The cold night air hung heavy beneath the oppressive glare of a full moon.
"Did I, brother?" Leon inquired, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm. He inclined his head, his malicious grin twisting into something grotesque. "Ah yes, manners! Is your beloved smithing master well? I understand that old man is very ill. Isn't he dying right now?"
"You...!" Alric clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles became white, staring at the floor with quivering shoulders.
"You need to go to sister Liora and make amends," Alric snarled under his breath, his anger seething through his tone. "She didn't ever do anything to harm you."
"Perhaps it would be best to change your wording, brother," Leon taunted, approaching him, his hollowed-out expression void of any emotion. "Are you not trying to say that she has never done anything for me?"
Alric tried to respond but nothing came out of his mouth. It hurt him to look at his brother.
"Master Alric," a sharp voice interrupted the suffocating silence. A servant stepped out from the shadows of the courtyard. "We must leave. His Grace calls for you."
Leon let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. "Ah! The great Lord Leofric calling for his perfect little reflection. Run along, Alric."
"You—!" Alric took a step forward, but the servant quickly placed a hand on his chest, casting a freezing, contemptuous glare at Leon.
"No, Master Alric. Do not lower yourself. He isn't worth it."
Leon's smile didn't fade; it only grew sharper, twisted by years of resentment. "My, my. Since when did dogs learn how to speak?"
The insult snapped the last thread of Alric's restraint. His eyes widened, veins bulging near his temples as his breathing turned ragged.
"Go ahead," Leon whispered, leaning in, practically begging for the blow. "Punch me. Push me. Might as well make me bleed with one of those pathetic blades you forged. Go on. Do it."
Alric's jaw clamped shut with a sickening click. For a long, agonizing moment, the two brothers stared at each other. Then, with a harsh exhale, Alric turned on his heel and stormed away into the night, his boots echoing against the cobblestones.
Two years bled into the next, and the rot in Leon's soul only festered.
Inside the lavish dining hall, the clinking of silverware was the only sound until Julian walked in. The old butler stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the young master he had watched grow.
"Young master... wh-what has happened to you?" Julian whispered.
Leon didn't look up from his plate. He elegantly cut a piece of meat. "What? I don't feel anything wrong. Do you? Personally, I think I'm quite perfect."
A young maid stepped forward with a trembling hand, pouring hot tea into his porcelain cup. A single splash spilled over the rim.
Leon backhanded the cup with incredible force. It sailed through the air and narrowly missed hitting the maid in the face before smashing against the pillar behind her. Boiling hot tea and razor-sharp pieces of porcelain rained upon the maid, causing her to scream in horror and kneel to the floor.
"Sir Leon!" Julian exclaimed in alarm.
"Yes, Julian? Is there something you need?" Leon replied, unnervingly calm.
The years he had spent calling Leon 'Uncle' seemed like they were finally at an end. Julian could feel his heart breaking in two. Tears filled his eyes as he rushed to help the maid to her feet.
"Young Master, you mustn't act this way," Julian spoke with a trembling voice filled with sorrow and command. "It is not fit for a Leodrick to–"
"What... Did... You Say?" Leon growled. The fork he was holding went into the table so hard that it became stuck.
Leon got up, making his chair scrape on the floor.
"You know better than anyone that I am not considered Leofric's son! Were you not at the awakening ceremony? Were you absent from the festival dinner? 'That kid.' 'That brat.' 'That useless, talentless boy.' That is my name in this house! I am simply becoming exactly what they say I am."
Julian sighed heavily, the weight of the family's sins pressing down on his old bones. "You are turning sixteen in a few months, young master. You should start considering your future. What will you do?"
"Considering? What is there to consider?" Leon scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm going to spend time with my friends. We'll party. What else does one do on their birthday?"
"Those children are not your friends, Master Leon," Julian pleaded, taking a step closer. "They... they are vultures. They use you for your status. For your gold."
Leon paused, a dark, cynical glint flashing in his eyes.
"You know, Julian, I read a book once. It said, 'Gold speaks louder than loyalty ever could.' I just use my gold, and oh, how beautifully it speaks! It speaks for me. People actually listen to me when the coin flows."
Leon turned toward the grand window. "Speaking of my guests, they should be arriving. Go let them in and guide them to me."
When Julian opened the manor doors, his stomach churned. The group waiting outside did not look like noble children. To Julian's experienced eyes, they looked like a ruthless band of young rogues, thieves, and mercenaries disguised in expensive cloaks.
Leon grinned as they entered the parlor. "I need you all to do a little job for me."
A few days later, Alric pushed open the heavy iron doors of the family smithy. He froze.
"Wh-what happened here...?"
Once a magnificent forge where the flames and metal danced under the hands of skilled craftsmen, the grand smithy of Leodrick now resembled a cemetery. The enormous furnaces were cold, crushed and ruined. The walls of weapon displays no longer had any swords – they had been taken away. The anvil was knocked off its place; each hammer was broken beyond repair.
Alric froze in place. All those blades, crafted by him and his master, spent months working with and loving every bit of metal... all taken away. Destroyed like nothing mattered at all.
An overwhelming rage consumed his thoughts and senses. Driven by anger alone, Alric drew his broadsword and marched towards the manor, pounding his way through every hallway until finally reaching the yard.
There, relaxing in the warmth of afternoon sun, was Leon, calmly sipping tea.
"Where's Leon?!" bellowed Alric, even though he was already dashing through the yard.
