Ethan crouched in the dark closet, gloves humming softly.
The Hand of Thor Mk.2 thrummed in his palms, a quiet storm waiting to be unleashed.
Kael and Temari were already done for. This mission was his now.
"Corridor is clear. Hans in 3.4 seconds. Recommended voltage: 4.2 kV. Diversion success probability: 0.87," Aimi reported, calm, clipped, and precise as always.
Ethan grinned. "Let's do it. Record the procedure for future reference"
"Aimi, scan Hans. Quick!" Ethan whispered between steady breaths as he waited.
"Scanning! Don't move, Host! Ooo… strong readings…"
[Status Panel: Hans the Iron Butler]
Title: Chief Butler of House Vale
Class: Veteran Knight (Retired) / Tactician
Affiliation: House Vale
Age: 52
Strength: 450
Agility: 388
Constitution: 430
Perception: 610
Intelligence: 329
Mana Affinity: Earth (Low Tier)
Elemental Skills: Ground Barrier, Tremor Palm
Passive: Aura of Composure: Reduces hostile intent in a 3-meter radius.
System Observation: Calm, composed, unshakable. 0.5% chance of smiling in this lifetime.
Ethan sighed. "Man's built like a tank in a tuxedo."
"He's cool," Aimi said dreamily. "I think I want to grow up to be like him."
"An old man?"
Ethan tossed a smoke bomb into the hallway. Thick gray clouds curled around the corridor, swallowing the light. Then came the stink bomb, a hiss followed by a sharp, sour stench that filled the air.
From the haze, Hans appeared.
He was tall, with silver streaks running through neatly combed hair and a sharp moustache above his lips. His tuxedo was pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. A quiet, controlled aura radiated from him, like a coiled spring ready to strike. Everything about him felt dangerous, deliberate, and effortless.
The smoke curled around his legs. The stink hit his nose.
He inhaled once, lightly.
Not a single flinch.
"Smoke concentration: high. Line of sight: covered, Diversion: effective," Aimi noted.
Ethan rolled out of the closet. In one swift motion, he lunged and grabbed Hans's ankle.
Hans did not react. His hands stayed behind his back, his posture calm, polite, and firmly in control.
"Hyper-conduction strike: divine zero" Ethan shouted and drove the full charge into Hans's leg. Sparks screamed as the battery emptied.
"Energy discharged: 4.17 kV. Arc density: 0.32 mm. Thermal feedback: negligible. Kinetic feedback: minimal," Aimi reported.
Hans did not move but he could not help rolling his mind eyes at the theatrics.
On the outside, Just that same deadpan, slightly polite look.
Then he gave the tiniest bow. "Dinner first, Master Ethan. Kael and Temari are with Headmaid Safrena. If you refuse, then next time Lady Lyra herself will come instead of me."
A chill ran down Ethan's spine. Aimi's sensors spiked as well.
"Oh no," Ethan muttered. "Not mom."
He bolted without another word.
The Hand of Thor Mk.2 lay forgotten at Hans's feet.
Hans remained perfectly still, watching as Ethan's small silhouette vanished down the long corridor.
"Observation: minimal response. Posture maintained. Escalation probability: low if retreat continues," Aimi continued in her usual trying to be serious tone.
"Host'sLife signs: elevated adrenaline. Maximum speed recommended to avoid summoning mother," she added.
Hans gave a subtle nod toward the shadows, signaling someone unseen, then bent down and picked up the glove Ethan had left behind.
"Strong enough to hurt an ordinary Rank C," he murmured. "Interesting. I will report this to Master Arione."
Safrena's booming voice echoed from the dining hall.
The smoke, the stink, and the failed ambush all collapsed into a storm of shouting.
"Tactical summary: diversion succeeded. Discharge completed. Status: mo damage to test subject. Post-mission recommendation: apologize to your mother. And never attempt this again, and stop screaming before attacks" Aimi teased.
Ethan's legs carried him toward Safrena's wrath.
Behind him, the corridor smelled faintly of fish.
.....
.....
The long corridor leading to the Imperial Court shimmered with the fading gold of sunset, like molten glass frozen mid-flow.
Every step Charles took echoed through the marble, a reminder that even stone bowed to the will of the throne.
Two palace guards stood before the great doors, motionless and expressionless, their silver Phoenix sigils glinting coldly.
When Charles approached, they struck their spears once, and the gates opened in solemn silence.
Light poured through the stained-glass dome, scattering a kaleidoscope of colors across the vast court.
At its heart stood the throne, vines of steel, roots of crystal, and a crown of light woven into one masterpiece.
And upon it sat Empress Seraphina III of Solaris.
