Chapter 268: Revelation

Trafalgar pulled a sharp breath through his teeth as he began undoing the clasps of his coat. The room around him was silent—too silent. No echo of the distant castle halls, no guards, no idle servants. Just Valttair, Caelum... and him.

Not exactly the trio he wanted to be naked in front of.

He placed his folded clothes neatly on the nearby table, boots thudding softly on the floor, before finally slipping off his undergarments. Standing completely bare under the cold illumination of the training chamber stones, he swallowed.

He didn’t blush or cover himself—he refused to show weakness in front of Valttair—but irritation prickled under his skin.

"...May I ask why I need to be naked for this, Father?" he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Valttair didn’t look away, nor did he show discomfort. His gaze was analytical, clinical—like a blacksmith evaluating a weapon’s metal rather than a father looking at his son.

"I need to inspect your body," Valttair said calmly. "And what I will give you requires no obstruction."

Trafalgar held back another sigh. ’Alright, nothing wrong with being naked in front of my father right?’

Valttair stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sweeping over every line of Trafalgar’s body with unnerving thoroughness. Caelum, standing a respectful distance behind, also observed—less openly, but still carefully, like a scholar analyzing a rare artifact.

The silence grew heavier.

Valttair finally exhaled through his nose. "...Incredible."

Trafalgar blinked. "...What?"

Valttair circled him once, slow.

"You have a perfect body. Flawless proportions. Zero impurities on the outside. No anatomical weaknesses. Not even minor imbalances." His voice sharpened slightly. "I’ve never seen anything like this."

Trafalgar forced his expression into neutral obedience, but inside—

’Primordial Body. It reshaped everything after I awakened... please, PLEASE don’t let him sense it. If he finds out I’ll be the next Morgain lab experiment.’

Valttair’s voice broke into his spiraling thoughts.

"I never would have imagined you possessed such latent potential," the patriarch murmured.

Trafalgar spoke under his breath, almost involuntarily. "It’s always been there... you just never looked."

Valttair’s gaze flicked toward him. "Perhaps. But a perfect body is useless without a mana core—one you lacked for fifteen years."

Trafalgar lowered his head. "I failed you, Father."

"Failure is irrelevant," Valttair replied. "Results are what matter."

Caelum stepped forward slightly. "Lord Valttair, as I said, the young master holds the future of this House. My stance has not changed."

Valttair waved the comment aside. "No time to waste."

He gestured to the center of the chamber.

"Sit. Position yourself for meditation. We begin now."

Trafalgar inhaled slowly, settling cross-legged on the cold stone.

’Here goes nothing... or everything.’

Trafalgar settled into the meditation stance, legs folded beneath him, spine straight, palms resting lightly on his knees. The cold stone seeped into his skin, but he forced his breathing steady, eyes closing as he summoned the familiar dark swirl of mana within his core.

Valttair approached without hesitation.

A single, heavy hand pressed against Trafalgar’s bare back—hot, immense, crushing with authority. Trafalgar stiffened by instinct, every muscle tightening.

"Relax," Valttair commanded.

The word had the weight of law.

Trafalgar forced his shoulders to loosen. "Yes, Father."

And then—

Mana surged into him.

Not a gentle stream.

Not a guided flow.

A torrent.

His breath was punched out of him in a silent gasp as Valttair’s mana slammed into his core like molten iron being poured into fragile glass.

White-hot pain erupted through his torso, claws of agony tearing through his veins, ripping and reshaping everything they touched.

"—ghhh—!"

His fingers dug into the stone floor, nails scraping harshly. Sweat broke down his spine in a cold rush.

Valttair’s tone didn’t waver. "Endure it, Trafalgar. This is only one percent."

One percent.

ONE.

And it felt like he was being hollowed out and reforged from the inside.

His vision pulsed red beneath closed eyelids. His heart hammered erratically. For a moment he couldn’t breathe at all.

’Fuck—! It feels like something is clawing through my ribs—! This is insane—what the hell kind of monster is my father—!?’

He tried to inhale. Failed. Tried again.

Something inside him tore—

—then knitted itself back together.

Primordial Body was kicking in. Slowly. Barely. But enough to keep him conscious.

Barely.

Valttair continued steadily, pushing more mana forward.

"Strength is forged through pressure. A Morgain does not ascend gently."

Trafalgar’s throat strained with the effort not to scream. His back arched involuntarily, muscles seizing as another wave of searing energy burst through his core.

Every second felt like a year.

Then—

Valttair’s hand abruptly withdrew.

The flow cut off.

