Kael walked down the bustling street of Lasthold, suppressing a satisfied smirk. The city lived its usual life—merchants shouting prices, children darting along the cobblestones, carts clattering over the stone road. But Kael hardly noticed the noise.

  His gaze was fixed on the clear blue sky, and his thoughts—far ahead.

  “Roselle and Lissandra could both become Jade Mages…” he reasoned. “If their potential unfolds, I’ll have two loyal allies from different Families a decade from now. But the present needs securing as well.”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets and slowed, frowning.

  “I need a Jade Mage right now. Someone who can shield me if the Three Families decide to act more aggressively. Duran is the best candidate. But how do I trick him into revealing his Soul Form?”

  Then a sharp, hostile voice cut through his thoughts:

  “Hey, trash!”

  Kael stopped. There was far too much venom in the voice for it to be a casual insult. He turned—and saw Draxion standing at the entrance of a dark alleyway. Arms crossed, his gaze burning with the certainty of a passed judgment.

  Kael raised a brow, his tone calm, shaded with lazy annoyance:

  “What do you want?”

  Draxion’s lips twisted into a crooked grin.

  “Come with me. Someone wants to talk to you…”

  But Kael just laughed. His laughter was sharp, openly mocking, laced with disdain.

  “You take me for an idiot?” he said, still smirking. “You might as well write on your forehead that you’re trying to lure me into a trap.”

  He stepped back, intending to simply turn and leave—but didn’t get the chance. Two heavy hands clamped down on his shoulders.

  “Hm?” Kael tensed slightly.

  He slowly turned his head—and saw two men behind him, both dressed in identical gray garments. A dense, tangible aura radiated from them—Silver Mages.

  Their faces were grim, eyes hard and unwavering. They stood too close, leaving Kael no room to move.

  Before he could speak, they shoved him forward.

  “You weren’t given a choice, boy,” one of them growled with a rasping, mocking smirk.

  Kael staggered a step but held his footing. His shoulders tightened, and a cold smile flickered on his lips. He was about to fire back a cutting remark, but the second man leaned in slightly and murmured:

  “If you try to run—your family suffers. Don’t even think of resisting.”

  The words pierced straight into Kael, reopening old wounds.

  For a moment he froze—then his eyes flared with amber light, bright, dangerous, almost feral.

  Both Silver Mages instinctively recoiled, as if a wild beast had suddenly taken the boy’s place, ready to tear them apart.

  Doubt flickered across their faces, but only for a heartbeat. One of them quickly regained his composure and shoved Kael harder.

  “Move.”

  Kael didn’t answer. His breathing steadied, his movements became precise. He didn’t resist, simply letting them push him along.

  “You do realize what you’re doing?” he asked coldly, without looking back.

  “Of course we do,” one laughed. “We’re putting an arrogant little brat in his place.”

  Kael turned his head slightly, his voice edged with icy mockery:

  “You’ll regret that…”

  ? ? ?

  In the corner of the intersection, sitting in the shadow of an old stone wall, was an unremarkable man. A wide-brimmed hat hid half his face, and a rolled-up scroll rested on his knees. From afar he looked like any bystander taking a break from the market bustle.

  But the eyes hidden beneath the hat’s shadow watched everything closely.

  He saw it all—how Draxion stepped out of the alley, how the two Silver Mages seized Kael and dragged him away.

  The man slowly straightened, lifting the brim of his hat just enough to study the kidnappers’ faces more clearly. His gaze grew cold, tinged with faint disappointment.

  “Eeh…” he exhaled quietly, his tone weary. “Elder Zeiran will be furious when I report this.”

  He snorted, tucking the scroll into his belt as he rose to his feet.

  “Good thing young master Aiden isn’t as much of a fool as Draxion…” he muttered under his breath as he walked off in the opposite direction, blending into the crowd.

  ? ? ?

  Kael was led into a dark back alley—narrow, damp, heavy with cold. The noise of the street faded with every step, as if a door to the outside world were closing behind him.

  Kael glanced around, noting even the absence of the usual drunks or loiterers who haunted places like this. Everything looked too clean.

  “They cleared the place in advance…” he observed coldly. “Looks like Draxion pulled every string he had. I wonder how far he plans to take this.”

