The Hidden Monster of House Vale

“Care to join us? Please.”

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended mid-fall.

In that moment, standing amidst the groaning bodies of fifty soldiers, Lucien Vale was unrecognizable. The soft, apologetic boy who had once avoided confrontation was gone. In his place stood someone who moved like a Realm Master.

Realm Masters were those who could truly wield the power of their cultivation stage. There were ten known realms in this world, but most people would only unlock three in their entire lifetime.

The first was the Body Tempering Realm—strengthening flesh, bones, and organs. Lucien had just broken through to its mid-stage, or so everyone believed.

The second was the Vein Opening Realm—allowing its users to perform techniques that defied the laws of nature. Magic, in the truest sense.

The third was the Spirit Forge Realm—granting command over the power of the soul itself.

Those who climbed beyond these three were separated from mortals entirely. They became legends.

Lucien had just defeated fifty soldiers single-handedly, but they were ordinary mortals without a single stage of cultivation. His victory, while brutal, proved nothing about his ability against a true Realm Master.

Liam Carter was a true Realm Master. Late Tempering Realm. Twelve years of experience as a commander. And he was jealous—deeply, bitterly jealous—of the golden-haired noble standing before him.

“If that is what you want, young lord,” Liam said, wiping a trace of sweat from his brow, “I don’t mind fighting you.”

He didn't wait for a response.

Liam lunged forward with speed that blurred to mortal eyes. His fist cut through the air like a cannonball. Lucien raised his guard and met him blow for blow.

They exchanged punches at inhuman speed—fists colliding, bodies twisting, feet sliding across the blood-slicked stone. For the first few exchanges, they seemed evenly matched. Liam landed several hits. Each one fed his confidence.

I can beat him, Liam thought, his lips curling into a smile beneath his blonde beard. He's just a noble brat who got lucky.

He concentrated all his astral energy into his right fist. The air around his knuckles shimmered with visible power. He wanted to hurt Lucien badly. He wanted to show Aria—who was watching with wide eyes—how strong he truly was.

He threw the punch.

Lucien could have taken it.

His body, fortified by twenty Astral Marrow Pills and the Primordial Soul Seed, was far beyond what anyone suspected. The punch would have landed. He would not have flinched.

But that would arouse suspicion.

So instead, he dodged.

Liam's fist sailed past his ear. In the same breath, Lucien concentrated his own astral energy into his knee and drove it upward into Liam's face.

The impact was catastrophic.

Cartilage cracked. Teeth shattered. Blood erupted from Liam's nose and mouth in a fine red spray. His brain, rattled inside his skull, couldn't process what had happened. One moment he was winning. The next, he was falling.

Lucien didn't stop.

He kicked Liam twice more—once in the ribs, once in the thigh—before the commander collapsed to the ground. Liam lay on his back, staring up at the torch-lit ceiling, blood bubbling from his broken mouth.

Lucien walked over slowly. He grabbed Liam by the hair and lifted his head, turning it toward Aria.

She was covering her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were wide—not with sympathy, but with shock. She had never seen Liam like this. The strong, arrogant commander who had always smiled at her, who had always spoken ill of Lucien in her presence, was now a weeping, broken mess on the floor.

Lord Vale watched with an expression of utter indifference, as if Liam were nothing more than a bug.

Maisy stood behind her master, her heart pounding. She was scared—but beneath the fear, something else bloomed. Pride.

The next second, Lucien slammed Liam's face into the stone floor. Once. Twice. Three times. The ground grew slick with blood. Teeth scattered like fallen seeds.

Liam was no longer fighting. He was groaning, sobbing, crying like a pathetic child. Twelve years of peacetime had made him a commander in name only. He had never faced real battle. Never faced real pain.

Lucien released his hair and let his head drop to the ground with a wet thud.

“Your soldiers put up a good fight,” Lucien said, his voice calm and clear. “Like men. I can't believe you're more pathetic than those who can't even use Realm Strength.”

He crouched down beside Liam's shattered face.

“Maybe you're the one who's weaker than a foot soldier.” His voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for the broken man beneath him. “And unlike you, I don't say things behind people's backs.”

