"Alfred, go together with the boy to his home and bring him back safely after."
Alfred bowed slightly.
"Yes, young master."
Alfred stepped into the carriage without another word, sitting across from the boy.
As soon as Arthur stepped inside the manor, he handed his briefcase to the butler who stood at a distance and stopped in the foyer.
"How have you been, young master?"
Arthur fixed his black-colored glove on his left hand with the help of his right and spoke up:
"I have been well, but... has the funeral ended already?"
The butler passed the briefcase to a servant who would be moving it to Arthur's room.
"Yes, young master."
Arthur looked at the grand clock placed inside the manor and noticed that it was already past the time and the funeral had already ended.
"Hmm... Where is my grandfather?"
Before the butler could reply, Arthur noticed a shadow on the grand walls of the manor.
His gaze then flickered toward the grand staircase, where a man stood with both hands, covered in black-colored gloves, resting atop an obsidian-colored cane with a golden-colored handle.
Then came a voice, low but sharp.
"I'm sure I already warned you not to be late, didn't I?"
Arthur felt diminished in the man's presence, as though he stood before a dragon. One of those ancient, fearsome beasts he had once read about in childhood fantasy books.
Demetrius Ashbourne.
He was the former patriarch of the Ashbourne family, the one who had made the Ashbournes what they are today. He was equally well-respected and well-feared, even among the highest-ranking aristocrats. He had spent most of his life on blood-soaked and horrifying battlefields, leading countless campaigns to victory. And thus, he even earned the chance to marry the first princess of the Crowndale Kingdom.
However, it was known only to a few that the marriage was, on the surface, one of convenience. He had married the princess due to some unfortunate circumstances, but nonetheless, he respected her and eventually, they grew closer to each other when enough time passed.
However, only later did he discover that it had all been nothing more than a trap set by the Royal Family of Crowndale. He now despises them, having realized how they used his wife as if she were nothing more than a pawn.
He was also the man who had trained his own son with merciless discipline. Frederick's teachings were far too soft compared to his father's.
Arthur steeled his will and replied.
"Yes, I was aware. However, there were some unfortunate circumstances due to which I couldn't make it on time."
'What good is a funeral without the body?'
His hawk-like gaze fell upon Arthur. He made no movement, and yet it felt as though an invisible wall had risen between them, not one of stone or steel, but of sheer, unshakable will.
"Oho… what do we have here? You've grown now, haven't you? If it were a decade ago, you wouldn't even have been able to meet my gaze, let alone speak properly."
What Demetrius said was indeed true.
However, Arthur could clearly understand that he was mocking him, as if Arthur were still nothing more than a child in his eyes.
"Yes. Probably. But... Grandfather, I'm not that child anymore who would hide behind his father. I've already been protected enough. I don't wish to hide anymore."
His gaze locked onto Arthur like a predator assessing whether its prey was worth the effort.
"Hmm..."
He moved his footsteps quietly as the sound of his cane echoed throughout the entire hall.
Click. Tap.
"It seems you can't be considered a cub any longer. However, it seems you haven't learned how to pay respect to an actual tiger who doesn't just roar, but also bites."
'Again with this... why does he keep doing this? Does he want to be superior to me?'
Arthur clenched his fists, his mind drifting back to an old memory. He could still recall the scent of the rain-soaked earth, the weight of a large cloak far too heavy for his small body.
The firm arms of his father's left-hand man, Richard, held him against his chest as they stood at the foot of these very stairs.
Frederick's cold voice rang out in the entire hall.
"Why did you let that happen?!"
Demetrius' expression darkened, his grip tightening on his cane as he replied:
"Do not lay the blame for your failures upon me."
Arthur couldn't understand whether they were speaking of the past or the present.
"I've no interest in quibbling over old missteps, my son."
Demetrius' voice was dismissive, as if the very conversation was an irritation he could scarcely be bothered to entertain.
His sharp, unwavering gaze flickered to Arthur as he said.
"The boy should rest before he embarrasses himself further."
With that, he turned around to leave, but Frederick's words stopped him mid-step.
"My successor's training is no concern of yours, Father. Do not worry yourself over how I train my heir."
Frederick had rarely spoken with such clarity. However, at that very moment, his anger was justified.
After all, his only heir had been kidnapped and sold off to a nobleman who saw him as nothing more than a toy to break.
In the body of a child, powerless and alone, Arthur had endured. And that was where he was supposed to die, according to the novel Arthur remembered.
Only after a few months had Frederick managed to find him, but he wasn't in good condition by then.
Demetrius had let it happen. He had not lifted a finger to save him.
And then, the very next day, he had departed for a vacation villa located in one of the Ashbournes' territories.
The past blended into the present as Arthur tried to pull himself from the memory.
"I shall rest for today, Grandfather. We can speak in detail tomorrow."
Demetrius regarded Arthur in silence, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly before he spoke.
"I'll be overseeing your training from now on, so make sure to clear your schedule, boy."
Arthur flinched, doubting his own ears.
'Boy…?'
Arthur was an adult by all means, but to be called a boy in front of the manor servants. It was beyond humiliating.
'Was this his intention from the start? To humiliate me and show the servants of the manor that he was the true master and not I?'
What Demetrius wanted to show Arthur was that he held the power here. And if Arthur wanted it, he would have to follow him without objection.
Arthur's jaw tightened, the taste of iron lingering on his tongue, but he did not argue. It would serve no purpose.
Demetrius lingered for a moment longer, watching Arthur with an expression he couldn't quite understand.
It hurt Arthur's pride, but nonetheless, he replied calmly.
"I understand, Grandfather. However, I have a few things to take care of, so we shall start our lessons after a few days."
Arthur had taken a blow to his pride, so it was only right that he negotiated as he saw fit.
"Sure, let's do it."
Demetrius turned around and left the hall, while Arthur stood still for a moment before heading to his room.
As soon as Arthur crossed the threshold of his room, he noticed that the future had been changed, probably because Arthur was no longer a child, and thus he remembered his days spent in this very room, where he would sob under the blanket when things got hard and he had a tough time.
"Sigh... It's still the same."
His gaze scanned the room, remembering each and every detail.
The room was divided into two parts: one for rest and the other for work.
The sleeping quarters were quite luxurious: a large bed stood at its heart, draped in thick fabric embroidered with the Ashbourne crest. The bedding was impossibly soft, a warmth against the chill of the evening air.
To the right side of the bed was an arched window from where the manor grounds could be seen. Its heavy velvet curtains, partially drawn, allowed silver moonlight to spill delicately across the floor.
The other half of the room, which was the study, had a mahogany table right in front of the back window. The space on the desk was filled with parchment, quills, ink bottles, and a few books at the side. A single high-backed chair stood before the desk like a throne of contemplation.
And then there were the bottles.
Near the study's corner, a cabinet of fine crystal decanters sat atop a sideboard, stocked with aged liquor, likely kept in case Arthur had trouble sleeping or was in the mood for drinking.
'Father usually had trouble sleeping. I guess that's one of the reasons why the butler had those bottles placed here.'
Arthur stepped closer to the bed and sat down on it. He then rubbed his temples and sighed from exhaustion.
"Haa... what a tiring day it was..."