Time: 25 Days Before the King's Feast.
The iron gates of the Thorne Estate were guarded by two men in polished plate armor. They stood bored, watching the heavy traffic of the Capital—gilded carriages, merchants in silk, and Mana-powered street lamps that hummed with soft light.
A carriage pulled by two white horses stopped at the gate. It wasn't a rental. It was a private, lacquered black carriage with silver trim, rented from the finest stable in the city.
The door opened.
A young man stepped out.
He did not look like a beggar from the North. He wore a long coat of midnight-blue wool, cut in a sharp, military style that accentuated his broad shoulders. His boots were polished Dragon-hide. At his throat, the lavender scarf was gone, replaced by a cravat of white silk pinned with a Sapphire.
"Halt," the guard grunted, though his voice lacked conviction when he saw the clothes. "State your business."
The young man looked up. His eyes were calm, cold, and utterly commanding.
"Open the gate, Miller," Rian said smoothly. "Or do I need to remind you who paid for your mother's medicine three years ago?"
The guard froze. He peered closer. The face was sharper, harder, but unmistakable.
"Master... Master Rian?" Miller stammered, dropping his halberd. "But... the Duchess said... she said the ice took you."
"The ice has no claim on me," Rian threw a silver coin to the guard. "Open it. I am home."
The Viper's Shock
Rian walked through the main doors into the Grand Foyer. The scent of lavender wax and old money filled the air.
Duchess Lydia was descending the main staircase. She was dressed in pale yellow silk, looking every bit the lady of the house.
She looked up.
She expected to see a ghost. Or a beggar pleading for scraps.
Instead, she saw a predator.
Rian stood in the center of the hall, stripping off his expensive leather gloves. He looked healthier, wealthier, and more dangerous than Cassius ever had.
"Stepmother," Rian bowed slightly. It was a perfect, courtly bow—impeccable manners that felt like a slap in the face. "You look well. The Capital air suits you better than the worry of my 'death'."
Lydia's hand gripped the banister until her knuckles turned white.
How? Her mind raced. The Assassins were watching the road. How did he get here looking like a Prince?
"Rian," she managed to choke out, her smile tight and brittle. "We... we are overjoyed. Cassius said the roads were impassable."
"For some," Rian smiled, handing his coat to a stunned servant. "I found a faster way."
He didn't explain. He didn't offer excuses.
He walked past her toward the stairs.
"I assume my room is still mine? Or has Cassius turned it into a wine cellar?"
"It is... as you left it," Lydia hissed.
"Excellent. I have business in the city. The King's Feast requires preparation, and I refuse to look like a rustic."
He walked up the stairs, leaving Lydia standing in the foyer, trembling with a mixture of fear and rage. She had planned to crush a rat, but a wolf had just walked in.
The Cinderella of the Attic
Rian went straight to the East Tower.
He opened the door to the nursery without knocking.
Livia Thorne, his sixteen-year-old sister, sat by the window. She was sewing a patch onto an old gray dress. The room was cold; the fireplace was empty.
She looked up. Her eyes went wide.
"Rian?"
She dropped the needle. She ran to him, burying her face in his chest.
"You're alive! They said you were gone! They said—"
"I know what they said," Rian held her tight. He felt her trembling. She was thin. Too thin.
He pulled back and looked at her.
She was beautiful, with the same dark hair as their mother, but she was dressed like a maid. The fabric was rough linen. Her hands were red from the cold.
Rian's expression darkened.
"Is this how a Daughter of Thorne lives?" he asked softly, touching the rough fabric of her sleeve. "While Cassius buys five-hundred-gold perfume, you wear sackcloth?"
Livia looked down, ashamed. "Lydia says... she says we must be frugal. The estate has expenses."
"Frugal," Rian repeated the word like a curse.
"Wash your face, Livia. We are going out."
"Where? I have nothing to wear..."
"Exactly," Rian turned to the door. "We are going to The Golden district. And we are going to burn a hole in the Capital's economy."
The Golden Lotus
Noon. The High Street.
They didn't go to a second-hand shop. Rian took her straight to "The Golden Lotus," the most exclusive boutique in the Kingdom, where the Royals shopped.
The shop manager, a woman with a nose so high she could drown in rain, looked at Livia's gray dress with disdain.
"Deliveries are in the back," she sniffed.
Rian didn't speak. He simply placed a heavy bag on the counter.
Thud.
The sound of heavy gold coins clinking together silenced the shop.
"We are not delivering," Rian said coldly. "We are acquiring. The young lady needs a wardrobe. For the King's Feast."
The manager's attitude flipped instantly. "Of course, My Lord! Right this way!"
For the next two hours, Rian sat on a velvet sofa, drinking tea, while Livia was swirled around by three assistants.
They brought out silks from the East, velvets from the South, and lace from the Elven enclaves.
"This one is too flashy," Rian critiqued a red dress. "My sister is not a court jester. She is a noble."
