The Hidden Monster of House Vale

Lucien sat in the dimly lit chamber of his private quarters, the amber glow of oil lamps casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. Across from him, Evelyn sat with her hands folded in her lap, her posture rigid with the discipline he had instilled in her over the past months. The silence between them stretched comfortably until Lucien finally broke it.

"Did something major happen while I was gone?" he asked, his voice carrying that familiar calm that always seemed to put those around him at ease.

Evelyn shook her head, her brown hair swaying with the motion. "No, nothing major since. Most of the realm masters were in the Ancient Breach, so there was little activity elsewhere. The kingdom has been... quiet."

"Good." Lucien nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That's good to hear. And I want you to meet someone."

He turned his head toward the doorway, raising his voice just enough to carry. "Come inside."

The door opened, and a woman stepped through.

She was tall for a woman—lean and dangerous, with dark red hair pulled into a tight ponytail that accentuated the sharp angles of her face. She wore a white robe that reached her waist, her legs bare for mobility, and every movement she made spoke of coiled power waiting to be unleashed. But it was her eyes that truly commanded attention—sharp as knives, the eyes of someone who had killed before and would kill again without hesitation.

Evelyn felt the temperature in the room drop, or perhaps it was just her perception. She could sense it immediately—the difference between a realm master who had taken lives and one who had not. Their auras were fundamentally different, like the difference between a still pond and a storm-tossed sea. This woman radiated danger in waves that made Evelyn's instincts scream.

"Evelyn," Lucien said, gesturing toward the newcomer, "meet Celbeth. She's also a retainer of the Vale family."

Evelyn's eyes widened slightly. Another retainer? She had thought she was the only one.

"I know you would never ask for help regarding your cultivation," Lucien continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You're too stubborn for that. So from now on, she's going to teach you everything you should know. And also, she's a late Spirit Forge realm master, so she's your senior."

Evelyn didn't hesitate. She dropped to her knees immediately, cupping her fists in front of her chest and bowing her head low. "Please accept my gratitude, Senior Sister," she said, her voice carrying genuine respect.

Celbeth's lips curled into an amused smile. She stepped forward, her movements fluid and predatory, and reached down to touch Evelyn's cheeks. Her fingers were cool against Evelyn's skin as she guided the younger woman to stand.

"Don't worry about these stupid formalities," Celbeth said, her voice carrying a musical quality that belied her dangerous nature. "I don't care about that. Just don't make me bored of you. I yearn for entertainment."

Evelyn blinked, confusion flickering across her features. "Entertainment?"

Celbeth laughed, a sound that was both warm and unsettling. "Ah, what I meant to say is, let's become stronger together and eliminate everyone who comes in our way." She paused, tilting her head. "Also, don't call me senior. It makes me feel old."

"But you are a late Spirit Forge realm master, so..." Evelyn trailed off, unsure how to navigate this situation.

"Well, in that case, you should call Lucien senior as well," Celbeth said, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Since he's a peak Spirit Forge realm master. Go on, say it. Say 'Senior Brother.'"

Evelyn's jaw dropped. "Wh-wha-what? Master Lucien is in the peak Spirit Forge realm?"

She stared at Lucien, her mind racing. He had entered the Ancient Breach as a peak Body Tempering realm master. To come out as a peak Spirit Forge realm master... just how harsh was the environment in there that it had forced him to grow so powerful so quickly? The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

"So, will you call him Senior Brother?" Celbeth asked, clearly enjoying Evelyn's discomfort.

Evelyn opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Lucien cut in before she could speak.

"You don't need those honorifics with me," he said simply.

Evelyn felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Yes, Master," she said, keeping her face stoic despite the warmth spreading through her chest.

The moment of levity was shattered when Maisy burst through the door, her face flushed with urgency. "Master, Princess Sylvie is here asking about you," she said hurriedly.

Lucien remained calm, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if contemplating something far away. After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke. "Accompany her. I'll be there in a few moments."

In the guest room, Princess Sylvie sat with the poise expected of royalty, though her distress was evident to anyone who cared to look. She wore a dark blue outfit that covered her hands completely to the wrist, with cuts in the dress that started at her waist and flowed down like a skirt. Beneath it, she wore a long white skirt that peeked through the slits. Her hair cascaded down her back in dark waves, and her face, though kind, was etched with worry.

She was known throughout the kingdom for her kindness, though few had actually seen her face. But beneath that gentle exterior lay ambition—quiet, patient ambition that burned like embers waiting for fuel.

Evelyn and Maisy entered the room and bowed deeply. "Greetings, Princess Sylvie. Master Lucien will be here in any minute now," Evelyn said, her voice steady despite the nervousness she felt in the presence of royalty.

Sylvie wasn't alone—a princess could not travel without attendants. Two maids stood behind her, their heads bowed in deference. But one of them, a black-haired maid, was clearly growing impatient. Her frown deepened with each passing second.

