The Hidden Monster of House Vale

“Where is the bastard you replaced me with?” Keldan demanded, his eyes wild, sweeping across the dining hall until they locked onto Lucien. His chest heaved. His fists trembled. He looked like a man possessed.

Lucien did not move. He simply watched Keldan with cold, indifferent eyes—the way one might observe a dog that had forgotten its place.

“What are you doing? Stop this, Keldan!” A girl stepped forward from behind him. She had dull yellowish hair pulled back from her face, wearing a white outfit with a skirt that reached her thighs, white boots, and golden outlines traced along her clothing. She looked like a priestess—clean, composed, and deeply embarrassed. Her name was Hellyn Ashwick.

Keldan ignored her.

“Who is Lucien Vale here?” He turned in a slow circle, his voice rising. “I said who the fuck is Lucien Vale? Come out. Let me see how much better you are compared to me.”

Hellyn’s face burned with shame. Keldan was her fiancé. She had always believed him to be a good man—kind to juniors, helpful to those in need. But sometimes, like now, he transformed into something else entirely. Something pathetic. She did not know about his obsession with Delian Alde. She thought his hard work was for her—for their future.

Eliss stepped forward, her voice sharp despite her nervousness. “What are you doing here?”

Usually, Eliss was timid around Lucien. But now, standing in her own family’s dining hall, facing a mere retainer, she found her confidence. The Alde family was a Count house. Keldan was a servant. The hierarchy was clear.

But Keldan was blind with rage. He did not see Eliss. He saw only an obstacle.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Keldan spat. “I am Lady Delian’s personal retainer. You have no right over me. You are still stuck in Mid-Tempering Realm for few years. How dare you?”

Eliss’s eyes glistened.

Hellyn watched her fiancé with growing horror. She had never seen him like this. He seemed like a different person entirely—ugly, cruel, unrecognizable.

Delian loved her daughter. Any disrespect toward Eliss would not be tolerated.

Lucien had been listening silently, observing the pathetic display of jealousy and insecurity. But when he saw Eliss’s eyes fill with tears, he moved.

He stepped in front of her, blocking Keldan’s view.

“Why did you disrespect her?” Lucien asked. His voice was calm. His smile was pleasant. His eyes were empty.

Keldan sneered. “What is so special about you, bastard? How dare you—”

Slap.

The sound cracked through the dining hall like thunder.

Keldan flew sideways, his body spinning through the air before crashing into a marble pillar. The stone cracked. He slumped to the ground, blood dripping from his split lip.

No one had seen Lucien move. His speed had been so great that it appeared as teleportation.

Lucien walked toward him slowly, each step deliberate.

“I said,” Lucien repeated, stopping in front of Keldan’s crumpled form, “why did you disrespect her?”

Keldan pushed himself up, rage overriding sense. He lunged, throwing a punch enhanced with his Peak Tempering Realm strength.

Lucien caught his fist.

And twisted.

Bones cracked. Keldan screamed.

“Why did you disrespect her?” Lucien asked again, his voice soft, his eyes cold.

He reached over to the dining table, picked up a silver fork, and in a motion too fast to follow, drove it into Keldan’s right eye.

He pushed deeper.

And twisted.

Keldan’s scream echoed off the marble walls. Blood ran down his cheek, dripped onto his fine clothes, pooled on the polished floor.

Hellyn covered her mouth. Eliss turned away. The other guests watched in stunned silence.

Keldan’s rage evaporated, replaced by something far more primal: fear. He bent over, clutching at Lucien’s sleeve, begging wordlessly for mercy.

Lucien looked down at him without emotion. He drew the World Root Spear from the shadowy space within his heart, the living wood humming with power. He grabbed Keldan by the neck and raised the spear to behead him.

“Stop, Lucien.”

Delian’s voice. Quiet. Absolute.

Lucien paused. The spear tip hovered a hair’s breadth from Keldan’s throat.

Delian rose from her seat and walked toward them. Her expression was not angry—it was worse. She looked at Keldan the way one might look at a stain on a favorite dress.

“You have disappointed me greatly, Keldan,” she said. “If you had disrespected me, I might have forgiven you. But you made my daughter cry.” Her smile was devilish. “That is unforgivable.”

Keldan tried to speak, tried to beg.

“And I can see how weak you are.” Delian’s voice dripped with contempt. “I hate weakness. This is your punishment.”

She placed her hand on his head.

He screamed.

Not from pain—from loss.

His cultivation. His Realm. Every drop of astral energy he had accumulated over years of training—gone. Delian took it all. His Peak Tempering Realm collapsed into nothing. He became a mortal. An ordinary human.

His half-disfigured face would heal. Medical Realm Masters could fix his eye. But his cultivation would never return. He would never open his Realm again.

The cruelest punishment.

Keldan had mocked Eliss for being weak, for not being in Mid-Tempering Realm. Now he was far weaker than she had ever been. Eliss had knowledge, skills, intelligence and power. Keldan had nothing but a body that now felt hollow and worthless.

He wept. He crawled to Delian’s feet and begged.

She looked at him as if he were garbage.

“Throw him out,” she ordered.

Guards seized Keldan and dragged him away, his cries fading into the night.

“I am sorry, Hellyn,” she said, “but your engagement is now broken. By my order.”

