(One week earlier: Entrance to the city of Rayfom)
Patrick sat in the carriage, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone barely soothing the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. His destination was the estate, the seat of his territory, but his mind lingered on the heated exchange he'd had with Cain just hours before. Despite the satisfaction of having voiced his stance, a bitter irritation simmered under the surface, the memory of Cain's insolence still fresh in his mind.
The velvet cushions beneath him should have offered comfort, yet he shifted uneasily, the tension refusing to leave his body. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered toward Leo, who sat across from him, silent but watchful. The air inside the carriage was thick with unspoken tension, charged with the weight of the conversation they had just left behind.
Patrick clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he stared out the small window, watching the snow-dusted hills roll by, his frustration building.
"If Cain participates in the Trial of Lineage... and passes..." Patrick's voice was low, a growl in the silence. His brow furrowed deeply, the wrinkles of frustration etched into his aging face. "That would make him the legitimate heir. My son." His voice caught on the words, filled with a mixture of disbelief and anger. His gaze snapped back to Leo, who remained passive, a mere shadow observing the storm that was Patrick.
The words that followed were sharp, each one cutting through the stillness of the carriage like a blade. "He would have the right to be the new Count Saimon, according to the law."
Patrick's eyes bore into Leo, searching for some sign of shared frustration, but Leo offered none, his face a mask of controlled neutrality. This only fueled Patrick's ire further, his frustration boiling over. How could this happen? How could a son he barely acknowledged—someone who defied him at every turn—potentially rise to take his place?
His hands gripped the edge of his seat as he muttered under his breath, "Unthinkable..."
Here's an enhanced version of your text in English with more detail:
If Cain truly desires to be the next Count, even if it means stepping over the family... he wouldn't hesitate to do it. Patrick's thoughts raced, his jaw clenching as the image of Cain's determined face flashed in his mind. He's highly skilled with a sword, no doubt about that, he conceded, though the admission felt bitter on his tongue. But he has no talent for magic... not even the slightest.
Suddenly, a realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Wait!" he muttered to himself, the thought so sharp that he almost spoke it aloud. If Cain has no mana, that would make him... incompetent. His lips curled into a cold, calculating smile. "Yes... yes, that's it," he whispered, his voice filled with growing confidence. If I can get him to participate in a trial set in a land where only those with the power of three stars or more can survive, he wouldn't stand a chance.
The thought of it filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction. He could almost see it now—Cain struggling, powerless, unable to tap into the magic that should have been his birthright. It would rid him of this threat, this... nuisance.
Patrick's smile widened. If Cain wants a frozen land, I'll give him the coldest, most merciless one there is.
•••••
(Present Day)
"Is... is... Are you serious?" Cain's voice shattered the tense silence, his words filled with disbelief. His eyes, wide with shock, seemed to search for some shred of reassurance, but found none. His hands trembled ever so slightly, betraying the calm front he tried to maintain. The weight of what he had just heard pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. Every muscle in his body tensed, as though bracing for a blow he knew was coming, yet one he still couldn't fully comprehend.
His father, Patrick, merely nodded, his expression unreadable, as if this was all part of a larger plan—one step in a long, carefully calculated game. Cain could feel a chill crawl down his spine, colder than anything he had ever felt, more biting than any winter. This wasn't just a punishment. It was something far deeper, something that struck at the very core of who he was, something far more terrifying.
Patrick's face remained calm, almost too calm, as though this decision was of little consequence, a trivial matter. But beneath that placid surface, there was a glimmer in his eyes—a flicker of satisfaction, like a predator toying with its prey. It was as if he was savoring this moment, enjoying the torment that flickered across Cain's face. His father's expression didn't change, but that subtle air of smugness, that silent mockery, was unmistakable.
Cain's heart pounded in his chest, and the weight of realization slowly settled in. This is more than just a challenge, he thought. This is a test, and failure is not an option.
As Cain trembled, seemingly overwhelmed and powerless, the truth was something entirely different. He was struggling, not to contain fear or despair, but laughter—a deep, unsettling laughter that rose from within, bubbling up as he watched Patrick's hypocritical expression. The farce of it all was too much. Everything's going exactly as I want, Cain thought, his eyes glimmering with amusement. He could hardly hold it in any longer.
"Are you serious, Count?" Cain asked, his voice wavering as he stared at the ground, pretending to be defeated and desperate, playing the role to perfection.
Patrick, oblivious to the ruse, nodded solemnly. "Yes, unfortunately, I couldn't do more. After all, your brother Leo will be heading to the northern zone of the territory. But don't worry, don't worry, I won't abandon you, my son," Patrick reassured, his tone dripping with false sympathy.
Cain bit his lip to stifle the laughter threatening to break free. 'Keep spinning that nonsense, and I might start believing it,' he thought, barely able to contain his amusement at Patrick's stupidity.
"Well, it's time for you to leave," Patrick declared, gesturing toward a modest, unadorned carriage, the kind used by wandering travelers. "Climb aboard."
Without a word, Cain stepped into the carriage, casting one last glance at his father. He raised his hand in a casual farewell, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Goodbye, my son. I hope you enjoy your new life," Patrick said, smiling as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. It was the smile of a man who believed he had rid himself of a troublesome burden, a mere inconvenience in the grand scheme of his plans.
As the carriage pulled away, Cain's shoulders began to shake. "Hah... ha..." the laughter slipped out softly at first, but it quickly grew louder. "Hahaha!"
The driver looked over his shoulder, startled by the sudden outburst. "Uh, is everything alright?"
Cain waved him off, still laughing. "The three northern mountains, huh? Perfect." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he gazed up at the sky, a sly grin plastered across his face. This has worked out even better than I expected.
End of chapter 15