  Draxion walked ahead without once turning back, his stride heavy and confident—the stride of someone who already considered himself the victor.

  But then a shadow shifted ahead, and two figures stepped out from around the next corner.

  The first—a tall, handsome young man of about twenty, with neatly tied sky-blue hair. His attire blended a mage’s robe with light armor—pauldrons and bracers—and on his chest gleamed the emblem of the Vengeful Thunder Family. His movements were assured, his eyes calm… but his smile was sly, foxlike.

  Beside him walked the second—younger, with the same blue hair, but utterly different. His head was bowed, half his face hidden by his bangs. There was no strength in his gait—only stiffness and quiet anxiety. He lingered behind, as if out of habit, afraid to stand on equal ground.

  And the moment Kael saw the first of them, his whole body stiffened.

  Not from fear—from hatred. From that deep, burned-in pain that neither time nor death could dull.

  “It’s him… That damn bastard!”

  His fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened and his joints cracked. His temples throbbed; his breath grew heavy, as if his body itself demanded he lunge forward and tear that smug face off. But Kael held himself back. Barely.

  His silence, however, was taken the wrong way.

  The tall young man—the one Kael recognized—smirked. Softly, almost kindly—even, but with a vile note of superiority.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Good. You should be.”

  Draxion, as if waiting for a signal, lit up with excitement. He lunged forward, thrusting a hand toward Kael and shouting so loudly his voice cracked:

  “That’s him, Aiden! That’s the bastard who was hitting on your fiancée!”

  Kael didn’t move. It was as if he wasn’t looking at Aiden at all, but through him—into some distant memory.

  Aiden’s eyes, friendly at first, narrowed slightly. His His foxlike smile thinned, sharpening at the edges.

  “People should understand their place,” he said quietly, though every word carried threat. “Even if you feel tempted to reach for beauty… you should think very carefully before doing so.”

  He stepped closer, his gaze sliding over Kael from head to toe.

  “Did you think about that, boy?”

  Kael didn’t hear him.

  Aiden’s words were lost beneath the roar pounding in his skull. All Kael was trying to do now was hold back the fire raging in his chest.

  “You little bastard… You killed my family! Because of your arrogance, you—” His fists clenched again, nails digging into his palms.

  But suddenly something inside him flipped, and by sheer force of will he dragged himself back into cold clarity.

  He drew a slow breath and closed his eyes.

  “Calm down, Kael… You know things weren’t that simple.”

  A moment—and his mind plunged into the past. Scenes he could never forget, even if he wanted to.

  He stood again before their family restaurant—cozy, warm, rich with the smell of meat and spices.

  And then everything was swallowed by flame.

  Dry boards crackled, the roof was collapsing, and smoke stung his eyes. The street was empty—only Aiden and his cronies stood across from him, calmly watching as the fire devoured his home.

  His father was beaten, his mother burned, but both were still alive. The sight filled him with such fury and hatred that he cried out to the Gods, begging for help.

  And to his misfortune, the God of Knowledge and Madness answered, sensing the power of the Shard within him. Kael traded his soul and sanity for the right to take revenge. And revenge did indeed come—Aiden and all his cronies died one by one in a string of “accidents.” But the God made sure every thread led back to Kael.

  When it was discovered that Kael had vanished, the Vengeful Thunder Family placed all blame on his family. They demanded blood. And his entire family was executed.

  He had seen it in his dreams hundreds of times, but the pain never dulled.

  And now, looking at the living Aiden, Kael felt only icy hatred—a mix of regret, rage, and contempt.

  “I’m no less guilty… but that doesn’t erase the guilt of this bastard…” he thought, opening his eyes.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Reminding himself of this, Kael exhaled slowly, forcing his heartbeat to steady.

  “I hate this bastard…” the thought seethed through him, his lips twitching faintly. “But I need a cold head now. In this life he didn’t burn down my parents’ restaurant, and I didn’t kill him through the Master’s hand. It’s different. Though I will never forgive him—things are not the same.”

  He forced himself to straighten, pushing the past out with each breath. Before him stood not the demon from his memories, but merely a man—arrogant, smug, alive. And thus someone who could be used.