Hellyn bowed her head. “I am not worried, Lady Delian. If someone turns against the Alde family, they deserve what they receive. Even if he was my fiancé.”

She straightened and looked at Lucien.

“And thank you, Lucien, for standing up for Eliss. It seems I chose the right person this time.”

Delian stepped close to Lucien, hugging him, her lips brushing his ear. Only he could hear her next words.

“If you want a reward… I can give you anything.”

Lucien smiled but said nothing.

Hellyn approached him, extending her hand. “So you are Lucien Vale. I am Hellyn Ashwick. I belong to a branch family.”

“It seems we met under unusual circumstances,” Lucien said, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry about your ex-fiancé.”

Hellyn shrugged. “It would have happened sooner or later. People with higher cultivation are supposed to control their emotions. When emotions control them…” She glanced toward the door where Keldan had been dragged out. “You see the result.”

She paused.

“Besides, I saw the way he looked at Lady Delian.”

Lucien chuckled. “Seems like I did you a favor. Let’s do our best in the Ancient Breach. Two weeks.”

“It seems your family is leaving,” Hellyn said, her tone flirtatious. “Let us meet again under better circumstances.”

Lucien lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers. Maisy had retired to her own room. The castle was quiet.

His mind turned.

Delian is terrifying. Crueler than me. Making an enemy of her would be a death sentence. I need to use this opportunity—grow stronger so I can leverage the Alde family, not fear them.

Before the Ancient Breach, I need a breakthrough. Spirit Forge Realm. And I need more relics, more treasures.

Whispering Hollow isn't fully explored yet. That cave—where those undead went—I still haven't entered it.

His thoughts drifted to the forbidden ritual—the Soul Resonance that had killed the original Lucien and brought him here.

There's a reason it's forbidden. No one truly understands how it works. Trial and error. The original Lucien's method was ninety-five percent accurate—except he didn't sacrifice anyone to strengthen his soul. So the ritual took the only soul available: his own.

But why did I end up in his body? That remains a mystery.

He closed his eyes.

A notification appeared in his vision.

[System Notification]

Beast Sovereign Egg has begun hatching in the Shadowy World.

To accelerate the process, expend Soul Points.

Lucien frowned.

I need more Soul Points. The only way to get them is to absorb souls, hunt treasures, clear dungeons, or claim inheritances.

He sat up.

Whispering Hollow. The cave. Tonight.

The forest behind the castle was dark and still. Lucien walked the familiar path to the ancient tree, pressed his hand against its bark, and let it suck him into the dungeon.

He ascended the stairs, and stopped at the cave halfway up. The entrance was black as pitch.

He stepped inside.

The cave was deeper than he remembered—or perhaps he simply hadn't gone far enough last time. The passage twisted and turned, narrowing in some places, widening in others. The air grew colder. The darkness pressed against him like a living thing.

Then he reached a dead end.

Solid rock. No passage. No door.

He turned around.

Twenty undead stood behind him.

Their bodies were wrapped in vines and moss, their eyes hollow, their movements slow and deliberate. They had followed him. They had been following him since he entered.

Lucien tensed—then stopped.

They're not attacking.

He looked closer. The undead stood passively, waiting, watching.

The World Tree Heart, he realized. It recognizes me. These creatures are guardians of this dungeon—like the beast I killed. They're not my enemies anymore.

Interesting.

He looked past them at the dead end.

They came in here last time but didn't come out. There must be something here.

He turned back to the undead and spoke.

“Open the door.”

One of them—the largest, its vine-wrapped arm thicker than Lucien's torso—stepped forward. It reached out and pressed a square stone in the wall.

The dead end vanished, sinking into the ground.

A passage opened.

Lucien walked through.

He stepped out of darkness and into daylight.

Above him, a glass dome curved like an inverted bowl, revealing a sky that should have been midnight but instead blazed with golden afternoon sun. Long grass swayed in a warm breeze. Flowers of every color dotted the landscape—red, blue, purple, gold. The air smelled of earth and honey.

“This inheritance dungeon keeps getting weirder,” Lucien muttered.

In the center of this impossible greenhouse stood a giant tree—ancient, massive, its trunk wider than a house. Carved into its base was a recess, an empty space shaped like an emblem.

Lucien approached, running his fingers over the carved edges.

System. Is there an emblem like this in the Shop?

A moment passed.

[Whispering Hollow Emblem – 70 Soul Points]

Buy it.

His Soul Points dropped to two.

Worth it.

The emblem appeared in his hand—cold, metallic, engraved with symbols that matched the carving. He fitted it into the recess.

The tree shuddered.

Leaves burst from its branches, green and vibrant. Flowers bloomed along its trunk. The glass dome above gleamed brighter. The entire greenhouse seemed to sigh with relief.

A white light bloomed from the base of the tree—a doorway, shimmering and warm.

Lucien smiled and stepped forward.

He reached the entrance.

And then—

BAAM!

A fist struck him in the chest.

He flew backward, crashing through the grass, skidding to a halt twenty meters away. His ribs ached. His lungs burned. Even with his Peak Vein Opening body, the impact had hurt.

He looked up.

A figure emerged from the white light.

Not a beast.

A man.

The man looked down at him.

“Who,” he said, his voice echoing as if from a great distance, “dares to wake The Royal Void King?”

Author Note:

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