The Climbing Serpent #1
Meanwhile, at that very moment—in the Bewitching Forest, far removed from Ricardo's group—a boy's shadow stretched across the midnight woods.
Slicked-back black hair swept back from his forehead. Beneath it, eyes sharp as razor blades.
It was Diego Borromeo, third son of the Borromeo marquisate.
He wasn't wandering the forest depths on a whim, chasing rumors of some freak like Ricardo's crew. He had no time for such nonsense.
What had driven him from the dormitory was the incident from earlier that day. In the silent woods, Diego recalled it all.
Alberto Borromeo. At just twenty-one, he'd clawed his way to vice president of Phoenix, Ardia Kingdom's largest trading company—a true operator.
And Diego's second brother.
Today, he'd joined the promotional team selling support cards and sought Diego out in secret before leaving the academy.
To reprimand him.
"I've been hearing disappointing news about your grades lately, Diego."
No family name—just his given name. It might seem brotherly at first glance, but anyone hearing that voice, devoid of any warmth and cold as a blade, would know better.
Alberto called him by name alone because he despised this half-witted half-brother—born to a commoner concubine—bearing the Borromeo name.
Yet Alberto still carved out time from his busy schedule for Diego, for one reason.
Their father, the current Marquis Borromeo, formally recognized Diego as a son and provided house support.
As long as that didn't change, Diego remained a Borromeo, regardless of Alberto's feelings. Poor grades tarnished the family's honor.
Unacceptable to Alberto.
Of course, both knew why the marquis acknowledged him.
It wasn't paternal affection for his bloodline.
The man was ruthlessly pragmatic, viewing people not as individuals but as resources.
The support for Diego? Probably just Well, he's mine—might as well make use of him.
But that also meant—
"You know, don't you? Fail to prove your worth, and you won't 'dare' carry the Borromeo name."
The moment he was deemed useless, it was over.
Alberto grimaced slightly at "dare," but his gestures and tone remained elegantly refined.
As if flaunting the gulf between himself and Diego, son of a commoner mother. Diego bit his lip in silence.
"Dragon user, Ricardo Bardi."
At the name of the one who'd defeated him, Diego flinched involuntarily.
The terror of Ricardo's dragon. His crushed pride. It twisted his face.
"Well, losing to him? I can understand that. He was beyond you from the start."
Having witnessed it, Alberto crushed Diego's pride anyway.
"But if you can't handle him, best to ride his coattails—or at least dodge. Word is, you challenged him first? What were you thinking, Diego?"
"That was..."
"Haven't I told you time and again to know your place?"
His tone dripped contempt, like eyeing a bug. The loathing that had trampled Diego since childhood sealed his lips.
"Ricardo Bardi already crushed Belluraca's prince in the entrance duel. You knew he was unbeatable."
"..."
"And you charged like a dog in heat? Without even scratching his Soul Points? Tsk. Proves why blood matters."
"...!"
The barb aimed at his mother made Diego's fists clench. In his mind's eye, coiled serpents hissed threateningly.
Against anyone else, he'd have demanded a duel on the spot.
But—
"How a backwater count's son awakened such power... Hah, whatever. But Erhun?"
This was Alberto Borromeo.
"Struggled against a commoner? And not even one with impressive cards."
One root of his helplessness, hammered home.
"It makes me wonder, Diego."
Alberto whispered.
"If you're worthy of 'our' family's support."
Stressing our to draw a line, he patted Diego's shoulder.
Not encouragement, of course.
A student passed by. Showmanship: the caring brother. Diego was still a Borromeo, after all.
The problem? It was Erhun.
Small stature, fluffy brown hair—he'd come sniffing around, nose twitching, then spotted them and scurried off in fright.
"...Tch."
Alberto clicked his tongue, withdrew his hand, and wiped it with a handkerchief from his breast pocket.
As if soiled by filth.
"Anyway, heed me, Diego. If you can't excel, at least don't tarnish the family name. While you receive 'our' support, that is."
"...I'll do my best."
"'Best' won't cut it. Results matter. But I won't expect that from you. Just don't burden 'us.'"
"...Yes."
"If you want any use... manage connections, at least."
"..."
"I'm off."
Alberto turned and left without a backward glance. Long after he vanished, Diego stood frozen.
After that, classes dragged on. Nothing sank in.
No one spoke to him. Not Erhun, nor Jill and Pierre—the pair who'd once clung for Borromeo scraps at enrollment.
They no longer flattered or sat near.
As if they'd realized he was worthless. No scraps left.
