sebastian lunged…
"What are you thinking?" he asked
suddenly, without turning.
Silvia blinked. "About what, my lord?"
"You're staring holes into my spine,"
he said. "Either you're planning to stab me, or you're trying to understand
something you don't."
She remained silent for a breath, then
said,
"…Both, perhaps."
He stopped again.
Slowly, he turned to face her. Violet
eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his lips barely moving.
Most people, faced with that stare,
would drop to their knees.
Silvia tilted her head instead.
"Clarify," he said.
"You survived a strike no one else
has," she said. "I'm wondering if that makes you more dangerous than the rumors
say…"
Her gaze dipped briefly to his chest,
then back to his eyes.
"…or more interesting."
The trait 'Tyrant's presence' pulsed,
a subtle pressure that made the air around us squeeze tighter. She ignored it,
or pretended to.
I wanted to tell her she was
inspecting a cheap plastic mask glued onto a hollow statue.
Instead, I found myself stepping
closer, letting the aura bear down harder, just to see.
"Is your curiosity that strong," I
asked, "that you'd gamble your life staying here?"
She did not step back.
"My life was already gambled the
moment I stepped into this house with my hood up," she said. "If you wanted to, you could have fought with me instead."
"That can be arranged," I replied. While internally cursing my stupid trait.
"It can," she agreed. "But you won't.
Not yet."
"…Why so certain?"
"Because you just severed the head of
House Lathias' favorite assassin," she said. "Your enemies no longer assume
you're weak. They will regroup."
She lifted her staff slightly, as if
the weight of it helped organize her words.
We reached the study room.
The same one where I had poured wine
with shaking hands earlier. The same one where she had first told me, with
annoying calmness, that I was going to die tonight.
Alexander wasn't far behind now,
storming down the hall with the rigid fury of a man whose job had just become
twice as hard.
"My lord!" he called before I even
opened the study door. "The body has been secured, but the news will spread.
Lathias won't stay quiet after this. We should—"
"Come inside," I said, not bothering
to look at him.
I pushed the door open and entered.
The familiar scent of paper, wax, and aged wine washed over me. Good. One
constant in this mess.
Silvia stepped in without waiting to
be invited. Alexander hesitated at the threshold, thrown off by her assumption.
I sat in the high-backed chair,
exhaled once, then gestured lazily toward the other side of the room.
"Close the door," I said.
Alexander did, casting a quick
suspicious glance at Silvia, who stood near the shelves, hands folded, entirely
too calm for someone who had just watched a head roll.
"Alexander," I said. "Report."
He straightened, slipping into his
usual deferential tone.
"Yes, my lord. The assassins'
bodies—or what's left of them—have been taken to the lower vaults. We found the
Lathias mark on them, no attempt at hiding it. Either they're arrogant or they
want everyone to know they tried."
"They wanted everyone to know," I
said. "They expected success."
Alexander grimaced. "What are your
orders? Shall we inform the imperial council? Request an investigation?
Demand—"
"No."
He blinked. "…No?"
I swirled the wine in my glass,
watching the deep red spin. Reporting would only complicate things.
"If the council hears that House
Lathias tried to kill me and failed, they'll assume two things. One, Lathias
has reason to strike. Two, I'm now strong enough to be a bigger problem than
they predicted."
"And that would be… bad?" Alexander
asked carefully.
"Tell me," I said, leaning back, "have
you ever seen a pack of wolves attack a dying deer?"
He frowned. "Yes, my lord."
"Good. That's the council. Now imagine
they realize the deer isn't dying. It's only an unstable monster pretending." I let the corner of
my mouth curl very slightly. "What do you think happens then?"
Alexander swallowed audibly.
"…They will get rid of it."
"Exactly."
I took a slow sip.
"We don't announce anything. We don't
send complaints. We send silence. Let Lathias wonder why their prized dog never
came back. Let the council think I'm still the same useless heir. Useless heirs
don't get targeted by real threats."
He stared at me like he was seeing me
for the first time.
