The white noise in Valerian's mind didn't fade so much as it crystallized into a new, sharper frequency.
He lay on the cold floor of the Restricted Vault, his fingers still dug into the grooves of the stone. His chest didn't heave; his lungs were perfectly still as Nano prioritized the repair of his ruptured alveoli. For a full minute, he was a corpse in every biological sense—until the first "Core" ignited.
A pulse of pure, refined mana rippled from his solar plexus. A second later, a twin pulse echoed from a newly formed nexus near the base of his spine.
The Dual-Core system was online.
"Nano. Status," Valerian thought, his mind feeling strangely spacious, as if a partition had been knocked down in a cramped room.
"Success rate: 100%. Host's mana pool has been successfully partitioned into two independent reservoirs. Core Alpha: Active (8% capacity). Core Beta: Active (2% capacity). Mana recovery rate has been increased by 215%. Neural processing speed under mana boost: +40%."
Valerian pushed himself up. He felt… balanced. It was no longer a struggle to hold the energy within his frame. It was like having two synchronized hearts, each beating in a perfect, silent rhythm.
He looked at the silver-paged grimoire. It was glowing faintly.
"Warning," Nano interrupted. "Miasma levels in the vault have increased. The Baron's mana signature, which previously acted as a stabilizer for the room's atmosphere, has been retracted. Probability that this was a programmed 'purge' sequence: 98%."
Valerian's eyes narrowed. A faint, cold smile touched his lips. Archibald hadn't just given him the key as a reward; he had given it to him as an executioner. If Valerian hadn't been able to survive the miasma—or the partitioning—he would have simply died in the "glory" of his own greed, and the Baron would have been rid of a dangerous, unpredictable variable.
"Efficient," Valerian whispered. "He doesn't waste his own hands when the environment can do the work."
He turned and walked toward the mist wall. He didn't use the key this time. He simply extended his hand, and, using the parallel processing of his dual cores, he resonated his mana to perfectly cancel out the frequency of the barrier. The stone mist parted like a curtain.
He stepped back into the main library. The air was sweet and thin compared to the heavy rot of the vault.
"You're late for the rehearsal, Valerian."
Baron Archibald was standing by the library entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at his son—at the blood under his fingernails, the strange, calm intensity in his eyes, and the lack of any visible physical decay. The Baron's eyebrow twitched, the only sign of his profound shock.
"The miasma was… informative," Valerian said, walking past his father without stopping. "It taught me that the Ironwood legacy is built on traps rather than truth."
Archibald turned, his hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial sword. "The vault is for those who can take what they want. If you had died, you would have proven yourself unworthy of the air you breathe."
"I took more than you intended, Father," Valerian said, stopping at the door. "I didn't just read the book. I integrated it. Tell the Baroness to stop crying. It's distracting me from my calculations."
"The funeral is in four hours," Archibald said, his voice regaining its steel. "The King's representative, Count Philemon Notos Greyrat, has sent an envoy. They are coming to see if the Ironwood line is ripe for the picking. If you fail to play your part—if you let that cold machine-face of yours show for one second—I will let the Notos family have you as a scapegoat."
Valerian looked back over his shoulder. The blue light in his eyes was gone, replaced by a dull, convincing mimicry of human exhaustion.
"I am a very good actor, Father. After all, I've been pretending to be your son for fourteen years."
The funeral for Gilbert Ironwood was a masterpiece of Asuran hypocrisy.
The sky was a heavy, leaden gray, matching the black veils and soot-stained banners that draped the Ironwood town square. Thousands of commoners had gathered, not out of love for the deceased, but out of a morbid curiosity to see the fall of a "prince."
Valerian stood on the raised dais, positioned exactly three inches behind and to the left of the Baron. He wore a high-collared black tunic, his hair neatly combed, his expression a mask of hollow-eyed grief. To anyone looking, he was the tragic younger brother, thrust into a spotlight he was too fragile to handle.