Trafalgar collapsed forward, palms catching him on instinct, gasping like a man dragged from drowning. His lungs burned. His vision spun.

’Why... did he stop...?’

His heart thudded violently in his ears as he forced himself to turn, sweat dripping from his jaw.

And froze.

Valttair wasn’t looking at him.

He was staring at the swirling mass of mana coiling violently around his own hand—an aura of fury, confusion, and shock radiating off him in suffocating waves.

The patriarch’s eyes sharpened, metallic and lethal.

"...What is that?"

Trafalgar swallowed, forcing his breathing steady. "What do you mean... Father?"

Inside?

’Shit. Shit. SHIT. What the hell did he see inside my body!? This is bad—really bad—’

Valttair’s killing intent spiked so sharply the room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

Caelum straightened instantly behind him, eyes narrowing.

"Trafalgar," Valttair said slowly, "something is inside you. Something that should not exist."

Trafalgar’s pulse stuttered.

And the world seemed to stop.

Valttair’s expression shifted—ever so slightly—but Trafalgar caught it.

A realization. A calculation. A verdict.

"Something was inside you," Valttair corrected, voice low and sharp enough to cut stone. "But there are still traces. Faint... corrupted... buried deep."

Trafalgar’s breath hitched.

’Was. Past tense. Good. Maybe the Primordial Body erased it or when I awakened my core... or consumed it...? But if he noticed the remnants, then—shit, this is still bad.’

Valttair lifted his hand again, but not toward Trafalgar’s core—toward the room around them. Mana crackled outward like a silent explosion, sweeping through the chamber.

He didn’t even turn his head as he ordered:

"Caelum."

Caelum stepped forward immediately. "Already on it, Lord Valttair."

Three shadow-clones burst from Caelum’s silhouette, spreading through the walls like smoke chasing intruders. Trafalgar felt the hair on his arms rise—the air vibrated with mana so thin and controlled it was barely tangible.

Minutes passed like taut wires stretched across the room.

Finally, Caelum opened his eyes.

"No one is near this hall. The nearest servant is three corridors away. No echoes, no eavesdropping, no spies, or anyone, we are alone." He bowed slightly. "We may speak freely."

Valttair exhaled once, slow and dangerous.

"Trafalgar," he said, voice quieter now—too quiet. "You were cursed."

Trafalgar didn’t move.

His mind did.

’...Cursed.’

Pieces clicked together with disturbing speed.

His old self never awakening.

The servants who avoided him.

The hatred.

The impossibility of his mana staying dormant with a body like this.

’It makes too much sense...’

Still, he kept his face confused. He needed to.

"Cursed? By who...?"

Valttair’s eyes narrowed—not angry at Trafalgar, but at the thought itself.

"I do not know," he admitted. "But it was deliberate. Someone tampered with your mana before you were born. Someone who wanted you weak. Someone who feared what you could become."

His voice turned razor-thin.

"And they succeeded. For fifteen years."

Trafalgar forced his gaze downward.

’So they really crippled him. No—me. Whoever did this... wanted the original Trafalgar helpless. Powerless. Unable to awaken. And now, because I screwed with my own core to get stronger—Valttair saw the remnants.’

He swallowed once. "Do you think it was someone inside the house?"

Valttair didn’t even blink. "Most likely."

His tone carried no hesitation.

No surprise.

"Enemies from outside the Eight rarely have access to our children," he continued. "But wives... concubines... jealous siblings... old blood feuds—those are harder to control."

Trafalgar’s stomach twisted.

’Seraphine. It has to be Seraphine. She hated the old Trafalgar more than anyone. She sent assassins after me on the road to the academy... I thought she just didn’t want me alive. But this... was way before.’

Valttair’s gaze turned colder than steel left in snow.

"Caelum," he said without taking his eyes off Trafalgar, "you know what to do."

Caelum bowed his head. "Of course, my lord."

He vanished—silent, instant, and terrifyingly efficient.

Trafalgar’s spine locked.

’Oh fuck. Valttair is taking this seriously. That means someone in this castle is screwed. And knowing this family... screwed means dead. I need to tell him.’

Valttair finally looked at him again, eyes unreadable.

"We will discuss suspects later," he said. "For now—sit. I will purge the remnants."

Trafalgar clenched his teeth but obeyed.

Valttair lowered his hand toward Trafalgar’s back again.

"This time," he said, "do not hold back your voice. Pain tells me where the corruption lies."

Trafalgar exhaled shakily.

’Great. Torture round two. Love this world.’

And Valttair’s mana began to surge.