One month later.
February 23.
Snow still covered Mount Kiran with a white blanket.
The sun rose in the sky, casting golden rays that crashed against the whiteness, creating blinding flashes and elongated shadows that twisted across the frozen ground.
The cold winter breeze snaked through the skeletal bushes and bare trees, whistling as it vibrated through the branches. Wild animals, iron-horned boars, iron-coated boars, advanced in compact herds, their snouts emitting clouds of steam with each breath.
The birds. Their sharp chirps pierced the silence, giving the landscape a wild, rhythmic quality. Beneath the frozen rivers and waterfalls, water still flowed in its hidden veins, and silver-shadowed fish navigated between cracks in the ice.
Then death came.
A pack of wolves, gray fur, amber eyes, blocked the path of a group of distracted wild boars. Black crows with red eyes circled the sky in perfect circles, cawing commands that only the wolves understood.
The attack was brutal: fangs tearing throats, claws ripping bellies, beaks gouging eyes. The snow was stained scarlet, and the air filled with the smell of hot iron and beastly breath.
The blood in the snow still burned in the wind when, miles away, the steam from the city's street stalls rose, oblivious to the savagery.
The cobbled streets still breathed the cold, but there was a different tingle in the air.
The nobles strolled around wrapped in exotic fur cloaks; the commoners hurried along wearing frayed scarves, and the peasants offered their last winter produce amid the steam rising from the street stalls.
At the Medici mansion, Lydia was finishing getting Kael ready. His father had summoned him.
Today was the day of the raid, to clear out one of the dungeons that had appeared on Kiran Mountain.
"Young master, ready," Lydia announced, adjusting the last folds of his winter clothing. It was practical, designed both for combat and to reflect his noble status.
Then, somewhat hesitantly, she added, "Young master, are you sure you only want to go to the dungeon with Eren? I can accompany you too."
"No." The answer was curt. Kael didn't trust Lydia. Or anyone else. Not even himself.
In his past life, he had been betrayed more than once. He had been manipulated, used as a tool, and discarded.
How is he going to make the same mistakes in this life?
He had made a decision: to live only for himself. No ties. No attachments.
Not even to his own life... if it did not serve his purpose.
The Divine Throne.
With Kael's quick response, Lydia could only bite her lip in frustration. She wanted to be of help to her young master; she knew all the enemies he had and wanted to contribute in some way.
It seems like she still doesn't trust me. She couldn't help but remember the past, when Kael would make those weird jokes or talk to himself when he looked at her, even though she could hear things like, "Oh, she's a real maid," "Her panties are black this time," "She'll be part of my harem," "As expected of an isekai."
Lydia looked away. What had happened to that Kael?
Now his eyes were empty.
Kael ignored Lydia. He fixed his gaze on Eren, who remained silent.
He had grown accustomed to life in the mansion, but he was still too reserved; he hardly spoke, only when someone decided to address him. Otherwise, he remained silent.
Kael did nothing to change that. As he had mentioned from the beginning, Eren was just a tool that could be discarded at any time. So he didn't care whether he spoke or not.
"Let's go," Kael said to Eren as he left the room and headed for the great hall, where his father was waiting for him.
After walking down the hallway, where light filtered through the windows, illuminating the place, the servants went about their tasks in silence. The crunch of their footsteps on the carpet was the only sound. Kael passed between them like a faceless shadow.
They arrived at the great hall, where his brothers and stepmothers stood, watching him arrive last, with angry looks on their faces.
Zephyr had sent for him about ten minutes earlier. However, Kael took his time getting ready; he wasn't like his brothers, who desperately wanted to earn their father's recognition.
Calmly and with an indifferent expression, he stood next to his sixth sister, who looked at him with anger and hatred.
Zephyr settled calmly into his throne and looked down with cold eyes, then spoke:
"I don't need to tell you why I called you here, because you already know. So I'll be brief: the Flagbearer I mentioned will each go to the dungeons. Elder Roy will tell you which one to go to. Now, for every Flagbearer who clears the dungeon, you will be given a reward. You have one week to complete the task. If you fail, or delay... You will go to fight those of the Demonic Path. In the Great Mountain of Cold Hell."
The air in the hall grew thick.
For the Flagbearer, it was quite a punishment; none of them could face people from the Demonic Path.
The wives, except for Alessia, who refused to attend, wanted to protest, but a single glance from the patriarch was enough to silence them.
Zephyr settled into his throne, looking at his children, who were nervous and tense, except for the youngest. He sighed in disappointment: just the mention of the people of the demonic path had made them this way.
How could someone with Medici blood running through their veins have such a weak will?
Refocusing, he said, "That's all. Go to Elder Roy, he will tell you where each of you will go."
The young masters began to follow Elder Roy, but before they left the great hall, Zephyr added with a gentle smile,
"Oh, right, I almost forgot. Kael, since you haven't created your Magic Circle yet, I can help you with that."
Everyone stopped, shocked.
The clan chief was offering help... something he hadn't even done for Lyra. It was a clear sign of favoritism.
The wives and young people were filled with envy.
Why was the seventh young man being so favored by Zephyr? They had never received so much attention!
"Damn you! I wish I had killed you before you awakened your mana core." Soren clenched his fists so tightly that they began to bleed, and his eyes were bloodshot.
"How can Father show such favoritism toward someone with dirty blood like him?" Jenna, the sixth young lady, gritted her teeth tightly.
The others said nothing, but their eyes burned with suppressed anger.
Kael, however, remained as calm as ever. His eyes, black as the abyss, locked with Zephyr's.
And he replied with a gentle smile:
"No, thank you."