End of day. Back in his dorm, collapsing on the bed, a blaze ignited in his chest.
Resentment at Jill and Pierre. Fear of Ricardo. Humiliation from Alberto's words, burrowed deep.
Professor Georgia had counseled him post-duel, but it wasn't enough.
Nose stung, eyes welled; head burned like coals. Breathing hurt, ribs crushing into his gut.
Smothering. He bolted from the dorm, wandering the Bewitching Forest around the academy.
Cool night winds soothed the fire briefly, then it surged again.
He pulled a locket from his pocket. Thumbed the button—click. Inside, a portrait of a woman: warm as sunlight, yet fleeting.
His mother, Elisa, lost to illness in his childhood.
A memory surfaced: soft hands stroking his hair.
"Diego. Nobility isn't about rights—it's responsibility. True nobles pity the weak and reach out to them."
Sunny voice. Garden bench. Her smiling face, wiping dirt from his hands.
"But my brothers won't accept me...?"
A timid child-Diego. She smiled softly, her illness-etched face tinged with sorrow and worry, but firm conviction shone through.
"First, Diego, accept yourself. Others' approval follows naturally."
Mother. Why stay with the marquis? Lingering love for a one-night fling? Or for the child in her womb?
Diego couldn't know then—or now.
Maybe that's why he'd lashed out at commoner-boy Erhun.
He knew too well what it meant for low blood to mingle with nobles.
Even knowing her concubine son's plight, she'd whispered till her last breath: become a true noble.
"Diego, you can become a dragon."
Adding words that now rang hollow.
"...Sorry, Mother."
Diego sobbed, voice breaking.
Plop, plop—his card deck tumbled to the dirt.
Snakes slithered from the cards, flicking tongues at the ground.
"I'm a snake."
A snake that clawed skyward but failed. Venomous, dragging others into the mud.
A grotesque snake.
The northern Bewitching Forest echoed only with insect chirps and leaves rustling in the breeze.
"Kieeeek—!!"
A intruder shattered the serenade: a beast's shriek, tearing the night.
Fury-filled roar? Or death throes?
It didn't reach Pollux's cabin where Ricardo's group was, but one boy wandering the woods heard it clear.
"..."
Diego—the boy—lifted his head slowly. Tension flickered in his vacant eyes.
Not far. Beasts fighting, maybe.
Beasts lack human nobility. No cards—just fangs and claws.
Sensibly, turn back to the dorm.
"Nobility, huh."
But Diego sneered instead of retreating. Self-mocking.
Did he deserve "nobility"? Doubtful. Erhun and Alberto would scoff.
"Guess I'm no better than a beast..."
He laughed hollowly and stepped forward—not toward the dorm, but deeper into the woods.
Self-destructive steps.
Guilt for failing his mother's hopes. Lifelong oppression from half-brothers over his common blood. Realizing he'd become like them.
Emotions swirled; he was half-mad. Only rationality: pocketing his fallen deck.
Deeper into the yawning maw of the forest. Striding in, he heard his heartbeat, snapping twigs underfoot—vividly.
Not reason—instinct.
Instinct sharpening senses, fueled by danger.
"Kieeeek—!!!"
Again, more desperate, sharper.
Closer now.
Diego noticed sweat beading in his clenched fists—late.
Stupid, reason whispered.
Awakened reason urged: back to dorm.
But instinct rang first.
Too late—
"Kiiiiieeeeeek—!!!!"
Crack, crunch! Whoosh—!!
From dead ahead. The ear-splitting screech made him raise arms to cover instinctively—but something flew at him.
Thud! Click! Click!
"—Ugh!?"
Arms up in reflex, blocking the projectile. A shock unlike any he'd felt numbed his left arm; he grimaced.
"This is...?"
He glanced down. A disc-shaped magitech device clung to his arm, whirring mechanically. Left side: card slot arcing like wings.
Borromeo or not, Diego knew it.
Battle Arc.
Portable battle table—prototype, prioritizing mobility. Smaller than full tables, so heavier mental load on players.
But irrelevant now.
Why hurl one in midnight woods?
Whoosh, patter!
As if answering, a dark silhouette crashed before him.
Not huge—waist-high. Matted brown fur, yellowed fangs drooling.
"...Monkey...?"
Yes, a monkey. But anomalies caught his eye.
Head: magitech device, purpose unknown, magic circles blinking red erratically.
Worse: left arm bore another—linked by thick cable to the headpiece. Identical to his: a Battle Arc.
With a deck set.