Chapter 60: Aldric’s Illness Worsens
The letter arrived during breakfast.
Draven noticed Elise’s hand trembling as she read it, the parchment rustling softly in her grip. She didn’t speak, just stared at the words with an expression that made his chest tighten.
"What is it?" he asked, setting down his cup.
She looked up at him, and he saw the tears gathering in her eyes before she handed him the letter without a word.
He read it quickly, his jaw tightening with each line.
*Lady Elise,*
*Duke Aldric’s condition has deteriorated significantly. The physicians recommend family visit while he can still receive guests. Time may be limited.*
*Please come at your earliest convenience.*
*— Steward Greaves, Arclight Duchy Estate*
Draven set the letter down carefully, his mind already working through the implications. Duke Aldric—his uncle, his father’s younger brother—had been sick for months with some wasting illness the physicians couldn’t identify or treat. But this letter made it clear the end was approaching faster than anyone had anticipated.
"We need to go today," Elise said quietly, her voice strained. "He’s my brother-in-law. Your father’s brother. We should be there."
Draven nodded. "I’ll arrange the carriage immediately."
But even as he stood to make the arrangements, his mind was already calculating the consequences. If Aldric died, Marcus would inherit the duchy as the current Duke’s son. But Draven was the previous Duke’s son—his father had built the Arclight duchy into what it was before dying in that dungeon expedition two years ago. The succession would be complicated, potentially deadly, and Marcus had never made a secret of his hatred for Draven.
This visit wasn’t just about paying respects to a dying uncle. It was about positioning himself for the power struggle that was coming.
[System notification appeared in his vision]
[System]: *Uncle dying. Succession crisis incoming. You = previous Duke’s son. Marcus = current Duke’s son. This is going to get messy. Legal clusterfuck ahead.*
Yeah, Draven thought grimly. Messy was putting it mildly.
---
The journey to the Arclight Duchy estate took two hours by carriage. Elise spent most of the trip staring out the window, lost in memories that Draven could only guess at. She’d already lost her husband—Draven’s father, the previous Duke—two years ago in that catastrophic dungeon expedition. Now she was watching her brother-in-law die as well. It had to be difficult for her.
The Arclight Duchy’s main estate came into view as they crested a hill. It was massive, more castle than house, with stone walls and towers that had stood for generations. It had been his father’s seat of power, then Aldric’s, and soon it would belong to someone else. The question was: who?
The carriage rolled through the iron gates and up the gravel drive, coming to a stop at the main entrance where Steward Greaves waited at the top of the steps. The old man had served Draven’s father and now served Aldric—a constant presence through the transition of power.
"Lady Elise, Lord Draven," Greaves said with a respectful bow, deeper for Elise as the widow of the previous Duke. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"How is he?" Elise asked immediately as she stepped down from the carriage.
Greaves’s expression was grave. "Not well, my lady. The physicians are baffled. The illness progresses despite all treatment. The Duke is bedridden now and can barely eat or speak."
Draven exchanged a glance with Elise. This was worse than the letter had indicated.
"Can we see him?" Draven asked.
"Of course, my lord. Follow me."
Inside, the estate was cold despite the summer heat, the stone walls and high ceilings creating a chill that seemed to seep into the bones. Tapestries depicting Arclight history hung everywhere—dragons and battles and conquests stretching back generations.
Draven’s eyes caught on his father’s portrait as they passed through the main hall. The previous Duke stood tall and proud in the painting, his hand on the pommel of his sword, his eyes—so like Draven’s own—looking out with confidence and strength. He’d been an A-Rank powerhouse, a leader who commanded from the front, and he’d built the duchy into a force to be reckoned with.
And then a Floor Boss in some gods-damned dungeon had killed him, along with his entire expedition. Two years ago, and the loss still felt fresh sometimes.
Elise stopped in front of the portrait, her footsteps going quiet. She looked up at her dead husband with tears in her eyes.
"He would have known what to do about all this," she whispered.
