The mana-powered carriage slowed to a halt, its faint hum fading as the three passengers stepped downâTrafalgar, Garrika, and Leon. The air felt heavier here, as if even the breeze carried the weight of wealth and judgment.
Leon looked pale, sweat dripping down his temple despite the shade. He couldnât hide it. Everything that had unfolded until nowâhis reckless gamble in the mines, his betrayalâwas his fault. Trafalgar was still breathing only because he had reacted fast in that moment of chaos. If he hadnât... all the effort heâd poured into surviving these past months would have gone to waste.
Trafalgar lifted his gaze to the mansion ahead. It wasnât plated in gold, but it radiated wealth all the same. The stone walls stretched wide, flanked by a gate guarded by two men with polished muskets. Beyond lay a vast garden, neatly manicured hedges sculpted into elaborate shapesâdragons coiled mid-flight, soldiers in rigid stances, and at the center of it all, a massive figure carved from greenery.
Trafalgar smirked inwardly. âIâm guessing thatâs Andrew, Leonâs father. A life of luxury, no worries, just sitting on his ass while the world spins around him. Any fatter and he might actually explode.â
Beside him, Garrika stifled a laugh. The detail was almost too perfectâthe shirt of the hedge-statue rode up slightly, revealing a rounded belly. She covered her mouth, but the sound slipped through.
Trafalgar leaned closer, whispering sharply, "Itâs bad manners to laugh at someoneâs looks, you know."
"Itâs just... the detailâs too good," Garrika whispered back, her shoulders shaking.
Leon didnât hear a word. His whole body trembled as if every step toward the gate pulled him closer to his execution.
The three approached the iron gate, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots breaking the silence. The two guards standing watch stiffened the moment they recognized Leon. Both men snapped to attention, lowering their muskets only slightly.
"Young master Leon," one of them greeted, his voice firm but respectful. "Welcome back. How was the expedition in the mines? Did you get what you wanted?"
Leon froze. His lips trembled, but no words came out. The sweat clinging to his forehead told a different story than the one he wanted to give.
The guards noticed quicklyâand more importantly, they noticed Trafalgar and Garrika trailing behind him. Their brows furrowed, suspicion flashing instantly into hostility.
"Donât move!" one barked, raising his musket in a heartbeat. The other mirrored him, both barrels now trained on Trafalgar and Garrika. "Step away from the young master or weâll blow your heads off!"
Trafalgarâs muscles tensed, though his face betrayed nothing. Months of instinct screamed at him to act, but he forced the urge down. He couldnât look weak. So instead, he stood motionless, eyes cold and unreadable.
Leonâs panic boiled over. His voice cracked, desperate but loud. "LOWER YOUR WEAPONS, NOW! Heâs my guestâthis is Trafalgar du Morgain himself!"
The words hung heavy in the air. The guards glanced at each other, confusion turning into disbelief. One even chuckled, a sneer curling on his lips.
"The bastard of House Morgain?" he scoffed. "Impossible. Everyone knows that whelp never leaves the castle."
Trafalgarâs eyes narrowed. Heâd already sent word back to the castle and Velkaris about how he expected to be treated. In Miraven, however, such news clearly hadnât spread. His gaze shifted toward Leon, sharp and commanding, a silent order that carried no room for disobedience.
âTrain your dogs... or Iâll do it for you.â
Leon felt Trafalgarâs stare burning into him, sharper than any blade. His throat tightened, but he knewâif he didnât act now, Trafalgar would. And if Trafalgar acted, someoneâs head would roll.
With a shaky breath, Leon summoned his weapon. A longsword materialized in his grip, its steel glinting under the afternoon light.
Trafalgarâs eyes flickered. âSo heâs a swordsman... didnât expect that. If weâd fought back in the mine, I probably wouldâve lost. Lucky for me, he never pushed it. Guess Iâll have to keep playing the role of the noble who decides who lives and dies.â
Leon tightened his grip, then, without hesitation, slammed the pommel of his sword into the guardâs stomach.
Thud!
The man dropped instantly, gasping for air, clutching his midsection. His musket clattered to the ground.
"Aghâ!" he wheezed, struggling to breathe. His eyes rose to Leon in disbelief. "Y-Young master...?"
But Leonâs face was pale with terror. He wasnât angry at the guardâhe was afraid. Afraid of what Trafalgar might do if he didnât prove himself. The image of Trafalgar mercilessly driving a dagger through the throat of one of his mercenaries in the mine still haunted him. He knew that if he hesitated now, the result would be worse.
The downed soldier staggered upright, then dropped to one knee, trembling. "Forgive me, young master. I... I meant no disrespect."
The other guard quickly lowered his musket, bowing deeply in panic.
Trafalgar clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and irritated. He didnât bother to hide his disdain.
Garrika, standing silently, watched every detail. Her green eyes lingered on Trafalgar. The calm, decisive way he carried himself made her chest tighten. For a lycan, strength and resolve were intoxicating traits in a mate. He had rejected her once... but her instincts whispered she would try again.
The gates creaked open, and the three of them stepped past the guards in tense silence. Neither soldier dared to raise his head. Trafalgar didnât even glance at themâhe had already dismissed their existence.
The mansion loomed larger the closer they came. Its walls were clean-cut stone, its windows framed with polished wood. Inside, chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand hall.
Trafalgar let his eyes roam.
âBig ass mansion I give him that, but it looks like shit compared to my castle hehe.â
Leon cleared his throat, forcing confidence back into his trembling voice. "P-please wait here. This is the guest hall. Iâll inform my father immediately. The servants will bring refreshments soon."
He bowed slightly before turning to leave, his steps hurried, almost desperate to escape Trafalgarâs presence.
The room fell into silence once more. Garrika crossed her arms, her gaze drifting between the ornate walls and Trafalgar himself. The faint smile tugging at her lips wasnât for the mansionâit was for him.
Trafalgar pulled out a chair and sat down casually, his posture loose, almost lazy, as if this hall belonged to him instead of Leonâs family. His eyes half-closed, studying the chandeliers above.
âWell, time to sort this out and get back, Iâm pretty tired already.â