It was a cold, rainy day. A young man stood alone under a black umbrella at the sparsely attended funeral of his grandfather. Only a handful of people had come, and none spoke a word. No one shed a tear, the silence broken only by the soft patter of rain against the freshly dug grave. The young man, Adam Scott, stood tall and motionless, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Finally dead, old man. I thought I might have to do the job myself," Adam muttered under his breath, voice barely audible beneath the steady rainfall.

He was the eldest son of the powerful Scott Clan, though no one would have known it by looking at him—alone, without family, at a funeral that felt more like an afterthought than a farewell. His parents hadn't come. None of his seven younger siblings were there, nor his elder sister. It didn't matter. They hadn't been there for him for the last 13 years.

At the age of five, Adam had been ripped from the comfort of his mother's arms, taken to live with his tyrannical grandfather. What the old man had called "training" had been nothing short of daily torture—beatings, starvation, and relentless drills designed to mold Adam into a hardened warrior, fit to lead the Scott family. Adam had long dreamed of escaping, of taking control of his own life. And now, with his grandfather's death, he was finally free.

As Adam stood, the sound of tires rolling over wet gravel caught his attention. A sleek, black car slowly approached, its polished surface gleaming even in the dull light of the storm. The vehicle stopped just short of the cemetery's entrance. The driver's door opened, and an older man in a perfectly tailored butler's uniform stepped out. His posture was impeccable, and despite his age, there was an unmistakable strength in the way he moved. This was not a man to be taken lightly.

"Young Master Scott, I presume," the butler said, his voice steady and calm.

Adam regarded him coldly. "That's me," he replied. "And you are?"

"I am the head butler of the Scott estate. I've been sent to collect you, sir."

Without another word, Adam nodded and followed the butler toward the waiting car. He didn't bother asking any questions—he had learned long ago not to show any emotion in situations like this. Yet, as the car's door closed behind him and the vehicle began to move, he felt something creeping up inside him, a sensation he hadn't experienced in years. It took him a few moments to realize that what he was feeling was…nervousness.

Memories of his family, long buried, began to surface as they drove. What would his parents say when they saw him again? Would they recognize him? Did they even care that he had been gone all these years? Would his siblings, who were so young when he was taken, even remember him? His mind spun with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

He tried to calm himself, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The tension in his chest began to ease, just slightly. But then, as he opened his eyes, he saw it—a massive black gate looming ahead of them, its iron bars sleek and imposing. At the center of the gate was a golden emblem, the unmistakable insignia of the Scott family: a large, ornate "S."

"We have arrived, young master," the butler announced as the gates slowly creaked open.

The estate beyond the gates came into view, sprawling and grand, every inch of it designed to exude power and wealth. It had been over a decade since Adam had seen this place, but it still filled him with the same sense of dread. He had been sent away to be forged into a weapon by his grandfather. Now, he was returning to the heart of his family, unsure of whether he was coming home—or entering a new battlefield.

The car wound through the long, tree-lined drive toward the Scott family estate. As the towering mansion came into view, Adam couldn't help but notice the subtle changes since he'd last been there. The gardens were meticulously kept, as always, but new security features had been added—discreet, but obvious to someone trained in the art of surveillance like Adam. Cameras tucked into corners, infrared sensors hidden along the pathways. The Scotts had always been a powerful family, but it seemed they had taken even greater steps to protect their legacy.

Adam's eyes flicked toward the butler. His expression remained stoic, but Adam had spent enough time around trained killers to recognize when someone wasn't just playing the role of a servant. This butler was more than he appeared. Perhaps his father had other secrets buried within the estate, just like Adam himself.

The car stopped in front of the grand entrance, where two large, ornately carved doors awaited. The butler opened the door for Adam, bowing slightly as he stepped out.

"Your father is expecting you, young master," the butler said, gesturing toward the entrance.

Adam paused before walking in, feeling the weight of the moment. This was the first time he'd be back in his father's presence since the day he'd been taken away. The man who had allowed his son to be molded into a living weapon was waiting behind those doors.

He walked forward, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor as he passed through the grand hall. Family portraits adorned the walls, images of generations of Scotts, all looking stern and proud in their military regalia. He wondered if they knew just how far the family had strayed from their noble roots. His training wasn't about honor—it was about survival, efficiency, and death.

As he entered the large study, he found his father standing by the window, looking out over the estate. Duke Maxwell Scott was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with silver hair neatly combed back. His presence commanded respect, and his voice, when it came, was as cold and calculating as Adam remembered.

"Adam," the Duke said without turning. "It's been a long time."

"Not by choice," Adam replied coolly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he regarded the man who had shaped his fate.

The Duke turned to face his son, his sharp blue eyes assessing him. "You've grown stronger. Good. You'll need that strength where you're headed."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "The Academy?"

Maxwell nodded. "Yes. You'll join your siblings there. They've all been trained in combat, in the ways of knighthood and nobility, as expected of Scott heirs. But you… you are different. You've been trained in the shadows, honed into something far deadlier. The Academy will give you an opportunity to… integrate with the family, and show them what kind of man you've become."

Adam's jaw tightened. He wasn't interested in proving himself to anyone. He didn't care about the Academy or the so-called noble training that his siblings had received. His path was one of violence and survival, a world away from the courtly manners and political games of the noble class. But he knew better than to defy his father outright.

"And what do you expect of me, Father?" Adam asked, his voice low but steady.

"I expect you to maintain control. Keep your skills hidden, for now. Your siblings don't need to know what you are… not yet. The Academy is a battlefield of a different kind—one of alliances, power, and reputation. Your presence there will upset the balance, but you must be patient. Bide your time."

Adam nodded slowly, though inside, he felt the familiar stirrings of anger. The Duke spoke of patience and control, but it was easy to say that when you hadn't been forged in fire like Adam had. He had been trained to strike without hesitation, to kill without remorse. Pretending to be anything other than what he was would be a challenge all its own.

"Fine," Adam said, his tone clipped. "I'll play along. But don't expect me to fit in with the rest of them."

Maxwell smiled thinly, a gesture that didn't reach his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Just then, the study door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. It was Adam's older sister, Lillian, her long blonde hair tied back in a sleek braid. Dressed in the ceremonial armor of the Scott family, she looked every bit the noble warrior—proud, composed, and utterly unaware of the darkness her younger brother carried.

"Adam," she said, her voice filled with cautious warmth. "It's been so long. We've all missed you."

Adam's expression softened slightly at the sight of her, but only for a moment. He knew the truth—his place in this family had always been different, and whatever reunion this was meant to be, it wouldn't last. There was no room for sentiment in the world he had been dragged into.

Still, he forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've missed you too," he lied.

As they left the study and walked toward the rest of the family, Adam couldn't help but feel like a wolf in sheep's clothing. His siblings might be noble warriors, trained at the Academy, but none of them knew what it meant to kill. None of them had been shaped by blood and violence like he had.

And soon, they would find out just how different Adam truly was.