Silence stretched for a heartbeat—a terrifying moment where I feared my acting hadn't been enough.

  Then, the man gave a single, satisfied nod. With crisp, even steps, he turned and exited the room, leaving the door open for me.

  Swallowing my panic and rage, I followed him out into an opulent hallway.

  The lower half of the walls was paneled in dark, polished wood, the upper half painted a deep forest green. Long, plush runners covered the floor, muffling our footsteps, and expensive-looking oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors and placid pastoral landscapes adorned the walls.

  No expense had been spared here; every corner screamed wealth and the desperate need to display it.

  At the far end of the hallway, Conrad stood waiting patiently. Seeing him there, I quickened my pace slightly, lowered my head again as I approached, and muttered, "I’m sorry."

  Conrad just gave another brief nod and turned right, heading down another, equally lavish corridor.

  More doors and imposing portraits followed until we reached the landing of a grand staircase that presumably led down to the main entrance hall. The wide stairs were covered with a rich red carpet that looked ridiculously plush under my simple shoes. Conrad descended with light, practiced steps, and I followed close behind him, feeling utterly out of place in this gilded cage.

  Down in the entrance hall, the massive double doors leading outside were straight ahead. Large double doors were also set into the right and left walls.

  Worryingly, each set of side doors was flanked by two heavily armed guards in polished plate armor, their halberds held at a perfect, intimidating angle.

  Oh god… escaping from here looks absolutely fucking impossible.

  Conrad walked purposefully towards the double doors on the left. Before he even reached them, one of the guards moved with smooth efficiency to open both doors wide, revealing the room beyond. Conrad stepped through, and I followed quickly on his heels, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs.

  The room we entered looked like something out of a king's audience hall, maybe slightly smaller but no less intimidating.

  At the far end, a man who was probably in his late forties sat on a slightly raised dais. He had medium-length brown hair neatly tied back and a well-trimmed beard showing touches of grey. He wore rich purple brocade robes, heavily embroidered with gold thread that glinted in the light from a high window. Dark, high-quality leather boots peeked out from beneath the hem, and several valuable-looking gold rings adorned his fingers.

  He wasn't sitting on just any chair, either—it was a large, ornately carved monstrosity of dark wood and velvet that looked suspiciously like a throne.

  Standing silently behind him was another man, cloaked entirely in black, his face hidden in shadow, radiating an unreadable, vaguely unsettling aura. Flanking the dais stood two more guards, these ones even more heavily armored than those outside, their faces grim and impassive behind their visored helmets.

  Conrad walked towards the man on the throne, stopping about three meters before the dais. He placed his right hand flat over his left breast and gave a low, respectful bow.

  "Lord Ainsworth," Conrad announced formally. "I have brought the boy."

  Swallowing hard, I quickly moved to stand beside Conrad and awkwardly mimicked his gesture, bowing my head and trying to look as subservient and unimportant as possible.

  Apparently, though, it wasn't the right move.

  The man on the throne—Lord Ainsworth, presumably—stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on me with an expression of cold displeasure.

  "Have you learned no manners, boy?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, yet carrying an edge of steel that sent a shiver down my spine.

  Then, suddenly, his voice exploded into a harsh roar that echoed in the opulent room:

  "KNEEL!"

  My eye twitched, my nerves frayed, and a hot anger began to simmer just beneath the surface. But I had to keep up the charade. For Pip. For survival.

  Gritting my teeth, I forced myself down onto one knee, then the other, lowering my head towards the polished marble floor. "Forgive me, Lord Ainsworth," I managed to say, keeping my voice as steady as I could, "but I have never learned the customs of the nobility."

  Apparently, that wasn't the right answer either. Lord Ainsworth continued to fume. "You insolent little—"

  He was cut off as, from the corner of my eye, I saw Conrad raise a hand slightly in a placating gesture.

  "Forgive him, Lord Ainsworth," Conrad interjected smoothly. "I instructed him to speak only when spoken to. Since you asked him if he had learned no manners, he likely felt obligated to respond. The fault is mine. I ask for your forgiveness."

  Conrad bowed even deeper.

  Lord Ainsworth just sneered dismissively and settled back onto his throne with a rustle of expensive fabric. "What else can one expect," he pronounced disdainfully, "from a brat of low origin. Be grateful I have a use for your pathetic life, boy. Otherwise, you'd have been shorter by a head already."

  Bile rose in my throat. Self-satisfied, pompous asshole. I wanted nothing more than to spit in his face. But I stayed kneeling, head bowed, forcing myself to remain still.

  The Baron continued, leaning forward slightly. "While I hate to admit it, you seem to possess a rare talent, boy. A talent I need. You see, we, the nobility of Aegis, organize a competition every four years. The most promising individuals of the younger generation compete against each other. The house whose representative wins gains a great deal of money and, more importantly, prestige."