Draven placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He’s not here, but we are. We’ll figure it out."
She nodded, composing herself, and they continued following Greaves up the stairs and down a long corridor lined with portraits of ancestors who seemed to judge them with painted eyes.
Greaves stopped at a large oak door carved with dragon motifs and knocked softly. "Enter," came a weak voice from inside.
The steward opened the door and gestured for them to go in.
Duke Aldric’s chambers were massive, dominated by a four-poster bed that made the man lying in it look tiny and frail by comparison. Draven remembered his uncle from his father’s funeral—a strong man grieving his brother but still healthy and capable. The figure in the bed bore little resemblance to that memory.
Aldric looked like a skeleton wrapped in skin. Maybe fifty years old but appearing seventy, he was gaunt and pale with sunken eyes and thinning grey hair. His hands shook where they rested on the sheets.
Elise gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Aldric..." Her voice broke.
The Duke turned his head slowly toward them and managed a weak smile. "Elise. My dear sister-in-law. You came. Thank you."
She hurried to the bedside and took his trembling hand gently. "Of course I came. You’re family. My husband’s brother."
"And Draven," Aldric’s sharp eyes shifted to him despite his dying body. "My brother’s son. My nephew. I’ve heard great things. Tournament champion. S-Rank at your age. Just like your father before you."
Draven stepped closer to the bed. "Uncle, what are the physicians saying? What’s happening?"
Aldric coughed weakly, and when his hand came away from his mouth, there were flecks of blood on it. "They don’t know. Some wasting illness attacking my organs slowly. No cure they can find." He met Draven’s eyes directly. "Weeks, maybe a month at most. I’m dying, nephew. We all know it."
The room fell silent except for Aldric’s labored breathing.
"Marcus," Elise said quietly. "Does he know how bad it is?"
Aldric’s expression hardened slightly. "He knows. He’s been hovering like a vulture waiting for his inheritance."
"Aldric—"
"It’s true," he cut her off, his voice weak but firm. "My son has disappointed me deeply. Spoiled, entitled, with no honor and no real strength." His eyes focused on Draven again. "Not like you. Not like your father, my brother."
[System]: *Uncle is comparing you to your father—the previous Duke. This is an opportunity. Listen carefully.*
"Marcus will be Duke after me by right of succession as the current Duke’s son," Aldric continued, pausing to catch his breath. "But between us, I wish my brother were still alive. I wish you were older, ready to inherit as the rightful heir."
Draven went very still. Rightful heir. The previous Duke’s son.
"The law says Marcus inherits from me," Aldric said carefully. "But my brother was Duke before me. His son has the stronger claim by blood, right, and legacy."
"Uncle, are you saying—"
"I’m saying nothing officially." Another coughing fit wracked his body, worse this time, blood speckling his hand more heavily. Elise grabbed a cloth from the bedside table to help him.
"Thank you, Elise. Always so kind." He looked back at Draven once he could speak again. "But unofficially, between family, I’ll tell you the truth. Marcus hates you. He sees you as a threat, a rival. The previous Duke’s son versus the current Duke’s son. He knows your claim is stronger than his."
"I know he hates me," Draven said.
"Once I’m dead, he’ll try to kill you. He’ll eliminate the competition before anyone can challenge his inheritance."
It was blunt, but it was the truth Draven had already suspected.
"So what should I do?" Draven asked, matching his uncle’s directness.
Aldric studied him for a long moment. "Survive first. Then prove you’re worthy—strong, capable, like your father, like a true Duke should be." He paused meaningfully. "If a situation arises where Marcus proves himself unfit, dangerous, or unworthy to lead the duchy..."
He left it hanging, but the message was crystal clear. If Marcus showed he wasn’t fit to rule, Draven could challenge the succession and claim the duchy as the previous Duke’s rightful son.
"I understand, uncle."
"Good." Aldric relaxed slightly against his pillows. "Your father would be proud of you. Of what you’ve become. S-Rank, Lord High Investigator, everything he dreamed you’d be."
