Thin snow began to fall outside the window, wrapping the Northern lands in an eternal white shroud. In the silence of his room at Kyrossia Mansion, Lucien was turning the pages of a book on feudal law when a rhythmic knock sounded at the door. Without looking up, Lucien granted permission to enter.
Hans Vaneheart stepped inside, his fingers encased in white gloves holding a thick envelope sealed with blood-red wax. Lucien accepted the letter, feeling the texture of the expensive paper which carried a pungent aroma of rose perfume.
"From whom?" Lucien asked curtly.
"An invitation from Marquis Pardus, Young Master," Hans replied with a flat tone that held a hint of sarcasm. "A private villa not far from here is preparing for a grand celebration. The Debutante Ball of their eldest daughter, Viona Pardus. Tomorrow she turns sixteen—the age a noble lady is introduced to the social world to seek connections."
Lucien paused for a moment. Thanks to the intensive lessons from Dayn Raven, he understood the weight of this event. A Debutante Ball was not merely a party; it was a political stage. The fact that he was invited—despite his status as being "under trial" and isolated in Kyrossia—showed how desperately Marquis Pardus groveled before the Vornhart name. The Marquis was not inviting a small child; he was inviting the gargantuan shadow standing behind that child.
"Do I have appropriate attire?" Lucien asked, glancing at his small frame in the mirror.
"Perhaps in your wardrobe," Hans smirked, an expression that always signaled a hint of malice. "And if not, I shall simply drag the head of the city's finest boutique here in chains to stitch a set overnight."
Lucien had no intention of responding to Hans's madness. "Bring me a tuxedo set. We are going."
The blood of the Vornhart family was both a curse and a visual blessing. When Lucien stood before the large mirror a few days later, even Hans was stunned for a moment. The pitch-black tuxedo wrapped around Lucien's strange body; though only three years old, his proportions resembled a five-year-old's, with faint muscle definitions that were unnatural for a toddler—a side effect of the awakening of the Devil's Gate forging his physique from within.
His hair, as black as a needle's eye, and his red eyes, shimmering like pomegranates soaked in blood, gave an impression of absolute dominance. The lineage of the Demonic Nobles truly never lied. He did not look like a child; he looked like a sovereign trapped in a tiny body.
"Let us depart," Lucien said coldly.
The journey to the Pardus Villa was a true physical ordeal. The luxury carriage might have been lined with velvet, but without an adequate suspension system, every pothole on the rocky Northern roads sent jolts that churned Lucien's stomach. The Osric within him yearned for the comfort of Earth's technology, while the current Lucien had to suppress his nausea with the dignity of a high-ranking noble.
Two hours later, they arrived at the grand gates of Marquis Pardus's villa. Hans helped Lucien descend. As they approached the hall doors, two guards armed with spears stepped forward, blocking the way and demanding an invitation.
A flash of bloodlust crossed Hans's eyes. His hand moved toward the dagger at his waist, ready to sever the guards' heads from their shoulders simply for the insolence of obstructing his Young Master's path. However, before blood could be spilled, Lucien calmly tossed the invitation onto the chest of one of the guards.
The guard opened it with a rough and dismissive gaze, but the moment his eyes caught the name written there—Lucien Vornhart—his entire body went limp. His spear clattered to the floor. He immediately knelt, his forehead kissing the ground.
"Fo-forgive my insolence! I did not know... Vornhart..." his voice trembled violently with terror.
Lucien did not care for the drama of the plea for mercy. "Announce my presence," he commanded flatly.
The guard stood with trembling legs, took a breath as deep as possible, and shouted with a voice that shattered the noise of the music inside the hall:
"YOUNG MASTER LUCIEN VORNHART, REPRESENTATIVE OF THE GRAND DUCHY OF VORNHART, HAS ARRIVED!"
Instantly, the violin melody stopped. The clinking of crystal glasses vanished. The hall, previously boisterous with the laughter and whispers of nobles, fell into a total silence, as if the Angel of Death had just stepped inside. Fear was the first instinct that arose whenever the Vornhart name was uttered in the Xerathia Empire.
However, when the figure that appeared was merely a small child whose height did not even reach an adult's waist, the tension eased slightly. The guests who did not recognize Hans's face—standing silently like a deathly shadow behind Lucien—began to whisper cynically, relieved that the one who had arrived was not the terrifying Grand Duke.
Lucien's small footsteps echoed on the marble floor as he walked toward the center of the hall. A crowd of blue-haired people—the trademark of the Pardus family—parted, making way for the "little devil."
"Welcome to my eldest daughter's Debutante Ball, Young Master Vornhart."
A middle-aged man with a calm but deeply respectful aura bowed low. He was Glen Pardus, the Marquis. Behind him, other family members also bowed, not daring to look directly into Lucien's red eyes.
"Thank you for the invitation, Marquis," Lucien replied with a highly controlled tone, a thin smile that did not reach his eyes etched on his face. "May your eldest daughter grow into an honorable figure among the high society."
Glen Pardus was flabbergasted. He had mentally prepared to face a crying baby or a toddler who had to be carried by a servant. Yet, before him stood an individual with noble etiquette more perfect than that of veteran diplomats. The aura of pressure emitted by Lucien, though faint, felt suffocating.
"A... a great honor for the Pardus family!" Glen stammered for a moment before regaining his composure. He stepped aside, signaling to a teenage girl walking gracefully toward them.
The girl wore a light blue silk gown that matched her beautiful, flowing hair. She smiled, though there was a slight tremble in her fingers that she hid well.
"Allow me to introduce, Young Master, this is my eldest daughter, Viona Pardus."
"A pleasure to meet you, Young Master," Viona said while performing a perfect curtsey. "Thank you for granting my Debutante Ball the great honor of your presence."
All the invited guests watching the scene were transfixed. Whispers again filled the room, but this time they were filled with a mixture of awe and dread.
"That child is truly a Vornhart?"
"How can a child so small possess an aura so heavy?"
"Look at his eyes... they are exactly the same demonic eyes."
They had long regarded Vornhart as a pack of bloodthirsty monsters who knew no civilization beyond war. However, seeing Lucien standing tall, speaking with such authority, and even offering a formal smile, they began to feel that the Vornhart threat in the future would be far more dangerous. Not just a monster that tore flesh, but a brilliant predator capable of manipulating the social world.
That night, the party that had briefly frozen began to thaw again, but one thing had changed. Every eye in the hall was no longer fixed on the Debutante, but on the three-year-old boy standing in the corner of the room, holding a small glass of grape juice as if it were a trophy of victory over the continent he would soon conquer.
Lucien sipped his drink, his eyes glancing at Hans standing beside him. Amidst this luxury, he knew one thing: this party was only the beginning. Behind the grandeur and opulence of this gala, he could smell the stench of a plan that was about to be set in motion.
The world is just the same, Lucien thought coldly.