"Ugh…!”

  Camille’s fist struck Alex in the stomach, making his body arch forward. Almost at the same time, she swept his legs from under him, knocking him to the ground before mounting him and bombarding his face with a rain of punches.

  He blocked the blows by crossing his arms in front of his face, but he had already been put in a terrible position.

  “That’s enough.”

  Elliot’s voice signaled the end of the match, and Camille finally stopped attacking, allowing Alex to breathe in relief.

  “My victory,” she declared with an arrogant smile as she got off him.

  Alex said nothing. He simply sat up and brushed the dust from his clothes.

  “What?” Camille shot him a disdainful look. “Are you going to sulk just because you lost?”

  He frowned.

  “You just got lucky this time.”

  “Heh, that’s what a sore loser would say,” she replied with the same smug smile.

  Ugh, how annoying.

  Alex opened his mouth to retort, but stopped midway. He was certain that no matter what he said, Camille would only respond with something that made him look worse. There was no winning in a verbal battle against his sister. It had always been that way since they were children.

  “Alright, that’s enough talking,” Elliot said, watching the entire scene with an impassive expression. “Camille, position.”

  “Yes, yes,” Camille nodded, still wearing that presumptuous smile.

  Placing her feet shoulder-width apart, she closed her eyes and kept her arms slightly bent in front of her chest.

  “Alex, you too. Just because you’re slightly ahead of Camille doesn’t mean you can relax,” Elliot said with a scowl.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rising to his feet, Alex assumed the same stance as Camille.

  Although their posture was identical, what they were trying to do was somewhat different. Camille was searching for something that, to Alex, was already there—clear as daylight. He didn’t even need to close his eyes to feel the Aura concentrated in his lower abdomen. Since the first time he had sensed it, perceiving it had become as natural as breathing. But—

  I can’t.

  Alex frowned. Even though he could feel his Aura, he couldn’t “draw” it out of his body.

  No, he could—but not enough for it to overflow beyond his body. It was like drawing water from a well with a bucket full of holes; halfway up, the bucket would already be empty, all the water having fallen back into the well.

  How exhausting.

  Elliot had already warned him that sensing his Aura was only the first step, that he couldn’t consider himself an elite warrior unless he could release it. On the other hand, the instructor had reassured him that sensing one’s Aura was the real barrier. From there to manifesting it and using it in combat was merely a matter of time and practice. So he shouldn’t worry too much.

  But Alex was still anxious. He was a prodigy—there was no doubt about that. His achievements proved it. However, as the future heir of House Aster, it wasn’t enough to be just a little better than others. If he wanted to bring pride to his house—to his father—then he had to be better than everyone.

  Alex clenched his fists.

  Let’s try again.

  After training, Alex returned to his room, bathed, changed clothes, and went down to the dining hall for lunch.

  As he walked through the corridor leading there, he ran into his older brother.

  “Hey… Lucius.”

  The greeting came out awkwardly. Lucius didn’t seem to notice; he merely nodded slightly.

  Since they were headed in the same direction, they ended up walking together.

  In complete silence.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Alex cast a discreet glance at his brother.

  I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

  There had always been some distance between them, but Alex liked to think they were on good terms. But after that incident…

  No one in the house spoke about it. It was a delicate topic—one that affected the family’s reputation. Still, Alex couldn’t lie and say he didn’t think about it constantly.

  Lucius, the eldest son of the family, had tried to take his own life.

  Why?

  Alex pressed his lips together, feeling a tightness form in his chest. He had asked himself that question dozens of times in silence, always arriving at the same vague answers—pressure, expectations, weakness, perhaps.

  But none of them truly satisfied him.

  Lucius walked beside him with calm steps, his gaze directed forward as if nothing around him required his attention. There was no tension in his shoulders, no urgency. He was almost… indifferent.

  That was what unsettled Alex the most.

  He hadn’t been like that before.

  Before, Lucius had always seemed rigid. Tense. Like a string pulled too tight. Now, it was as if that string had simply been cut.

  Was it because of that that he changed?

  “How was training?” Lucius asked suddenly, without turning his head.

  Alex blinked, caught off guard.

  “Could’ve been better.,” he answered after a moment. “Camille managed to win against me today. But she got lucky. Next time, I won't lose.”

  Lucius nodded.

  “I see.”

  That was all.

  Alex frowned.

  “And… you?” he ventured. “How have you been feeling?”

  Lucius took a few seconds to reply. It didn’t seem like hesitation—more like he was organizing something that held no urgency.

  “Normal,” he said at last.

  Normal.

  The word sounded wrong.

  Alex almost laughed. Normal wasn’t a word someone would use after… after that. Yet Lucius didn’t seem to be lying. If there was something strange, it wasn’t in the answer—but in how genuine it sounded.

  “You…,” Alex began, but stopped.

  What did he want to ask?

  Why did you do it?

  Do you still think about it?

  Was it our fault?

  All of them. But he didn’t have the courage. He felt he had no right.

  There was no further conversation until they reached the dining hall. After the meal ended, their father spoke.

  “Lucius, Alex, Camille, I want you to accompany me,” he said as he stood from the table.

  What does Father want?

  Alex glanced at Camille. She didn’t know either. Lucius… didn’t seem to know.

  Well, it shouldn’t be anything bad.

  At least, it shouldn’t be something he had done wrong, since all three of them had been called.

  No, wait…

  A few days earlier, their father had tasked them with befriending the elves staying on the estate. Was that what he wanted to discuss?

  Did we do something wrong?

