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I stood before the cursed castle where my vermin of an uncle resided, its disgusting shadow looming over me. I could feel his overwhelming presence subtly encroaching on my existence as I walked alone into the clearing.
He emerged from the castle—a devilishly handsome man—with his aura crashing into me at full force.
"So, you remember what happened that night, Eason," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Have you come to die, just like your sister Oread and your mom? Greet your useless, almost-dead, alcoholic dad when you get home."
He walked gracefully toward me, a smug expression on his face.
"Valerian," I spat, my voice trembling with rage, "you dare to talk to me like this after murdering my sister and my mom in cold blood? I, Eason of the McKay family, swear on my name as a noble to take your life in the most disgraceful way!"
My oath was cut short as he rushed forward, delivering several brutal punches to my unprepared face. (The bastard was wearing a gauntlet.) The blows sent sharp pain shooting through me, and my lips ruptured. Warm liquid streamed down from my nose—I already knew it was blood.
"So, you're this weak, and yet you had the gall to stand before me and say such things," he sneered. "Your father would be so disappointed in you, Eason."
He turned to leave.
Blinded by anger, my mind clouded, I lunged at him. The only thought consuming me was the desire to murder the devil standing before me. I pulled out my wakizashi from my sleeve and rushed to stab him. But he moved effortlessly, pulling me in and throwing me over his shoulder.
"Did you not even learn how to use a weapon properly?" Valerian scoffed. "Denim McKay, do you see what your alcoholism has turned your son into? A backstabber without proper weapon training."
He turned to me, his voice cold and unyielding.
"Eason, I, Valerian McKay, head of the McKay family, hereby expel you from the family. You are no longer a noble, and no sanctuary of the McKay family shall accept you."
With that, he plunged the wakizashi into my right hand, driving the blade directly through the middle of the joint.
"This shall be your stigma, marking your excommunication."
He stepped back, disdain etched on his face.
"Goodbye, nephew."
I lay there, bleeding profusely as he walked back into the castle. Tears streamed down my face.
"Oread… my sister… I couldn't do anything to avenge you," I whispered, the pain of failure cutting deeper than the blade in my arm.
The reality of my helplessness stung more than the blood pouring from my wound. My vision began to blur. At this rate, I was going to bleed out.
"Someone… save me," I croaked, my voice fading.
As the world turned hazy, a dark figure appeared, standing over my twelve-year-old body.
"I guess I have to save him… if I want money for wine," he muttered, his tone indifferent.
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