The moment we stepped through the grand entrance, Raina and I, wasted no time. Our feet carried us straight to the Patriarch's study. The scent of old parchment and burning candle wax filled the air as we stepped into the study. The Patriarch sat behind his desk, his golden eyes scanning the paper before him, his quill gliding over the surface with practiced precision. The dim light cast jagged shadows across his face, making him look less like a man and more like an untouchable deity.
Reginald, the ever-watchful head butler, stood at his left, hands clasped behind his back, his presence as sharp as a drawn blade.
The Patriarch didn't glance up as we entered. He didn't need to. His voice, deep and edged with years of dominance, filled the room.
"Here to steal more of my materials, huh, youngest?"
A sneer curled his lips as he dipped his quill back into the ink, his tone so nonchalant it was infuriating.
Raina knelt beside me, her head bowed in deep respect.
I, however, had no patience for his games.
"Raina, stand and show him the sword," I ordered, my voice even, but the tension in the room thickened.
Raina hesitated for only a moment before straightening and presenting the blade, hilt-first, careful not to point it at the Patriarch, a silent show of discipline.
The Patriarch finally set his quill down and took the sword, his fingers brushing over the cold steel. His expression remained unreadable as he inspected the craftsmanship.
Then, without warning, his golden eyes flicked up, sharp as a dagger.
"Is this your rebellious stage, youngest?" His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it made my skin prickle. "You instruct your maid to defy tradition? When she should be bowing before her Patriarch. And you used my cold steel…to forge a mere servant's sword?"
The moment the words left his lips, the air changed.
A crushing force descended upon the room.
His bloodlust.
It was overwhelming, suffocating. A weight so unbearable it sent both Raina and me to our knees. My chest tightened as though an iron grip had seized my lungs, squeezing the very air from them.
Reginald stood firm, though sweat glistened on his brow.
But I refused to let my father have the last word.
Through gritted teeth, fighting for every breath, I forced myself to speak. "She is my maid. She serves only me, father. Meaning she bows to no one else."
The words cost me. My vision blurred, black spots forming at the edges. The bloodlust was pressing down harder now, as if punishing my defiance. But I didn't stop.
"And…after all…I am still a candidate for the seat you're sitting on, am I wrong?" My voice trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer force pressing against me. "These hands of mine cannot wield a sword. So Raina will wield one in my place."
A long silence.
Then, the pressure vanished.
Air rushed back into my lungs, burning as I gasped, my body weak from the strain.
The Patriarch exhaled, almost…amused.
"Action speaks louder than words, Arthur." His voice was smoother now, but still carried its usual coldness. "I want proof. So tell me, who do you want your servant to fight? Alexander, my first son? Mercedes, my first daughter? Valkyrie, my second daughter? Or Caesar, my second son...? And unlike you, they all have a mana core."
The room remained silent for a beat.
Then I spoke.
"None of them. I want him."
I pointed directly at Reginald.
The Patriarch clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're dumber than you look." A scoff. "You do realize that he is my head butler? My right hand? Only Zora, beside me, can take him on."
I smiled. "Small world, isn't it? Because Raina is the one and only pupil of the mighty Zora."
A pause. Then, with a sardonic chuckle.
"You have quite the sharp tongue," he mused. "You must've gotten that from your mother, Sushila."
Then, his attention snapped to Reginald.
"You heard the boy. Fight."
Reginald nodded once, his expression unreadable as he took a step forward, rolling up his sleeves. The quiet rustle of fabric was deafening. He moved with no wasted effort, drawing his sword with the elegance of a man who had done so a thousand times before.
"Be careful," the Patriarch added in an almost bored tone. "I don't know how that kid did it, I can feel mana radiating from that sword, as if a wand were hidden within its very core."
A flicker of surprise crossed Reginald's face.
I felt my stomach twist. He could tell, How?
And he wanted them to fight here? In his study? They would tear everything apart.
But there was no turning back now.
Reginald's sword gleamed under the dim candlelight, the room's atmosphere thick with tension.
"Shall we begin?" His voice was a calm murmur, the sound of a seasoned warrior who had seen a thousand battles.
Raina nodded, as she stepped forward as well, unsheathing her katana with a whisper of steel. The keychain on her hilt jingled, a soft, haunting sound before the storm.
The moment her grip tightened around her hilt, she moved.
A flash.
Her katana cut through the air like lightning, aimed straight at Reginald's side.
CLANG.