  But the fragile stillness didn’t last long. Aiden’s sharp, whipping voice tore through it:

  “Answer me, boy! I asked you a question!”

  Aiden’s shout cut through the fog in Kael’s mind, snapping him back into the present. But there was no anger left in him—only a calm, icy mockery.

  He narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching, and tilted his head slightly as he said, evenly:

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Aiden. One thing always puzzled me—how someone like you could have such a stupid younger brother.”

  He didn’t bother hiding the smirk, letting his gaze drift toward Draxion.

  Draxion erupted instantly.

  “Shut your mouth, filth!” he roared, stepping forward. “First you flirt with my brother’s fiancée, and now you dare insult me?! You must really be begging for the wrath of the entire Vengeful Thunder Family!”

  His words burst out in frothing rage, but Kael simply let out a calm breath, allowing himself a thin, almost lazy smile.

  Aiden had already opened his mouth to add something, but Kael cut in coldly, without even looking at him:

  “First,” he said evenly, “I have no romantic interest in Roselle. We’re just friends.”

  He stepped forward slightly, meeting Draxion’s gaze with the assurance of someone addressing a subordinate rather than an enemy.

  “And second,” Kael continued, eyes narrowing, “who gave you the right to speak for your entire family?”

  Aiden froze for a moment. His smug smile faded, his gaze sharpening. Something in Kael’s voice—in his calmness and certainty—didn’t fit the usual script Aiden was used to.

  “Something’s off…” the thought flickered through his mind. “He clearly knows who I am, yet shows no fear. That’s not normal.”

  He tilted his head slightly, studying Kael more closely, and spoke again—quieter now, probing for weaknesses:

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Kael. Son of Kassias,” he replied at once.

  The words made Aiden frown. He repeated it, as if tasting the name:

  “Son of Kassias? I don’t recall any such mage.” A shadow of doubt slipped into his voice, but a moment later, a glimmer of uncertainty flashed in his eyes.

  He squinted slightly, tilting his head.

  “Wait…” he drawled, scrutinizing the youth. “Kael… I’ve heard that name somewhere.”

  Kael’s smirk deepened ever so slightly, and his voice came smooth, with a distinct bite:

  “I’m not yet famous enough for someone as distinguished as you to have heard of me, Aiden. But I am famous enough for the Vengeful Thunder Family to assign people to watch me.”

  The words fell softly, without shouting—yet Aiden caught the implication instantly.

  Aiden blinked, his confidence faltering. His eyes darted, and he briefly looked away, as if trying to recall something important. It was clear that fragments of rumors, names, and facts were snapping into place in his mind.

  Then, behind him, a quiet, hesitant voice spoke—the voice of the boy who had been standing behind him this whole time, head lowered:

  “If I remember correctly…” he began timidly, “he’s the youngest Master in the Hall of Ancient Research. And… he’s the one who deciphered the new method for compressing mana ore.”

  The moment those words were spoken, silence thickened in the alley.

  Aiden’s gaze dropped involuntarily to the ring on his finger. The spatial ring he had recently received from his grandfather, Elder Zeiran, gleamed in the dim light.

  He froze, as if only now piecing the whole picture together.

  Annoyance grew in his eyes. His friendly fox-like smile vanished without a trace, replaced by cold, tightly controlled anger.

  He lifted his gaze and spoke evenly, though his voice was taut like a drawn bowstring:

  “Kael… you’re absolutely sure you didn’t hit on Roselle?”

  Kael replied instantly, even daring to joke:

  “I can confess. I prefer older women.”

  A shadow crossed Aiden’s face. The corners of his eyes tensed, and his fingers clenched into a fist.

  Kael stood calmly, ready to meet his opponent’s first strike, quietly drawing on his mana.

  “Hopefully the ones tailing me will stop Aiden before he manages to injure me,” Kael thought coolly, never taking his eyes off his opponent.

  He felt the tension thickening in the air—the kind that always came right before an eruption of rage.

  And in the next instant, Aiden’s hand snapped forward.

  Kael tensed, fully expecting the punch to come at him—but what happened was something no one expected.

  BAM!

  A dull thud tore through the air, followed by a short, strangled gasp.

