"Enough!"
The word cracked like thunder, reverberating across the hall. It was not merely a sound but a verdict—a voice that severed laughter mid-breath and stripped courage from bone.
Lucian's mocking grin froze, as if carved in stone. His lips twitched, then faltered. His eyes widened, pupils shrinking like prey caught in the glow of a predator's stare.
A cold shiver lanced through him, and the color drained from his cheeks. Slowly—painfully slow—he turned his head toward the shadowed pillars.
And there he was.
From the archways stepped Marcus Valemont, the Duke's firstborn. The eldest son of House Valemont did not walk—he arrived.
His broad shoulders seemed to bear the very weight of the estate, his steps echoing with authority that pressed into every corner of the hall. The golden torchlight flickered across his face, sharpening his hawk-like features into something stern and merciless.
Lucian's voice shattered the silence, trembling. "B–Brother Marcus… I… I didn't know you had returned from your mission."
His smirk, once cruel, now twisted into something pitiful—a desperate mask of submission.
Marcus's eyes, cold as tempered steel, locked onto him. His presence was suffocating, a tempest caged in human form.
If Klein was considered the most gifted of the Duke's children, then Marcus was its storm—unyielding, fierce, untamable. His lightning affinity fit him like a crown of wrath; he was thunder walking on two legs, a calamity dressed in noble garb.
"I am back," Marcus said, his tone flat—yet beneath it thunder rumbled. "And the first thing I hear is disgrace—my own blood mocking the pain of his brother."
His voice lowered, heavy, each word like a blade pressed against Lucian's throat. "How dare you still call yourself my brother when you revel in his suffering?"
Lucian's lips cracked dry, his tongue fumbling for words. "Brother, I—"
"You do not deserve to call me that."
Marcus's words fell like judgment, and with them came the storm.
A wave of pressure erupted from him, invisible yet undeniable. The air warped; lightning hissed faintly along the edges of his cloak. The very ground seemed to groan beneath the weight of his aura.
Lucian gasped as though his lungs had been stolen, his knees buckling. He couldn't even raise a finger in defense as the unseen force hammered into him.
The world blurred.
His scream tore through the hall as he was flung like a ragdoll, crashing into the far wall with bone-rattling force. Dust and fragments of stone rained down around his crumpled form.
The maids who had giggled mere moments before shrieked in horror, their faces drained of joy. The smiles that had danced on their lips now lay shattered, replaced by wide-eyed terror.
Marcus didn't spare Lucian another glance. His gaze cut through the servants instead, sharp and merciless.
"And the rest of you," he said, his voice cracking like a whip. "If you have nothing better to do than whisper like rats, then begone."
Fear struck deeper than any blade. Shoes scuffed and skirts rustled as the maids scattered like frightened pigeons before a hawk. The hall was soon emptied of all but brothers and guards.
Marcus's boots echoed as he strode to the men gripping Klein's arms. His presence filled the silence like thunderclouds blotting out the sun.
"I'll take him from here."
The guards stiffened, sweat slicking their brows. One found the courage—or the foolishness—to speak. "Young Master, the Lord Duke instructed us to—"
"I said…"
Marcus's voice cut sharper than any sword. Lightning flared in his eyes, the faint crackle of power dancing along his fingers as they hovered near the hilt at his waist.
"I'll take him. From. Here."
The air grew heavier. The hall itself seemed to shrink beneath the force of his aura. The guards exchanged a glance, throats bobbing as they swallowed hard.
In that moment, it was clear—Marcus would rather paint the walls red with their blood than repeat himself.
"As… as you command, Young Master Marcus."
They lowered their heads, retreating with the speed of men who knew they had brushed against death.
Only silence remained.
Marcus turned at last, his storm-born gaze settling upon Klein. For the first time, his features softened, the ice in his expression cracking just slightly.
"Come. With me."
Klein obeyed, his steps heavy but steady as he followed. The vast gate of the estate loomed ahead, yet it was not the distance that weighed on his feet—it was the years of torment etched into his back.
Halfway through the walk, Marcus's voice broke the silence, firm yet not unkind.
"Hey."
Klein blinked.
"Chin up," Marcus said, his tone like thunder wrapped in steel. "If you lower your head after just one fall, you'll never rise to the expectations I have for you."
For a moment, Klein faltered. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze. His eyes met his brother's, and warmth surged through the cracks of his battered heart.
"Thank you, Brother," he whispered, voice steady though heavy with emotion. "Sincerely."
And he meant it.
For in those two long years of torment, Marcus Valemont had been one of the rare few who still treated him not as a burden, not as a broken shadow—
but as a brother.
