Patriarch Alphen
The corridor leading to the grand reception hall of the Darkest family estate — the most imposing and solemn chamber in the entire manor.
This was no ordinary hallway.
Tapestries steeped in centuries of history and walls engraved with the family crest stood as silent proof that this place was the heart of one of the Chosen Twelve Houses. Even the air itself was thick with the weight of history and cold authority, so oppressive that simply breathing felt like a burden.
Ian knocked lightly twice on the door.
"Enter."
At that frigid voice, the door swung open of its own accord.
The air inside was cold as a sheet of ice. Portraits of successive family heads gazed down from the walls in heavy silence. At the center of the room, behind a massive ebony desk, sat the current head of the Darkest family — Alphen Darkest.
His eyes were sharp and cold as a winter lake. His expressionless face, which betrayed not a flicker of emotion, radiated intimidation by its mere presence. Piled high on his desk were the enormous debt ledgers of Seorigol and reports on the unsavory incidents that had occurred at the Academy.
The patriarch regarded Ian in silence for a long moment. His presence alone seemed to crush everything in the room. Those piercing eyes flashed like steel even in the dim light, and his tightly sealed lips and frigid expression left no opening whatsoever. His silence was the stillness before a storm, and it set the nerves of anyone who faced him on edge.
Ian stood before him, tense but resolute.
"The debt you owe this family is one you could not repay even if you worked your entire life."
The patriarch's voice filled the chamber with crushing weight. How many had fainted simply from hearing his reprimands? When the family head grew angry like this, it was rare for anyone to walk out of the room intact. His authority defied imagination.
"Without knowing your place, you dared to raise a blade against this family. And at the Academy, you dragged our honor through the mud."
Every word from the patriarch struck Ian's chest like a sharpened blade. That contemptuous gaze was a reminder of the cold ruthlessness that ran through Darkest blood.
"You will join the army. And you will never come back out."
The legacy of the Chosen Twelve Houses was not merely power. It was an ice-cold, steel-hard will that tolerated neither weakness nor defiance. That was the essence of the Darkest family.
But Ian did not flinch.
In the past, he would have been the first to collapse. Now, at least, abilities like mental resistance were holding him together.
A flicker of curiosity stirred in the patriarch's eyes — just as the door creaked open.
A measured, aristocratic stride, elegant and precise. The one who entered was Lionel Darkest.
His sharp eyes swept the room in an instant before settling on the family head. Submission and ambition were cunningly mixed in his expression.
"My lord."
A voice that was soft — but by no means clean.
Lionel continued.
"Ian Darkest's reckless conduct has become a serious threat to this family. The disgraceful incidents at the Academy, the crushing debt of the Seorigol fief, and his utter failure to know his place have all done grave damage to our honor."
The patriarch's gaze remained fixed on Lionel without the slightest waver. His expression was still unreadable.
"I had sincerely hoped that Ian would repent of his past mistakes and reform himself. Yet his insolent attitude has not changed in the slightest. I humbly beg that you, my lord, take decisive action yourself."
The patriarch was silent for a moment, then turned his icy stare back on Ian.
I'm not the one who did anything wrong, you bastard!
Ian had not lived so foolishly that he would actually shout something like that. This was simply the reality of a noble house. No matter how hard a bastard son struggled, his words would always weigh less than a single sentence from the legitimate heir. Lionel was still Lionel, and Ian was still Ian.
Proof enough: from the moment he had knelt here, he had not been permitted to open his mouth even once. Not so much as a "How have you been?" was allowed between them. Not that he would have said it even if it were.
"May I speak?"
Only after seeking permission did Ian open his mouth. Instead of groveling for forgiveness as he once would have, he began to state his case in a calm, firm voice.
"My lord."
The voice that rang through the chamber held not a trace of tremor. And the words that followed from that composed tone were nothing short of outrageous.
"The enormous debt incurred by the Seorigol fief stems from the previous lord's reckless mismanagement and decades of this family's indifference."
"So it is not your fault, but the family's?"
"No. Of course I have no intention of shirking my responsibility as lord. But the roots of this problem run far too deep and wide for me alone to bear."
"You speak as though you could solve it, given time."
