A Father's Contempt
The Crossfield family's tinted limousine passed through Novapolis's glittering skyscrapers and entered a dense forest. Despite rumbling along a forest path, the ride felt so stable and smooth that one could have played billiards inside without spilling a cue ball.
"......"
Lien, seated in the back, stared blankly at the familiar scenery flashing past the window. Her hands, neatly folded on her lap, trembled faintly. Even after endless vows over the past few days, it was still like this. She let out a small sigh and gripped her shaking hands tightly.
Vroom.
Unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of her inner turmoil, the limousine only hummed a low exhaust note as it pressed onward.
How much time passed like that? At last, they reached a massive gate encircled by towering walls. As the gate slowly swung open, the limousine glided inside, unveiling a world utterly divorced from the outside.
Impeccably tended gardens stretched endlessly past the windows, flanked by antique stone buildings. Far off in the central plaza loomed a colossal fountain, so grand it strained the neck to gaze up at its splendor.
This was the private garden of the Crossfield family estate. A vista so breathtaking that even newcomers—or family members unused to it—would gape in wonder. Yet Lien felt nothing. She merely clutched her heart, pounding wildly from tension.
Three minutes after entering the garden, a certain tree caught her eye. A tree with branches forked uniquely at the tips, like a Y. Spotting it meant they were nearly there.
As the thought crossed her mind, a gigantic mansion emerged into view. From afar, it resembled a fortress—a structure steeped in centuries of history, exuding antique grandeur.
The limousine halted silently before it, and an elderly gentleman waiting there opened the door. Hans, the head butler who had devoted his life to the Crossfields and oversaw every household affair.
"You've arrived, Miss Lien. I saw the news. Truly remarkable feats."
At Hans's courteous greeting, Lien offered a faint smile. But her eyes were already fixed on the mansion's interior.
"It's been a while, Hans. I'm here to see Father."
"The family head is in the basement at present. Please, follow me."
Hans led the way. The estate lay shrouded in its usual oppressive silence. Not a sound anywhere. No matter how often she visited, she could never adjust to this place.
Lien and Hans rode the elevator down, then walked on. Despite the basement's labyrinthine complexity, Hans never missed a step or hesitated.
Tap, tap.
Traversing the vast marble corridor, Lien swallowed dryly. This trek to meet her father gripped her heart far tighter than slashing through that android legion in the slums days ago.
"We're here."
Hans halted before a colossal steel door—so immense it might as well have been a castle gate. He knocked.
Thud, thud, thud.
"Family head, the youngest miss has arrived."
"......"
No response came from within. Yet Hans remained unflustered. His master had done this countless times before.
And moments later.
Roooaaar!
An indescribable, titanic aura erupted from beyond the steel door. It hit like physical pressure crushing her body; Lien froze, breath snagged, rooted to the spot.
It resembled the primal terror a mortal feels before a typhoon's eye—legs buckling unbidden, body quaking endlessly, vision blackening.
"Enter."
A low, weighty voice pierced the door. Hans pushed it open silently, and the massive steel groaned as it swung inward.
Lien wiped her damp palms and stepped inside.
"......"
A vast, sealed chamber. The towering walls bore countless sword scars, faint wisps of chilling blue sword energy—unfaded, mist-like—swirling in the crevices.
The ceiling vanished into shadow, and the enclosing walls radiated suffocating oppression. The floor bristled with uncountable swords stabbed into it. And at the center... he was there.
Seated in lotus position, facing a wall etched with enormous sword marks. Sparse white hair, a body mapped in scars, muscles swollen to bursting. A frame nearing eighty. Yet his presence showed no decay from his prime.
Each inhale and exhale weighed the entire hall's air down heavily; mana overflowing his mortal vessel warped the space itself.
His name: the current 1st Rank Hunter and S-Rank Hero, head of House Crossfield—Aiden Crossfield.
Here, Lien faced him.
"......Lien Crossfield greets Father."
She bowed deeply. Aiden didn't turn. Sensing his daughter's presence at his back, he stared at the wall scars like an immovable boulder.
The silence pressed like lead. Aiden's quietude clawed at Lien's heart like a honed blade.
Only after an eternity of seconds did he slowly rise.
At last, Aiden turned to regard her.
And in his eyes burned—contempt.
"......"
Lien's body shrank back instinctively.
"I heard the news."
His voice rumbled low. Against her will, Lien hung on his next words. Perhaps he'd soften that gaze, grant what she craved so desperately. Even knowing he never would.
"You've stirred up needless trouble."
Her heart shattered in that instant. Her mind blanked; the world spun.
Aiden ignored her state and pressed on.
"To disrupt my training for that? You still don't know your place."
Lien's shoulders jerked visibly. Her father dismissed her life-or-death struggle as wasted time.
"......I'm sorry."
"Enough. You invoked the Crossfield name for your little accomplishment, so I'll reward it. What do you want? Money? Fame? Or leverage this to beg for successor status?"
Irritation etched Aiden's eyes—a gaze unfit for father to child.
Lien bit her lip until blood welled, metallic on her tongue.
She pictured a certain man. The red-eyed one who'd deemed her strong enough.
Steadying her quivering voice, she raised her head.
"I wish to appoint... one personal attendant."
"Attendant?"
"Yes. An outsider without formal family approval yet. To let him assist me and traverse Novapolis freely, I'd like a token bearing the family seal."
Aiden's brow twitched. He eyed her briefly, then snorted derisively.
With an irritated flick of his hand, he waved.
"Hans, prepare what she mentioned."
"Understood, family head."
Hans, poised nearby, bowed.
Aiden turned back to the wall, presenting his back to Lien.
"Business done? Out. Don't drag your feet here for trifles again. It's irksome."
"...Yes."
Lien turned slowly and exited. As she and Hans departed, the massive door thudded shut behind them.
That was it. The end.
Her father's final words on days of torment, sweat-drenched triumphs.
Until she turned away, she'd hoped he'd call her back—just once.
But the steel door sealed without a twitch from Aiden.
Her footsteps echoed hollow in the vast underground hall.
"Miss. I'll escort you to your room. The token will arrive shortly."
"...Please."
In the room Hans guided her to, he departed with a "Rest well."
Lien collapsed onto the bed, limp. The luxurious softness registered, but meant nothing.
Her chilled fingertips shivered.
She drew her knees to her chest, burying her face deep in the crevice.
"...Ugh, hic."
A stifled sob leaked out. Her eyes scorched hot. Tears spilled unbidden.
Her back shuddered endlessly.
She was weak. Mana a mere speck, no great strength, no prodigious sword talent—a half-formed wretch.
So mistreatment was fine. Her siblings shone too brightly; equal regard was never her dream.
But still—if she'd achieved something?
Even paltry, couldn't there be one word of praise?
Money? Fame? Irrelevant.
Successor seat? Never crossed her mind.
She wanted one thing alone.
Just once, warm words from her father.
A gentle hand ruffling her hair, murmuring well done.
Was that so impossible he spat such venom?
Was brief praise harder than unleashing that crushing sword aura?
I'd stake my life for your approval.
Hands quaked without cease. Throat choked; breath labored.
Huddled in the room's corner, she wept soundlessly.
Tears poured endlessly.