Marcus had never been the sort of sibling to wrap affection in honeyed words. His care was hidden in corners, tucked into gestures so subtle they might have gone unnoticed by anyone less perceptive than Klein.
And yet, Klein noticed everything.
Though Marcus was often away—swallowed by endless missions, errands painted in blood and steel—whenever he returned, even for the briefest of stays, he checked up on Klein.
Never directly, never openly. He would ask a servant if Klein had eaten properly, if he'd been well after collapsing during training.
He'd ensure gifts arrived on Klein's birthdays, carefully disguised as anonymous offerings, though Klein always knew whose hand had orchestrated them.
It wasn't warmth, not the kind of love sung in soft songs or whispered beneath candlelight.
No—Marcus's love was flint and iron, unyielding, sparking only when struck.
But in that reliability, in that ferocity, Klein found comfort.
To the rest of the household, Marcus was fierce, hot-tempered—the storm that smashed everything in its path.
To Klein, he was different.
He was a shield. A brother who, when the world turned its back, stood unmoving.
For that, Klein's gratitude was immeasurable.
"No need for thanks," Marcus said flatly when Klein tried to express it. His gaze hardened like tempered steel. "This is what family should do.
I've never understood Father's rules—throwing away blood just because they fail to meet some foolish expectation. Family is supposed to stand by you, even when you're at your lowest. Otherwise, what's the difference between us and strangers?"
His words cut sharp, brimming with an anger older than Klein's own. He exhaled heavily, the kind of sigh that carried years of unspoken frustration.
"Alas, we lack the strength to oppose those rules. Which is why we must grow stronger. Only then can we change this rotten system."
Klein's lips curved into a faint smile, but deep inside something far greater stirred—a spark, a flame, a roaring ember that demanded fuel.
Yes. I must grow stronger. Only then will I seize my fate.
They walked until the towering estate gates came into view, black iron against the pale sky.
Marcus stopped suddenly, unclasping the necklace from around his neck. Silver glinted as he pressed it into Klein's palm.
"This," Marcus said, his tone uncharacteristically solemn, "I'll lend to you. Return it when you're strong enough to reclaim your place in this family. It's expensive, so don't hold onto it too long."
Klein froze.
The pendant hanging from the chain was a deep sapphire, glowing faintly as if it drew breath. Mana pulsed within it, steady and alive.
He didn't need to be told what it was. His instincts screamed.
A talisman. A defensive rune.
Not some trinket peddled by merchants to gullible nobles, but a true life-saving relic—etched by the hands of a master, so rare that coin alone could not purchase it.
A talisman like this could defy death itself, shielding the bearer from calamity once, maybe twice.
And Marcus had given it to him.
The weight of it was suffocating, not from its silver chain but from what it meant. Marcus had risked and bled to acquire this, and he had chosen Klein to hold it.
Rejecting it was impossible. To accept it was a vow.
Klein closed his hand around the necklace, its cool surface biting into his palm. His chest tightened, but his resolve crystallized.
"I… I understand. Thank you, Brother."
"No need," Marcus replied with a dry chuckle. "It's just something I'm lending you. Pay me back by returning it."
His gaze softened for a brief heartbeat—almost human, almost tender.
"Goodbye then."
He turned without hesitation, striding back into the estate. The iron gates swallowed his figure whole, leaving Klein alone beneath the open sky.
Klein stared at the closing gates, fingers locked tight around the talisman. His veins bulged as he clenched harder, the word Marcus had spoken echoing in his skull.
Return.
Yes, he would return.
But not in the way Marcus imagined.
He would not crawl back to reclaim a seat at a table that had cast him aside the moment fortune slipped from his grasp.
No—when he returned, it would be with fire at his heels and wrath in his hands.
He would punish them. All of them. The ones who had used him, discarded him, sneered when he fell.
He would tear their world down brick by brick until they choked on the ruins of their legacy.
"I'll return," he whispered, voice trembling with hate. "But only to burn everything you hold dear."
The thought had barely left him when agony struck.
A searing pain cleaved through his skull, white-hot and merciless. Klein staggered, clutching his head, vision fracturing into shards of black and silver.
His ears rang like struck bells, his heartbeat thundered like war drums, and reality itself seemed to ripple.
Then, through the storm of pain, light shimmered before his eyes.
A phantom board of glowing script, alien and divine, flickered into being.
His blurred gaze caught fragments of the words inscribed across it.
---
[Requirements Met.]
[Host's Will of Wrath acknowledged.]
[Proceeding with Sin System activation…]