Margrave of Cainwelt remained seated, his imposing figure a stark contrast against the emptiness that grew around him as the hall emptied. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on Nathanael with a piercing scrutiny that the younger man could feel even from across the room.
When the last of the nobles had left, the Margrave finally rose, his footsteps heavy but measured as he approached. His shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally long in the fading light of the hall, and when he spoke, his tone was low, yet it carried the weight of command.
"Tell me, young master," he began, his words deliberate, almost surgical, "how do you plan to carry out your first and second tasks? Keeping tabs on the southern borders, scouting the territory—that is no small undertaking."
Nathan, who had been attempting to gather himself amidst the departing crowd, turned to face the Margrave, his hands clenched at his sides. He hesitated, knowing the weight of the man's expectations and the futility of offering a half-hearted answer. "To be honest, my lord," he began, his tone tinged with both candor and unease, "I have yet to form a concrete plan. Without any prior information about the southern borders, I am at a disadvantage. My knowledge is scarce, and my understanding of the situation limited."
The Margrave tilted his head slightly, the faintest flicker of something—contempt or perhaps curiosity—crossing his face. "And yet," Nathan continued, forcing himself to stand taller under the man's scrutiny, "I intend to begin by gathering information, assembling a network of individuals I can trust to provide accurate reports. This is uncharted territory for me, but I will not approach it blindly."
The Margrave's mouth formed a subtle, enigmatic smile—whether it signified approval or mere amusement was uncertain. "A candid response," he remarked after a moment, his tone ambiguous. "I ponder, young master, if candor will suffice to navigate the challenges that await you. Nevertheless, it's a start."
With that, the Margrave turned on his heel, his cape swirling around him as he strode toward the exit.
But then he paused mid-stride, as though a new thought had seized him, and he turned back toward Nathan with a measured deliberation. His piercing gaze bore into the younger man, unrelenting in its intensity, yet beneath it lay an undercurrent of something faintly resembling concern—or perhaps calculation.
"Tell me, young master," he began, his voice as sharp and deliberate as the edge of a sword, "have you undergone any form of training? Not for parlor tricks or courtly etiquette, but for those situations where failure means ruin. Do you possess the skills to navigate unforeseen dangers, to act decisively when the world turns its teeth upon you?"
Nathan straightened his posture, his expression calm but laced with a subtle defensiveness. "I've been trained under Sir Edmond, a knight of our dukedom," he replied, his voice steady yet tinged with hesitance. "But it's nothing extraordinary—mostly swordplay, strategies for enduring prolonged travel, and survival techniques for the road. I suppose it's practical, but…" His words trailed off, uncertainty flickering in his eyes like the dying embers of a fire.
The Margrave arched a brow, his silence urging Nathan to elaborate, though the young noble struggled to find the words. Truthfully, while his training had equipped him with some basics, it had not prepared him for the labyrinth of challenges he now faced—political intrigue, supernatural power, and the weight of imperial expectation pressing heavily upon his untested shoulders.
The Margrave regarded him, his expression unreadable yet not unkind. "Serviceable, perhaps," he said after a pause, his tone cool yet laced with just enough skepticism to spur introspection. "But serviceable is not sufficient for the tasks you've been assigned. Swordplay and survival are tools, yes, but tools are only as good as the hands that wield them. You will need more than instinct, young master. You will need mastery. And above all, you will need the fortitude to use what you've been given—even when you fear it might break you."
"Furthermore," the Margrave pressed on, his tone unyielding yet devoid of malice, "do you even know the nature of the power that mark grants you? The sigil upon your flesh—it is no mere ornament. It binds you to a deity's will, and with that binding comes a responsibility not only to yourself but to the empire. If you do not understand it, how do you intend to wield it? Or are you content to stumble into the dark and hope fortune smiles upon you?"
The inquiries lingered in the atmosphere, weighty and direct, yet the Margrave's attitude eased a bit. His tone, while remaining assertive, adopted a more deliberate cadence, as if he were providing guidance instead of delivering a reprimand. "I ask these things not to cast doubt upon your resolve, Nathanael, but because I must. As the head of the military, your first and second tasks inevitably fall under my purview. My concern is the success of the mission, nothing more, nothing less. And I will not mince words—failure is not an option."
The Margrave took a step closer, his presence as commanding as the banners of his house unfurled in the wind. "You are young, untested in many ways, but potential and birthright alone do not guarantee survival, nor do they ensure the success of an imperial decree. If you lack preparation, seek it. If you lack knowledge, pursue it. Power, young master, is not merely given—it is earned in its wielding."
He held Nathan's gaze for a moment longer, his words settling like stones dropped into a still pond. Then, with a slight nod, the Margrave turned and strode toward the grand doors. The echo of his boots against the marble floor seemed to punctuate his departure, each step fading into the silence of the hall until he vanished beyond the threshold.
It's a little overwhelming for me, he reflects internally.
He exhaled deeply and gazed at the ceiling, where a mural depicted a battle in progress. On one side stood knights clad in gleaming armor, while on the opposing side were numerous men who depended on their pure strength and weapon to confront the foes approaching them.
