The grand dining hall of the Ashborne Keep was a stark testament to the familyâs austere, martial history. Unlike the lavish, gold-gilded manors of the Capitalâs central noblesâwho proved that you could buy wealth but not necessarily heritageâthe Ashborne hall was built of ancient, polished dark wood and unyielding stone. Heavy ancestral banners hung from the high vaulted ceilings, and the warmth in the room came from a roaring hearth rather than delicate mana-lamps.
I sat to my fatherâs right, while my mother sat to his left.
Despite the imposing, military atmosphere of the room, the long oak table was piled high with hearty, steaming northern cuisineâthick slabs of roasted venison, dense root vegetable stews, and heavy, crusty bread.
"Eat, Lucien. You need to put some actual meat back on those bones," Lyriana insisted, practically piling a third helping of roasted venison onto my plate. "The Capitalâs food is too delicate and needlessly complex. It doesnât build proper muscle for a growing boy."
"Thank you, Mother," I said, picking up my fork.
I took a bite. It was heavy, rich, and intensely savory. It lacked the refined, delicate culinary magic of Lilyâs dishes, but it possessed a rugged, nostalgic warmth that the original Lucienâs body immediately recognized and craved.
Throughout the first half of the meal, Count Darius remained entirely silent. He systematically cut and ate his steak, his single eye occasionally flicking toward me. He was observing my posture, my breathing, the quiet efficiency in the way I held my cutlery. He was looking for the arrogant, sloppy, temperamental boy he had banished.
He wasnât finding him.
I set my fork down and wiped my mouth with a linen napkin. I couldnât ignore the mammoth in the room any longer.
"Mother," I began, gesturing vaguely toward her completely altered figure. "I donât mean to be blunt, but... are you expecting?"
Count Darius abruptly choked on his wine. He slammed his goblet down onto the heavy oak table, coughing violently into his massive fist. A faint, highly uncharacteristic tinge of red appeared on his scarred, weather-beaten face.
Lyrianaâs face, however, lit up with a radiant, unabashed glow. She placed a hand tenderly over her rounded stomach.
"I am!" she beamed, her dark eyes sparkling with absolute delight. "You are going to be an older brother, Lucien. The healers say Iâm about four months along."
Four months.
My mind raced. Four months ago was exactly when the CrystalVale Theme Park incident happenedâthe âDay of Shattered Glass.â That was when Mother had rushed to the Capital to visit me.
Was she so relieved and happy after seeing me doing wellâseeing that I wasnât a total failure anymoreâthat the deep wedge my exile had driven between her and Father finally vanished?
They had finally reconnected.
I completely derailed the gameâs lore just by surviving and minding my own business,
I realized, utterly bewildered but faintly amused. The butterfly effect of me simply not being a piece of trash had literally birthed a new Ashborne heir.
"That is... wonderful news," I said sincerely, offering a small, genuine smile. "Congratulations, Mother. And to you as well, Father."
Darius cleared his throat loudly, forcefully regaining his stoic, warlord composure. He crossed his massive arms and leaned forward, resting them on the table. The clinking of silverware stopped.
The brief moment of familial warmth vanished instantly, replaced by the freezing, heavy atmosphere of a military interrogation.
"Enough about that," Darius rumbled. His single eye locked onto me, piercing and sharp. "Letâs talk about the things you have been doing in the south. A âHigh-Threat Anomalyâ neutralized in the Iron-Sand Desert. A Desert Regent. A High-Ranking Demon."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous baritone. "Just two first-year cadets, solving a predicament that should have wiped out a border garrison. I didnât know you were so brave. Are you getting used to playing the hero these days? Because your reckless deeds donât seem to be stopping."
"I didnât play hero, Father. I survived," I answered calmly, meeting his intimidating gaze without a single flinch.
"A High-Ranking Demon is not something a bronze-tier Academy cadet simply âsurvives,â" Darius countered. "A beast of that caliber requires a Gold-Rank vanguard just to hold the line. Yet the Association report says the demonâs head was completely obliterated. By a firearm."
He was pushing me. He was deliberately applying pressure to see if I would crack, lie, or start bragging about my power the way the old Lucien would have.