"I do not believe it is impossible."
The patriarch's eyes twitched for an instant. Ian drew a brief breath and continued.
"My clash with Lionel was legitimate self-defense against his one-sided and unjust harassment. As a member of this family — and as a human being — I was simply trying to protect myself."
"Protect yourself?"
"I strongly suspect that the convening of the Academy's expulsion committee was Lionel's scheme. Concrete evidence is still lacking, but I will spare no effort to uncover the truth."
At Ian's bold attitude, the patriarch's brow twitched. Across his face passed anger — and with it, the faintest flicker of an emotion that had never been there before. Perhaps it was a sliver of interest.
"That shameless attitude of yours is a clear challenge to this family's traditions and order."
"I apologize."
"However…"
The patriarch paused. An unreadable light flashed in his eyes.
"…Very well. I will give you one last chance."
At last he spoke. There was not a shred of mercy in his voice.
"Within one week, you will repay the debt you owe this family, including all losses incurred from this latest fiasco — a total of one hundred fifty million Rene. Should you fail to meet the deadline… even your life will not be enough."
Lionel looked down at Ian from the side, his eyes saying plain as day: As if the likes of you could ever scrape together a hundred fifty million Rene.
"Understood."
Ian accepted the patriarch's terms without a word of protest. He felt neither fear nor despair. After all, he already held a powerful trump card — the mana stone mine he had discovered in Seorigol.
No.
If he could settle this with money, that was perfect.
Ian smiled thinly to himself, where no one could see.
After Ian left the study, Alphen Darkest remained silent for a long while, sunk in deep thought. Beside him stood the family's longtime steward and his most trusted confidant — the old sage Elliot — quiet as a shadow.
"Is something troubling you, my lord?"
Elliot asked in a gentle voice. It sounded like the rustle of dry leaves, yet within it lay the wisdom and insight of a man who had served the Darkest family for decades.
Alphen spoke with a heavy sigh.
"Is there anything connected to this family that is not a worry?"
"Bound by tradition, it is little different from a ship slowly sinking."
"There is no sign of improvement, which makes it all the harder."
"You have held the line well, my lord."
"What we need is a reversal."
Alphen flicked the armrest of his chair with his fingers several times.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The moment the sound stopped, he spoke.
"What did you make of him?"
"Of Ian, my lord?"
"Yes. To my eyes, he seemed somewhat changed."
"Yes. It appeared so to mine as well."
"For the better?"
"For the family's sake, my lord? Or for the boy's own?"
"Enough. That is answer enough."
Alphen recalled Ian's eyes. Quiet, yet gleaming with a savage light, like some wild beast.
"It has been quite some time since I last saw eyes like those."
Alphen knew. Those were the eyes of someone who possessed something he wanted as much as his own life — or something he would give his life to achieve. Eyes he had never expected to see in a bastard son.
"…And that is why you granted him another chance?"
At Elliot's question, Alphen let out a cold, short laugh.
"A chance? Hardly. Seorigol is a barren waste that yields not so much as a speck of dust no matter how hard you wring it. One hundred fifty million Rene in a week? Even a god could not manage it. This is not forgiveness, Elliot."
"Then what is it?"
"Punishment."
Alphen's eyes gleamed with a dark light.
"Punishment for daring to challenge the Darkest family. And at the same time, a kind of tempering — to make him enter military service without a word of complaint. To drive him to despair so thoroughly that he abandons everything of his own accord. That is my intent."
"The boy as he used to be would give up at once."
"Indeed. He will not even show his face at tomorrow's banquet. That is the measure of him."
Elliot listened in silence. Listening carefully to the family head and then offering a single remark — that had always been his role.
"…Even so, my lord."
"Speak."
"If… by some remote chance… the boy Ian were to actually produce that seemingly impossible sum… would the matter not then stand in a somewhat different light?"
Instead of answering, Alphen gazed out at the dark sky beyond the window. Deep in his blue eyes, a faint spark seemed to flicker.
But it did not last long before it died.
"Miracles are miracles precisely because they so rarely occur."
Perhaps he, too, was pinning a sliver of hope on that vanishingly small possibility — on something that might breathe new wind into this sinking house.