The chandeliers—crafted from moonsteel and enchanted crystal—cast diffused halos of light that bent and swirled like ghosts. It was regal, cold, and strangely suffocating.
A perfect place for judgment.
Dozens of elite knights in polished armor stood in quiet formation—nobles in ceremonial cloaks, and the heirs of House Vale, And Older Siblings of Eris, aligned like chess pieces on a marble board. Even Maria, the palace's long-serving head maid, stood at the edge of the carpet, her head bowed in respectful submission.
All eyes turned as the heavy echo of boots rang from the end of the hall.
"The Duke of Vale had arrived."
The air shifted—tense, heavy, reverent.
In unison, the hall echoed with voices:
"We greet the Patriarch of House Vale."
Their words trembled beneath the sheer gravity of his presence.
Even silence seemed to bow.
His arrival didn't merely command attention; it also drew it.
It stole the breath from the room.
He walked in silence, his golden cloak trailing behind him like a flowing mantle of light. His expression was unreadable, carved from discipline and willpower, but his unsheathed sword—resting across his back, tip gleaming—spoke volumes.
When he took his seat upon the black-marble throne at the head of the hall, no one dared speak.
Except for him.
"…Summon the Fourth Son of House Vale."
The words fell like thunder.
A ripple coursed through the gathered crowd—whispers halted, breaths caught.
Then, silence.
From among the nobles and knights, a lone figure stepped forward—unhurried, unflinching.
Eris.
No title.
No applause.
Only the weight of eyes… and a name that once meant nothing.
Yet now—
It echoed with unspoken defiance.
The Fourth Son.
The outcast.
The one they had all once dismissed—forgotten, ignored, discarded like a dull blade among swords of legend.
Yet now…
Every eye in the throne hall turned to him.
Not with pity.
But with a sharpened edge—like blades drawn in silence.
And he walked.
Calm and Unhurried.
Each step echoed louder than the previous.
His long black coat trailed behind him, rippling like a shadow unbound—
Regal in his quiet defiance.
He stopped a few paces before the throne.
Then, with practiced grace, he knelt—one hand to his chest, head bowed low in noble greeting.
"I greet the Patriarch of House Vale."
A hush fell.
A faint twitch pulled at Duke Cael's brow.
"You call me Patriarch?" he echoed, voice cool, but laced with something sharper beneath.
"Not… 'Father'?" Why?"
A ripple stirred through the hall—too quiet to be gasps, too loud to be silence.
Behind Eris, even Maria's eyes flickered.
But Eris didn't flinch.
He lifted his head—just enough to meet his father's gaze, calm and unwavering.
A composure not born of rebellion,
But of resolve—tempered in exile, sharpened in silence.
Eris's voice was calm, almost gentle.
"Everyone here addresses you as 'Patriarch,'" he said.
"My siblings and the knights.
I merely… followed their example."
A pause followed—
And in that breathless stillness, the line between blood and title had never felt colder.
Then, Cael chuckled. Just once. A low, clean exhale of amusement.
"…Quite the satisfying answer."
Silence stretched thin.
Then, like a blade gliding through silk:
"Let's move on to the matter at hand."
His tone shifted—cool turned cold.
Each word now struck like iron.
"I heard you sparred with your younger siblings…"
A pause—sharp, deliberate.
"Or rather— you tormented them… until they collapsed unconscious."
His gaze narrowed.
"You nearly shattered every bone in their bodies."
The youngest son shifted uncomfortably.
"Do you have anything to say?" Duke Cael asked, voice casual—but the weight behind it was heavy enough to crush iron.
Eris didn't flinch.
Not even as whispers coiled like smoke through the air.
His voice cut clean through them—blunt, unshaken.
"I did it for revenge."
The hall froze.
The weight of those five words hit harder than any blade.
From the throne, Cael's golden eyes narrowed—ever so slightly.
"Revenge, you say?" he murmured, as if tasting the word.
Eris met his gaze, head high, eyes unwavering.
"They bullied me," he said.
"For years."
Every word, every glance, a cut meant to remind me I didn't belong."
He took a breath, slow and steady.
"So I chose to retaliate."
"Not with words, but with strength."
"To remind them… that cruelty has a price."
The silence that followed was different now.
"To instill fear. And take back my place."
It wasn't defiant. It wasn't dramatic. Just… spoken like a matter of law.
Somewhere near the back, one of the older sons clenched his jaw.
Cael leaned slightly forward on his throne, studying the boy as one might examine an unfamiliar blade—measuring its edge, its flaws, its weight.
"And to remind them I'm not weak," Eris replied.
That silence returned. This time colder. Sharper.
Then, Cael gave a slight nod.
"…Very well. But there's more."
His tone shifted—low, dangerous.
"Sir Kaelith, one of the Vale Clan senior Aura Disciples, was present during your little 'retaliation'. He suspects you were using magic during the spar."
