Rylan turned his eyes to the man who walked in. The first thing he took note of was the piercing blue eyes, similar to his own in both lives. The black hair had a few streaks of grey, while a beard helped compose the man's matchless appearance. He was tall, but didn't have a muscular build. His expression, meanwhile, had fully contorted into one of pure rage. Rylan knew that the man had noticed the drugs on the floor. He hurriedly stood up with a conflicted expression.
The man rapidly closed the distance between them. With every step, heat permeated the room until it was boiling hot. The man's blue eyes were tinged with flames. He grabbed Rylan's collar, his voice dangerously low.
"As if everything else hadn't been enough… You now have the balls to do this while inside our house?"
His tone was just as fiery as his current demeanor, trembling with barely controlled anger.
"…Father."
"I don't want to hear any of your bullshit. I've been turning a blind eye to this, but no longer. I…" Rylan's father stammered, as if he didn't want to continue, but spoke his next words nevertheless, "…I remove you from the line of succession."
Sadness flooded Rylan's expression and heart. It wasn't because he was no longer one of the Flameheart family's heirs or any shallow reason. It was because he was ashamed; ashamed of everything he had done. Despite his mistakes, his father had clearly still hesitated to remove him from the line of succession. Before he died, Roland still treasured the memories from back when his family was whole, but he couldn't revive the dead. His family had been lost forever. Meanwhile, Rylan had parents who cared about him deeply, but was always busy sticking his nose under a whore's skirt or into copious amounts of drugs.
Rylan automatically lowered his gaze. His expression had collapsed completely. A few moments of silence passed by. In the end, he spoke softly.
"…I'm sorry, Father."
His father blinked in surprise. He narrowed his eyes while letting go of his son's collar, an expression of suspicion donning his visage.
"You're… Sorry?"
Rylan bowed. Despair made its way to his mind, but he didn't let himself fall apart. Roland's steeled mind was the backbone that allowed him not to break down. After acquiring the memories, his mentality underwent a great transformation.
"I know I have made too many mistakes to be worthy of it, but… I ask for your forgiveness."
He knew that he was in no position to beg for forgiveness. Not only had he wasted the family's money, but he had also manipulated his parents and siblings to always avoid the consequences of his actions. Time after time, they were forced to clean after his mess for the name and dignity of the family. Throughout the last five years, his fuckups had been too many to count. He would ask to be forgiven as many times as it took.
Gerard, his father, was mute. The man eyed Rylan with clear distrust. With a heavy heart, Rylan spoke.
"Father, could you please… Give me a moment to sort myself out? I just need a bit of time."
Finally, Gerard broke his silence.
"…You have never said you were sorry before."
Rylan lowered his head. From the moment this conversation had started, he had been looking at his father's feet. He didn't dare raise his gaze. Gerard continued.
"I'll be waiting for you in my study. And," he pointed at the drugs strewn about, "I'll be getting rid of those."
He snapped his fingers as a string of whispers left his mouth. A flame came into being, hovering above his hands, before shooting towards the floor and table and burning every substance to cinders. The table, as well as the surrounding bedroom, were unaffected. Still with an expression of suspicion, he eyed Rylan up and down and left the room. Rylan was left alone.
With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the edge of his far-too-large bed. Holding his head in his hands, he tried to get the maelstrom of emotions under control. The training that Roland had undergone immediately took over.
Breathe in…
He started breathing in an odd, rhythmic fashion. For some time, only the sound of his breathing could be heard in the bedroom. Then, he raised his eyes. They were now calm. He needed to focus. The first thing he needed to do was organize his past life's memories. He went back to the table and continued writing them down, even though they weren't fading over time. He couldn't spend a lot of time doing it since his father would be waiting for him, so he only noted down the most important moments. Childhood, his parents' death, the pursuit of power at any cost, his death at the hands of the person he cared about the most.
And the one thing he couldn't forget—his decades and decades of training. Roland Steelsong's entire path to ultimate power. All of his techniques and skills that allowed him to stand at the very pinnacle of the world.
As he finished, Rylan came to the same conclusion that Roland had at the very end of his past life.
I must live differently.
Becoming more powerful was important; this remained true even in Rylan's current life, but it wasn't everything. Power only had meaning when it was obtained for a cause or for someone. He had already let his family down too many times, and it might be too late to try to remedy his mistakes, but he now truly understood their importance.
Rylan gathered up the pieces of paper, shoved them all into his wardrobe, and took one last look around his bedroom. Curtains draped over the bed, while the walls were adorned with carvings and paintings. A slight scent of lavender floated about, and the floor was made of clean white marble. In the past, Rylan hadn't cared about any of it, since he spent most of his time in brothels or outside the family's estate. Now, he found the room beautiful. He rebuked himself.
It's not time for this.
He opened the door and stepped out. As if waiting for him, a maid stood a few meters away from the door. She immediately bowed with pristine form, holding both hands in front of her belly. Rylan sighed inwardly.
"Please rise, Sarah."
The woman flinched, then lifted her upper body once more. Her shoulder-length blonde hair glistened as it was hit by the sunlight coming from the windows, while her green eyes silently stared at Rylan. She was beautiful, but her expression was as cold and unfeeling as it could be. Rylan knew that it was a mask she used only when dealing with people she truly despised. He also knew why she had flinched.
In the past, never once did I tell her 'please.'
A bitter smile flashed on his expression. He spoke with a steady tone.
"I'm going to my father's study."
Her brow furrowed in an almost unnoticeable fashion.
"Is there anything that needs cleaning up, young master?"
This time, Rylan couldn't contain his sigh. Sarah was the one charged with taking care of almost everything related to him. Countless times, she had done whatever was in her power – including bribing, threatening, and more – to ensure Rylan's shit never caught up to him.
"…No, nothing. Thank you for everything until now."
This time, she couldn't contain her expression. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but Rylan no longer paid her any mind. He walked past her and started making his way towards Gerard's study. The family's estate was beautiful. White walls and columns were adorned with golden engravings, making one feel as if one were in a heavenly palace. The walls gave way to multiple large windows with beautiful red curtains, letting the sunlight shine through. Sculptures and paintings could be seen in some places, all pristine. His bedroom was in a single one of the estate's wings, while his father's study lay in its very heart.
Along the way, he came across his first entourage of guards. They wore heavy armor and held spears, with swords hanging from their waists. The area near Rylan's bedroom was only guarded by the lowest of the guards, those who couldn't or wouldn't learn magic. Since he barely spent any time inside the estate, this was what his parents could offer. A few Mages were thrown in as a precaution, but they were the exception. It was unthinkable for the heir of a noble family to be so undefended, but nobody in the city would question it once the identity of the young master in question was revealed.
As he walked by the guards, his brow furrowed. It wasn't because they barely threw him a glance before continuing to stare into the air, nor was it because they hadn't bowed deeply enough, even though these things bothered him in the past. He turned around and looked at the closest guard.
His posture is off.
The man wasn't properly stabilizing his body, nor in the best position for his weight. The grip around the spear's shaft wasn't strong enough, and the man's concentration was lackluster at best. Any random surprise attack by an organized force would result in the guard's death. At the same time, the moment Rylan's gaze hovered over the sword in the man's scabbard, he felt a strong feeling of familiarity. He was overcome with the sudden desire to grasp its hilt, but controlled himself. His father was waiting for him. There would be time to wield a sword later.
Rylan continued on his way. Eventually, he reached a large wooden door guarded by two men in robes. The two Mages slightly bowed to him, before stepping aside. It seemed like they had already been informed of his arrival, since there was no way they would have allowed him in under ordinary circumstances.
Taking a deep breath, the young man opened the door and entered the study.