"Why is a noble making the royal family wait?" the black-haired maid muttered, her voice carrying just enough for everyone to hear. "Who does he think he is?"

The other maid, with fiery red hair, shot her a warning look. "Don't make any commotion. We are the ones who came here unannounced."

"Still," the black-haired maid pressed, her voice rising slightly, "even if we came unannounced, he should show respect to the royal family. Does he think he can get away with this because she's not the crowned princess yet?"

Princess Sylvie's hand twitched, a subtle movement that betrayed her discomfort. She said nothing, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Shut your mouth," the red-haired maid hissed.

"Please don't fight, you two," Sylvie said softly, her voice carrying a weariness that spoke of long-suffering patience.

Then they heard it—footsteps echoing in the corridor beyond. The sound was measured, unhurried, the footsteps of someone who had no need to rush for anyone.

Lucien entered the room, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. The air grew heavier, charged with an invisible pressure that made the maids instinctively step back. They could feel it—the presence of someone who was no ordinary noble. The rumors, it seemed, might be true.

Lucien walked toward Princess Sylvie, who rose from her seat as he approached. He took her hand in his, bent over, and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. "I'm glad to see you in good health, Princess Sylvie," he said, his voice warm and inviting.

He straightened, still holding her gaze. "Why don't we sit down and talk about what you're here for?"

Lucien settled onto the sofa with the natural grace of royalty, crossing his legs and leaning back as if he owned the room. Sylvie sat across from him, her posture more timid.

"You really have guts to show up late," the black-haired maid spat, unable to contain herself any longer. "Don't you know Princess Sylvie is royalty?"

Silence descended like a guillotine blade.

Lucien didn't even look at her. His gaze remained fixed on Sylvie as if the maid didn't exist—and why would her presence matter to him? Even if someone came in and killed her on the spot, it still wouldn't be enough to warrant his attention. His eyes, warm yet distant, were only for the princess.

"So," he said, his smile never wavering, "how can I help you, Princess Sylvie?"

Sylvie took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I know I came unannounced, and for that, please forgive me. But it's urgent—at least, it's urgent for me."

She began to explain the situation. In this world, the position of crowned prince or princess was decided through combat. Not just royalty, but even nobles and clan heirs had to prove themselves through martial prowess. Sylvie was a princess, but her mother was a concubine to the king, so her status had always been beneath that of the prince. Yet opportunities were given to all—even the children of concubines—and Sylvie had received her share.

"There is a competition between all the daughters and sons to see who is more worthy to become the Emperor of Valtheria," she explained. "Not everyone is a fighter-type realm master, so we get the choice of selecting fighters. Most of the time, it's the most trusted people we can find."

She paused, her voice wavering slightly. "I chose someone like that. She was my best friend. I trusted her to fight for my sake. This test determines how good your decisions are for the future. We're also provided with a hundred thousand gold coins—a prince or princess must manage that gold as well. By the end of the competition, whoever has more gold and more wins becomes the next heir to the country."

Lucien listened patiently, his expression unreadable. "What happened to the best friend you chose?" he asked without curiosity.

Sylvie's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Anne was my best friend. Ever since we were children, she always took care of me. After she awakened her astral pool and became a realm master, I paid for all her training and lessons so she could grow stronger. I trusted her with my hundred thousand gold coins and with everything." She choked on the words. "But I didn't realize she had fallen in love with my brother. On the day of the fight, she refused to enter the arena and joined his side instead."

She lowered her head. "Maybe I didn't treat her well enough."

The tears fell then, sliding down her cheeks like silent accusations.

Lucien took a slow sip of his wine, letting the silence stretch. "So what do you expect me to do?"

"I saw you fighting Sarric Modric in the Astral Academy arena," Sylvie said, lifting her head with desperate hope in her eyes. "I want you to fight for me. I've already lost once because of Anne, and the next fight is in a few days. Please help me."

Lucien swirled his wine, watching the crimson liquid catch the light. "Aren't you angry?" he asked softly.

Sylvie's hands clenched in her lap. "I'm angry," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. After everything I did for her... she did that. But then again, I'm powerless."

Lucien set down his glass and leaned forward, closing the distance between them. "Princess Sylvie," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "look deep in your heart and tell me what it is you truly desire. I'm not a mercenary who will just go and fight for you."

Sylvie's breath caught. For a long moment, she stared into his eyes, searching for something—guidance, perhaps, or permission. Then she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they were different. Harder. Sharper.

"At first, I never really cared about being heir," she said, her voice steady now, carrying an edge that hadn't been there before. "I was just following tradition. I didn't even want to see her get hurt. I would have given up immediately just to save her. I truly don't care about the country or who rules it."

She paused, and a cold smile spread across her lips—a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"But now there's a feeling inside me. Something sinister."

She looked at Lucien, and for a moment, she seemed like a different person entirely.

"I want to kill that bitch."

Author Note:

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