No crown. No armor. Only a deep violet gown, soft and simple, yet carrying more weight than gold.
She looked almost human. Almost.
"Charles," she said, her voice smooth as silk and heavy with command. "You look troubled already, and I have not even given you bad news yet."
He knelt low. "I live to serve, Your Majesty."
"Yes, yes, you always live to serve." She rested her chin on her palm, smiling faintly. "But today's work is simple."
She gestured to a silver tray beside her. Two cream-colored envelopes lay upon it, marked with the royal seal.
Charles stood and read the names. His brow furrowed.
"Your Majesty, these are recommendations for Starfall Academy?"
"Indeed," Seraphina replied, amusement flickering in her eyes. "I thought you would be delighted. You keep complaining that our youth lack promise."
"Delighted…" He hesitated. "That is not quite the word I would use."
She arched a brow. "Go on, Charles. Say it before your face does."
He exhaled. "The first name, Kael Vale. His origins are unclear. Duke Arione claims him as a bastard, but no one believes that story. Duchess Lyra would sooner kill him than tolerate such a lie. And the second name, Ethan Vale. The youngest heir. No mana, no strength. An odd child who counts bricks and builds toys. A tinkerer. But hardly Academy material."
The words lingered in the golden air.
Seraphina rose slowly, her braid sliding over her shoulder as she stepped down from the throne. The light dimmed. The temperature dropped. The divine in her stirred.
"Do you know what I enjoy about you, Charles?" she asked softly.
"You say exactly what you think. Most men hide behind flattery."
"I am only doing my duty, Your Majesty."
She tilted her head, eyes glowing faintly violet. "And your flaw is that you assume truth and understanding are the same thing."
He blinked. "Pardon?"
Seraphina frowned, trying to recall the speech Elara once wrote for her about destiny and storms.
"Charles, people are soup."
"…Soup, Your Majesty?"
"Yes." Her tone was calm, regal, as if explaining divine law. "The Empire is the pot. The people are ingredients. Some rise, some sink. The heat of struggle brings out flavor, and what burns was never meant to last."
She grimaced internally. That's not even close to the river metaphor.
But Charles looked awestruck. "By the gods, Your Majesty, that is brilliant!"
"It is?"
"Of course! The Empire's trials reveal the worthy, and your guiding will is the divine flame that keeps it all together!"
"Precisely," she said solemnly.
He clutched the envelopes reverently. "Then these two children, the Vale heirs, they are ingredients to be tempered by your flame!"
Seraphina blinked. "Yes, Charles. Let us go with that."
He bowed deeply. "Your wisdom humbles me, Your Majesty. The metaphors alone, truly divine!"
Seraphina nodded graciously. "I do try."
He did not notice the faint twitch at her mouth as she turned away, muttering under her breath, "Elara's going to kill me."
Lady Elara, her chief scribe, entered quietly from a side chamber, scroll in hand.
"Your Majesty, the Council convenes within the hour."
"Let them wait," Seraphina said, still watching Charles. "I am teaching an old friend how to be less literal."
Elara's lips curved slightly as she withdrew.
"The world is not as simple as you think, Charles," Seraphina said softly. "Power wears many faces. Some whisper. Some sleep. And some pretend to be soup."
He bowed again, completely missing her irony. "I understand perfectly, Your Majesty."
"Of course you do."
"Shall I deliver these myself?"
"Do," she said. "And when you see Lady Lyra Vale, remind her to visit me soon. She hides things poorly."
He nodded solemnly. "Your foresight is unmatched."
Seraphina smiled faintly, her eyes dimming back to human warmth. "I just get lucky often enough to make it look intentional."
He did not hear that last line. He was already gone, practically glowing with awe.
The heavy doors closed. Silence returned.
Seraphina slumped into her throne with a tired groan. "Finally. I thought he would start worshipping my cookware next."
Elara reappeared, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You improvised again."
"It was supposed to be about rivers this time," Seraphina muttered. "I panicked."
"Soup?"
"Do not start."
Elara chuckled. "At least he thinks you are a goddess."
Seraphina's expression softened, her gaze lifting toward the dome where evening shadows crept through the glass. "Maybe that is the problem. Gods cannot afford to be wrong."
Her eyes flickered with faint violet light, tiny reflections of futures only she could see. Storms. Fire. Two boys standing at the edge of something vast.
"Still," she whispered, "I would rather bet on sparks than on statues."
The herald's voice echoed from the corridor. "The Imperial Council is assembled!"
In a breath, her posture straightened, her aura surged, and the goddess returned to her throne.
"Let them in," she said, her voice calm, divine, and dangerous.
"The Empress will see them now."