The Hidden Monster of House Vale

“Master Lucien, someone is here to see you,” Maisy said, her voice carrying a note of unusual formality.

Lucien rose from his bed, pushing aside the exhaustion that clung to his bones. He had barely slept after returning from Whispering Hollow, but he would not let fatigue show on his face. In noble society, appearance was weapon and armor both.

He dressed carefully—a long crimson coat over a black tunic, his golden hair brushed back but still loose enough to frame his sharp features. He washed his face with cold water, willing the tiredness from his eyes. When he looked at his reflection, he saw someone composed. Someone in control.

That was enough.

He descended the stairs and entered the eastern drawing room.

His father, Lord Segast Vale, sat in a high-backed chair near the window. Across from him, on a velvet sofa, sat a middle-aged man with sharp gray eyes and an easy smile—Novius Alde, Principal of Astral Academy. Beside him, looking slightly nervous, was a girl around Lucien's age.

Lucien's gaze swept over them in a single, measured glance.

“Good morning, Father. Principal Novius Alde.” His eyes moved to the girl, and he offered a small, polite smile. “And beautiful young lady.”

He remained standing until his father gestured for him to sit. Only then did he take a chair near the window, positioning himself where the morning light fell across his face.

Novius Alde, Lucien thought, settling into his seat. Principal of Astral Academy. Whenever a young noble opens their Realm, he visits personally to build relationships. The reason is simple—the more powerful people you're connected to, the brighter your family's future.

Novius was a mortal. No Realm. No cultivation. In a world where strength determined worth, he should have been nothing.

But influence was its own kind of power. His wife was a formidable Realm Fighter, and his coffers were deep. People respected him not for his own strength, but for what he could buy and who he could call upon.

And he never looks down on fallen noble families, Lucien thought. Because he understands uncertainty. A single Realm Master can change the course of a war. Why risk insulting someone who might one day become untouchable?

Novius Alde was a genius in his own way. Thriving in a world that valued power above all else—without any power of his own. That was no small accomplishment.

“Segast told me you've unlocked your Realm,” Novius said, his voice warm. “Congratulations, son.”

“It is an honor. Thank you,” Lucien replied.

Novius gestured to the girl beside him. “This is my daughter, Eliss. Like you, she is also in the Mid-Tempering Realm.”

The girl lifted her gaze. Her hair was white, soft, with gentle curls at the ends. She wore a dark red floor-length gown that complemented her pale complexion. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds—gray and unsettled.

“H-Hello,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Eliss,” Lucien said.

She blushed.

Lucien noticed immediately. The way her cheeks flushed, the way her fingers twisted in her lap. He was handsome—he had always known that—and now that he had strength to match his beauty, he would attract attention.

But something else nagged at him. A feeling. A whisper at the back of his mind.

She's too nervous. Too eager to please.

He couldn't pinpoint it, but something about Eliss Alde made him uneasy. As if she could see something others couldn't.

“Lucien,” Novius continued, “I would like you to become Eliss's friend. Look after her at the academy.”

“It would be an honor,” Lucien said smoothly.

The reason Novius wants this, Lucien thought, is because he's a mortal. His daughter has Realm power, but she inherited it from her mother—and in a world of Realm Masters, people will look down on her because her father has no strength at all.

They don't mock Novius. He built his legacy with gold and influence. But Eliss? She's just a girl in the Mid-Tempering Realm with no achievements to her name.

He wants me to protect her because we're the same. Both of us opened our Realms late. Both of us have something to prove.

And it's beneficial for me. The Alde family is a Count family. The Vale family is a fallen Viscount family. Having their favor could be invaluable in the long term.

“Lucien,” Eliss said, her voice steadier now, “are you going to join the Entrance Trial?”

The Entrance Trial, Lucien thought. A fight between all Realm Fighters seeking admission. A bloodbath disguised as a competition.

“Of course,” he said, smiling. “I can't wait to meet new people. Make new friends.”

Friends. I don't give a shit about friends. But interesting people? Dangerous people? Those, I'm excited to meet.

“What about you?” he asked. “Will you participate?”

Eliss shook her head. “I don't have much fighting experience yet. I'll take the Academic Test instead.”

Lucien nodded slowly.