Leon lifted his head and looked at Alric, his expression a mixture of surprise and delight. "What happened, brother Alric? You seem... well, enraged. I like that look very much."
Alric swung his sword, smashing the teacup right out of Leon's hand and stopping the blade just an inch away from his neck.
"Did you do that to the smithy?!" demanded Alric.
"The smithy? Oh, let me think for a moment. Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't."
"Answer me!" Alric roared.
Suddenly, a violent, radiant green aura erupted from Alric's body—his *Flow* had activated. The sheer pressure of the energy kicked up the grass around them, coating the edge of his blade in a deadly hum of power. "Answer me if you wish to live. Say one more stupid word, and my sword will be painted with your blood."
Before the blade could twitch, Julian materialized between them, his old but powerful hand gripping Alric's forearm with iron strength.
"Master Alric, stop this at once!" Julian commanded sharply.
The green aura flickered violently against Julian's sudden intervention.
"Stop?!" Alric snarled, struggling against the butler's grip, his eyes locked onto Leon like a feral beast. "That bastard destroyed the family heritage! And you still defend him?!"
Julian's expression hardened into a stone mask. "Young Lord Leon would never do such a thing. Put your sword away before you bring further disgrace upon this house."
"Who else could it be?! It has to be him!" Alric yelled.
Leon, seeing the guards and knights rushing toward the commotion, suddenly dropped to the ground, trembling and putting on a pathetic, terrified act. But as Alric was finally forced back by Julian, Leon rose, brushing the dirt off his clothes. He leaned in close to Alric's ear, his voice dropping to a demonic whisper.
"Good luck with those broken tools of yours," Leon breathed.
Alric's jaw clenched so hard a bead of blood popped from his lip. Surrounded by the watchful eyes of the estate's knights, he couldn't strike. With a final, murderous glare, Alric turned and walked away into the shadows.
------------------------
Then came Leon's sixteenth birthday.
The manor's grand lounge had devolved into a hedonistic nightmare of spilled wine, broken glass, and roaring laughter. The noble boys Leon called his friends lounged arrogantly over the expensive furniture, draining the Leodrick cellars of their rarest vintages.
"To Lord Leon!" one of the boys shouted, raising a golden goblet high. The others roared in approval, slamming their cups together.
Leon laughed along, his vision already blurred, his face flushed red from the endless alcohol being poured down his throat. Servants navigated the chaotic room like ghosts, terrified of making a sound.
As the night grew deeper and the air grew foul, a boy with a crooked grin leaned back lazily. "Come now, Leon," he slurred, nudging Leon with his elbow. "Don't tell me a Great Lord's manor lacks pretty maids willing to entertain guests. Bring them out."
A few others chuckled darkly under their breath.
Leon's brow furrowed slightly through his drunken haze. A rare flash of his former self flickered. "Find your own women," he muttered, taking another deep swig.
The room fell dead silent. The crooked-grinned boy sighed dramatically, shaking his head with a mocking pity. "What a waste," he laughed, looking at the others. "All this wealth, yet our dear Lord Leon lacks any real ambition."
The lounge erupted into snickers. They weren't laughing *with* him; they were mocking him to his face. Leon's chest burned, but before he could process the insult, another full goblet was shoved into his hand.
"Drink up, Lord of Nothing!"
The wine kept flowing, turning Leon's irritation into a raging, drunken heat. A young servant, trembling from exhaustion, stepped forward to refill the table. His foot caught on a discarded bottle, and he brushed against Leon's shoulder, spilling dark red wine straight down Leon's pristine white sleeve.
The room fell instantly silent.
The servant dropped to his knees, his face pressing against the floor. "F-Forgive me, young lord! Forgive—"
He never finished. Driven by alcohol, humiliation, and a lifetime of pent-up rage, Leon hurled the heavy silver goblet straight at the boy's head.
The metal shattered against the servant's forehead. The boy collapsed sideways with a muffled groan, bright crimson blood immediately pouring down his face, staining the carpet.
For a second, the room held its breath. Then, a deafening wave of laughter erupted.
"Now *that* is a noble!" one boy shouted, wiping a tear from his eye. Another nearly choked on his wine from laughing so hard.
Leon stared at the bleeding, unconscious boy on the floor. His head throbbed. The laughter of the vultures ringed in his ears, feeding his twisted ego. Slowly, a drunken, broken laugh escaped his own lips. He laughed with them.
By the end of the night, the lounge was a ruin. Chairs were smashed, priceless tapestry torn down, and the floor was a swamp of sour wine and shattered glass.
Leon could barely stand. With stumbling, uneven steps and a mind completely lost to the dark, he dragged himself out of the wreckage and into his bedroom. He collapsed face-first onto the bed, still wearing his wine-stained, blood-flecked clothes. The candles flickered wildly in the draft, casting long, monstrous shadows over him. He looked less like a noble lord and more like a defeated beast.
Julian stood at the doorway. He knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice.
No response.
The old butler's face held no surprise—only a profound, crushing disappointment. He pushed the door open, stared at the pathetic display of the drunk, unconscious boy, and quietly closed the door behind him.
The next morning, the sun rose high, casting bright light over the estate. Julian walked down the corridor, a heavy heart in his chest. He needed to address the severely injured servant from the night before.
He knocked on Leon's door. Nothing.
Julian checked his pocket watch. It was already past noon. Fearing the worst or simply running out of patience, Julian turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The bed was empty.
The stained clothes were thrown on the floor. The window was wide open, the curtains fluttering in the wind. Leon was gone.