"The demon was summoned through a desperate, highly flawed sacrificial ritual by a corrupted student," I explained, keeping my voice steady, analytical, and completely devoid of arrogance. "Its physical vessel was incomplete. Furthermore, the ruin we were trapped in possessed a massive, dormant array of ancient magic. I utilized an unstable holy relic we found within the tomb to temporarily breach its outer shell, and Lady Elisha provided the heavy artillery to keep it pinned. It was a tactical execution of a weakened target. Not a fair duel."
I deliberately omitted the true nature of the Rosary, the System, and my mastery of Divine Force. I framed the entire encounter purely as a pragmatic, ruthless exploitation of the environment and the enemyâs weaknesses.
It was exactly the kind of language the Lord of the North understood.
Darius stared at me. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive.
Without warning, the ambient temperature in the room plummeted to sub-zero.
A suffocating, localized wave of Platinum-Rank killing intent exploded from Darius and slammed directly into me across the table. It was heavy enough to make the heavy silver platters rattle and the crystal wine glasses crack under the pressure.
It was a raw test of my spirit. If I were the old Lucien, my knees would have buckled, my teeth would have chattered, and I would have fallen out of my chair in pure, unadulterated terror.
[Sixth Sense (Lv. 3) detects an overwhelming, non-lethal pressure!]
I forcefully suppressed my bodyâs natural flinch response. I didnât reach for a weapon. I didnât break eye contact. I just sat there, my posture completely rigid, breathing slowly and evenly through the crushing, invisible weight.
Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.
Darius suddenly closed his eye, and the suffocating pressure vanished into thin air, as if it had never existed.
He sat back in his heavy wooden chair, letting out a long, heavy exhale.
"You didnât blink," Darius noted, a bizarre, entirely unfamiliar emotion flickering across his scarred face. "A year ago, you would have wet yourself and begged for mercy if I so much as raised my voice."
"A year ago, I was a foolish child who didnât understand the weight of the Ashborne name," I replied quietly. "Iâve learned that monsters do not care about nobility, Father. They only care if you are strong enough to kill them before they kill you."
Darius Ashborne stared at me for a long time. Then, very slowly, a deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated in his chest. It wasnât a warm, fatherly laugh, but it was one of genuine, unfiltered approval from a veteran commander.
"Pragmatic. Ruthless. And you finally grew some fangs," Darius said, picking up his wine goblet. He raised it slightly in my direction. "It seems the Capitalâs dirt managed to scour the arrogance out of you after all."
He took a sip, then set the goblet down firmly.
"The official decree of exile stands until you graduate. I will not have my word mocked by the political snakes in the center," Darius stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But... since you have clearly changed for the better, and turned over a new leaf, I will lift the financial embargo. You are not to use the familyâs name outside to show off, but you will no longer be barred from the familyâs resources."
"I understand, Father. Thank you," I said, suppressing an internal sigh of massive relief. Unrestricted access to the Ashborne treasury was a massive win for my apocalyptic preparations.
A grim, terrifyingly eager smile stretched across Dariusâs scarred face.
Beside me, Lyriana suddenly clapped her hands together, her dark eyes shining with absolute delight. "Oh, this is wonderful! The men of the house are finally getting along! Now that business is out of the way, Lucien, tell meâhow are things going with that lovely girl from the Solmere family?"
I choked on my water.
Darius paused, his fork stopping halfway to his mouth. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his lone eye narrowing with a completely different, distinctly paternal kind of interrogation.
"A girl?" the Lord of the North rumbled.
"Ha... haha..." I coughed, grabbing a napkin.
"What? Why are you being so hesitant?" Lyriana pressed, completely ignoring the murderous aura leaking out of her massive husband. "Donât tell me you broke up with her! Or are you two still just playing that âjust friendsâ nonsense?"
"Ahem," Darius coughed loudly, trying to assert his presence. "Am I missing something, Lyriana?"
But Lyriana didnât give him an ounce of face. She kept her eager eyes locked entirely on me.
"So, tell me! Did anything progress between you two?"
I awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck, desperately avoiding my fatherâs burning glare.
"Yeah..." I admitted softly. "We... we confirmed our relationship. She is officially my girlfriend now."
Lyriana gasped in pure delight. She burst into hearty laughter, reaching over and aggressively patting my back.
"Yes! Thatâs my boy!" she cheered triumphantly, while Count Darius sat frozen in his chair, processing the fact that he is so oblivious to his sonâs affairs.