Finally, Livia stepped out.
She wore a gown of Midnight Blue Silk, embroidered with silver thread that looked like starlight. It matched Rian's coat. It fit her perfectly, turning the shy mouse into a radiant young woman.
Livia looked in the mirror, stunned. "Rian... it's too much. The tag says Fifty Gold."
"Take it," Rian ordered. "And the shoes. And the cloak."
He turned to the manager.
"Pack it all. And send the bill to the Thorne Estate—addressed to me, not the Duke."
He wanted Lydia to see the bill. He wanted her to know exactly who had the money now.
The Business Call
After the shopping spree, Rian sent Livia home in the carriage with her treasures.
"I have one more stop," Rian told her. "Go home. Wear the dress to dinner. Let Lydia choke on her soup."
Rian walked two blocks to a discreet, high-end building guarded by Royal Knights.
The Royal Trade Consortium.
This was Isabella's territory.
He walked in. The clerk tried to stop him, but Rian flashed a small silver token—the Snowflake emblem he had sent with the first shipment.
The clerk's eyes widened. "Viscount Thorne? Her Highness is expecting you."
Rian was led to a private office.
Princess Isabella sat behind a desk covered in ledgers. She looked up, her mana-infused eyes sparkling with amusement.
"You are bold, Rian," she said, not rising. "Walking into the Capital while your stepmother plots your funeral."
"Fortune favors the bold, Your Highness," Rian sat down uninvited. "I see business is good."
"Good?" Isabella laughed. She pointed to a map of the city. "The Aurora Vials are sold out before they even cross the border. The nobles are fighting over them. You have made me very rich, Viscount."
"We have made us rich," Rian corrected.
He didn't stay long. He didn't ask for favors. He just wanted to show his face. To let her know the partner behind the glass was real, capable, and present.
"I will see you at the Feast, Isabella," Rian stood up. "Save a dance for the man who pays your army."
Isabella smirked. "Survive the week, Rian. Then we'll talk about dancing."
The King's Metal
Rian left the Consortium. He had one final task.
The King's Gift.
He couldn't buy a painting or a jewel. The King had vaults full of them.
Rian walked to the District of Smiths.
He avoided the flashy weapon shops. He went to the industrial supply yards where raw ore was sold.
He activated his System.
[Scan: Materials]
He walked past piles of iron, copper, and tin.
He stopped at a stall run by a burly human blacksmith. In the corner, serving as a paperweight for a stack of invoices, was a jagged, black rock. It was ugly, pitted, and looked like burnt slag.
"How much for the slag?" Rian asked.
The smith laughed. "That? That's the 'Devil's Tooth'. Found it in a crater ten years ago. Can't melt it. Can't scratch it. Broke my best hammer trying to shape it. It's useless."
Rian stared at the rock.
[Ding! Item Identified]
[Name: Star-Metal Ore (High-Grade Tungsten Alloy)]
[Properties: Melting point 3,422°C. Indestructible by medieval forge fire. Requires Industrial Crucible.]
[Hidden Value: Once refined, it creates a blade that never dulls and can cut standard steel like butter.]
To the world, it was a useless rock.
To Rian, who had built a Biogas Blast Furnace capable of reaching extreme temperatures in the North, it was the ultimate weapon.
"I have a fondness for useless things," Rian tossed Five Gold Coins to the smith. "I'll take it."
The smith gaped. Five gold for a doorstop? "Sold! Before you change your mind!"
Rian picked up the heavy rock with a grunt.
He smiled.
The King was a warrior. He valued strength above all.
When Rian presented a sword made of this "un-meltable" star metal, refined by "Northern Science," the King would not see a poor exile.
He would see a man who could tame the stars.
The Dinner
Evening. Thorne Estate.
The dining hall was silent.
Duke Thorne was gone (to the Southern Front).
Lydia sat at the head of the table. Cassius sat on her right.
They were eating in grim silence.
Then, the doors opened.
Livia walked in.
She wasn't the gray mouse anymore. She wore the Midnight Blue Silk. The silver embroidery caught the candlelight. Her hair was pinned up with pearl combs. She looked regal. She looked like a Thorne.
Cassius choked on his wine.
Lydia's fork froze halfway to her mouth.
Rian walked in behind her, wearing his sharp military coat. He pulled out a chair for Livia.
"Evening," Rian said cheerfully, piling roast duck onto his plate. "The shopping in the Capital has improved. Though the prices are a bit steep."
Lydia stared at Livia's dress. She knew the design. The Golden Lotus. That dress cost more than the monthly budget for the entire household staff.
"Where..." Lydia whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Where did you get the money?"
Rian poured himself a glass of wine. He swirled it, looking at the red liquid.
"I told you, Stepmother," Rian smiled, his eyes cold as the Northern ice. "I have had a very productive winter."
He took a sip.
"Oh, and Cassius? Stop staring. Your jealousy is showing."
End of Chapter 65