Draven’s throat felt tight. "Thank you."
"Now go. I’m tired and need to rest."
"We’ll visit again soon," Elise said, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently. "Rest, brother."
"Bring family next time," he said with a weak smile. "I want to see grandchildren before I go. My brother would have wanted the line to continue."
Elise’s eyes filled with tears again, and she nodded, unable to speak.
They left the room quietly, the door closing behind them with a soft creak.
---
The hallway was empty for only a moment before angry footsteps approached rapidly from around the corner.
Marcus Arclight appeared, and the expression on his face was pure venom.
Draven’s cousin was twenty-three, five years older than Draven, but he looked like a cheaper version of everything Draven was. Same dark hair but weaker features, a softer jaw, eyes set too close together, and a body gone soft from lack of real training. His expensive clothes were clearly chosen to make him look important, but they had the opposite effect.
He stopped when he saw them, his face twisting with anger and disgust.
"Well, well. The pretender and the dead Duke’s widow," he sneered. "Come to gawk at the dying Duke, have you?"
"Marcus," Elise’s voice held a warning. "Your father wants to see family before—"
"Before he dies. Yes, I know." He crossed his arms. "Unlike you two, I’ve been here every day watching him waste away.
Silence crashed down like a physical weight.
So Marcus knew. Or at least suspected strongly enough to throw it in their faces.
Draven’s eyes went cold. "Careful, Marcus."
"Why should I be careful?" Marcus stepped closer aggressively. "You think you’re special because you’re the previous Duke’s son? Think you have a claim to the duchy, don’t you?"
"I didn’t say that."
"You didn’t have to. I see it. Everyone sees it. You with your Lord High Investigator title, your S-Rank power, your tournament victories. Building a power base, making connections." He spat the words like poison. "But it doesn’t matter. When my father dies, I become Duke by law. Not you."
"Marcus—" Elise tried to intervene.
"Shut your whore mouth!" he snapped at her.
That did it.
Draven moved faster than Marcus could track, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the stone wall hard enough to make him gasp. Marcus’s eyes went wide with shock and sudden fear as Draven’s grip cut off his air.
"Listen very carefully," Draven said, his voice low and deadly, his face inches from Marcus’s. "If you ever speak to my mother like that again, I will rip your tongue out and feed it to you. Do you understand?"
He squeezed harder, and Marcus nodded frantically, his face turning red and then purple as he struggled to breathe.
"You want to know the truth, cousin?" Draven leaned even closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I am the previous Duke’s son. My father built this duchy and made it strong. You’re just the placeholder’s mistake."
He squeezed a bit more, watching Marcus’s eyes bulge.
"When the time comes, I’ll take what’s rightfully mine. And you won’t be able to stop me."
He released Marcus, who dropped to the floor coughing and gasping, clutching at his bruised throat.
"Draven," Elise said quietly, her hand on his arm. "Let’s go."
He was right. This wasn’t the place or time.
They turned and walked away, leaving Marcus wheezing on the floor behind them.
"I’ll remember this," Marcus’s hoarse, angry voice followed them down the hallway. "When I’m Duke, you’ll both pay for this. I’ll destroy everything you are."
Draven didn’t look back.
[System]: *Threat confirmed. Marcus will try to kill you once he has power.—. Eliminate him first, or he eliminates you. No middle ground.*
The message was clear. Marcus was a dead man walking. He just didn’t know it yet.
---
The carriage ride back to their estate was silent at first. Elise stared out the window, processing everything that had happened. Finally, she spoke.
"He’ll use it against you when he becomes Duke."
"I know."
More silence stretched between them.
"You can’t kill him, Draven."
"Why not?"
"Because he’s family. Because it’s murder. Because—"
"Because he’ll kill me first if I don’t," Draven finished for her. "You heard him, mother. You saw his face. Marcus hates me not just because of rivalry, but because I’m the previous Duke’s son. My father was the real Duke. His father just inherited by default when mine died."