He grabbed Liam's jaw—what remained of it—and pulled his face close.

“I say it to your face.”

Lucien stood. His dark red jacket was splattered with blood, but not a single drop belonged to him. He walked toward his father, measured, calm, unhurried.

“Father,” he said, “thank you for giving me the opportunity to test my strength. But I don't believe our Clafton City is safe in his hands.”

Lord Vale studied his second son for a long moment. Then he nodded.

“That was a very good fight, Lucien. I'm proud of you. Now I understand why it took you so long to break through from Early to Mid.”

It was a subtle dismissal of the truth—but Lord Vale didn't know the truth. No one did.

“You're right,” Lord Vale continued, glancing at Liam's crumpled form with disgust. “Someone this weak and pathetic does not belong here. Guards—throw him out.”

Two soldiers scrambled to obey.

Lord Vale turned back to Lucien, his expression shifting from disgust to calculation.

“Lucien, I want you to join Astral Academy and spread your influence. The Vale family needs this. Your brother, Riven, is already outside Clafton City, expanding his reach. Since you are still in the Mid-Tempering Realm”—he paused, as if measuring his words—“I want you to focus on the academy. Aria is also doing her best there.”

Lucien nodded, saying nothing.

“One more thing.” Lord Vale's voice grew heavier. “I will be choosing a House Heir for the Vale family. The branch families will arrive in a few years. Whoever is strongest and most worthy will become heir. I want that person to come from this main family. I don't care who it is—as long as it's one of you.”

He held Lucien's gaze.

“And from now on, hide your true strength. Don't reveal more than necessary.”

“Yes, Father.”

Lucien turned and walked away without so much as glancing at his sister. Maisy followed close behind, her footsteps light and excited.

Lucien collapsed onto his bed with a long sigh. The bath had been warm, thorough, and exactly what he needed. Now, in the privacy of his room, he could finally relax.

Maisy stood beside the bed, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Master,” she said shyly, “you were really amazing.”

He smiled—not the cold, calculating smile from the training ground, but something warmer. “Oh, I'm amazing at many more things. You should see.”

She blushed. “I can't believe you're the same person who was fighting so brutally. And now you're making jokes.”

Lucien patted the space beside him. “Lie down.”

Maisy hesitated. Her fingers twisted in her apron. But when she looked at his face—at the gentle curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes—she nodded and climbed onto the bed beside him.

They lay facing each other, close enough to feel each other's breath.

“Were you scared?” Lucien asked.

“Yes, Master. I was scared those soldiers—or Liam—might hurt you.”

He chuckled softly. “Don't worry. People on that level can never touch me.”

A pause. Then his expression grew more serious.

“Maisy, I want to confess something. In the past, I treated you coldly. Even though we grew up together, even though you've taken care of me since childhood… when your mother died of illness, I never consoled you.” His voice lowered. “I feel ashamed now.”

“Master, please.” She shook her head. “It's in the past. It's been years. And our statuses are different. What you did was… natural.”

“But do not worry.” He reached out and touched her hand. “From now on, I want to make up for all the lost time. All the time I could have spent with you.”

She didn't pull away. Instead, her fingers curled around his.

“I want to become stronger,” he continued. “Strong enough to never embarrass you. Strong enough to protect everyone who stands beside me.”

“You will become stronger, Master Lucien.” Her red eyes glistened. “Whatever you do, I will always support you. You're a little cruel now…” A small smile tugged at her lips. “But you're so gentle toward me. Maybe I like both sides of you.”

“When you were beating Liam so brutally, I was shocked. Very shocked. But I was also excited.” Her cheeks flushed. “Seeing my master win a fight made me proud. If other maids had been there, I would have looked down at them and smiled.”

Lucien laughed—a real laugh, warm and unguarded. “I'm glad you like both sides.”

He reached up and caressed her cheek. Her skin was soft, warm, and she leaned into his touch.

“Maisy, I have a request. I'll be cultivating at night. I need you to make sure no one disturbs me. I have to become stronger—much stronger. I have to become the House Heir of the Vale family.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “Will you support me?”

