The Hidden Monster of House Vale

"Sorry," came the casual apology, "I was busy doing something."

Lucien's arms cradled Sigrid against his chest as he descended from the cliff face, his movements fluid and unhurried despite the treacherous descent. The wind caught his golden hair, and Sigrid's fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his robe—a gesture of lingering intimacy that had become second nature over the past hours.

Zarek rushed forward the moment they touched ground, his face a mask of barely contained panic. "Sigrid! Are you okay?" His hands reached for her, trembling with genuine concern. "I'm so sorry I wasn't with you—"

"I-its fine." Sigrid's voice wavered, and she couldn't meet his eyes. Guilt pooled in her chest like poison, heavy and suffocating. "Lord Lucien saved me from the creatures."

Zarek's attention remained fixed on her, too consumed by relief to notice the crimson flush creeping up her neck, or the way she subtly shifted her weight away from his touch. He couldn't see the shame in her expression—the memory of Lucien's hands on her body still burning beneath her skin.

Zarek turned to Lucien and bowed deeply, his voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Lucien, for saving the love of my life. Please accept my deepest gratitude."

Lucien's smile was serene, utterly untroubled. "It's fine. We're all fellow disciples of the Astral Academy. It's normal to save one another."

The words were smooth as silk, but beneath them lay absolute indifference. Lucien hadn't known Sigrid had a fiancé when he'd taken her to his bed. He wouldn't have cared if he had. To Lucien, women were like fine wine—he never questioned the vineyard before drinking. Their origins, their attachments, their promises to others meant nothing. He savored the taste, the warmth, the pleasure of the moment, and moved on without a backward glance.

Yelena's sharp eyes darted between Lucien and Sigrid, cataloging every micro-expression, every subtle shift in posture. The flush on Sigrid's cheeks. The possessive tilt of Lucien's chin. The way the her fingers still clung to the fabric of his sleeve as if she couldn't bear to let go.

Ah.

Yelena was a woman. It took only one glance to understand everything.

"Marvelous." Her voice cut through the tension like a blade. "I had heard the rumors, of course, but to witness it is... different." She arched an elegant brow at Lucien, a knowing smirk playing at her lips.

Lucien turned to her, his expression shifting to one of polite curiosity. The change was seamless—from predatory satisfaction to courtly grace. "Forgive me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Yelena Stroud, of the Stroud family." She offered a graceful inclination of her head, her sweat-matted hair doing little to diminish her aristocratic poise.

"It's an honor to meet you, Lady Yelena. I'm—"

"Lucien Vale." She cut him off with practiced ease. "Champion of Princess Sylvie. The youngest to ever reach the Peak Spirit Forge Realm. Conqueror of the Ancient Breach." Her eyes glittered with something between admiration and calculation. "Who doesn't know you?" She gestured dismissively at her disheveled appearance. "Forgive my state. I fought far too much in this trial, and now I'm covered in sweat."

Lucien's smile widened, and there was something predatory in it. "I don't mind sweat." His voice dropped to a velvety purr. "But perhaps we should move forward now."

Her entire demeanor changed, Zarek thought bitterly, watching the exchange. She spoke to me like I was beneath her—like I was dirt on her boot. But with Lucien, she's practically throwing herself at him.

Sigrid's jaw tightened as she observed Yelena's flirtatious smile, the way she leaned slightly closer to Lucien. A green tendril of jealousy coiled in her chest—irrational, possessive, utterly undeserved. She had no claim on him. She knew that. And yet, the memory of their shared intimacy made her blood boil at the sight of another woman's interest.

"Sigrid..." Zarek's voice was gentle, patient. "Let's go."

They fell into formation: Lucien and Yelena walking ahead, their conversation punctuated by Yelena's musical laughter; Sigrid and Zarek trailing behind, a wall of silence between them.

"Lord Lucien..." Yelena began.

"Please. Just Lucien. We are both disciples, after all."

"As you wish." Yelena's smile was radiant. "Lucien, why is this Trial of the Ancient Guardian so much harder than the others I've heard about? The difficulty seems disproportionate."

Lucien's gaze remained fixed ahead, but his attention sharpened. "Perhaps... it's because of me."

"Why?" Yelena's curiosity was genuine.

"The Astral Academy likely forms groups to balance power—to create an average. But when one disciple is at the Peak Spirit Forge Realm, that average shifts dramatically. The trial's difficulty scales accordingly."