"But the law says—"
"The law can be challenged. The previous Duke’s son has a claim, especially when the current Duke’s son proves himself unworthy. Uncle said it himself."
Elise was quiet, processing this.
"What are you planning?"
"I’m not sure yet. But Uncle gave me an opening. He said Marcus is unworthy, that I’m like my father, true Duke material."
"So you want to become Duke instead of him."
"Why not? I’m the previous Duke’s son—the rightful heir by blood. I’m stronger, more capable, a better leader. The duchy would prosper under me, not Marcus."
"And what about us?" Her voice was softer now. "If you become Duke, can we be together openly?"
Draven took her hand and held it gently.
She nodded slowly.
" We’re keeping the previous Duke’s line strong. Once I’m Duke and you’re the Dowager Duchess living in the same estate with your son, no one would question it."
"That’s twisted logic."
"Maybe. But it works."
Tears filled her eyes again, but this time they were happy tears. "You’ve already thought this all through, haven’t you?"
"I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, ever since Aldric started getting worse."
She laughed softly and leaned against him. "Your father would be proud. Terrified, but proud."
They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
---
That night, back in his study at the Arclight estate, Draven pulled out parchment and ink and began writing out his plans.
**Step 1:** Gather intelligence on Marcus—his activities, allies, weaknesses, and especially anything illegal or compromising.
**Step 2:** Build support among the noble houses and with the King. Show them that the previous Duke’s son is the better choice for the duchy’s future.
**Step 3:** Wait for Marcus to screw up and prove himself unworthy, dangerous, or incompetent.
**Step 4:** Challenge the succession legally, using his claim as the previous Duke’s rightful heir backed by noble support.
**Step 5:** Eliminate Marcus if necessary, but make it justified and legal.
It was cold, calculating, and ruthless. But it was also necessary. Marcus would kill him given the chance, so Draven would strike first.
[QUEST UNLOCKED: "Succession Crisis"]
[Objective: Survive Marcus’s inheritance]
[Secondary Objective: Reclaim the duchy as the previous Duke’s son]
[Rewards:territory control, political power]
[Time Limit: Approximately 30 days (when Marcus inherits)]
[Legal Advantage: You are the rightful heir as the previous Duke’s son]
[System]: *This is it. Reclaim your birthright. Previous Duke’s son versus current Duke’s son. Blood, legacy, power. Show them what a real Duke looks like. Marcus dies, you rule. Simple as that. Let’s go.*
Thirty days. Once Aldric died, Marcus would have full power, the duchy’s resources, and the authority to move against Draven openly. Thirty days to prepare, build support, and set the stage.
Then it would be war—not with swords on a battlefield, but with politics, law, and power.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he called, setting down his pen.
Lyra entered silently and closed the door behind her. "You summoned me?"
"I need information on Marcus Arclight. Everything you can find—his activities, meetings, allies, weaknesses, secrets. Especially anything illegal or compromising."
Lyra smiled that dangerous smile of hers. "Shadow work is my specialty. When do you need it?"
"A week at most."
"Consider it done." She turned to leave.
"Lyra."
She stopped and looked back.
"This is dangerous. Marcus will become Duke soon, and he’ll have considerable power and resources."
"I know," she said, completely unbothered. "That’s exactly why you need me. I’m the best at this."
It was confidence earned through years of killing and spying.
"Thank you."
She nodded and left, the door closing softly behind her.
Alone again, Draven looked down at his notes and plans spread across the desk. Thirty days. The clock was ticking.
But this time was different. This time he wasn’t just a nephew fighting a cousin for power. He was the previous Duke’s son reclaiming his rightful inheritance. And the law, history, and blood were all on his side.
Marcus thought he’d won just because his father was dying and the inheritance was coming. But he didn’t realize that the real Duke’s blood ran stronger, and Draven was his father’s son.
Soon, everyone would know it.