I sense that I'm akin to those individuals who lack any protection, struggling onward, striving to cling to existence.
Nathan lingered in the hall for a moment longer, before finally stepping out. He followed the others who had already begun to disperse, making his way towards the main gate where his carriage awaited.
*****
As he descended the grand staircase and the light of the late afternoon streamed through the towering windows, he spotted Lila standing by the gate, her posture composed yet unmistakably attentive. Her presence, steady as ever, offered a small comfort—a grounding amidst the storm of expectations that now loomed over him. Yet, before he could reach her, a familiar figure intercepted him.
It was the duke, his father, standing tall and composed with the same impenetrable demeanor that had defined him for as long as Nathan could remember. "Nathan," the duke said, his tone measured, almost casual, as though this were a chance encounter. "How goes your training under Sir Edmond?"
Nathan stopped, his body stiffening despite himself. He answered simply, almost mechanically, repeating what he had told the Margrave. "It's been adequate. I've learned the basics—swordplay, survival tactics, and the like. Enough to get by, I suppose." He spoke with a careful neutrality, keeping his tone steady and devoid of any inflection that might betray the turmoil simmering beneath.
Yet, even as he delivered his answer, he couldn't shake the unease that crept into his chest like a shadow that refused to dissipate. There was nothing overtly intimidating about the duke's presence in that moment—no sharp edge to his words, no hidden malice in his expression. And yet, Nathan felt his throat tighten, his heart quicken.
He hated the man. The truth of it was as undeniable as the breath in his lungs. He hated him for the cold distance that had always lingered between them, for the quiet authority that never wavered, and most of all, for the loss of his mother—a wound that had never healed. Deep down, Nathan blamed him, though he had no tangible proof, only the lingering bitterness of a boy who had grown up without a mother's embrace.
But hate was a curious thing. For all the resentment he harbored, the duke had never truly done anything to harm him. On the contrary, his father had ensured that Nathan was provided for—educated, clothed, shielded from the meddling of other nobles who might have sought to exploit his position as a lesser heir. The duke had always been… good, in the practical sense of the word. And that, perhaps, was the most infuriating part of it all.
"You've done well to train under Sir Edmond," the duke said after a moment, his gaze steady, though there was something in his eyes—something inscrutable, as if he were weighing Nathan's very soul. "But there's more to leadership than wielding a sword. Remember that."
With that, he inclined his head ever so slightly, a gesture that carried neither warmth nor disdain, and turned to leave. Nathan stood frozen for a moment, his hands curling into fists at his sides as a storm of conflicting emotions raged within him. The duke's words were simple, almost banal, yet they carried the weight of an unspoken challenge, a reminder of the expectations he could never escape.
Drawing in a breath to steady himself, Nathan turned towards the gate. Lila was waiting, her sharp eyes scanning the grounds as though she had been aware of the exchange but knew better than to comment on it. Without a word, she opened the carriage door for him, and as he stepped inside, Nathan found himself exhaling the tension he hadn't realized he was holding.
Lila glanced at him as he settled into the seat, her brow arching ever so slightly in question. "Why the hurry to retreat to the carriage, young master?" she asked, her tone casual yet tinged with curiosity. "The banquet will begin soon, and it might do you some good to linger and enjoy it. A rare chance to see how others of your rank mingle, no?"
Nathan leaned back against the cushioned seat, letting his eyes drift briefly to the passing scenery beyond the open gate. "I'm not much for banquets," he replied, his voice even, though there was a trace of weariness beneath it. "Besides, I'd rather prepare for my mission. The sooner I get it done, the better. I'd like it out of the way before the Grand Symposium begins."
Lila regarded him thoughtfully, her arms crossed as she leaned against the edge of the carriage. "You're certainly more eager than most," she remarked dryly. "Though I suppose your task isn't exactly the usual rite of passage for young nobles. There's something... peculiar about it, isn't there?"
Nathan hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling to his hands, which rested loosely on his lap. "Peculiar," he echoed softly, as though testing the word. "Maybe. Or maybe it has more to do with where I stand in the line of succession." His lips pressed into a thin line, the faintest shadow crossing his expression. "To change an assignment like this, someone in the royal court would have had to pull the strings. It's not the kind of task they hand out without reason."
"Do you think it's a punishment?" Lila asked, her tone direct but not unkind.
Nathan shook his head. "No, not a punishment. If anything, it's an opportunity—a way to prove myself. But it doesn't make it any easier to ignore the implications." He sighed, the weight of his thoughts settling heavily on him. "Honestly, it's too much to think about right now. Overanalyzing won't get me anywhere, and I'll have plenty of time for second-guessing later."
Lila nodded, sensing his growing fatigue. "Then don't overthink it," she said simply. "Rest while you can. There's no use running yourself ragged before the real work begins."
Nathan managed a faint smile at that, appreciating her pragmatism. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes as the steady motion of the carriage lulled him into a semblance of calm. The murmur of distant voices and the soft clatter of wheels against cobblestone faded into the background as his mind drifted.