Yelena's eyes widened with understanding. "So that's why I was losing so brutally." She glanced back at Zarek, a sneer twisting her features. "To balance the power, since you're the strongest here, they compensated with... the weakest."

"Hmm. Perhaps." Lucien's tone was utterly dismissive.

Hours of walking brought them to the mouth of a giant lair—a cavernous opening carved into the base of two colossal mountains. The entrance yawned before them like the maw of some ancient beast, and within, they could see a long valley stretching between the peaks. High above, holes riddled the mountain faces like sockets in a skull—shelters for the creatures that dwelled within.

Beyond the valley, at the far end, light streamed through an exit. Freedom.

"It seems like this is it," Yelena murmured, her voice hushed with reverence. "Once we finish this, we can leave."

Zarek stepped forward, eager to contribute. "Maybe we should run for it and cross as quickly as possible. Avoid unnecessary conflict."

Lucien's laugh was soft but sharp. "No. That would be foolish. We would pass, yes—but that would be average. And I won't accept average." His eyes gleamed with cold ambition. "If the top score is a hundred, I want a hundred. If it's a thousand, I want a thousand."

The declaration hung in the air, bold and unyielding. To Zarek, it seemed reckless arrogance. To Yelena, it was the mark of a true predator. To Sigrid, it was intoxicating.

He knows he can destroy everything here, Yelena realized with a chill. This isn't ambition. This is boredom masquerading as challenge.

"But that would put us at risk!" Zarek protested. "You're stronger, so you'll survive. But we—"

"Speak for yourself, Zarek." Yelena's voice was ice. "I am not weak."

"I-I think Lord Lucien is right." Sigrid's voice was soft, but certain. "If we protect ourselves, Lord Lucien can defeat anything."

Lucien turned to her, and his smile was warm—a private thing meant only for her. "Don't worry, Sigrid. I'll protect everyone."

Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she looked away, unable to meet Zarek's confused gaze.

"Everyone, prepare yourselves." Lucien's tone shifted to command. "Yelena, use ranged attacks from a distance. Take this as your shield." He withdrew an object from his void storage—a shimmering crystal orb pulsing with purple light.

"This..." Yelena's breath caught. "This is a Celestial Barrier Core? Are you certain we should use this? It's an incredibly rare defensive artifact!"

"Given the trial's increased difficulty, we'll need it." Lucien's smile was serene, almost paternal. "If any of us get injured, our ranking will suffer. We will complete this trial without a single wound."

The warmth in his voice made Yelena's blood run cold. She saw the truth behind his kindness: control. He wasn't protecting them. He was ensuring nothing interfered with his performance.

"Sigrid," Lucien continued, "you'll replenish Yelena's astral energy if it depletes." His gaze shifted to Zarek, and there was no warmth there. "Zarek... you'll kill any creature that gets too close to the barrier."

Zarek nodded stiffly, his pride wounded but his reason intact.

"P-please don't hurt yourself," Sigrid whispered as Lucien began walking toward the valley.

He didn't look back.

Yelena activated the Celestial Barrier Core, and a massive purple dome shimmered into existence around her, Sigrid, and Zarek. The energy hummed with ancient power, impenetrable and absolute.

Lucien stood alone before the valley, his back to them, his silhouette stark against the dark mountain face.

These past few days have been so boring, he thought, a sigh escaping his lips. At least I had fun during the trial. The monsters are boring, but Sigrid... His lips curved into a private smile. I enjoyed my time with her. It was fun.

He raised his hand, fingers extended, and pointed toward the valley.

"Emperor's Execution."

A blast of pure energy erupted from his fingertip—a column of destruction so vast it nearly consumed the entire valley. The shockwave rippled outward, and the mountain walls trembled. Creatures that had been lurking in the darkness were vaporized instantly, their forms dissolving into ash.

But more came.

From the shadows emerged an army of humanoid beasts—each standing nearly two meters tall, armed with bows, swords, staves, and halberds. They moved with eerie coordination, as if guided by a single will. They were a civilization unto themselves, a forgotten race preserved in this ancient trial.

And at their center stood their leader.

He was colossal—three meters of weathered grey flesh and ancient armor. A blood-red crown, cracked and worn, sat upon his brow. His eyes burned with malevolent intelligence, and when he raised his staff, every beast in the valley surged forward.

Lucien didn't flinch.

He could have killed them all with a single attack—could have unleashed his full power and annihilated the entire army in one stroke. But that would reveal too much. He had no desire to show his full hand here, in this inconsequential trial.