  Aiden’s fist slammed not into Kael, but into Draxion’s stomach. The blow was so powerful the younger brother was lifted off the ground, folding in half, then crashed down, wheezing for air.

  Aiden stepped forward, seized Draxion by the throat, and yanked him up as if lifting an empty sack.

  “B-brother… why…” Draxion rasped, eyes bulging, lips twitching in panic.

  Aiden’s gaze only grew colder. A dangerous, almost feral gleam flashed in his eyes.

  “Father has spoiled you far too much…” he said with icy calm—making the words all the more terrifying.

  Draxion writhed, clutching at his brother’s wrist.

  “Brother… I just wanted…” he wheezed, barely managing to breathe.

  “Shut up!” Aiden roared.

  SLAP!

  A sharp, ringing blow cracked through the air.

  The slap was so strong that half his face instantly reddened and began to swell. Tears streamed down—not only from pain but from humiliation.

  Aiden’s lip curled in disgust, looking at Draxion as though he were not a brother but a stain on their bloodline.

  “Now I remember…” he said through clenched teeth. “Father recently forbade you from bothering some clever boy our family wanted good relations with.”

  SLAP!

  Another blow cracked through the air. The crack of it echoed through the empty alley, and even Kael tensed involuntarily.

  “He’s being deliberately brutal to curry favor with me?” Kael thought coldly as he watched. “Or is this his true nature—a smug sadist who revels in power?”

  Aiden didn’t stop. With each word, his voice sharpened, his face contorting in fury:

  “So you tried to sic me on someone Father told you not to touch?! Have you completely lost your mind?!”

  He grabbed Draxion by the collar and shook him like a ragdoll. The younger brother only gasped, helplessly clutching at Aiden’s arm.

  “Do you think Father will keep wiping your backside forever?!” Aiden continued, no longer restraining himself. “Did you not hear the instructions you were given?! Or do you believe you’re allowed more than the others?!”

  And in the next moment, something happened Kael hadn’t expected even in his boldest guesses.

  A faint flash ran across Aiden’s arm—thin, hissing arcs of lightning slid over his skin, casting a ghostly glow across the alley. And then the blow landed.

  BAM!

  This slap carried something far more dangerous. The air shuddered as Aiden’s palm smashed into Draxion’s face. The younger brother’s body flew up, tumbled across the alley, and hit the ground, rolling several times. Draxion lost consciousness instantly.

  Kael narrowed his eyes, studying the bloody smear across the alley stones.

  Aiden did not spare even a glance for his younger brother. He merely flicked his hand clean against his clothes, as if disgusted.

  “Hey, Slug…” he said coldly, without raising his voice.

  The frightened boy who had been standing slightly behind them flinched so hard he looked electrocuted.

  “Y-yes, Master Aiden?..” he stammered.

  Aiden didn’t even turn. His tone was pure command, without room for doubt:

  “Pick him up and take him home. Get him treated. And report everything that happened to the elders.”

  “Yes, Master Aiden,” the boy breathed, and immediately rushed to Draxion’s body.

  His movements were quick though trembling. He deftly pulled a cover from his spatial ring and draped it over Draxion, trying to shield him from any onlookers. Then, struggling under the weight, he lifted him and hurried out of the alley at a near run.

  When their footsteps faded, an oppressive silence settled.

  The two young men standing behind Kael looked as if they had just witnessed a murder. Pale, hands shaking, they didn’t dare move or even breathe too loudly.

  They had come expecting a show. Expecting to enjoy watching some arrogant brat get humiliated. Now they stood frozen and—as if sensing the shift—instinctively stepped back.

  Kael didn’t move. He watched Aiden with narrowed eyes, his thoughts running cold and calculated:

  “He’s as cunning as his grandfather… I’ll have to tread very carefully around this bastard.”

  And then something astonishing happened.

  Aiden’s face, twisted with fury just moments ago, began to soften. The icy rage dissolved, replaced by his familiar polite smile. He straightened, brushed a hand through his hair, and strode forward with brisk, confident steps, stopping in front of Kael.

  “On behalf of the Vengeful Thunder Family,” he said with perfectly even intonation, “I offer my apologies.”

