Lucon tipped the bottle back.

  And didn’t stop.

  The alcohol burned but he didn’t even flinch. He swallowed it all in seconds, throat working steadily until the bottle was empty.

  He exhaled.

  The world shuddered. Then it bloomed.

  The Flow swam around him.

  It flooded back around him like a storm breaking through a dam—violent, brilliant, intoxicating. Pain dulled. Fear evaporated.

  Ambrosia Lucon was back.

  He let out a small burp.

  “Excuse me.”

  Lucon stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck.

  Then his eyes—now sharp, calculating, alive with a knowing light—drifted to the deepest shadow in the corner of his room, where the wall met the ceiling.

  Gasped.

  “W-Who are you?!” he cried, theatrically. “Assassins?!”

  Silence.

  [Flash Strike]

  His body became a flash of golden light.

  A body tumbled out of the shadow, slamming into the floor—dressed in black, face concealed, unconscious before he even understood what had happened.

  From the far side of the room, a panicked whisper sputtered, “H-He sees us—?!”

  [Flash Strike]

  A second figure collapsed out of the shadows mid-sentence.

  Lucon calmly walked to his bed, crouched, and reached beneath it.

  He dragged out a woman dressed in the same black attire, shock in her eyes.

  “Don’t kill me, assassins!” he said brightly.

  The woman became utterly confused because he was grinning.

  Lucon squeezed her neck.

  She went limp.

  The door burst open.

  Hilda stood there, staring.

  Three unconscious figures lay scattered across the floor.

  “Who are these people…?!” she gasped.

  Lucon glanced at them. “Aunt Genevieve’s subordinates.”

  Hilda shook her head helplessly. “I don’t understand…”

  He gestured for her to come in. "Close the door."

  She obeyed mechanically, her eyes darting between the unconscious spies. Lucon bent and picked up the fallen book from the floor.

  "Hilda," he said, his tone gentle. "You don't have to keep secrets from me."

  She tilted her head, genuine confusion mixing with her alarm. "Master?"

  “You know I would never hurt you, don’t you?”

  She nodded immediately, a small smile forming on her lips. "Of course."

  He assessed her, the Flow reading the subtle shifts in her energy—the loyalty, the fondness, the deep, hidden layers beneath.

  "Do you think," Lucon continued, "that if I found out something about you, maybe something bad, that I would hurt you? That it would change anything?"

  Hilda blinked. Her gaze dropped to the book in his hand—Gareth True-Heart: The Hero with the Truest Heart. Her eyes widened in slow, dawning horror. The color drained from her face.

  Lucon smiled softly. “No matter what it is, I won’t abandon you.”

  Panic and horror flashed across Hilda’s features. She spun on her heel and bolted for the door.

  [Golden Step]

  Gold light flared at his feet. He was there before her hand could touch the latch, his palm pressing firmly against the solid wood, sealing it shut. She pulled, strained, but was powerless against his strength. She stopped trying, eyes darting in every direction for a way out, shoulders heaving with ragged breaths.

  She wouldn’t look at him.

  Lucon reached out.

  And petted her head.

  In the Flow, her fear fluttered wildly—like a trapped bird.

  “You would abandon me?” he asked quietly.

  A sob hitched in her throat. She still wouldn't look at him. "You would hate me if you knew!" she cried, the words tearing themselves free. "You would be the one to abandon me!"

  Lucon watched the emotional maelstrom in the Flow.

  What could have possibly made Brunhilde the Star-Eater hide as a maid?

  His gaze drifted to the book.

  One word surfaced, a key turning in a long-locked door.

  “…Gareth.”

  Hilda froze.

  Hate.

  Guilt.

  Pain.

  It exploded from her in the Flow.

  So that’s it, Lucon thought. It started with the Named Hero.

  “I never cared much for Gareth,” Lucon admitted.

  Hilda went perfectly still. Her trembling ceased. Slowly, her round, tear-filled eyes rose to meet his.

  Lucon went on, petting her hair as he spoke. "Do you know the two times my father had been his angriest at me?"

  She shook her head faintly.

  He answered, "Once was when I was sent to Teleris to secure a contract with an escort company. Instead of doing that, I drank, gambled, and spent my time with…loose women."

  Hilda gave a tiny, stiff nod.

