It took a few days for Arthur to finally settle in this new place. Since he was born, he had been staying in the capital. And even there, he rarely had the opportunity to step outside the manor.
He mostly used his time cooped inside his room or the library, while he continued his heir training and was taught different subjects.
The heavy oak door to the Earl's office creaked open, the only sound that surrounded the room was the sound of Arthur's footsteps as he stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was, undeniably, the Earl standing before the arched windows of his study, staring at the moonlit sky outside, his sharp features clearly visible in the transparent glass.
And then, there was a massive mahogany desk placed at the center of the room, with a neatly stacked set of documents, a crystal decanter, and an empty tumbler placed on it.
He turned his head slightly, just enough for his piercing eyes to settle on Arthur. For a moment, Arthur felt like he was being seen inside-out, and he could feel it in his bones, the way his gaze had always unnerved him.
His fingers held a cigar, small but its scent large enough to linger inside the whole room. It was a scent that would most likely be associated with him, unyielding and inescapable.
Arthur swallowed before speaking:
"Did you call for me, Father?"
He spoke as if he was choosing each word carefully so as not to upset or anger him.
'I don't know when I'll be able to use the term "father" more comfortably.'
He had never really liked the word "father" because whenever he had used that term to call a certain someone — his father in his past life — he was glared at. And his instincts had warned him to never address that man as such if he didn't want to die.
However, even then, he couldn't save himself but was strangled to near death by the very hands that were supposed to protect him.
"Yes, I did."
"May I ask why? If you have any work for me... or if there's anything you wish to tell me?"
The Earl moved, his steps unhurried, the polished soles of his boots striking the floor with an audible click. He moved with a fluidity that came not from ease but from control, meticulous and restrained.
He neared the desk and slowed his steps as he reached for the decanter, his fingers brushing against the glass with practiced familiarity.
He poured the golden liquid into the tumbler, it swirled under the dim light of the chandelier. The faint murmur of whiskey filling the glass was the only sound in the vast chamber. That is, until he spoke up:
"I'll be departing for the capital tomorrow. All the preparations are almost complete, so you don't have to concern yourself with anything."
Arthur swallowed the tightness that stuck in his throat, his hands tightening behind his back in a grip so firm that his knuckles ached.
"May I ask the reason behind this sudden departure to the capital?"
The Earl lifted the glass and took a slow sip, his gaze settling on Arthur.
"Hmm... It's nothing of that much importance. And I repeat: don't concern yourself over trivial matters, Arthur."
He placed the crystal glass back on the table with a quiet click.
"During my absence, your heir training will proceed under the head butler's supervision."
Arthur knew instantly that if he was chosen by his father, then he must be a well-respected man... or at least, he must be on par with his father regarding the brutal ways to teach the heir of this family.
"I understand, Father."
Arthur remembered everything that he had gone through over the past years, and most of it were the trials he faced at the hands of the Earl.
The way he left him under a lake with his hands tied, only to pull him out onto the surface with a disdainful look.
And how he left him at the center of a dark forest to hunt wild animals, only to save Arthur when he was attacked by a pack of wolves.
Arthur didn't want to be reminded of that time, but those memories were etched into his body and mind.
The Earl's gaze fell upon the bandaged left side of Arthur's forehead.
"How's your wound now? It won't leave a scar, would it?"
He grabbed the cigar from the silver tray and took a slow inhale, the ember glowing briefly. The smoke curled upward, the tobacco smell filling the air.
It was a strange sight that Arthur still couldn't get used to, this tradition of the aristocrats who drank liquor with a cigar.
Arthur touched the bandage before speaking:
"The doctor said it will take some time for the wound to fully heal, but fortunately, it won't leave a scar."
The Earl took another inhale of the cigar.
"Hm. That's good."
'What's good?'
Arthur questioned himself in an attempt to understand the meaning behind his words.
He wondered: What exactly was good? That it wouldn't leave a scar on his body? Or that he was the Earl's precious property, so it's good that he was unharmed?
Arthur stood silently, watching the smoke from the cigar curl into the air. He didn't realize it, but that smoke... it carried him to a memory from the past, one he wished dearly to forget.
But it remained as vivid as the day it was etched into his soul. A cruel lesson taught in blood and steel, a deep scar that refused to leave.
