The Hidden Monster of House Vale

A knock at the door shattered her reverie.

"Mind if I come in?"

Before Mirette could even rise from her seat, the door swung open. A strikingly handsome man with golden blonde hair stepped inside—Lucien Vale. He moved with an easy confidence that bordered on arrogance, his presence immediately filling the small office.

Mirette froze for a moment, caught off guard by both his sudden appearance and his impossible good looks. But years of running the Alchemist's Guild had trained her well. She straightened her posture, composing herself into the image of a competent guild master.

Lucien didn't take the seat across from her desk. Instead, he walked around it entirely, moving behind her chair toward the large window that dominated the back wall. He stood there, gazing out at the modest view of the city's rooftops and chimneys.

"The view is not so good," Lucien said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Mirette turned in her chair to face him, her expression carefully neutral. "Are you the noble who wanted to meet with me?"

Lucien turned around slowly, his eyes meeting hers. "Miss Guild Master is quite perceptive. It's me—Lucien Vale." He reached up and drew the curtains closed, plunging the room into dimmer light. The gesture felt deliberate, calculated.

The name hit Mirette like a physical blow. Lucien Vale. The champion fighting for Princess Sylvie in the Trial of Imperial Succession. She had never watched a single match—she was far too busy running her guild—but she had heard the rumors. The whispers. The stories of a man who didn't just defeat his opponent but destroyed them. The champion who killed Koldin with his own weapons. Brutally. Efficiently. Without mercy.

A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. She felt it in the slight tremor of her hands, the quickening of her pulse. But she forced herself to breathe. She had nothing to lose except this guild—and she would protect it with her last breath.

"What does the champion of Princess Sylvie want from me?" Mirette asked, her voice steadier than she felt. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with what she hoped was a brave expression.

"Oh, so you heard about me." Lucien's smile widened, revealing perfectly white teeth. "Well, that means I don't have to explain everything."

He took her chair—her chair—and settled into it as if he owned the place, leaning back with casual authority. Mirette found herself standing, displaced from her own seat.

"Miss Mirette, I want all the potions you have. Specifically, all the potions related to poison—poison resistance, poison antidotes, mid-level, low-level, high-level. Everything."

Mirette's mind raced. She had been a trader her entire life, had navigated countless negotiations and deals. But this was different. This was a realm master sitting in her chair, making demands.

"Why?" she asked carefully. "Why are you so interested in alchemical poison potions? I'm quite certain a realm master such as yourself doesn't need them. And what's the price? I can't just give you everything—what would I sell to my other shops?"

"You ask too many questions," Lucien said, but there was no irritation in his voice—only amusement. "But I'm happy to answer. I want potions for my shops. You know how royal heirs need to increase their investments, so I'm helping Princess Sylvie. As for what you'll sell to other shops..." He paused, his eyes glinting. "Nothing. In fact, I want you to stop making poison-resistant or poison-antidote potions altogether. But that would become suspicious, so just stop making all potions for ten days. Come up with whatever lie you can think of. And stop your guild members from brewing anything during that time."

Mirette's eyebrows shot up. "That's... an unusual request."

"Is it?" Lucien tilted his head. "As for the price—how about one hundred thousand gold coins?"

Mirette's breath caught. That was an extraordinary sum—far more than the potions were worth, even at their highest market value.

"Isn't that too much?" she asked suspiciously. "Considering there's hardly any demand for potions..."

"The extra money is for you to keep your mouth shut about this conversation," Lucien said smoothly. "Consider it payment for your discretion."

Mirette studied him carefully. There was something calculated behind those eyes, something dangerous lurking beneath the charming smile. She had a sinking feeling that she was making a deal with forces far beyond her understanding.

But she was also a survivor.

"I have a feeling you already know what you're doing," she said slowly. "But I want seventy thousand gold coins instead—and I want to enter the Astral Academy as a student. If you can do that, we have a deal."

Lucien was silent for a moment, considering her offer. Then he nodded. "Deal. Give me a few special potions you're working on—I'll see what I can do about the Academy. Here's fifty thousand gold coins as a down payment. I'll give you the rest after the supply. As for your invitation to the Astral Academy, it'll be in your hands within two days."

He reached into what appeared to be thin air and produced a heavy bag of gold, setting it on the table with a dull thud.

Mirette's hands trembled slightly as she retrieved several experimental potions from her private storage. These were her personal projects—new formulas she'd been developing in secret. She handed them over carefully.

Lucien took the vials and deposited them into his dimensional pocket with practiced ease. Then he extended his hand.

"Seems like we have a deal now."

Mirette grasped his hand immediately. His skin was cool, his grip firm. "Yes. I hope I won't regret anything."

"You won't," Lucien said, his eyes suddenly glowing with an otherworldly light. "As long as you do not betray me."

The threat hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable.

Then something shifted in Lucien's expression. His eyes unfocused slightly, as if he was listening to something only he could hear. Mirette watched, fascinated and terrified, as he seemed to have a silent conversation with someone unseen.

"It seems like I have to go now," Lucien said, his smile returning. He raised his hand and tore open a void in the air itself—a shimmering rift that led to somewhere unknown. Without another word, he stepped through it and vanished.

The rift closed behind him as if it had never existed.