  "I remember," she whispered. "Lord Auric's voice could be heard throughout the manor upon your return."

  Lucon smiled faintly.

  His hand stilled for a moment. "The other time my father was at his angriest with me…was when I didn’t want to go to Gareth's funeral."

  Hilda's breath caught. Her entire attention was riveted on him now, the panic momentarily lost in a profound, unwavering stillness.

  “I never told anyone,” he said, “but I didn’t like him. He was arrogant despite his humble origin. He showed me things I was too young to experience.”

  He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “He taught me how to be the worst kind of wastrel.”

  His fingers remained in her hair.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “He also didn’t know how to treat women.”

  Lucon leaned close, his lips brushing her ear.

  “I remember watching people cry at his funeral,” he whispered, “and wondering why. Maybe it was because they didn’t know him like I did.”

  Hilda’s eyes wouldn’t leave him. In the Flow, she was no longer a frightened bird but a child being sheltered from the rain.

  “I won’t abandon you, Hilda,” he promised. “Even for the death of a Hero.”

  Joy and love filled Hilda’s vessel as her attachment to him grew stronger than any emotion he’d ever felt in the Flow.

  That should take care of that, Lucon thought. Simple Lucon should be content with this.

  Hilda sobbed as she hugged him tightly.

  He returned to petting her.

  The Flow revealed other secrets in his maid—truths that would surface in time.

  Except one…one that lay behind a door without a lock or handle.

  Thoughts streaked through his mind in a blur, Ambrosia granting him analysis beyond the limits of mortal reason. And yet, even with all that power, he could find no variable—no measure of time, no act of manipulation, no depth of love—that might open it.

  It was never meant to be opened.

  Lucon suppressed a sigh.

  Hilda’s secret was better than betrayal, but worse in another way: a mystery that promised only uncertainty for their future as master and servant.

  For now, they were bound.

  He didn’t want to admit it, but Simple Lucon’s plea had worked. This vessel demanded change—that he listen to the heart more than rely on calculation alone.

  It felt like shackles.

  He hated it.

  ***

  Peytr stumbled out of Lord Auric’s study like a man walking out of a storm.

  His legs felt weak. His fingers were numb. His mind kept replaying the questions, the pressure, the way Niles’ eyes never blinked.

  Lord Auric, Warren, and Niles followed him into the corridor.

  Warren stopped in front of his Peytr, expression solemn.

  “If anything you said is untrue, son,” Warren said quietly, “there will be consequences. Ones I don’t plan on saving you from.”

  Peytr nodded, the motion jerky. His throat was too tight to speak.

  Inside, he was screaming.

  Prince, I’ve done all I can! I’m at my limit!

  Heavy boots thundered past them.

  A squad of guards rushed down the hall at full speed, hands on hilts, armor clattering.

  Auric turned sharply. “What is happening?”

  One of the guards skidded to a halt and saluted.

  “Assassins, my lord! They attempted to kill the Young Lord!”

  Auric’s face went pale. “They tried to kill Lucon?”

  “Yes, my lord!”

  Auric grabbed the man’s shoulder. “Is he…?”

  “He is safe, my lord. He went into hiding for fear of his life. We’re securing the manor.”

  Auric sagged in visible relief.

  “…Good. Thank the heavens.”

  He released the guard, who hurried off.

  Auric turned back to the group. “I need to see what’s happening immediately—”

  Niles’ hand shot out and clasped Auric’s arm.

  Auric frowned. “What?”

  Niles murmured, “This is quite…peculiar.”

  Warren glared at him. “Did you not hear the guardsman, Niles? Young Lord Lucon might still be in danger!”

  Peytr nodded in agreement.

  Niles didn’t answer that.

  Instead, he asked, “Where is Genevieve?”

  Warren answered, “She’s gone back to the capital. Her organization cannot afford for her to be gone too long.”

  Auric shook his head, “I have no time for this.”

  They resumed walking, pace quickening.

  A hand shot out from a half-open chamber door they were passing. It yanked Peytr by the arm inside. The door clicked shut behind him, while Auric, Warren, and Niles left unaware.

  “Lucon?!” Peytr gasped, seeing who had snatched him.

  Lucon stood there, perfectly calm.

  Peytr stared at him.

  “…Were there really assassins?”

  Lucon shook his head, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips. “Don’t worry about that. What did you tell my father and his advisers?”