“Yes, Master Lucien.” Her voice was firm. “If you become stronger, I'll show off to everyone.” She laughed lightly. “And I'll stop anyone from disturbing you at night. I want my Master Lucien to rule over the Vale family.”

She moved closer. Their faces were inches apart.

“My everything is yours, Master Lucien,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. “My time. My words. My life. Everything.”

Then, as if suddenly realizing what she had said—what she had done—she jerked back, her face burning crimson.

“I have to help prepare food!” she stammered, scrambling off the bed. “I'll come back later!”

She fled the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Lucien lay alone in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

So, he thought, I was able to convince Maisy to handle nighttime disturbances. That gives me the whole night to explore dungeons and secret relics using the Lost Atlas.

She certainly is beautiful. I wouldn't mind devouring her. But right now, my first priority is strength.

This world has ten known realms. There could be more. I want to become the strongest here. I can't stop at Peak Tempering.

Riven could come for me at any moment. He's cautious. He'll eliminate me if he sees me as a threat. I need to find nearby artifacts and relics first. Increase my influence. Then leave Clafton City and search for ancient inheritances.

Riven is currently in the Early Spirit Forge Realm. If I want to kill him, I need to do it soon. If he reaches the Peak, it will become nearly impossible.

I like Maisy as a woman. Of course I do. But for now, I have to use her trust.

Lucien slipped out of the castle like a shadow.

The forest behind the Vale estate was dense, ancient, and undisturbed. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in pale silver threads. He walked slowly, eyes closed, relying on the Lost Atlas to guide him.

The artifact pulsed softly against his chest—a golden warmth beneath his shirt. He could feel it now: something hidden, something old, calling to him from deeper in the woods.

He stopped in front of a tree. It looked ordinary in every way—bark, branches, roots. Nothing special.

He touched it.

The world twisted.

The tree seemed to open like a mouth, and Lucien was sucked inside—not into the trunk, but through it, as if the bark were a doorway to somewhere else entirely.

He landed on cold stone.

[Whispering Hollow]

The name appeared in his mind, fed to him by the Lost Atlas. He stood in a vast cavern. Behind him, the entrance had vanished—replaced by a wall of solid rock. Before him stretched an ancient ruin, crumbling and dark.

Stairs.

Endless stairs carved into the mountain, climbing upward into darkness. The air was thick and greenish, lit by no visible source. There was no moon here. No sky. Only the stairs, the stone, and the weight of something watching.

Lucien began to climb.

Wooden railings lined the steps at first, overgrown with vines and roots. But as he ascended, the railings disappeared. One side became a sheer drop into shadow. The other pressed against a mountainous wall, cold and damp.

He passed a cave on his left—a dark opening in the stone. He considered entering but decided to press onward.

Then he heard them.

Footsteps. Not his own. Many footsteps, descending from above.

Lucien's body went still. He glanced around quickly, spotted an alcove in the cave ceiling, and climbed up silently, pressing himself into the shadows just as the first of them came into view.

They were not human.

Undead. Forest undead—bodies wrapped in vines and roots, algae growing in the crevices of their ancient armor. They stood nearly six and a half feet tall, their movements jerky but purposeful. They descended the stairs in a loose group, empty eye sockets scanning the darkness.

Lucien watched them pass below him. They did not enter the cave. They did not look up.

He waited until their footsteps faded, then dropped silently back to the stairs.

Soul Void won't work on them, he realized. No souls. Or if they have them, they're too decayed to claim.

He continued climbing.

It was massive—tall and wide, made of what looked like gold, though age had dulled its shine. Vines crawled across its surface like veins. Ancient symbols were barely visible beneath layers of moss and dust.

He stepped closer and pressed his palm against the metal.

Cold.

Bitterly, unnaturally cold—even though the air around him was warm.

Then something moved.

A hand—dark, long-fingered, wrong—shot out from the shadows beside the door and struck Lucien in the chest.

He didn't have time to dodge.

The impact lifted him off his feet and threw him backward like a ragdoll. He crashed into the stone wall twenty feet away, his spine screaming, his vision swimming.

He looked up.

And his eyes went wide at what he saw.

Author Note:

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