"Young Master! The Master approved! You can go to the Elf Empire as long as enough guards follow you!"
Isabelle trotted into the courtyard, her voice ringing out like a bell. Her face was flushed a deep crimson, a mix of exertion and sheer disbelief.
She couldn't believe it, her Young Master's outrageous request had actually been granted.
In these troubled times, why would the Master allow him to leave the safety of the castle?
The dark rumors whispered by the other maids in the laundry room flashed through her mind, tales of gathering armies and shifting borders.
Isabelle felt a knot of uneasiness tighten in her stomach, but she quickly shook her head, forcing the thought away.
Haha, I'm probably just overthinking things. The Master is wise; he wouldn't endanger the Young Master.
She clutched the hem of her black and white maid uniform, lifting the frills to avoid tripping over them. Her movements were somewhat clumsy, lacking the grace of a trained martial artist, but filled with an earnest energy.
"The Master said... haa... when you're done with your training... haa... you should meet him in his study," she managed to say, struggling to catch her breath as she finally reached him.
"He says you need to have one more father-son talk before you leave."
Running all over this mansion really isn't easy...
Just as her legs threatened to give out, a warm, calloused hand extended toward her, offering a bottle of water.
Damien stood there, shirtless, a gray towel slung casually over his shoulder. Sweat glistened on his defined muscles, steam practically rising from his body in the cool morning air.
He had just set down his training sword, and he looked at the panting maid with a wry, affectionate smile.
He scrutinized her for a moment. It was a mystery how someone so physically fragile had ended up working for the Voss family.
In this household, even the lowest kitchen hand was at least a Third Order warrior. Yet, looking at Isabelle, Damien couldn't sense a shred of mana or aura. She was a regular person through and through.
It doesn't bother me, of course. Loyalty is harder to find than strength.
However, his gaze turned serious for a split second.
But this world is about to get dangerous. If she's going to stay by my side, I need to do something about her fragility.
"Drink," Damien said softly. "You look like you're about to collapse."
As she drank greedily, Damien watched her with warm eyes.
In both his past life and this one, she was one of the few people who treated him with genuine care, not just deference to his status.
Since Dad agreed to the trip, I can kill two birds with one stone. I'll make a few stops along the way to help her awaken.
His eyes drifted to his own hand, his mind touching upon a secret he had guarded for twelve years.
The Contract Gem.
It was his innate ability, a cheat enhanced with his transmigration. He hadn't dared to use it yet.
The Voss estate was currently under the watchful gaze of too many entities, Gods, Demon Gods, and prying eyes in the shadows.
To avoid exposure, he had played the role of the dutiful genius, practicing only standard magic and swordsmanship.
Speaking of which... I remember how angry Dad got when I told him I wanted to practice both paths.
He recalled the memory from six years ago, the veins bulging on his father's forehead, his mother's nervous, snickering smile to break the tension.
"You fool! Not only will it slow your progress, but it's impossible! Even if you reach the Third Order in both, the moment you attempt the Fourth Order, your mana core and aura heart will reject each other. You'll explode!"
Damien inwardly apologized to his father. The old man was only looking out for him based on the common sense of this world.
But Damien knew something Theron Voss did not.
The Secret Tomb of the Mad King. A tear from the Goddess of Life. The sap of the World Tree.
In the original novel, the protagonist's group had discovered ancient treasures that allowed for the perfect fusion of mana and aura.
If I want to survive the tragedy that's coming for this family, I can't just be strong. I have to be the strongest.
He clenched his fist, veins protruding slightly as he felt the power humming beneath his skin.
He was already a Third-Order Mage and a Third-Order Warrior. He was at the absolute limit.
If he tried to break through now, without those items, he would indeed explode.
Is this talent another benefit of transmigration, or was the original Damien Voss just this gifted?
Twelve years old. Tier Three on both paths.
Even his father, currently hailed as the World's Strongest Man, didn't become a Third-Tier Mage until he was eighteen, six years older than Damien was now.
If the original downfall of the Voss family hadn't happened, the original Damien might have been the protagonist's greatest ally... or his worst nightmare.
Damien shook his head, dispelling the thought. Knowing the bastard author who wrote this story, Damien would have likely been given a tragic backstory just to fuel the plot. The author loved making villains suffer.
"Haa~ Thank you, Young Master. I'm okay now!"
Isabelle stood up straight, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. A bright, unblemished smile lit up her face.
Even though she was exhausted, the mere act of serving him seemed to bring her joy.
Damien smiled wryly. Where else would I find someone so happy just to hand me a towel?
He pulled his shirt on, hiding the lean muscle that betrayed his intense training, and swung his sword over his shoulder.
"Haha! Alright then, let's go." Damien's eyes sharpened. "I wonder what the old man has to say."
"Wait for me, Young Master!"
As he walked toward the study, Damien's internal monologue turned cold.
Father and son talk, huh? Let's hope he doesn't try to stop me at the last second.
…......................….
(POV: Theron Voss)
The study was dim, lit only by the glowing magic stones embedded in the walls.
Theron sat behind a massive desk made of ironwood. His gray eyes were deeper than ever, swirling with a complexity that matched the chaotic times.
His black hair, reminiscent of a starry night sky, fell over his forehead as he frowned at the pile of documents before him.
He held a pen in his left hand. His gaze slowly drifted to his right arm.
It sat motionless on the armrest, wrapped in heavy bandages and inscribed with glowing runes.
It had been sealed since the Great Battle twelve years ago. Neither he nor Elizabeth had been able to break through the curse in over a decade.
However, adversity had a way of tempering steel. Though their realms hadn't advanced, their auras were significantly denser, more terrifying than before.
"Honey," Theron's voice was gravelly, breaking the silence.
"What do you think about me allowing Damien and Isabelle to leave the territory?"
He sighed, tossing the pen onto the desk. "Although that kid has always been smarter than his peers... I'm terrified something will go wrong."
He tapped a document bearing a royal seal.
"Judging from the intelligence reports... it seems that bastard, the Second Prince, is finally about to make his move."
Elizabeth was sitting on a velvet sofa nearby, casually sipping a cup of herbal tea. To an outsider, she looked the picture of elegance and calm.
But Theron knew better.
He watched her right foot tapping rhythmically, incessantly, against the floorboards. Tap. Tap. Tap.
She was anxious.
"We don't have a choice, Theron," she whispered, her eyes fixed on the steam rising from her cup.
"If we want to keep him out of the storm that is about to swallow this house... we have to send him away. Now."