  He extended his hand.

  “May we be properly introduced, Master Kael?”

  Seeing Aiden’s outstretched hand and that flawlessly polite, almost friendly gaze, Kael felt something twist inside him in revulsion.

  Aiden’s politeness was a silk glove pulled over a predator’s talons.

  “I’d love nothing more than to spit right in your face…” Kael thought coldly. “But that would be far too reckless.”

  He drew a slow breath and forced himself to smile—just enough to seem respectful in return.

  Overcoming his internal disgust, Kael extended his hand and shook Aiden’s.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said calmly, with a slight nod. “I’m glad you’re nothing like Draxion.”

  Inwardly he added: “Better to let this fox think we’re on friendly terms than have him consider me an enemy.”

  Aiden’s hand was hot and strong—and far too deliberate, as if every detail of the handshake had been rehearsed.

  Aiden smiled gently in response, gave Kael’s hand a measured shake, and released it.

  “Thank you for meeting me halfway,” he said with a tone of genuine gratitude, though something predatory flickered in his eyes.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and added, in a more businesslike, confident voice:

  “To be honest, I’m a man of action. Words mean nothing to me as an apology.. So I prefer to apologize in another way.”

  He tilted his head slightly, his smile becoming almost sincere.

  “I intend to compensate you properly. Naturally, at my own expense,” he added with subtle emphasis, “so as not to involve the Family or place you under any obligation.”

  Kael narrowed his eyes slightly, weighing every shade in Aiden’s tone, every carefully chosen word.

  “What a delicate move… A schemer to the core.”

  Kael allowed himself a faint smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching as irony crept into his voice:

  “You’re in luck, Aiden. I’ve recently decided to abandon unnecessary modesty. So… I won’t say no to Concentration Pills.”

  Aiden blinked for a moment, then laughed—warm, rolling, the kind of laugh that seemed to erase all earlier tension.

  “It’s pleasant to deal with you, Kael,” he said in a friendly tone. “I can see we might even become friends…”

  Kael answered with a brief, polite smile, never losing the inner edge of caution.

  “A cunning, two-faced fox… If not for what happened in my past life, I’d take him for a virtuous mage,” he thought, watching Aiden revert once more into the impeccably mannered heir of the Vengeful Thunder Family. “Now I understand even better why Roselle isn’t fond of him.”

  He nodded mildly in response to Aiden’s words, keeping his expression calm, though a cold spark of calculation smoldered deep in his amber eyes. And he recalled, almost absently, the frightened boy who had taken Draxion away earlier.

  Silently, Kael concluded:

  “Wouldn’t hurt to find out who he is…”

  ? ? ?

  They traded polite phrases for a while longer—polished, superficial, spoken as if straight out of a handbook on etiquette. Aiden asked about the Hall of Ancient Research, wondered whether Kael was overburdened with work, and casually slipped in comments about mutual support between “promising young mages.”

  Kael replied in the same manner—courteous, modest enough, yet without an ounce of servility. He sensed Aiden testing him, probing how far he could push without provoking irritation.

  When the exchange of pleasantries began to run dry, Kael gave a small nod and stepped back.

  “Thank you for the conversation, Aiden, but I must go. There are matters that cannot wait,” he said evenly and politely.

  “Of course,” Aiden replied at once, returning his “warm” smile. “Again, accept my apologies for the… misunderstanding.”

  “Apology accepted,” Kael said curtly, and with a slight inclination of his head turned and walked toward the end of the alley.

  Aiden remained where he was, watching him leave.

  When Kael’s silhouette vanished around the corner, Aiden’s smile faded. His gaze grew heavier, deeper—as though he were sifting through every detail of what had happened, arranging them into tidy chains of reasoning.

  He frowned slightly, clasped his hands behind his back, and the corner of his mouth twitched downward.

  “Kael… Son of Kassias.”

  A thin spark of lightning flickered along his fingers as Aiden murmured:

  “Interesting boy… but far too clever for his age. Getting him on my side won’t be simple.” He smirked and added, “At least Draxion turned out useful for something. I think Kael appreciated the little show I put on.”

  With that, he motioned to his lackeys and headed for the exit of the alley.