It was an autumn morning, crisp and biting, the air laced with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves.
Arthur found himself in the garden of the Ashbourne estate, holding onto a small and fragile rabbit in his trembling hands. He couldn't understand if it was the chilling wind that made him tremble or what was about to come.
It was a rabbit that he had grown attached to as he looked after it. He had fed it each day, watched it grow, and in its gentle presence, he had found a quiet solace, one that now teetered on the edge of destruction.
The morning light carved harsh lines across the Earl's face as he held out a hunting knife, its edge gleaming coldly.
"Kill it."
His voice held no hesitation, no anger, just command.
Arthur's hands shook violently.
"B-but..."
He couldn't finish his sentence, he didn't dare to.
"No excuses. Do it, Arthur."
Arthur eventually took the knife from his hand, but he was too afraid to take the life of the being he held in his small hands.
The knife was heavier than it should have been, strangely so. It wasn't heavy just because of the weight of steel but also with the burden of expectation.
Arthur gazed at the rabbit; it stared back at him, unaware of what he was about to do.
"I-I'm sorry... pl-please forgive me...!"
His heart pounded loudly, it was the sound of battle. A battle raging between his will and his conscience.
His fingers curled around the hilt, but his hands trembled. He couldn't do it.
"Fa-father, I..."
Bang!
Arthur flinched at the sharp sound, the rabbit jerking violently in his grasp. Blood blossomed across its white fur, warm and wet, seeping between his fingers.
It let out a fragile, broken sound... one that lodged itself in his chest and refused to leave, heavy and suffocating.
He lifted his eyes and looked at the Earl as he lowered the smoking revolver he held in his hand.
The knife slipped from Arthur's grip and landed on the dirty ground with a dull thud.
"Haa... Haah..."
Arthur had trouble breathing, his chest tightening as the horror gripped him.
The Earl's cold and sharp voice rang:
"You hesitated!"
The words cut deeper than any knife.
"Our family has no place for weakness, Arthur! If you cannot protect something... then do not grow attached to it!"
The tears flowed down from Arthur's eyes like a stream. He tried to control his emotions, but he couldn't. No matter how much he tried, his world turned into a blur of red and gold.
"Tsk. Crying won't make you any stronger!"
The Earl's voice was filled with contempt.
Arthur bit down hard, tasting copper as he fought to smother the sobs rising in his throat, swallowing the grief that clawed at his chest like something alive.
Arthur's legs gave in, and he fell onto the ground, putting the rabbit on the dirt.
"N-no! P-please... Please don't die... I'm sorry...!"
The memories of the death of his beloved sister crawled back into his mind, and he found himself not as Arthur, but as the younger Jaehwan, who could do nothing but sob beside his sister's dead body.
The Earl crouched beside the dying rabbit, his movements calm as he began tending to the wound. His hands steady even as blood smeared across his gloves.
The Earl's gaze held the same indifference, but his voice carried a certain amount of warmth.
"If you truly wish to be strong, learn to control your emotions. Never let them show. And if you care for something, never let the world see it."
At that moment, Arthur knew that his words would stay with him for a long time. Those words became a lesson the younger Arthur would never forget.
Edmund, the head butler, stepped forward, his expression as unreadable as ever, just another lesson, just another day in the Ashbourne household.
Silently, he handed the Earl a new pair of gloves, watching as he changed the bloodied ones.
Then, the Earl loomed over Arthur once more, his firm hands settling on his small shoulders.
"Engrave this in your mind, Arthur Ashbourne!"
The rabbit didn't even last a day and died that same evening.
Arthur buried it alone, beneath the gnarled oak at the edge of the garden. The rain fell in relentless sheets, drenching him as he pressed cold, wet earth over the lifeless creature.
His fingers went numb, his lips parted in a silent vow.
'Never again... never again would I allow myself to care. Never again would I hesitate.'
Years passed, but the lesson remained. It was carved into him, as immutable as the name he bore.
Yet now, as he stood before his father once more, the ghost of that trembling boy still lingered, whispering from the shadows of his past.
Arthur remained where he was, waiting, until he lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture.
"You're dismissed."
He bowed slightly, precise and respectful, before stepping back and retreating through the door. It groaned as it closed behind him, the sound echoing faintly in the dimly lit corridor.