Chapter 118: Bloodline of Ambition and Rebellion II

CH118 Bloodline of Ambition and Rebellion II

***

The Fury bloodline was one steeped in ambition and rebellion.

It coursed through their veins—untamed, relentless, and hungry for power.

If ever the authority of the Family Head weakened—or worse, vanished—and if ever the Family Council fractured or ceased to exist entirely... those latent traits would always awaken.

First, discontent.

Then, ambition.

And soon after... rebellion and blood.

In time, the family would either return to its primal, united state—warring branches held together under a single supreme power alone—or it would collapse altogether, left in ruins by its own internal strife.

’There’s a reason the progenitor and the forebears chose this system of governance,’ Alex thought grimly.

’It wasn’t haphazard. It was deliberate—well-thought through. A delicate balance of power forged through centuries of hard lessons.’

And it was this grim future he saw—that unavoidable spiral into chaos—which forced Alex to escalate the situation far beyond what was necessary.

He could have stopped with the failure of the Family Council’s motion.

The moment Earl Drake had to dismiss their charge, Alex would have already won.

He would’ve been seen as the tiger cub hiding behind his parent’s imposing shadow, sure—but a tiger nonetheless.

His reputation would have remained intact, or even grown. While the Family Council’s credibility would have taken a blow.

And everyone would have assumed he’d been clever for not overplaying his hand.

But Alex didn’t stop.

He chose to challenge them.

He asked for the duels—despite the odds clearly not being in his favour.

Why?

Because he understood something the others didn’t.

Or perhaps, refused to.

’I may be the only one who sees it,’ he mused, his expression unreadable as he looked out into the distance.

’The cracks in our foundation. The slow unraveling of what holds the Fury family together.’

’And if no one acts—if I don’t act—then we will only be a few steps away from watching this house crumble.’

A drastic move was necessary. A statement. A line drawn in the sand.

And yet... a thought gave him pause.

’Perhaps... I’m not the only one who sees it.’

He frowned slightly.

’Joselin Holt. That woman is too well-versed in politics, too cunning. She plays long games with short pieces. Can I really afford to believe she’s blind to all this?’

He exhaled.

’No. That would be foolish. Never underestimate someone like her.’

If that was the case, then there were only two possible reasons for her continued push in this direction:

Either she was confident she could control the Family Council once Kurt became Family Head...

Or—worse still—she wanted the Fury family to implode.

A cold shiver ran down Alex’s spine.

The Fury bloodline was a wildfire. No matter how tightly the Holts—or the Machholts—tried to contain it, someone would rebel.

It was inevitable.

And once one rebelled?

Others would follow.

That was their bloodline’s nature. This was who they were.

’A fragmented Fury family is far more useful to the Machholts than a united one...’

He didn’t know if he was starting to spiral into conspiracy, chasing shadows where none existed...

But Alex would rather be paranoid and prepared than blind and dead.

Because in every possible future where Kurt, the Family Council, or the Holts came out on top—

He lost.

And in those futures... his life was forfeit.

So instead of playing their endless game of courtly chess—waiting for each calculated move over time—

Alex chose to flip the entire board.

To change the rules.

To start a new game—one played entirely on his terms.

Alex’s eyes slowly opened.

A sharp gleam flashed within them as clarity settled over his mind. The countless threads of thought and possibility had finally woven into a single decision.

Going into the duels, people would call him many things.

Cocky.

Arrogant.

Overconfident.

Foolish, even.

But this mattered little.

Because if—when—he succeeded, it wouldn’t matter what they thought.

He wouldn’t need anyone’s acknowledgement.

He wouldn’t have to beg for anyone’s permission or seek approval.

He directly would take the title of heir to Earl Drake Fury–by extension, the Young Lord of House Fury- and no one would be able to stop him.

The Fury way.

With his own power.

Alex would not walk the path of validation. The path where others decided if he was worthy. This was not him.

His True Name had revealed his nature.

His path wasn’t one of mere survival. It was a path of subjugation.

A path of Dominance.

A path of Dominion.

Quietly, he slid out of bed, doing his best not to disturb Fen—whose tiny, rhythmic breathing served as a strange balm for his stormy thoughts.

Once outside the bedroom, he made his way to the training hall.

He stood at the centre of the room. Still.

Then, an idea struck.

Drawing upon his Eidetic Memory, Alex simulated the sparring sessions he had observed between the soldiers during his rest periods under Instructor Jared.

He picked out one particular soldier. One with tight footwork, efficient strikes, and sharp instincts.

Closing his eyes, he began to visualise.

No—experience—the fight.

His body moved in response to his imagined opponent.

A sparring method with no partner... only memory.

His own shadow fighting technique.