"Nano. Sensory sweep of the crowd."
"Analyzing… 4,200 individuals. Twelve potential hostiles detected based on concealed weaponry and high mana density. Three targets are focusing exclusively on you."
"Identify the primary outlier."
"Target identified: Male, approximately 30 years old. Position: Third row of the noble gallery. Attire: Green silk cloak with the insignia of the Darius faction. Mana density: Saint-tier (Water/Wind). He is observing your mana gates with a focused detection spell."
Valerian didn't look at the man. Instead, he let his mana "leak."
"Nano. Suppress Core Beta entirely. Let Core Alpha fluctuate wildly, as if I am struggling to contain a weak, untrained pool of mana. Simulate 'mana depletion' tremors in the hands."
"Executing mimicry."
Valerian's hands began to shake slightly. He reached up, as if to wipe a stray tear from his eye, looking every bit the weakling the world expected him to be.
The funeral service was a blur of chanting and incense. Archibald gave a rousing, fake-teared speech about Gilbert's "bravery" and the "cowardice" of the assassins. It was a political rallying cry, designed to pin the blame on rival houses while solidifying his own grip on the local guard.
When the service ended, the "envoy" approached.
The man in the green cloak walked with a predatory elegance. His face was sharp, his eyes like those of a hawk. He ignored the Baron and walked straight to Valerian.
"A tragic loss," the man said. His voice was like velvet over gravel. "I am Lord Maxwell, an associate of High Minister Darius. The Minister sends his deepest condolences. He was… very fond of Lord Gilbert's potential."
Valerian looked up, his bottom lip trembling just enough to be pathetic. "Thank… thank you, my lord. I only wish I could have done more. I am so… weak."
Maxwell leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Valerian one last time. He saw the shaking hands, the unstable mana, and the dull eyes of a boy broken by trauma. He smiled—a thin, cruel thing.
"Strength comes with time, little bird," Maxwell whispered. "Or it doesn't come at all. Some are born to soar, and some are born to provide the feathers for the arrows."
He turned to the Baron. "Minister Darius expects your presence in the capital within the fortnight, Archibald. We have… much to discuss regarding the tax discrepancies Silas Vane discovered before his unfortunate 'accident.'"
The Baron's jaw tightened. "Of course. Ironwood is ever loyal."
As Maxwell turned to leave, his cloak brushed against Valerian's hand. In that split second, Valerian didn't move a muscle, but Nano worked at a speed Maxwell couldn't even perceive.
"Nano. Deploy microscopic tracker. Attachment point: the hem of his cloak."
"Done. Tracker active. We are now linked to his location within a 50-mile radius. I am also extracting a sample of his unique mana frequency for future identification."
Valerian watched the envoy walk away. The "weakness" in his eyes didn't vanish—that would be sloppy—but internally, the dual cores surged into perfect, cold synchronization.
High Minister Darius wanted the Ironwood Barony. He wanted to use Gilbert's death to swallow the territory whole. He thought he was dealing with a grieving father and a broken bastard.
Valerian looked at the burning pyre where his brother's body was being reduced to ash.
"The variable has been miscalculated," Valerian thought.
The political game of the Asura Kingdom was a vast, messy algorithm. But Valerian now had the processing power to solve it. And he would start by dismantling the Darius faction from the inside out, piece by bloody piece.
---
Author's Note
Chapter 2 is officially wrapped!
In this chapter, we've seen Valerian evolve from a simple "fast fighter" into a "Dual-Core" mage. The difference between him and a standard Mushoku Tensei mage is becoming clearer: while others treat magic as a craft or an art, he treats it as a structural hack. The introduction of the Darius faction and Lord Maxwell sets up our first major external conflict. Valerian is no longer just surviving his family; he is entering the high-stakes game of the Kingdom.
Next chapter, we head to the capital. New characters, new magic, and Valerian's first high-level assassination mission.