Mirette stood alone in her office, her heart pounding against her ribs. She sank into her chair—now cold from where Lucien had been sitting—and let out a shuddering breath.

Fuck... that was scary.

She had heard the stories about Lucien Vale. About how he was not just a champion but something more. Something terrifying. A noble who moved through the world like it was his playground, taking whatever he wanted, crushing anyone who stood in his way.

I heard he's a very scary person. On top of that, he's a noble. I guess I made a deal with the devil.

She looked down at the bag of gold on her desk. It sat there, heavy and real, a reminder of the path she had just chosen.

Let's see where this will take me.

A weary smile crossed her face. Whatever came next, she would face it. She always did.

In the Vale mansion, Rena Vale sat in her luxurious guest quarters, sipping sweet tea from an ornate porcelain cup. A maid stood silently nearby, hands clasped behind her back.

It had been almost two days since Rena had arrived at the Vale mansion, and she still hadn't seen Lucien. She had expected him to come to her—to apologize for his behavior, to grovel for her attention. That was how things had always been between them. That was how it should be.

But things had changed.

Rena took another sip of tea, frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior. She was curious—desperately curious—whether Lucien had even asked about her. Whether he thought of her at all.

Finally, she couldn't contain herself any longer.

"Did Lucien ask about me?" She kept her voice light, pleasant, but there was an edge beneath the sweetness. The maid was from the Vale household—she would know.

"I'm afraid not, my lady," the maid replied, her expression apologetic. "I haven't even seen Lord Lucien myself. He's been so busy that it's become really hard to even see him."

Busy. The word grated on Rena's nerves. Busy doing what? Busy ignoring me?

But she kept her smile in place. "I see."

Seems like he's not avoiding me on purpose, she reasoned. Still...

Time was running out. Her family was on the brink of ruin. If she didn't secure Lucien's support soon, they would be reduced to commoners—perhaps worse. The thought made her stomach churn.

Once I see him, I'll make sure to control him. Just like I used to.

After the maid departed, Rena's personal retainers entered the room. Fiora, her personal maid, and Dain, her bodyguard, both of whom had served her since childhood.

"My lady, what should we do?" Fiora asked anxiously. "It seems like it's really tough to meet Lord Lucien."

"Yeah," Dain said, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. "It seems like he's running away... that bastard Lucien." He didn't bother to hide the contempt in his voice. "You don't have to call him 'Lord Lucien.' We're here because we need him—that's all."

Rena set down her teacup with a soft clink. "Fiora, Dain is right. We're here because we're in a dire situation." She paused, a confident smile spreading across her lips. "As soon as I meet him, he'll fall for me immediately. He's the same Lucien Vale, after all. So what if he became a little stronger? That doesn't change who he is inside. He's not married. He doesn't have any fiancée. People like that are hungry for attention—easier to control."

"True," Fiora said, nodding slowly. "But how do we find him?"

Rena's smile sharpened. "He's going to be in the Royal Arena. I heard he's fighting for the princess as her champion. Let's go and see how he'll make a fool of himself."

Deep within the war camp of the Alde forces, Delian Alde sat drinking her favorite red wine, waiting patiently for Lucien to arrive.

A soldier burst into her tent, his face flushed from exertion. "Lady Delian! Callista Mordric is here. She wants to have a conversation with you."

Delian's eyebrows rose. Callista Mordric. The sister of Sarric Mordric. What could she possibly want?

"Bring her in," Delian ordered.

The soldier bowed and disappeared. Moments later, a girl entered the tent, her movements graceful and deliberate. She wore black clothing, a translucent veil with intricate designs covering her head. Her hair was pitch black, and her lips were painted with black lipstick. Long, fluffy garments and a flowing skirt gave her an almost ethereal appearance, like a shadow given form.

"It's good to see you in good health, Lady Delian," Callista said, her voice soft and melodic.

"It's good to see you too." Delian studied the girl warily. "So, what made you come here to an enemy camp, Callista?"

Callista took a steadying breath. "Lady Delian, my father has been granted many demonic artifacts by someone. He has already used them on realm masters. Please... be careful."

Delian's eyes narrowed. "Demonic artifacts? How did he get his hands on them? And why would you inform us?"

Callista dropped to her knees, her veil fluttering with the movement. "Lady Delian, I know they are my family. But I am also a member of the church. Demonic activity is something we hate with the bottom of our hearts. Even if he is my father, I can never forgive him. Perhaps it is the demonic artifacts that are making him blind, but please... provide salvation to my father."

"How many demonic artifacts does your father possess?" Delian asked, her voice grim.

"Fifteen," Callista replied.

Delian's blood ran cold. Fifteen demonic artifacts. That was more than enough to devastate entire armies, to corrupt powerful realm masters...

Then she felt it.

Something shifted in the air. A wrongness that made her skin crawl. Delian turned toward the entrance of her tent and saw darkness spreading across the sky—not the gradual darkening of dusk, but something deeper, more sinister. The light was being devoured, replaced by an impenetrable blackness as if the sun itself had been consumed by some monstrous entity.

The soldiers began to scream.

A man burst into the tent without permission, his face contorted with terror. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His armor was splattered with something dark and wet.

"L-Lady Delian!" he choked out. "Our soldiers... they're being devoured!"

Author Note:

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