The dust had not yet settled, but the damage was already done. There was tension in the air—the duel between Logan and Darius had shaken the minds of everyone so violently. In the halls of House Smith, every corridor echoed with whispers. Every servant's eyes were watchful. Every noble's tongue buzzed.
They all were eyeing him, noticing his every movement with caution and whispering about him.
"He shattered Darius's ribs with a palm strike."
"Damn! Is he a monster or what? Isn't he only nine?"
"But he has no magic! His mana core was sealed. His elemental affinity wasn't even tested yet. So how come?!"
"Maybe it's a forbidden technique… something twisted. Tainted. Like black magic."
Logan walked through these corridors in silence. His shoulders relaxed. Eyes calm like a clear sky. The whispers behind his back didn't make him nervous. He was used to backbiting. But the very servants who used to ignore him now stepped aside—some with awe, others with fear. Earlier, Logan was just considered a lucky kid whose mana core accidentally developed at an earlier age. But this meant nothing. He was still considered a lesser. Not worthy of respect or glory. Because his mother, though Rudeous's wife, was not from a powerful family. She was from a humble background. But now, the story seemed totally different. Even though he was just a nine-year-old child, his very presence was suffocating for others.
He had become a specter of contradiction. A boy with a sealed mana core, yet who had defeated the future heir candidate—who was five years older than him, with not just a fully developed mana core but also three elemental affinities. And it was surely not by some luck or shameful trickery, but with control, precision, and sheer monstrous power.
The court mage, Abraham, was the first to truly panic.
"This can't be natural," he told Rudeous in his study later that afternoon. "There are reports of black magic practitioners in the far east—those are myths! Ghost stories, yes. But what this boy did—it, it defies magical law. Maybe he is really into black magic."
Rudeous, seated by the window with a wine glass in hand, stared at the snowy gardens in thought.
"Law is made by victors," he muttered.
"Lord Rudeous," Abraham insisted, "this child may be a threat to your son's future. If the court learns that he's using unregistered, untraceable powers—especially if it stems from cursed bloodlines or dark relics—it could jeopardize our standing!"
Rudeous didn't reply at first. His eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled Logan's calm face after the duel. No fear. No arrogance. Just quiet control. Like a warrior used to bloodshed.
"He's only nine, and don't forget that he is my son as well," said Rudeous finally. "And it was Darius who asked for the duel. How can you blame someone for winning?"
"You saw the damage!" Abraham barked. "Those were lethal strikes held back at the last second. He could've killed Darius. That's not training—that's conditioning. That's more like battlefield experience. And how is it possible to move like that without mana boost? Even Darius's gravity manipulation couldn't hold him in place."
Rudeous sipped his wine, then placed the glass down.
"Keep your thoughts to yourself, Abraham," he said. "Let me worry about Logan."
But outside that room, a ploy was already being schemed.
Mirena's Chambers – That Night
Mirena paced furiously. Darius lay bandaged in the next room, under the care of two healers. His pride was more wounded than his body. And not just his pride—he was shaken to the core. Fear gripped him like a giant squeezing a bug. He was proud of his talent. Becoming a tri-elemental was extraordinary. Even among his peers, he was a prodigy.
But his beliefs, his morals shattered like a mirror. A nine-year-old boy—who was five years junior to him. Not just being junior—even his mana core was sealed. But that little punk beat the shit out of him. Like he was playing with a toy.
On the other side…
"How could Rudeous dismiss this?" she seethed with rage. "How dare he brush it aside like some child's quarrel?!"
Adlan, her cousin, stood at the door, unease in his eyes.
"Sis, we must tread carefully. The boy has attracted too much attention—if we make a move too soon—"
"Too soon?" she snapped. "He humiliated my son in front of nobles and guards. That boy is a pest—no, a disease. And if Rudeous won't deal with it, then I will."
Adlan hesitated. "What do you intend?"
She went to a small drawer and pulled out a pendant. A simple iron charm, inscribed with red runes.
"This was given to me by High Seer Marzanne—remember her? The black magic user who served my family before I married into House Smith."
Adlan's brows furrowed. "You kept a relic of the Veiled Circle?"
Mirena smiled thinly. "They're not as gone as people think."
She turned to him, deadly calm.
"There is a man in the lower district of Aerundal. A 'healer,' they say, but we both know what that means. He owes the Circle a debt. Send word. Tell him there's a child in the Smith household who is most likely practicing black magic. Even if not black magic, it is something entirely different from normal magic. I want him to 'examine' the boy."
Adlan paled. "Sis, if this is discovered…"
"It won't be. The boy wanders the training grounds alone. Even if anything happens, it will seem like an accident. Or better put, a relapse of his own unnatural condition."
She smiled again. A wicked smile.
"And if the boy is as monstrous as he seems… then let's see how well his freakish body handles a touch of death."
Elsewhere – Logan's Room
Logan sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, shirtless despite the chill. His breath steamed in the cold air, but he paid no mind. His body was forged in discipline.
He focused inward.
Qi flowed slowly, like a silver stream beneath the surface of still water. The Void Soul Sutra was a silent art, requiring no chants or bursts of energy.
As he circulated his energy, he recalled the duel—each movement, each counter. He had not needed to tap into the deeper techniques yet. That was good. Hiding strength was just as important as gaining it.
But still…
He felt the atmosphere shift. The servants avoided his room. Some stared at him as though he were cursed. He had lived with their contempt before—but now, their fear was louder.
And fear bred danger.
"I struck too hard," he thought to himself.
But it was necessary.
Darius wouldn't stop until one of them bled. Better it be pride than a limb.
Logan exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into meditation. He could sense something stirring. Not just within his Qi, but in the air around him. His instincts from a past life—the war hero's awareness—told him:
"You are being watched."
A few days passed like this, with heavy tension in the air around Logan.
Few Days Later At Night – Outer Courtyard
A figure moved through the snow. Bent, hunched, wrapped in layers of gray wool. A healer's satchel hung from his belt.
He arrived at a fixed spot and looked around, surely searching for someone.
"I am here."
Suddenly, a sound came from the shadows from the distance.