In the reflection of the wine, I saw
my own face: Veinhelm's, yes, but with eyes that weren't reading their lines
from a script.
Silvia watched everything.
She shrugged one shoulder minutely.
"…A rare moment of sense from House
Drakan," she remarked.
Alexander's head snapped toward her. Fury clear in his eyes
"You dare—"
"Shut up, Alexander," I said mildly.
His jaw clicked shut.
Silvia's lips twitched. Just a little.
She could admit it, if only in the
privacy of her own thoughts: the plan was sound.
If Veinhelm had immediately screeched
to the council, demanded retribution, sent outraged letters, she would have
mentally sorted him into the usual noble categories: predictable, noisy,
expendable.
Instead, he chose quiet. Quiet was dangerous.
Silvia crossed the room and stopped at
a respectful distance from his desk.
Who are you? she wondered. When did you become someone who thinks
like this?
Her own information on Veinhelm was a patchwork
of rumors, second-hand reports, and the occasional overheard drunken insult in
mage circles. Originally she came in a whim to see the foolish man himself.
The man in front of her didn't
match any of those rumors.
"Either way," Veinhelm continued,
"I'll need you to stop hiding what you are."
Alexander stiffened. "My lord, she's
just—"
"The hood," Veinhelm said, cutting him
off, eyes on Silvia. "Take it off. Before I do it myself."
The room cooled.
Silvia's fingers brushed the edge of
her hood.
She always chose when to reveal
herself. Power, after all, was often about timing. About choosing the moment
when your enemy realized exactly how badly they'd underestimated you.
Here, she was being ordered.
It irked her.
But… she wanted to see how far he'd
press this.
"If you insist," she said softly.
Her hand tugged the fabric back.
Black hair tumbled down, framing a
face that would, in any other house, either be worshiped or exploited: sharp,
intelligent eyes; a mouth that rarely smiled; a scar very faintly cutting
across the lower line of her jaw—the mark of a magical experiment gone wrong
long ago.
Alexander inhaled sharply.
"You— you're—"
"Archemage Silvia," Veinhelm said flatly.
Silvia held his gaze.
Alexander looked between us like we'd
both gone insane.
"My lord, this woman is—"
"Exactly the sort of person I need
inside this house," I said. "Someone the council doesn't know is here. Yet."
Silvia lifted her chin.
"And what exactly do you need,
Veinhelm Drakan?"
There it was.
Suspicion, sharp and naked.
The question she really wanted to ask
was simple: What are you after?
I took my time answering.
"I need someone whose curiosity is
stronger than their fear," I said. "Someone who will stay close enough to watch
me and clever enough not to run to the nearest noble with what they see."
"That sounds less like a request and
more like a leash," she said.
"It is," I replied. "The question is
whether you'd rather hold it with me… or have it wrapped around your neck by
someone else."
Silvia's eyes narrowed half a
fraction.
"…You're not as entertaining as I
thought," she said. "You're worse."
"Is that a refusal?" I asked.
She exhaled, a quiet, annoyed breath.
"No, neither do I accept " she said. "I will observe."
She bowed—not deeply, not like
Alexander, but enough to formally to show respect.
"Very well," she said. "I'll stay. I'll
watch. I'll listen. If something tries to kill you, I may consider lifting
a finger."
Alexander looked appalled.
Veinhelm's lips curved, almost into a
smile.
"I don't need loyalty "
*
*
*
Rumors began to seep through the tower
before midnight.
Not shouted. Not screamed. Just
floated, thin and dangerous, between half-closed doors and over steaming pots
in the kitchen.
"Did you hear? Someone died in the
corridor."
"They say the new lord decapitated an
assassin."
"No, no, he bribed him and then
murdered him. That's more his style."
"Idiot, that's not how it works."
"Still… Lathias won't be happy."
"Good. Let them fight. Maybe they'll
wipe each other out and the rest of us can live in peace."
Nobody knew the full story. Nobody would. But one detail spread with uncanny
consistency: Veinhelm Drakan, the heir who was
supposed to be an easy kill, was still alive.
And something about him had changed.