  Peytr sagged against the wall, the adrenaline draining to leave sheer exhaustion. “I was pressured…I was at my limit. I told them I was just trying to correct old mistakes in the ledger. Reconcile discrepancies from years ago. I didn’t mention the crystals, the trade, the…the other funds. But my father’s no fool. The audit will trace the money. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Lucon nodded as if he’d expected nothing less. “What needs to happen to clear you when the audit comes? The real, permanent solution.”

  Peytr pushed his spectacles up, his mind, even frayed, slipping back into the language of numbers and loopholes. “A legitimate, documented inflow. A large one. Something that explains the redirected funds and all the investments you planned. A donation from a sympathetic patron, a sudden lucrative but discreet trade deal that wrapped up…something that can be verified, even if the source is…flexible.”

  Lucon listened, his eyes distant, as if cross-referencing the request against a vast internal ledger of possibilities.

  “Prepare everything,” Lucon said. “Tonight, you’ll have a chance to walk away from this unscathed.”

  Peytr blinked. “Tonight? Why? What’s happening tonight?”

  Lucon’s smirk returned, wider this time, edged with the confidence Peytr remembered from their drinking days—the confidence of the Prince of Revelry who always had a card up his sleeve.

  Lucon’s eyes gleamed.

  “You’ll see.”

  ***

  Auric arrived to organized chaos.

  Three figures dressed in black were being dragged, their limbs bound, their hoods torn away. Captain Mavor barked orders as guards hauled them toward the holding cells, his expression contained fury.

  Mabel was there too, her face pale but her eyes blazing with a mother’s protective fury. She stood beside Mavor, her voice trembling with emotion. “Find out who they work for, Captain. I want answers. I want justice for my son.”

  Mavor snarled, leaning down into the face of one of the prisoners. “You will talk. Every secret. Every name. Or I will make you beg to die before I’m done with you.”

  Auric slowed.

  And then he truly saw the “assassins.”

  Their faces.

  They looked back at him, recognizing him. Their eyes were pleading.

  Niles leaned in, voice barely audible. “It’s Genevieve’s subordinates. We’ve been had.”

  Auric whispered back. “How were they caught? By my son, no less.”

  Warren, ever the pragmatist, muttered beside them, “A simple mistake, perhaps. They might have slipped, been discovered, and mistaken for assassins in the panic.”

  “No,” Niles hissed, his eyes narrowing. “This is no mistake. This is all the Young Lord’s doing—some sort of scheme!”

  Warren turned to him, incredulous. “Young Lord Lucon, the wastrel, able to catch followers of the Hidden God as part of a scheme? Preposterous.”

  “The same wastrel who beat the Named Hero candidate Rhavak Cysserian in a duel?” Niles retorted, his voice rising slightly. “Yes! He is not the same boy he was before!”

  Warren waved him off. “You’re giving him too much credit.”

  Auric said nothing.

  His thoughts swirled.

  It took extraordinary perception—or extraordinary power—to reveal Hidden God techniques. Even then, it was imperfect.

  “Auric!”

  Mabel’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

  Auric turned.

  She was rushing toward him, eyes wide, face pale with fury and fear. She seized his arm.

  “Dear, they nearly killed our boy!”

  Niles opened his mouth. “Actually, those three are Genevieve’s—”

  Auric’s boot came down, hard, on Niles’s foot.

  Niles yelped.

  “Oh! My apologies, Niles! How clumsy of me,” Auric said loudly, feigning clumsiness as the portly merchant hopped back, face contorted.

  He couldn’t let Mabel know. She would be furious—furious that he’d used their friend’s shadowy network to spy on their own child, especially after he said he wouldn’t.

  Mabel clutched Auric’s sleeve. “This is unforgivable.”

  Auric nodded solemnly. “I will make sure whoever is behind this is revealed.”

  Mabel sagged against him, sighing. “Our poor boy…” She pulled back, eyes sharpening. “I think it might be House Cysserian. I heard they were displeased with how Lucon treated their heir. It was the cause of so many unfortunate rumors regarding Young Lord Rhavak…”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Auric saw Niles about to say something. Auric shifted his weight subtly, and Niles flinched, expecting another stomp.

  “Leave it all to me, Mabel,” Auric said, guiding her gently away. “I’ll see to it that whoever is behind this is stopped.”