Anyone can choose. The Entrance Trial for fighters. The Academic Trial for scholars. Given the Alde family's resources, Eliss could manage their estate or even the academy itself. But for strength? They'll probably marry her off to some powerful Realm Master.

Not so different from my old world. Money buys strength. Bloodlines buy power.

They talked for a while longer. Eliss slowly opened up, her nervousness fading as she realized they shared similar struggles—the weight of late blooming, the sting of mockery, the desperate need to prove themselves.

But Lucien couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

She's too friendly. Too eager to get close, too fast.

She's hiding something.

“Lucien,” Novius said, rising from his seat, “we must go now. But I am very curious about your performance in the Entrance Trial. My wife and I will be watching.”

“You are in for a surprise, Novius,” Lord Vale said, a rare smile crossing his weathered face. “I have seen my son train. You will not be disappointed.”

Segast Vale and Novius Alde were childhood friends. They had never stood on formality.

The room was dark, paneled in aged oak, lit only by a single candelabra on the desk. Lord Vale sat in his high-backed chair, fingers steepled. Lucien stood before him, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back.

“Lucien,” his father said quietly, “are you truly ready for this?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You will meet some of your old… friends.” Lord Vale's voice carried a bitter edge. “Will you be able to hurt them? I know, son, that being a Realm Master is difficult. But it's time you started making hard decisions.”

“Don't worry, Father.” Lucien's voice was calm. “And tell Mother not to worry as well. I will win.”

A pause.

“I have a request. I need to buy some weapons. I don't have any of my own.”

Lord Vale nodded slowly. He reached into his desk and withdrew a small leather pouch.

“Two hundred gold. That's all I can give you. Our situation is… not good. Even your brother Riven has been unable to fix it.”

“Don't worry, Father. I only need basic weapons. It won't cost much.” Lucien took the pouch. “And I'll pay you back.”

Lord Vale waved a hand. “Just survive the trial. That's payment enough.”

Lucien bowed and left.

The market was alive with noise and color. Merchants shouted their wares. Children darted between legs. The smell of roasting meat mingled with the sharp tang of cheap perfume.

Lucien walked through it all like a ghost, unnoticed until someone looked directly at him—and then they couldn't look away.

He was too beautiful. Too striking. People parted around him like water around a stone.

Ahead, a crowd had gathered outside a weapons shop. Voices raised in argument.

“Please!” A woman's voice, desperate and cracking. “My daughter needs this sword for her Entrance Trial! If she doesn't have it, her life will be ruined!”

“Nothing is free in this world,” a man's voice replied, bored and dismissive. “If you want something, you pay for it.”

“If you don't have money, why even come here?” someone else sneered. “Such poor people disgust me.”

“Yeah!” the shopkeeper agreed. “Either pay or leave my shop!”

“Don't talk to my mother like that!”

The new voice was young, female, and furious.

Lucien pushed through the crowd.

A woman in her forties, dressed in patched gray wool, knelt on the cobblestones. Tears streamed down her face. Beside her stood a girl—maybe seventeen, maybe eighteen—with long blue hair that fell past her breasts. She wore plain, short-sleeved clothes, threadbare and clean. Her body was lean, athletic, built from labor rather than training.

Her eyes burned.

Lucien looked closer. Not with his physical eyes, but with something deeper. Something the system had awakened in him.

Not a Realm Master, he thought. But her strength and agility are exceptional for a mortal. If she trains hard… if she opens her Realm… she could become very strong.

The Entrance Trial only happened once every five years. No one wanted to wait half a decade for another chance. That was why this girl was desperate. That was why her mother had risked everything.

Lucien stepped forward.

“What's going on here?” he asked, his voice calm, pleasant, carrying a smile.

The crowd turned.

And stared.

His beauty was not ordinary. It was the kind of beauty that made people forget to breathe—sharp and cold and golden, like a blade wrapped in silk. His crimson coat marked him as nobility. His posture, his presence, his casual confidence—all of it screamed highborn.

Not many had seen Lucien Vale in person. But everyone had heard of him. The talentless son. The beautiful failure. The boy who had been rejected by Seraphina Thornveil in front of half the nobility.

But standing here, now, he did not look like a failure.

He looked like a predator.