Steel met steel. The force of the impact sent vibrations through the floor, shaking the ink bottle on the Patriarch's desk.
Reginald barely moved, his stance as steady as a mountain.
Raina spun back, her feet light, her breath even. She could sense it all, his rhythm, his technique.
Reginald wasted no time. He advanced, his strikes precise, methodical. Each movement designed to end the fight in an instant.
But Raina was faster.
She dodged, her blade a blur, weaving through his attacks like water. But each time she attempted to land a hit—
Reginald was there. His sword a wall of steel.
Then—
A single misstep.
A feint. A flicker of an opening—
Reginald's sword twisted mid-air, an unnatural arc slicing toward her side.
She barely had time to react before the flat of his blade slammed against her leg.
Pain shot through her calf. She staggered.
Reginald didn't let up.
"You rely too much on perception," he said, voice quiet, almost amused. "It's dangerous to let your mind dictate your every move."
Raina gritted her teeth.
"Then I'll just have to adjust."
She launched forward, her blade moving faster than before, unpredictable, relentless.
For the first time, Reginald's eyes flickered with something close to acknowledgment.
She was learning. Adapting.
But in the end, it wasn't enough.
With a single calculated strike, Reginald disarmed her.
Her katana flew across the room.
His blade stopped at her throat.
Raina froze. Chest heaving.
Silence.
Then, Reginald exhaled. Lowered his sword.
"You have potential," he admitted.
Raina, despite everything, smirked.
"Who said we're done?"
She whispered, her voice threading through the fabric of reality, pulling at unseen seams. The sword's sheath, in her grasp was no mere weapon, it was a conduit, a wand of annihilation.
"μαριονέτα του θανάτου."
Death itself answered.
Like ink spilled into water, darkness bled outward.
A quiet, creeping thing at first, curling at the edges of the room, then a flood, a storm, a tide of abyss.
The very air became thick, heavy, unnatural.
And from that void, it arose.
A monolith of shadow.
A reaper without feet to walk the earth, yet it loomed over all.
No eyes. No breath.
Only emptiness.
Only a scythe that gleamed with hunger, for blood.
It did not move at first.
It did not need to.
Its presence choked the light from the room, the mere weight of its existence bending the walls inward.
And then, it screamed.
A wail of oblivion.
Glass exploded. Windows ceased to exist.
Books decayed where they stood. Paint peeled from the walls in agony.
The temperature plunged.
But still, Reginald did not move.
He stood steady.
His blade gleamed, not with fear, but anticipation.
His lips parted, his voice calm. "So, this is your ace."
Raina did not answer.
She merely lifted her chin.
Death moved.
It lurched forward, its form stretching unnaturally as it descended upon Reginald.
BOOM!
The ground collapsed beneath it. Walls splintered. Its scythe swung in an arc that bent the very air, a stroke meant to cut not just flesh, but existence itself.
But Reginald was already moving.
His step was graceful, not hurried. A blur of precision. His sword flickered once.
Then, a single slash.
A soundless ripple split the air.
The reaper's advance halted. Its form shuddered, a deep wound spreading through the darkness that held it together.
Raina's breath caught.
"Impossible."
A mere mortal had wounded Death.
His eyes flickered with something sharp. Something deadly.
"Interesting."
The reaper shrieked again, reforming itself, but Reginald was already upon it. Another step, so fast the air itself seemed to warp, and his blade flashed.
A step. A cut.
The creature wailed, one final, dying shriek.
And just like black ink diluted into nothing.
Raina stood, barely.
Then, her body failed her.
She collapsed, but before she could touch the ground, a hand caught her.
It was mine.
"Are you okay" I murmured.
Her lips trembled into a smile. "I'm fine, young master."
Then, from Reginald's forearm, a single drop of blood fell.
I grinned.
Raina had done it, her blade, had left a mark.
Within the House of Wolfhard, even a scratch on Reginald was a feat beyond most.
But the patriarch did not even glance at us. He kept writing.
"You managed to graze Reginald," he muttered. "But that's hardly impressive."
His quill did not stop moving, even in the chaos his study was in.
"After all…he didn't even use his Aura."
"And Raina is blin—" My voice caught in my throat as a shadow passed over us.
A rush of wings.
A falcon had shot through the broken window, perching on the patriarch's shoulder.
Reginald silently retrieved the parchment from its talons, silently retrieved the parchment from its talons, his eyes sweeping the message.
For the first time that night, his posture stiffened.
"The Emperor is coming."