  Mabel nodded, visibly comforted. She kissed his cheek and turned away.

  The moment she was out of earshot, Warren rubbed his temples and said, “What will we do about Genevieve’s subordinates? We can’t let Mavor have his way with them. Genevieve would be most displeased.”

  Auric closed his eyes.

  “…I can’t order their release myself. My reputation wouldn’t allow it.”

  He looked at Niles.

  “You will bring in your own people. And do it.”

  Niles’s face soured with clear reluctance.

  Auric added quietly, “Genevieve would appreciate it.”

  “You’re right,” the portly merchant said, his tone assuming a veneer of moral concern. “We can’t just let innocent people rot in a prison cell, can we?”

  Auric nodded then moved swiftly.

  He intercepted Mavor before the captain could begin his rough “interrogations,” citing protocol, procedure, and the need for a more delicate approach given the political sensitivity. He diverted guards with urgent-sounding orders—false patrol routes, phantom threats, fabricated reports of disturbances in other wings of the manor.

  Slowly, deliberately, he thinned the presence around the holding cells.

  Every order he gave was technically reasonable.

  And every one of them was made to pull the wool over his own men’s eyes.

  ***

  An hour passed.

  Then—movement.

  Dark figures slipped through corridors like oil on water, knocking out the few remaining guards with quiet efficiency. No screams. No alarms. They snatched the keys.

  Genevieve’s subordinates hesitated as the lock clicked. Masked men swung the door wide, beckoning them with urgent whispers of a way out—but the hope was short-lived.

  “Intruders!”

  Kaeson appeared as if he had been waiting for them all along.

  Steel whispered as he unsheathed his blade.

  The infiltrators were taken aback, Kaeson already on them.

  The clash was brutal, swift, and utterly one-sided.

  The men had only brought a single Arisen, but he only had an Aura Heart at Third Spark. Against an Ember Arisen like Kaeson, it wasn’t enough.

  While Kaeson tore through them, Genevieve’s subordinates locked eyes.

  He wasn’t looking at them.

  The fight even moved out of the way of their open holding cell as Kaeson pushed the intruders, clearing the way.

  There couldn’t be a clearer sign for them to make their escape.

  They didn’t waste the chance.

  They slipped past the chaos and ran.

  One of them nearly collided with another fleeing figure—a rough-looking man with a jagged scar splitting his face from brow to jaw. He grinned wildly at them.

  “Don’t question luck, boys!” he laughed, vanishing down a side passage.

  ***

  Kaeson stood over the unconscious bodies, chest rising steadily.

  Everything was going as planned.

  He waited.

  Half an hour passed.

  Golden holy light around a hand flashed as it waved from a distant corridor.

  Lucon’s signal.

  Kaeson straightened and bellowed, “PRISONERS HAVE ESCAPED!”

  Chaos erupted.

  Guards poured in from every direction.

  Shouting. Orders. Marching boots.

  Captain Mavor stormed in moments later, taking in the scene with analytical eyes.

  “Lieutenant! Report!”

  “Intruders, captain. They overpowered the guards and freed the prisoners. I engaged but was unable to stop them all from fleeing. I subdued these men.” Kaeson gestured to the bodies at his feet.

  Mavor clapped a heavy, gauntleted hand on Kaeson’s shoulder. “You did well to stop these ones. This is why I need you here, Kaeson. Discipline and dedication. We’ll find the others.” He turned, his voice booming. “Secure the area! I must report to Lord Auric!”

  ***

  Auric listened as Mavor relayed everything.

  “The prisoners escaped, my lord.”

  From one of the seats before Auric’s desk, Niles nodded slowly, lips curving faintly.

  Mavor then said, “Luckily, my men apprehended the infiltrators who freed them.”

  Nile’s expression dropped.

  Auric dismissed the captain. “Send a search team. Standard sweep.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The moment the door closed behind Mavor, Niles spoke immediately.

  “Auric, you can’t keep my men in there. They were following my orders, and this was your idea—”

  “Silence,” Auric snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let me think.”

  The door burst open again.

  Mavor rushed back in, breathless.

  “My lord—we need to get you to safety.”

  Auric stiffened. “Why?”

  Mavor swallowed.

  “Mana Beasts are attacking.”