  He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "Now, take a wild guess where you fit into this equation."

  My blood ran cold. I didn't like where this was going.

  "In four years," the Baron declared, his voice flat and final, "you will compete against the other youths of nobility for House Ainsworth. You will bring me victory, or you will die trying. Starting tomorrow, your training with Sir Crownfield begins."

  He gestured vaguely towards the silent, cloaked man behind the throne.

  "And let me tell you something, brat," the Baron added, his voice dropping to a menacing growl, "you will produce results… or you will regret it deeply. Now, get this whelp out of my sight."

  Conrad placed a hand on my shoulder—surprisingly gently—and started to guide me away. We took a few steps, my mind reeling from the pronouncement, when a sudden, sharp pang of worry cut through the haze.

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  "What about my cat?"

  The words burst out of me before I could stop them, my voice too loud in the tense silence.

  Conrad's eyes widened in shock, his hand tightening slightly on my shoulder. Lord Ainsworth, who had leaned back, snapped his head up, halting Conrad with a raised hand.

  "Excuse me?" the Baron asked, a note of dangerous curiosity in his voice. "What did you just say, boy?"

  Taking a deep breath, I realized I'd probably just made a huge mistake, but it was too late. "I came here with my cat, sir," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just wanted to know what happened to her. Where she is."

  Lord Ainsworth blinked, looking genuinely perplexed for a second. Then a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "Your cat, you say? Describe her."

  Oh, shit. Maybe he has a soft spot for cats? Maybe this could work out? It was a desperate, foolish hope.

  "She's black," I described quickly, "with green eyes, little white paws, and a white belly."

  Lord Ainsworth nodded slowly, thoughtfully, still smiling that unnerving smile. He then turned his head slightly towards the guards flanking the dais.

  "Guards, listen well," he commanded, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. "You will spread this description to all personnel. If anyone finds this cat on the grounds… beat the miserable fucking beast to death."

  What… did that man just… say?

  Time seemed to stop. My breath hitched. I stared at Lord Ainsworth, utterly dumbfounded, disbelief warring with a sudden, white-hot surge of rage unlike anything I had ever felt before.

  He saw the look on my face and just laughed. A short, barking, ugly sound.

  "That's the bitter reality, boy," he sneered. "You are only worth as much as your use to others. Even your fellow humans will sell you out rather than be burdened by you. And let me tell you one more thing," he leaned forward again, his eyes glittering with pure malice, "if that filthy little creature of yours does find its way into my hands… I'll have its hide tanned and made into something to wipe my noble ass with. Let that serve as a warni—"

  The Baron never finished the word.

  Something inside me snapped.

  An infinite, uncontrollable rage exploded outwards. My entire body started trembling violently. The very air in the room seemed to vibrate and grow heavy. The entire manor began to shake, dust raining down from the ornate ceiling.

  Slowly, trembling with a power I didn't understand and didn't care about, my finger rose, pointing directly at Lord Ainsworth on his ridiculous throne. A fierce, invisible energy coalesced there, pulsing with a power that made the air crackle.

  "Kneel," I hissed.

  The word tore itself from my throat, raw and distorted, amplified by the power thrumming through me.

  "Kneel or die, you disgusting piece of shit. Before you touch one hair on my cat, I will kill every single one of you…"

  The words weren't mine, not really. They sprang from a place of pure, primal rage, a fury I neither could nor wanted to control.

  I felt rather than saw the reactions—the guards' knees buckling, Conrad stumbling back with wide eyes, the Baron's face paling in terror. The air grew thick, heavy, an immense pressure settling over the room, pressing down on everyone.

  Lord Ainsworth was the first to fall, collapsing to one knee, then crumpling to both. Conrad quickly followed, bowing low. The guards by the dais crashed to the floor, their heavy plate clanging as they were forced down by the invisible weight. The only one who remained standing, though visibly straining with his hands pressed hard on his knees, was the man in the black cloak.

  "TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID!" I screamed, focusing all my rage, all the crushing pressure, directly onto the Baron. "OR I WILL GRIND YOUR FILTHY FUCKING FACE INTO THIS MARBLE FLOOR!"

  Instead of answering, Lord Ainsworth twisted his head, his eyes bulging as he stared desperately at the struggling figure behind him. "CROWNFIELD! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!" he shrieked, his voice high-pitched with terror.

  My gaze snapped to the man called Crownfield, my fury zeroing in on him. He was trembling visibly, sweat pouring down his face, clearly using every ounce of his strength to resist. He didn't say a word.

  Fine. I focused back on the pathetic worm groveling on the floor.

  "LAST CHANCE!" I roared again, pouring every last bit of my will, my rage, into the invisible pressure bearing down on him.