A pause.
That is a grave accusation, Eris. The use of magic in a noble spar between swords is a direct violation of our family's traditions. If what they say holds even a shred of truth…"
His voice hardened, cold and absolute.
"…then the consequences will be far from light."
He rose slightly, just enough for the air to change.
Then came the pressure.
It wasn't just aura—it was a tide of dominance, heavy and suffocating, pressing down like a mountain of divine iron.
A Genesis Stage Aura.
The crowd stepped back instinctively. Some stumbled. A few even dropped to a knee.
But Eris… remained kneeling.
Barely.
His spine tensed. A chill ran up from his heels to his neck. Every instinct screamed at him to fall flat and yield.
Duke Cael von Vale.
Ruler of the North.
The youngest man in history to achieve the Genesis Stage.
His very existence bent the air—
a pressure not seen, but felt, like gravity wrapping around the soul.
His presence alone stole the breath from the room.
Even the walls seemed to lean in.
Eyes dared not rise. Spines straightened by instinct alone.
This…
This is what it feels like to stand before someone who has broken past Grade 10.
Eris felt it in his bones—the raw weight of transcendence.
His thoughts blurred like fogged glass.
His lungs burned for air that no longer felt his to claim.
The hairs on his neck stood like soldiers before an executioner.
Black spots swam at the edges of his vision.
And yet—
He did not fall.
He drew in a shaky breath. Regained his focus. Lifted his head.
And met his father's eyes.
"I could tell you…"
His voice was quiet. Measured.
He rose slowly—not all the way, just enough to straighten his back and meet Cael's gaze directly.
"…But I'm afraid that kind of truth… deserves a more private setting."
Another beat of silence.
Then…
Cael leaned back in his throne. A faint smile ghosted his lips.
"…Interesting."
His eyes scanned the room like a hawk circling prey.
Then he raised one hand.
"Everyone. Leave."
No shouting or force. Just a command.
In an Instant.
The knights bowed and turned. Everyone followed. Even the siblings filed out, each casting a different look back—pity, curiosity, quiet resentment.
One voice lingered as a sibling passed the three "hold.
"A private chat with you're you're getting interesting, Four" son."
Then—click.
The doors shut.
The silence inside the Mist Palace's audience room was no longer empty—it was dense, loaded with meaning.
Now, only two remained.
The Duke, still seated atop the obsidian throne with his sword leaning against the side.
And Eris.
The boy stood beneath that ancient gaze, his back straight but his Heart thudding like a war drum in his chest.
"…Very well," the Duke said at last, his voice low and expectant. "Speak."
Eris inhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.
I don't know what this power is exactly…"
Eris began, his voice steady—too steady.
"Whether it's magic or aura… I can't say."
His gaze dropped for a brief moment, searching the memory.
"All I know is— a few weeks ago, it just… awakened."
Crimson light sparked to life.
It shimmered like a dying sun—dense, fluid, and violent. The aura wasn't by the standards of anything the Vale Clan had ever taught.
The Duke's eyes narrowed. His fingers, previously still, gripped the armrest of the throne just slightly.
But it was enough.
To catch a flicker of shock and A trace of recognition.
"So… you know this power."
He didn't say it aloud. Just stared.
His thoughts raced.
You know it, don't you?
Of course you do.
Because this power… was given to me by Valtren.
A faint pulse echoed in Eris's memory, dragging him into a fogged moment…
The original Eris died after a blade pierced through his Heart from behind.
When his soul was about to fade away,
someone reached out to him.
It was him
Valtren.
The name alone resonated with a deep hum. Power. Memory. Buried weight.
"He's the one who pulled me back.
The one who triggered His regression… and gave him this power."**
Eris's brow furrowed slightly, the faintest trace of confusion threading through his voice.
"He was also the one who told him that his aura—my very core—had been sealed.
And it was done by someone who deliberately sealed his aura."
He paused, letting the weight of that statement settle in the chamber.
"It's also because of this Crimson Energy that I was able to absorb all four cores—
without breaking any fragments.
Any ordinary vessel would've imploded.
"I don't that'she memories "of the original Eris, and don't is death. That part is gone—or maybe it was intentionally removed.
So I'm uncertain about many things."
Then, he raises his eyes—calm, direct, unwavering.
"But I have a gut feeling."
"That you, Duke Cael… may know exactly what this power is."
Eris lowered " hand, letting the crimson fade.
A long silence stretched between them.
The Duke leaned forward slightly. His golden eyes gleam with an unreadable expression.
Then, he spoke. "Tower…" he said at last, "is the mark of Valtren, the God of Annihi"ation.
It is called Crimson Energy.
Eris tilted his head slightly, pretending not to know.
The Duke continued.
"Do you know the name Valerius Vale?"