The soldier was fast. Cunning. He exploited every opening and closed in without hesitation.

Alex recognised the rhythm—its brutality.

The soldier’s fighting style was not a direct match to any he knew, however... it was similar enough.

Krav Maga.

A popular fighting style from his previous life.

They fought.

Step for step. Strike for strike.

For nearly two minutes, the imagined battle raged in the chamber of his mind—and the sway of his body.

Then, finally, Alex saw it.

The opening.

The shadow opponent threw a powerful hook—seemingly leaving himself exposed.

Alex shifted to dodge.

But it was a feint.

The real strike came from the elbow, crashing inward, aimed at punishing the evasive movement and crushing into his face.

It would have worked... If Alex hadn’t anticipated the feint.

Instead of fully committing to the dodge, Alex feinted in return—halting his movement at the last possible second.

The elbow whizzed past—missing him by millimetres.

And in that precise instant...

Liver punch.

Direct. Brutal. Final.

His imagined opponent crumpled in his mind.

Alex exhaled slowly, lowering his stance.

But the satisfaction didn’t come.

’It’s not enough,’ he thought.

’I’m using perfect recall of his movements. So, I already know what’s coming. This isn’t a spar. It’s just... repetition.’

He frowned slightly.

He needed more. Uncertainty. Improvisation. Pressure.

Then, a voice slid into the chamber, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

"You look unsatisfied."

It sounded a bit sultry, playful even. But strong—like a knife wrapped in velvet.

Alex turned toward the entrance of the training hall.

And there she stood.

Udara.

The woman Countess Megan had declared as his Shadow Guard.

"How about I spar with you?" she offered casually, a glint in her eyes.

"Lady Udara..."

Alex frowned—though not entirely because of her words.

The truth was... he’d forgotten she was there.

Which shouldn’t have been possible.

Her aura had never left his senses—she hadn’t been hiding it.

And yet, somehow, his brain had tuned her out. Like ambient noise. A scent you stop smelling after a while.

It didn’t make sense.

They’d only met a few hours ago.

And yet, it already felt like she had always been there...

With everything that had gone on at the meeting hall, Alex hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Earl Drake about Udara.

’Her stealth ability makes sense if she’s a Drow,’ he thought, ’but not to the extent that I would forget her existence—even when I can actively sense her presence. Being an Amazon doesn’t explain it either.’

There was something else—her voice.

There were undertones in her tone, subtle notes that tugged at the ear and mind in ways that weren’t natural.

And yet, Alex was certain she wasn’t trying to be seductive.

’Is that... a natural component of her voice?’ he wondered.

’That’s not a trait of an Amazon... nor a Drow. That’s more like...’

His thoughts drifted for a moment—half-formed conclusions hovering at the edge of recall.

"Young Master Alex?"

Udara’s voice pulled him back.

He blinked and refocused, shaking his head gently. "Please, just call me Alex. I’m not used to being called ’Young Master’."

Without hesitation, Udara replied, "Then you should also call me Udara."

It was said swiftly, like she’d been waiting for him to say those exact words.

Alex frowned. "Like I said before, it’s improper for me to—"

"It is even more improper for a Shadow Guard to refer to her master by name," she interrupted calmly.

"Calling you ’Young Master’ is already the lowest I can go."

He stared at her—really stared.

She didn’t flinch.

There was no malice in her gaze. No arrogance. But there was conviction—a fierce, unwavering determination.

And something else...

Something quieter.

Almost a silent plea.

A desire for acceptance.

Their gazes locked, and time seemed to still.

The tension wasn’t violent, but intense nonetheless.

Flickers of energy sparked between them—his will against hers.

Alex’s body tensed as his intuition issued a sharp warning.

If this continued even a moment longer, his True Name—his concepts of Dominion and Domination—might awaken, and escalate the moment into something... unintended.

He quickly took a step back, diffusing the tension before it turned into a contest of power.

"Very well," he said, exhaling softly. "How about this—when we’re alone, you’ll call me Alex and I’ll call you Udara. In public, we’ll stick to formal etiquette."

A compromise.

One that kept the peace.

One that he realised too late that it essentially meant he’d just accepted her as his Shadow Guard.

’Doesn’t matter,’ Alex told himself. ’I’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough.’

Right now, he had far more pressing matters.

Besides...

Since Megan Fury—not the Countess, but the big sister he knew—had brought her over like this...

Then it was unlikely Udara meant him harm.

"Understood... Alex." Udara responded with the seriousness of a soldier receiving an order.

Alex nodded once. "Then... shall we begin?"

Without a word, Udara moved to the centre of the training hall.

Alex followed, taking up his stance across from her.

"Ladies first," he said with a small smirk.

And the moment the words left his mouth—

He regretted it.

**