Silence.
For a few seconds after the Duke's declaration, not a single soul dared to speak. Even breathing felt dangerous.
Then... the explosion.
"THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!" — one noble slammed his fist on the table. — "A STREET RAT?! AS YOUR HEIR?!"
"MY LORD, PLEASE, RETHINK THIS!" — another stood up, face red with fury. — "WE HAVE SERVED HOUSE RAVENHART FOR GENERATIONS! THIS IS A DISGRACE!"
"A BEGGAR! AN INSULT TO US ALL!"
Shouts overlapped. Voices drowned in rage, disgust, and deep down... fear.
Fear of what this decision meant.
Me?
I just stood there... frozen.
Tensed shoulders. Clenched fists. Head down.
Feeling like I was surrounded by starving wolves.
Wolves ready to rip me apart.
But then...
The Duke raised his hand.
That's all it took.
A single motion.
Immediate silence.
No one dared to utter another word.
No one even dared to breathe.
"...Interesting." — His voice was sharper than any blade. — "You shout... protest... object..."
He stepped forward, staring into each pair of eyes, one by one.
"But where were these voices... when you came crawling, begging for protection? Where was this outrage... when you groveled at my feet to save your miserable lands from ruin?"
Not a soul responded.
The tension suffocated the air.
Then— a voice.
Rough. Dripping with arrogance... and stupidity.
"My Lord..." — one of the veteran knights knelt. — "With all due respect... choosing this street trash... dishonors our crest. It disgraces everything our ancestors built."
His words fell heavy. Like a hammer.
The Duke didn't respond right away.
Instead... he slowly removed one of his black leather gloves.
The soft snap of fingers leaving the leather echoed like bones cracking.
He inhaled. Calm. Controlled. Deadly.
Then, without even glancing at the knight, he spoke to one of the black-armored guards:
"Cut off his head."
For a moment... I thought I misheard.
But then—
The sound of steel unsheathing.
Cold. Precise.
"W-WAIT, MY LORD, I—"
SCHLAAK.
A single, clean slash.
The head rolled across the polished marble floor, leaving a trail of dark blood that spread like cracks in stone.
The body collapsed next, empty. Lifeless. Like his existence had simply... vanished.
No one screamed.
No one moved.
No one even breathed.
The Duke pulled a handkerchief from his coat, wiped his hands — though they were perfectly clean — and turned his gaze to everyone present.
"Does anyone else... wish to argue?"
Eyes fell to the floor.
Legs trembled.
Some nobles swallowed hard, drenched in cold sweat.
Silence.
Nothing but suffocating silence.
In that moment, I understood a brutal, undeniable truth:
This world has no place for the weak.
The Duke took a deep breath, slid his glove back on, and continued:
"Good. From this day forward... this boy... this name... this crest..." — he turned, locking eyes with every soul in the room — "...is Clint Ravenhart."
No one spoke.
The nobles lowered their heads. Some out of duty. Others... out of pure fear.
Me?
I could barely feel my hands.
My legs felt like stone.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it felt like it might explode.
But deep inside... in the darkest corner of my mind...
That same voice whispered. The one that had always guided me through the filth and shadows.
"I will survive... no matter what I have to do."