"Of course, " shouldn't have replied. "He was the father of our Vale Clan. Indeed." Cael's voice turned heavier, as if lifting the weight of centuries. "What most don't know is that Valerius made a contract with Valtren himself. Since the days of the Founding Patriarch, he has not appeared within the Vale Clan."
"And until now… no one in our bloodline has ever wielded this power again."
The Duke's voice lowered, carrying the"weight of forgotten oaths and ancient silence.
"I don't know the exact reason" for his absence. Not truly."
"But it seems…"
He looked directly at Eris.
"It seems Valtren is trying to reach out to the Vale Clan once more—Through You.
"And in doing so, he's made you his contractor."
Eris fell silent, his expression unclenched as he lowered his gaze in thought.
For a moment, the hall faded—its walls, its watchers, even the Duke.
Only questions remained.
He finally spoke, more to himself than to anyone else.
"That… does help connect the piece, but it doesn't explain a lot."
His brows furrowed "lightly. "But there's one thing that keeps bothering me."
"If Valtren simply wanted to reach out to the Vale, didn't they, then why go through me?
Why reincarnate me into Eris's body? Why not awaken the original?"**
His voice dropped lower, filled with the weight of doubt.
"More importantly… why did the original Eris choose me to take his place?
He had the chance to regress, to return… why did he give up that opportunity?"*hadn't words lingered, "heavy with a mixture of gratitude and don't know.
"The more I think it… the less you've got it makes.
Eris changed the subject.
"Tell me, Patriarch, between you and Valtren… which of you is stronger?".
The Duke leaned back.
"I don't know," he said.
I've never fought a god, so I don't know
Eris's eyes widened.
I've never fought a god before, and yet you said I" like you could fight a god.
Just how strong are" you…?
Cael smiled faintly, then stood up.
He walked down the steps—his golden cloak trailing like a second shadow—and stood before Eris.
He placed a hand on his head.
"That was a good question."
The gesture wasn't fatherly. Not exactly. But"it wasn't cruel, either.
It was… an act of Acknowledgment.
"But now let me ask you another Question.
"How do you plan to use this power ?"
Eris blinked. Then replied calmly, "I plan to use it for the family."
A beathey're—
The Duke burst out in laughter.
Not mocking or cruel.
Just amused.
"What an Amusing Lie he said, Chuckling. "You say you'll use this for the family—after you beat your younger siblings to a pulp?"
He stepped back.
"Tell me the truth."
A long silence.
Then Eris sighed.
"…I'll use it for myself."
He raised his eyes.
"I'll become stronger. With this power… I'll take my revenge on those who tormented me. "
He paused.
Cael's expression darkened.
"…Does that include me?"
Eris didn't flinch.
"Yes"
The Duke fell silent.
For the first time in years, he hesitated.
His gaze sharpened, golden eyes studying Eris not as a son, but as something far more unknown… and far more dangerous." Those Eyes," he is serious About Every Word.
A chill crept down his neck.
And then—he felt it.
Killing intent.
Not wild or uncontrolled.
But re"ined and Contained with Coiled like a blade "heathed in flesh.
This isn't just willpower."
It was pure Hatred."
His fingers itched. His hand drifted instinctively toward the hilt of his sword—
not from fear, but reflex. The kind born only in men who have stood too close to death.
"For a moment, I almost drew on him…"
His thoughts darkened, unreadable.
"How… how could a child this young—my son—carry such venom in his soul?"
"Very well, Fourth Son."
The D"ke turned, "is footsteps echoing like distant thunder as he strode back toward the throne.
"You say it's not a bluff?"
He paused at the base of the stairs, glancing over his shoulder—
Golden eyes piercing.
"Then prove it."
Eris didn't answer aloud.
He didn't need to.
The Duke studied him for a long moment… then gave a single nod.
"I will keep a close eye on you from now on."
He ascended the steps, each one resonating with quiet authority.
At the top, he paused—cloak shifting like a mantle of shadowed sunlight.
"You have one month."
Eris lifted his gaze, calm but alert.
"One month?"
"Reach Grade 2 by then."
The Duke's voice left no room for argument.
"If you do… I'll take you back to Vexlor, and I'll personally train you myself."
That was all.
No praise or encouragement.
Only a promise wrapped in pressure.
He turned away, disappearing behind the veil of mist—
His golden cloak vanishes like a memory swallowed by fog.
The great doors rumbled shut behind him, the sound echoing like a verdict.
Silence.
And then—Eris dropped to one knee.
A harsh breath tore from his lungs.
Sweat trickled down his neck. His hand trembled, just slightly.
"…Every…"
His voice was hoarse, but steady.
His lips curved upward, just a little—
not in relief. But in something colder. Clearer.
"Everything…"
Another breath. Calm. Collected.
His eyes gleamed now, sharp, calculating.
"…Everything is going according to plan."
End Of Chapter 8...