"What are you two doing right now?"
The deep, commanding voice sent a chill down the corridor.
Standing before them was none other than Whiliam Virell, a name feared across the continent—the man known as "The Dragon Hunter." The very human who had once forged a pact with the Dragon-God itself.
His piercing gaze swept over the two collapsed figures before him. His presence alone was suffocating, his aura pressing down like an unseen force.
"If you wish to fight, then take it outside and spar," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "This mansion is no place for reckless brawls."
His eyes flickered toward Kaelen—the son he hadn't laid eyes on in two years.
Yet, what he saw made him pause.
Gone was the fragile, broken child he remembered.
Kaelen's emerald eyes no longer held fear, no longer pleaded for acknowledgment. Instead, they were hollow—consumed by shadows. Abyssal. Empty.
And beneath that emptiness, a storm brewed. A desire for vengeance, simmering like embers waiting to ignite.
Whiliam Virell narrowed his eyes.
For the first time in years… he truly looked at his son.
"Ron, hold your fight for now. We have an important meeting."
His words left no room for argument.
Ron clicked his tongue in frustration but obeyed, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yes, Father..." he muttered before standing up and walking away, following in his father's footsteps.
Lee remained frozen in place, his body still tense, mana still clinging to his heart as a desperate shield. But now, with the suffocating presence of the Headmaster gone, his defenses crumbled.
A violent wave of nausea hit him.
His stomach lurched, and he barely had time to turn away before vomiting—his body purging the overwhelming pressure that had crushed him moments ago. His breathing was ragged, his limbs weak, yet he forced himself to stand.
Gritting his teeth, he made his way toward the main hall.
With every step, he felt it—the weight of their gazes. The whispers. The scorn.
"Pathetic.""He's just an eyesore.""Why is he even here?"
Lee's fingers curled into fists.
He knew this feeling all too well—being looked down on, being dismissed as worthless.
But not anymore.
Straightening his back despite the burning ache in his muscles, Lee forced himself forward, heading toward the family dining hall.
He had endured worse.
And soon… they would all see just how much stronger he had become.
As Lee pushed open the doors to the dining hall, the quiet clatter of silverware filled the room. The Virell family was already eating—all except for Ron and the Headmaster.
The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.
Silence fell.
The servants, caught between shock and disbelief, froze in place. Their eyes widened, mouths slightly agape, as if struggling to process the sight before them.
"Kaelen...?"
The bastard son—the weakling, the disgrace—had entered the family hall unannounced. Without permission.
A cold, menacing aura surged through the room.
The very air trembled.
A force so powerful it sent dishes rattling, knocking cups from the table. Even the food on the plates seemed to tremble, some pieces floating into the air—a testament to the overwhelming pressure that had just been released.
Lee barely had time to react before he felt it.
Kris Virell.
The third son of the family. The most talented prodigy on the continent.
His piercing gaze locked onto Lee like a predator eyeing its prey.
"How dare a mere bastard like you trespass into the family hall?" Kris's voice was cold, sharp—a blade coated in venomous disdain. "Do you have a death wish?"
Lee's breath hitched.
His body… remembered.
A primal, deep-seated fear surged through him, a memory ingrained in his very bones. His heart pounded wildly—not out of anger, but terror.
This man.
He was stronger than the Headmaster.
The mana that swirled around Kris wasn't just powerful—it was suffocating. It coiled around Lee's heart, tightening, threatening to crush it within his chest.
A chill crawled up his spine.
This was true power.
And yet, despite the fear clawing at his soul…
Lee clenched his fists.
"I refuse to kneel."
His body trembled, but he did not step back. His heart pounded like a war drum, but he did not bow.
They wanted him to break. To shatter.
Not today. Not ever again.