"Cough! Enoch Zahav! My bloodline that flourished so splendidly even in the empire's darkest corners! You're the only child left to succeed me, so from now on, you are the Young Lord of House Zahav!"
A roar spilling out along with blackened, dead blood. That was the dying words of the old man, Cain Zahav.
"What the fuck!"
I, the very subject of those dying words, startled and blurted out a curse.
I hurriedly checked on the old man, but as if that would bring the dead back to life.
All I could do was squeeze my eyes shut tight.
Standing frozen like that for a while, sorting through my tangled emotions, someone tapped my shoulder.
The first thing I saw was an elderly gentleman impeccably dressed in his butler's uniform.
Next came the sight of the countless retainers lined up behind the Head Butler, all dropping to one knee.
The ritual of mourning their long-serving master while pledging fealty to the new one.
Showered in their gazes, I blankly stared up at the ceiling.
The master of House Zahav—no different from the ruler of the south.
A seat anyone would covet, but at least it wasn't mine.
Because...
Truth be told, I wasn't actually this family's bastard son.
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