  In Alex’s opinion, they had done quite well. He had even made friends with some of the elves. So it couldn’t be that, right?

  Ugh…

  Alex frowned. One of his father’s most unsettling abilities was his capacity to erase any expression from his face, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking.

  Well, that’s certainly useful when negotiating with others, but…

  Alex wished his father would set that skill aside when he was with his family. It would make standing before him far less nerve-wracking.

  Come to think of it, he’s not the only one with that ability.

  His older brother was also exceptionally skilled at hiding his thoughts—having become even better at it after…

  In any case, Alex shook his head.

  We’ll find out soon enough.

  Leaving the table, they followed Cédric to one of the estate’s training grounds. It wasn’t the one he and Camille usually used. No—it was on the opposite side, normally reserved for the family’s personal knights.

  And speaking of personal knights—they were all present. Well, except those assigned to guard duty.

  Besides them, Alex recognized other figures who served the family. Edgar, commander of the Ducal Cavalry, responsible for maintaining order and exterminating monsters within the territory. Sigur, commander of the city guard. Alongside them stood several subordinates, most at officer rank.

  What’s going on?

  Looking at his father—hands clasped behind his back, expression indifferent—Alex could think of nothing. Yet a glance at the rigid expressions of Sigur, Edgar, and their officers was enough to tell him that this was a serious matter.

  “Arden. Ralf. Brannor. Helmut. Darian…”

  Satisfying everyone’s unspoken curiosity, Cédric began to speak. What left his mouth was a list of names—names belonging to the knights present. Alex noticed that because after each name was called, a face would lose all color.

  Name by name, Cédric called them. Twenty in total.

  “Those whose names were called, step forward,” his father ordered coldly.

  Murmurs rippled through the knights. One by one, the named men stepped forward, positioning themselves between Cédric and the rest.

  “Do you know why you are here?” Cédric asked.

  No one answered.

  Thump!

  “Mercy, Your Excellency! Please, have mercy!”

  One of the knights fell to his knees, forehead pressed against the ground as he begged. The knights beside him averted their gazes, fear clear in their expressions. Those not called held their breath. Alex realized he wasn’t much better.

  “You were summoned here,” Cédric’s voice remained calm—not much different from usual—yet Alex felt a chill run down his spine, “because irrefutable evidence was found proving that over the past few years you have assisted or concealed the actions of Alistair Morgan, a man who committed numerous crimes against the duchy. As such, you will be punished for the act of treason against House Aster.”

  Not accused. Not judged. Punished.

  Only now did Alex grasp the full gravity of what was happening before his eyes. And he wasn’t the only one. The guards and cavalry officers wore expressions of shock, never having imagined their comrades were traitors. As for the traitors themselves—only fear and despair remained on their faces.

  “No, I can’t die!”

  It was the same knight who had fallen to his knees. But he did more than shout. Grabbing the sword at his waist, he lunged at Cédric.

  “If I’m going to die, then I—”

  Bang!

  The knight’s head exploded into fragments. Cédric, who had been standing in front of him, was now beside the headless body, which collapsed lifelessly to the ground a moment later.

  How?

  It took Alex a second to comprehend what had happened. But even after understanding, he still didn’t know how. He hadn’t seen his father move—nor how he had attacked.

  So strong.

  And terrifying.

  Instinctively, Alex looked toward his siblings, wanting to see if they shared his shock. Camille’s reaction mirrored his—eyes wider than usual, color drained from her face.

  But Lucius…

  What…?

  He still wore that same indifferent expression. But his eyes… there was a gleam in them that made Alex quickly avert his gaze back to his father.

  “You,” Cédric’s gaze fell upon the remaining knights, “do you also intend to resist? Or do you still possess some remnant of honor in your hearts?”

  After a silent exchange of glances among themselves, the knights gave their answer by drawing their swords.

  Cédric raised an eyebrow, a suffocating pressure emanating from him. But contrary to Alex’s—and perhaps even Cédric’s—expectations, the knights dropped their swords and knelt, heads bowed. One knee down, in the same posture a warrior assumed when receiving the title of knight.

  Cédric’s brow relaxed.

  “As the master you swore to serve, it falls to me to deliver punishment for your crimes,” he said. “And the punishment for your crimes is death.”

  With a wave of his hand, a torrent of flames burst forth, engulfing the knights for a single instant. When the fire faded, nothing remained but ashes. Yet Alex could still feel the infernal heat brushing against his skin.

  For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

  His father had merely lifted a hand—casually, almost lazily—and lives had been erased.

  Reduced to ash.

  Alex’s gaze lingered on the blackened ground where armored men had stood only seconds before. There had been no screams. No resistance. Just fire.

  So this is his power…

  A chill ran down his spine, despite the lingering warmth in the air. He had always known his father was strong. But this...

  This wasn’t strength in the way knights displayed it—steel clashing against steel, muscles straining, wounds bleeding. This was absolute. Final. Effortless.

  It felt less like combat and more like judgment.

  Alex swallowed.

  If he wished it… I would be no different from them.

  The thought surfaced unbidden, sharp and cold.

  He knew his father would never harm him. He had never raised a hand against him, never spoken without measured control. There had always been distance, yes—but never cruelty.

  And yet…

  Fear coiled quietly in his chest.

  Not fear of punishment. Not fear of anger.

  Fear of power.

  Power so vast that it erased the boundary between protection and destruction.

  “What stupidity.”

  It was Lucius’s words, spoken in a tone completely devoid of emotion, that somehow calmed Alex’s pounding heart. Although he could not say what his brother had meant by that.