The banners of House Duskveil swayed in the torchlight, black and silver threads woven into the image of a sword crossed with an anvil. To the servants, it was a crest of pride, a reminder of the house's long history of steel and soil. To Kael, it was something else entirely. He saw not just a symbol but a statement: strength was never admired without envy, and wealth was never respected without suspicion. He had lived long enough in another world to know that power, once visible, always drew predators.
At supper, his father's voice carried across the long table, deep and steady, the kind of voice that could silence a hall without effort. "The mines yielded another rich vein this week. Enough ore to supply the royal foundries for months." His words were not boastful, merely factual, but Kael could hear the weight behind them. Ore meant steel, and steel meant soldiers. Soldiers meant power.
His mother's tone was calm, but her words were edged with something sharper. "And the harvest is strong. The granaries are full. Our people will not go hungry this winter." She spoke with the grace of a noblewoman, but Kael had already learned to hear the layers beneath her voice. The harvest was not just food; it was leverage. Grain could feed armies as easily as it fed peasants.
Kael sat quietly, his small hands folded neatly before him, his legs dangling from the chair. To any outsider, it would have sounded like prosperity, a family discussing the fruits of their labor. To him, it sounded like a ledger being read aloud, a balance sheet of assets that made House Duskveil indispensable—and therefore dangerous.
He raised his head, his voice soft but clear. "Father… if we give the crown so much steel, won't the other lords be… jealous?"
Lord Duskveil's eyes flicked to him, sharp and assessing. His father was a man of iron, both in will and in the steel his mines produced, and he did not often waste words. "Jealousy is the burden of strength. Let them gnash their teeth. We do not bend."
His mother's gaze lingered on him, thoughtful, her emerald eyes catching the firelight. "And envy breeds isolation. Remember that, Kael. Nobles smile with their lips while sharpening their knives."
Kael lowered his gaze, hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips. The same game, played with different pieces. In my old world, it was corporations and politicians. Here, it is dukes and counts. But the rules are unchanged: too much power makes you indispensable, and being indispensable makes you dangerous.
Later, by the hearth, Kael pressed further. He had learned that questions, when asked with the right tone, revealed more than answers. "Mother, what rank does our house hold in the kingdom?"
She smoothed his hair, her smile faint but tinged with pride. "We are a high noble house, but not among the great dukedoms. Our strength lies in our land and our steel, not in the favor of the court."
"Then why not seek favor?" Kael asked, his voice soft, almost innocent, though his eyes were steady.
Lord Duskveil chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Because favor is fleeting. Today they praise you, tomorrow they condemn you. Steel and soil endure. That is why we stand."
Kael tilted his head, feigning the curiosity of a child. "But if they wear masks… shouldn't we learn what's under them?"
His father's laughter stopped. His mother's eyes sharpened. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the hall. Then she said quietly, "You think too deeply for your years."
Kael smiled faintly. "I only listen."
The words seemed to satisfy them, but Kael knew better. His parents were not blind. They had seen the way he watched, the way he listened, the way his questions cut deeper than a child's should. They chose not to press him, perhaps out of pride, perhaps out of fear. Either way, it suited him.
The next day, he overheard two servants whispering in the corridor as he passed. "They say the Duke of Harrowfield called our lord arrogant," one murmured. "That House Duskveil grows too independent."
"Careful," the other hissed. "Walls have ears."
Kael walked past them without a word, but his mind turned. Arrogant, independent, too ambitious… the same words they used in my old world. Innovators, disruptors, visionaries—they praised them in public, then buried them in private. The pattern never changes.
He thought of the mines, the fields, the forges. House Duskveil controlled the lifeblood of the kingdom: food and steel. In his old world, that would have been like controlling energy and information. No corporation that held such assets had ever been allowed to stand unchallenged. Rivals would conspire, regulators would intervene, politicians would whisper until the giant was cut down to size. Here, the tools were different, but the outcome would be the same.
That evening, Kael sat with his mother in the solar, the firelight casting long shadows across the stone walls. She was reading a letter, her brow furrowed. He watched her silently until she noticed.
"What is it, Kael?" she asked, setting the parchment aside.
"Are the other lords angry with us?" he asked.
Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "Angry? Perhaps. Envious? Certainly. But anger and envy are nothing new. House Duskveil has stood for centuries."
"But houses fall," Kael said softly.
Her hand stilled, then she laughed lightly, though the sound was forced. "You speak like an old man, my son. Too much listening to your father's grim lessons."
Kael smiled, but inside his thoughts burned. Not grim. True. Every empire falls. Every dynasty crumbles. Every corporation collapses. Unless… unless you build something that cannot be toppled by envy or politics. A system so strong it rewrites the rules.
Days later, Kael accompanied his father to the training yard. The clang of steel rang through the air as knights drilled in formation, their armor gleaming in the sun. Kael watched them move, their swords rising and falling in unison, their boots striking the ground in rhythm. To any other child, it would have been a spectacle of awe. To Kael, it was a system. Each knight was a cog, each movement a gear, and together they formed a machine of flesh and steel. Efficient, but not perfect. He could see the wasted steps, the uneven timing, the gaps in their formation. His engineer's mind catalogued every flaw, every inefficiency, and quietly began to imagine how it could be improved.
His father noticed his gaze. "What do you see, Kael?"
Kael hesitated, then said carefully, "They move together… but not always the same. Some are slower. Some are faster. If they were machines, they would break."
Lord Duskveil raised an eyebrow, then laughed, a deep rumble. "Machines, eh? You think strangely, boy. But you are not wrong. Discipline is the oil that keeps men moving as one. Without it, the machine breaks."
Kael nodded, though his thoughts went further. Machines can be redesigned. Systems can be rebuilt. If I can apply the same logic to men, to mana, to politics… then perhaps I can build something that does not break.
That night, as the torches flickered and the banners swayed gently in the hall, Kael Duskveil made a silent vow. He would not allow his family's wealth and strength to become their downfall. He would take the lessons of his past life, the ruthless efficiency of corporations and the cunning of politicians, and he would forge them into something new.
A system stronger than envy. A foundation deeper than politics.
The nobles of this world thought themselves untouchable, but Kael knew better. Every empire, every dynasty, every corporation had its weaknesses. And he would find them.
For he was not just the heir of House Duskveil. He was its future architec