Instead, he materialized his halberd—the World Root Executioner. The weapon hummed with ancient power, its blade gleaming like liquid shadow.

He charged.

The army swarmed him, creatures pouring from every crevice, surrounding him in a tide of grey flesh and gleaming weapons. From outside the barrier, it was impossible to see him—only the relentless press of bodies, the flash of steel, the spray of black ichor.

Sigrid gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Zarek tensed, ready to rush forward. Yelena's eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of weakness.

And then—

"Emperor's Execution."

The blast erupted from the center of the swarm, and half the army simply ceased to exist. Bodies disintegrated, weapons melted, and the grey tide retreated in chaos.

The leader roared, his voice shaking the mountains, and charged at Lucien with terrifying speed. His staff came down like a meteor, and Lucien took the blow—not because he had to, but because he wanted to feel the impact.

Weak, he thought, disappointment curdling in his chest. So pathetically weak.

He grabbed the leader's neck with one hand and lifted him from the ground—the three-meter titan dangling like a child in the grip of a god. Lucien's eyes were cold, utterly devoid of mercy.

He hurled the leader into the air and pointed upward.

"Emperor's Execution."

The blast struck the creature's face at point-blank range. There was no scream, no final cry—only the complete annihilation of flesh and bone. The leader dissolved into nothing, his crown shattering into fragments that rained down like blood-red snow.

Lucien hovered in the air, his expression serene. From the perspective of the three behind the barrier, he looked like a god descending from the heavens—his beauty so transcendent that even the skies seemed to bow before him.

I can't believe... Sigrid's thoughts were incoherent. I can't believe this is the same man who filled my core for hours. Who held me so tenderly. Who whispered such filthy things in my ear. How can he look so... divine?

Lucien raised his hand again, pointing toward the remaining monstrosities.

"Thousand Petal Burial."

Millions of petals materialized from nowhere—rose petals, crimson and gold, swirling in a deadly storm. But they were not petals. They were blades, each one sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone like paper.

The storm descended upon the remaining creatures, and in moments, there was nothing left. Not a single living thing remained in the valley except the four disciples.

Petals fell like rain, blanketing the ground in a carpet of impossible beauty. Lucien floated among them, his hair stirred by the gentle breeze, and for a moment, he looked like a figure from the ancient legends—a master of a forgotten realm.

Yelena deactivated the barrier, her hands trembling.

He gave me the Celestial Barrier Core not to protect us, she realized, her mind racing. Not to help us contribute. He gave it to me to ensure Zarek wouldn't interfere. That fool would have rushed forward out of misplaced courage, and Lucien couldn't have that.

She met his eyes as he descended, and she understood.

To him, we aren't partners. We're obstacles. Obstacles he must manage to ensure his perfect performance.

Lucien touched down, petals scattering at his feet. His expression was warm, almost innocent.

"Are you all okay?" he asked, his smile radiant.

"Yes." Yelena's voice was steady, though her heart raced. "Lucien, thank you. What you showed us... we'll never forget it."

"Well, there will be much more to see from now on." His tone was knowing, almost prophetic. "The future is going to be very interesting."

They began crossing the valley, their feet sinking into the soft carpet of rose petals. It was hard to believe that this beautiful field had been a battlefield moments ago—that the petals beneath their feet were the last traces of a civilization that had existed for millennia.

Lucien and Yelena walked behind the others, their voices low.

"So," Yelena murmured, her tone carefully neutral. "You enjoyed Sigrid?"

"I did." No hesitation. No shame.

"I bet you did." A pause. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Because of you, my score won't be average. And I can brag about it." Her smile was sharp, knowing.

Lucien laughed, a genuine sound that surprised them both.

The exit loomed before them—a massive door carved with ancient runes, its surface gleaming with residual energy. They crossed the threshold together, and the door groaned shut behind them.

An instructor stood waiting, his expression one of stunned disbelief.

"Congratulations." His voice was reverent. "Your group is the first to clear the Trial of the Ancient Guardian—and with a perfect kill score. A hundred percent."

Lucien bowed politely, but his attention had already shifted.

Waiting in the corridor beyond were Valtherian soldiers, their armor gleaming, their faces stern. One stepped forward, his voice formal but apologetic.

"Lord Vale," he said. "You have been summoned to the Valtherian Court."

Lucien's smile never wavered. "May I know the reason?"

The soldier's expression was grim.

"Prince Andrin has accused you of Mass Murder."

Author Note:

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