The rest of the birthday proceeded without major incident.
After that humiliating episode—at least for Seraphine and the other hostile nobles—nobody
dared make any more unpleasant remarks about his mother's situation or the circumstances
of his birth. Marquoc's icy gaze had been enough to seal all gossiping mouths.
The guests filed by one by one, presenting their respects to Arthur with forced politeness.
Each deposited a gift—mostly books, some educational toys, clothes embroidered with the
Berher clan colors. Decent but unenthusiastic presents, the minimum required by etiquette.
Arthur accepted them gracefully, murmuring appropriate thanks while keeping a discreet eye
on the mana particles dancing around each person.
Interesting. Even among nobles, there's an obvious hierarchy based on their mana density.
Then, as the ceremony seemed to be ending, Marquoc rose from his seat with casual
elegance.
All eyes instantly converged on him.
"Now,
" he said in a carrying voice that echoed throughout the hall,
"it would be completely
inappropriate for me to come to my nephew's birthday empty-handed, wouldn't it?"
He smiled, but there was something calculated in that expression.
"Unfortunately, I had some last-minute emergencies and didn't have time to prepare a
material gift. That's a bit inelegant coming from me, I admit.
"
He crossed his arms over his massive chest.
"So I had an idea. Arthur, I'm going to give you two choices. You can select only one.
Consider this my birthday gift.
"
Arthur felt his heart speed up slightly.Two choices? From the Family Head himself? This isn't trivial.
But he kept an innocent face and bowed respectfully.
"My uncle,
" he said with well-played sincerity,
"your simple presence here at my birthday is
already a greater gift than any material object. I couldn't ask for more.
"
Marquoc burst out laughing—a thunderous and genuine laugh.
"AHAHAHAHA! Funny! Really funny!" He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.
"But what would people say about me if I didn't bring a worthy gift to such a kind and cute
nephew? No, no, I insist.
"
He raised one finger.
"First choice: Instead of your father finding instructors for your education, I'll personally take
care of it. I guarantee you'll have access to the best tutors that exist—masters you won't find
anywhere else on the entire continent.
"
A murmur ran through the assembly. It was an extraordinary offer. The Family Head's
personal instructors were legendary, reserved only for the clan's absolute elite.
Marquoc raised a second finger.
"Second choice: When you turn five, you'll have the special right to be trained in the Berher
clan's First Training Camp—the one reserved exclusively for pure-blooded members of the
main family.
"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then the explosion.
"WHAT?!"
Seraphine, the first wife, literally jumped from her seat, her usually composed face twisted
with disbelief and fury.
"How is this possible?! The First Camp is reserved only for—
"
"SILENCE.
"
The word fell like a cleaver.
The room's temperature seemed to drop several degrees. The blue particles around
Marquoc began swirling more intensely, pulsing with threatening energy.
Marquoc slowly turned his head toward Seraphine, and his face—so warm a moment
ago—had become a mask of absolute ice.
"The next time you interrupt me, Lady Seraphine,
" he said in a soft but deadly cold voice,
"you won't have a tongue to do it with. Have I made myself clear?"
The tension in the hall became suffocating. Even Aldric stiffened, eyes wide with surprise at
his brother's brutal display of authority.
Seraphine swallowed hard, her complexion becoming chalky. She bowed so deeply her
forehead nearly touched the table.
"I… I'm sorry, Lord Marquoc,
" she stammered, her voice trembling.
"I didn't behave properly.
I beg you to excuse my unforgivable rudeness.
"
"Then shut up,
" Marquoc said with clinical coldness.
He turned back to Arthur, and like magic, his warm smile instantly reappeared—as if the
previous five seconds had never existed.
"Now, my dear nephew, which option do you choose?"
Arthur thought quickly, his adult mind analyzing the implications of each choice.
The first—the best instructors. Honestly, I don't really need them. I already know how to read
and write thanks to my system. I can learn on my own by devouring the library books.
But the second choice…
He remembered Seraphine's horrified reaction, the disbelief on the assembled nobles' faces.The First Training Camp, reserved for pure-blooded clan members. Judging by their
reaction, it seems to be extremely important. Probably crucial for developing young nobles in
this world.
And if it's so exclusive that even the suggestion of including me causes such a scandal…
A mental smile crossed Arthur's mind.
…then that's exactly where I need to be.
He bowed deeply before Marquoc.
"My uncle, after careful consideration, I choose the second option.
"
His child's voice carried surprising maturity.
"It's an immense honor for me to have the same privileges as the pure-blooded descendants
of the Berher clan. I promise not to waste this precious opportunity and to honor the family
"
name.
Perfect. Formal, respectful, humble but determined. Exactly the right tone.
Marquoc's smile widened even further.
"Excellent choice,
" he said with obvious satisfaction.
"I expected nothing less from you.
"
He snapped his fingers, and a servant instantly appeared with a sealed scroll.
"This is an official decree signed by my hand,
" Marquoc explained, handing the document to
Arthur.
"It grants you access to the First Training Camp starting at age five. Guard it
carefully.
"
Arthur accepted the scroll reverently, feeling the weight—both physical and symbolic—of the
document in his small hands.
A key to the elite world. Thanks, dear manipulative uncle.
Because Arthur wasn't fooled. Marquoc did nothing out of pure generosity. This man
calculated, tested, evaluated. This "favor" had a price—even if that price wasn't obvious yet.
But for now, I'll play the game. Because even if it's a test, it's also a golden opportunity.
Aldric observed the scene with an indecipherable expression. His red eyes moved from his
elder brother to his illegitimate son, as if trying to decipher a complex puzzle.
Anastasia, meanwhile, was clenching her hands so hard her knuckles were white. Silent
tears streamed down her cheeks—tears of relief, gratitude, disbelief.
My son… My little Arthur…
She didn't dare believe that her child, the despised bastard, had just received a favor that
even some legitimate children didn't get.
Marquoc finally stood up, signaling the end of the ceremony.
"Good!" he declared cheerfully.
"I think that's an excellent way to conclude this magnificent
celebration. Arthur, I wish you once again a very happy third birthday.
"
He leaned down slightly, his red gaze plunging into Arthur's.
"And don't forget, little nephew,
" he murmured low enough that only Arthur could hear,
"eyes
that see beyond appearances are the most precious… but also the most dangerous. Use
them wisely.
"
Arthur felt an icy shiver run down his spine.
He knows. He definitely knows something.
But Marquoc straightened up with an enigmatic smile and left the hall in a whirl of dazzling
blue particles, leaving behind a stunned silence.
Arthur remained motionless, clutching the scroll against his chest.
Two years. In two years, I'm going to enter the First Training Camp.
And there, I'm going to show them what I'm capable of.
His red eyes gleamed with cold determination.The bastard? Don't make me laugh. I'm going to become so powerful you'll regret
underestimating me.