“M-Master Lucien,” a man stammered, bowing his head. “These women… they want to buy a sword but cannot pay.”

Every head lowered. No one dared meet his eyes. But women—young and old alike—kept stealing glances, unable to help themselves.

Lucien ignored them. He looked at the kneeling woman.

“How much are you short?”

She looked up at him with green-rimmed eyes. “Only ten gold coins… We collected ninety. We used our house as collateral. Our savings. Everything we have.” Her voice cracked. “If she cannot enter the academy, our lives will be destroyed.”

Lucien had seen this before. Lives destroyed for the sake of dreams. It was tragic. It was common.

Most of the time, he would have walked away.

But this girl…

She had something. Potential, maybe. Or just fire. He was curious what would happen if someone like her got an opportunity. Would she rise? Or would she burn out like so many others?

“Please don't cry,” Lucien said softly, crouching down to her level. “You remind me of my own mother.”

The woman sobbed.

“I am also taking admission to the academy this year,” Lucien continued. “I understand.”

He reached into his pouch.

“I will pay for the sword.”

“We don't need your charity!”

The blue-haired girl stepped forward, her eyes blazing with anger and pride.

A ripple of shock went through the crowd.

“How dare you speak to Lord Lucien that way, you bitch!” a man shouted.

“He's helping you!” a woman added. “Know your place!”

“Silence,” Lucien said.

The crowd obeyed instantly.

He turned to the girl. Her jaw was set. Her fists were clenched. She looked at him the way a wolf looks at a hunter—not with fear, but with defiance.

“I don't know what happened to make you hate accepting help,” Lucien said quietly. “But if you have a problem, consider this a loan.”

The girl's eyes narrowed.

“I will give you one year to pay back one hundred gold coins,” Lucien continued. “But do not make the mistake of using your house as collateral again. Shady merchants will destroy you. Realm Masters cheat mortals because they can. Don't give them the chance.”

The girl stared at him.

She understood. She knew how badly collateral could go wrong. She knew that mortals who couldn't read or write were easy prey.

Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.

“Okay. I accept.” Her voice was hard, but something in her eyes had softened. “My name is Evelyn. I will pay you back.”

Lucien studied her. Long blue hair. Athletic figure. A face that would be beautiful if it ever learned to smile.

She's grateful, he thought. But she'll never admit it. She hates nobility. Wants to become strong so she never has to bow to anyone.

I respect that.

“I'm Lucien Vale,” he said, smiling. “I look forward to your payment.”

He handed the hundred gold coins to the shopkeeper and took the sword—a simple steel blade, well-made but unremarkable. He passed it to Evelyn.

Her mother burst into tears of relief. “Thank you, Lord Lucien! Thank you for saving my daughter's life!”

Evelyn took the sword. She did not bow. She did not thank him again. But she met his eyes for a long moment—and then she turned and walked away, her mother hurrying after her.

There was a glare in her eyes. But also something else.

Respect, Lucien thought. Reluctant. Grudging. But there.

He smiled and entered the weapons shop.

“Show me your spears,” he said.

The shopkeeper scrambled to obey, presenting a rack of polished weapons—steel heads, ash shafts, leather grips.

Lucien examined them briefly, then pointed to the cheapest one.

“This.”

The shopkeeper blinked. “Are you certain, Master Lucien? That is only fifty gold. For a noble such as yourself—”

“This one,” Lucien repeated.

The shopkeeper bowed quickly and wrapped the spear in oiled cloth. Lucien paid and left.

Now I have proof that I own a spear, he thought. No one will question me when I use the World Root Spear. I'll just say I had it customized.

People customize their weapons all the time. No one will look twice.

Lucien shut himself in his chambers.

To the world, he was training. Meditating. Honing his Realm.

In truth, he explored the system. He studied the Lost Atlas. He learned the limits of his new abilities and pushed against them.

And in his free time, he seduced Maisy.

He was a man. She was beautiful. And she enjoyed his company—more than she would ever admit aloud.

They spent long nights together. Talking. Laughing. Her head on his chest, his fingers in her hair.

She was loyal. She was useful. And she was his.

The day arrived with cold rain and gray skies.

“Oh, it seems the Vale family has sent a weakling this year.”

Author Note:

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