  The pressure intensified immensely. Lord Ainsworth cried out, then collapsed completely, pressed flat against the marble floor, his face contorted in agony and turning an alarming shade of purple. The invisible force crushed him like an elephant's foot. I could feel his bones creaking under the strain.

  I'm going to kill him.

  The thought was cold, clear, absolute. So help me gods, I will kill him right here.

  But that absolute resolve demanded a price. I felt a sudden, hot burst of pressure inside my skull and something warm and wet trickle from my nose. My vision started to blur, tinged with red at the edges.

  Shit… am I bleeding? From my nose? My eyes, too?

  The rage felt like it was consuming me from the inside out, burning through my reserves, but the Baron's head was already twisting at an unnatural angle, looking like it might just pop…

  Click.

  The sound of the audience hall door opening behind me shattered my concentration. The crushing pressure vanished instantly. My connection to that burning power snapped, leaving me utterly empty, drained. My balance evaporated.

  I collapsed bonelessly, hitting the hard marble floor with a thud, unable to move, unable even to twitch. On the very edge of my fading consciousness, I registered one last notification flash through my mind:

  < Skill improved: Gravity Magic (Inferior) —> (Beginner) >

  Like I give a shit right now, was my last coherent thought. My fate would be decided in the next few seconds.

  Only my eyes could still move, darting around frantically. I saw Lord Ainsworth slowly, painfully pushing himself up, gasping for air, his face still purple. As he finally managed to get to his feet, staggering, I heard Crownfield let out a shaky laugh.

  “HAHAHAHA! Shit… that was a close one… thank the gods.”

  Lord Ainsworth looked at him perplexedly for a second, then his face contorted with renewed fury as he looked down at me, helpless on the floor. "GUARDS!" he shrieked, his voice hoarse. "KILL THE BOY! NOW!"

  But the guards were still struggling to get to their feet, hampered by their heavy armor.

  "Shit! Have to do everything myself!" the Baron cursed, fumbling at his belt and drawing a wicked-looking dagger. He started towards me, walking unsteadily on wobbly legs, murder in his eyes.

  But then I heard a strange, rhythmic sound approaching from the now-open doors.

  Click, clack. Click, clack.

  A swish of expensive fabric flashed past my limited field of vision. A woman? She walked directly towards the advancing Lord Ainsworth and, without breaking stride, delivered a ringing slap across his face with tremendous force.

  The sound echoed like a gunshot in the suddenly silent hall. The Baron cried out, stumbling backward and crashing onto his ass again.

  “What in all the hells,” a woman’s voice asked, dangerously quiet, yet every single person in the room heard her words crystal clear, "is going on in here?"

  Lord Ainsworth scrambled back slightly, rubbing his cheek, staring up at the newcomer in terror. "M-my dear!" he stammered. "Th-that boy! He tried to kill us all! Crownfield, how is that even possible?! He's wearing the slave bracelet!"

  The man named Crownfield, still breathing heavily but looking intrigued, answered, his voice strained. "In moments of extreme emotional distress, my Lord, it is said the wearer can briefly overcome the magic of the binding artefact. The blood from his nose and eyes… that is the price. Apparently, this cat he mentioned is so incredibly important to him that your threat regarding its demise nearly caused him to crush us all with raw power. Hahaha! You've got a real force of nature on your hands!"

  Lord Ainsworth swallowed hard, glancing nervously between me and the imposing woman. She spoke again, her voice even quieter now, infinitely more menacing.

  "You… did what, Victor?"

  The Baron visibly flinched. "I-I only wanted him to know wh-who his m-master was!" he stammered pitifully. "He was being defiant!"

  The woman ignored him, her cold gaze sweeping the room until it landed on the Majordomo. "Conrad," she commanded softly. "Is this true?"

  Conrad, looking composed despite the ordeal, bowed slightly. "My Lady Ainsworth, the boy angered your husband because he was unfamiliar with the proper customs regarding nobility."

  I heard the woman inhale sharply, a hiss of controlled anger. Then she spoke again, her voice calm but laced with deadly intent.

  "If anyone in this room—including you, Victor—so much as touches this boy or his cat again without my express permission… I will have all of your families executed, down to the last suckling babe. Do I make myself understood?!"

  A chorus of terrified, mumbled agreements filled the hall. "Yes, my Lady!"

  "Good," she stated simply, her voice losing none of its icy authority. "Now. Conrad, take the boy back to his room. Fetch a healer immediately. Afterwards, see that he is bathed and properly clothed."

  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What a crazy, fucked-up situation.

  At least now I knew where I stood. Lord Ainsworth was my enemy. But Lady Ainsworth? Maybe she would shield me from her husband's madness until I could find a way to escape. And find Pip.

  But the exhaustion, the pain, the after-effects of the tremendous magic I'd unleashed… it was all crashing down on me. I felt my mind drifting, the edges of the opulent room blurring into darkness.

  Finally, gratefully, I lost consciousness again.

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