A strange, grim peace settled over the Ashworth estate in the days following Valerius's death. The secret of his betrayal was a poison that circulated only among the highest echelons of the house, but its effects were felt everywhere. The guards trained with a new, harder edge. The patrols were longer, more frequent. A quiet, watchful tension had replaced the mundane routine of fortress life. We were a house at war, even if only a handful of us knew it.
My own place within this new reality was still taking shape. In the training yard, I was no longer the Count's strange, unpredictable son; I was a warrior who had bled with the pack, an Artisan whose skill was undeniable. My sparring sessions with Damian became less of a test and more of a true lesson, his Master-level techniques forcing me to constantly refine and adapt my own Path. Even Elias treated me with a new, sullen distance that bordered on respect. He didn't understand what had happened, but he understood power, and he could no longer deny that I possessed it.
I had won my place. I had even earned their trust. But with every passing day, the knowledge from the novel pressed down on me with a greater urgency. The clock was ticking. The broader plot was moving forward, with or without me. Valerius was just the prologue. The first chapter of the tragedy was set to begin in the royal capital.
I thought of the name: Aria Thorne. A brilliant but reckless elementalist from a minor noble house. In the book, she was a rising star, a favorite to win the Imperial Tournament of Blossoms. But her ambition outstripped her control. During a crucial match, a rival (secretly a Void Cult Acolyte) would subtly sabotage her mana flow. The resulting backlash wouldn't just cost her the match; it would permanently cripple her circuits, ending her career. That failure would send her down a dark, desperate path that ended with her being recruited by the very cult that had ruined her, becoming a tragic, mid-story antagonist Lancelot was forced to kill.
Her fate was a pivot point. And the tournament was also the one place I knew she would be. The Zenith. She always presided over the final match. It would be my first chance to see her, not as a legend on a page, but as a person. I had to go.
After a week of letting the dust settle, I requested an audience with my father. I found him in his study, the room now scrubbed clean of the events that had transpired, though a faint, psychic stain remained that only I could feel. He looked tired, the lines on his face deeper than before.
"Lancelot," he said, his voice weary but even. "What is it?"
"I've come to ask for my reward," I said simply.
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of the old disappointment in his eyes. He had likely hoped I was above such things now. "After all that has happened, you think of prizes?"
"I think of the future," I countered, my voice firm. "I have proven my loyalty and my strength to this house. Now, I wish for an opportunity to prove it to the world." I met his gaze without flinching. "I wish to go to the capital. I wish to compete in the Imperial Tournament of Blossoms."
My father was silent for a long moment, his gaze analytical. He had expected a request for land, for a title, for a master-crafted weapon. He had not expected this.
"You wish to test your strength," he said, less a question and more a statement of fact.
"I wish to bring honor to our name," I replied. "I have spent my entire life in this valley, overshadowed by my own weakness. Now, I am not weak. But I am ignorant. I know nothing of the world beyond our borders, of the other Paths, of the true measure of strength in our kingdom. The tournament will be a gathering of the best young talent in Veridia. Let me measure myself against them. Let me learn. And let me show the nobles of the court that the sons of Ashworth are not to be trifled with."
The Count leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a proud smile touching his lips. It was the first I had ever seen. He saw the ambition in my eyes. He saw a son who was no longer content to be a footnote, a son who was hungry for his place in the world. He saw, perhaps for the first time, a true wolf of the West.
"A worthy ambition," he said finally. "You have more than earned the right to test your strength. Very well. You will go to the capital. You will represent this House at the tournament. But your mission will be twofold."
He leaned forward, his expression turning grim. "Your public duty is as you say: to compete, to win honor for our name. But your secret duty is to continue the hunt. Your eyes are sharper than I gave you credit for. I want you to watch. Observe the other noble houses. Look for signs of the rot we found here. Identify who our kingdom's true friends and enemies are."
It was more than I could have hoped for. An official mandate for my secret war. "I will not fail you, Father," I said.
"See that you don't," he replied, his tone all business once more. "You leave at the end of the week. You will be given an entourage befitting your station. Do not shame the name of Ashworth."
The days leading up to my departure were a whirlwind. An entire section of the castle staff was mobilized. A heavy carriage was stocked with supplies. A dozen of the household's best guards were selected for my retinue, and I was pleased to see a proud, beaming Rolan among them. A master blacksmith worked through the night, crafting a set of custom-fitted gauntlets for me, their steel surfaces etched with subtle, Aether-focusing runes.
The evening before I left, Seraphina came to my room. She carried a newly packed traveler's trunk, her own simple cloak folded neatly on top.
"I'm coming with you," she said. It was not a request.
"Sera," I began, "the capital can be a dangerous—"
"I know," she cut me off, her gaze firm and unwavering. "My place is by your side, my lord. It always has been. And besides," she added, a small, secret smile touching her lips, "you'll need someone to tend to your herbs. Who knows what strange and wonderful plants grow in the capital?"
I looked at her, at the quiet strength that now radiated from her, at the faint, almost imperceptible hum of life-aspected Aether that clung to her like a perfume. She was no longer just my maid. She was my confidant, my first and truest ally. "I'd be lost without you," I said, and I had never spoken a truer word.
The morning of our departure, the entire family gathered in the main courtyard. My goodbye with my father was a firm, respectful nod, a silent understanding passing between two men who now shared the burden of a secret war. Damian clapped me on the shoulder, his grip like iron. "Fight well, little brother. Lose, and you answer to me." Elias simply stood in the background, his expression a complex mixture I couldn't decipher.
My mother was the last. She pulled me into a fierce embrace, her hands clutching my tunic. "Never mind honor," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Never mind glory. Just… come home, Lancelot. Just come home."
"I will, Mother," I promised, my own throat tight. "I promise."
I mounted my horse, a fine, grey stallion provided for the journey. I looked at the faces of my family, at the high, granite walls of the fortress that had become my unlikely home. I had arrived here as a ghost, a terrified soul in a stolen body. I was leaving as an Artisan, a son, and a soldier on a mission.
With a final nod to my father, I turned my horse and led my entourage out of the main gate. Seraphina was in the carriage just behind me, the Silverwood Sapling no doubt carefully secured among her belongings. As we crested the hill and the Ashworth estate disappeared behind us, I fixed my gaze on the long road ahead. The road to the capital. The road to the tournament.
The road to the Zenith, and the first soul I had to save. The game was about to begin.