An argument, perhaps?
“….”
No, in Silas’s perspective, the two grown men were merely exchanging words as if it were a normal conversation.
Yet, to put things into perspective, it was the kind of discussion where even his mother, Dianna, could find no room to intervene.
In essence, it was a psychological battle between two intellectuals.
“Yes, I acknowledge that I have caused some trouble for your family. But I merely exercised my authority as a professor. It was never personal, but merely a mistake I now admit.”
On one side, the professor, whose charisma seeped through every carefully chosen word.
“Still, if that were truly the case, you wouldn’t have sparked such a controversy on your own, Professor. It seems to me that your actions were a direct attack on my family. Surely you knew exactly who I was, yet you still proceeded? It appears to be nothing more than a childish attempt to undermine my campaign for Assemblyman.”
On the other, his father, Simon Ainsley, who spoke with the refined eloquence befitting a seasoned government official and a leading assemblyman.
They didn’t stop there.
Slowly, the discussion morphed into a heated debate over the importance of his father’s reputation and the legacy of his family, rather than the specifics of Arwen’s case.
From the outside looking in, it might have appeared that Professor Vanitas was losing ground. However, Silas could tell that Vanitas was subtly injecting key facts into his arguments to deftly deflect the blame.
To put it simply, it was a battle between two households.
The venerable Ainsley Marquess Household. A family that had been entrenched in nobility for generations, and the Astrea family, once merely Viscounts and only recently elevated to the ranks of Higher Nobility as Marquesses.
It was like a small cat pitted against a mighty tiger.
But Vanitas was no mere cat.
Silas had ensured it so.
“Mister Ainsley, have you heard about the tale of the Shadowed Lion and the Cunning Fox?” Vanitas began.
“Huh?”
“Long ago,” he continued without asking for permission to continue. “In a vast forest, the Shadowed Lion roamed proudly….”
Vanitas began reciting a tale that was often told in the kindergartens of private schools catering to young aristocrats.
“And then there was the Cunning Fox. He boasted of a spotless record, like a creature above the common failings of others. But as fate would have it, even the fox discovered that his pristine image was but a façade….”
It was a tale of a fox who paraded his immaculate reputation. A fox that was admired by all as if he were a saint.
“For in the depths of the forest, every creature, no matter how noble or cunning, carries its own dark secrets….”
Yet the fox was far from clean. He had merely managed to avoid getting his hands dirty.
In truth, his hands were dirtier than those of the lion, whose existence was defined solely by carnivorous acts.
“Whether it be the Shadowed Lion or the Cunning Fox, each is marked by imperfections that hide beneath the surface….”
To put it simply, aristocrats were taught early on about the harsh realities of the world.
A world where it was all too easy for others to stab each other in the back for survival. Therefore, one must make allies carefully.
“Is this a threat, Professor?” Simon Ainsley interjected.
“I’m merely stating facts, Mister Ainsley.”
At that moment, Vanitas presented a document. Simon glanced at it before turning back to him.
“….”
It was a ledger. One look at the title header told him all he needed to know.
It was a record of a charity act he had organized to boost his image after losing an election years ago.
But the truth was, the ledger revealed more than a gesture of goodwill.
Simon knew what he had done. Hidden expenses, unexplained donations, and signs of manipulation.
“What are you trying to imply?” he asked.
“No one can be as pure as they claim to be. Even you, Mister Ainsley, have skeletons in your closet.”
“….”
Simon licked his lips. There was no point in washing his hands. Vanitas Astrea clearly knew something.
An old saying came to mind.
’A sword cuts the body, but words cut the soul.’
In simpler terms, the most dangerous man wasn’t the one who wielded a blade, but the one who knew exactly the right words to say at any given moment.
“Then tell me, Professor,” Simon said. “Do you claim to be any different?”
He leaned forward slightly, meeting Vanitas’s gaze.
“Even if my hands are dirty, as you so claim, the fact remains. I have helped people. More than you ever have. More than you ever will in this lifetime.”
“Mister Ainsley, have I ever painted myself as such?” Vanitased asked. “That’s the key difference between us. I have remained firm in my convictions. You, on the other hand—”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Such plasticity is rather disgusting to me.”
Simon’s eyes darkened. “Watch your tone, boy.”
Yet, Vanitas did not flinch. “I see. That struck a nerve. How will you fare in the world of politics then, Mister Ainsley?”
“….”
Simon’s brow twitched.
An absolute insult.
He had been in the political arena since his early twenties. For this newly titled Marquess to question his ability—no, to mock it outright—was nothing short of audacious.
“….”
He glanced at his pocket watch. He had given twenty minutes for this discussion, and time was nearly up.
He wasn’t one to back down, especially from someone openly threatening everything he had built, but he truly did have other matters to attend to.
With a measured breath, Simon finally spoke. “What is it you want, Professor?”
Vanitas merely smiled. “No, actually, Mister Ainsley, it is you who wants something from me.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. He remained silent for a moment before responding.
“Elaborate.”
“Why not build a narrative? Use Arwen’s issue to boost your political standing in the elections.”
“What—?”
For the first time, Simon found himself taken aback.
But Vanitas continued.
“Sympathy,” he said smoothly. “A father who has suffered. A man forced to institutionalize his daughter after her attempted suicide which was caused by an unfortunate mistake.”
“Then, wouldn’t you face the brunt of the backlash?”
Vanitas shrugged. “Mayhaps.”
“….”
“It’s up to you.”
Simon studied him carefully. It didn’t make sense. What was the point? There was no benefit in this for Vanitas. If anything, it should have been political suicide.
Yet, Vanitas was playing a different game.
To the public, the question had always lingered.
Was there truly a perfect man?
By acknowledging his mistake, Vanitas would humanize himself. People wouldn’t see him untouchable but rather as someone they could relate to.
Even a man who had recently received favor from the Crown could make mistakes.
And what a grand introduction it would be for a first-timer stepping into the High Council of Nobles, composed of Dukes, Marquesses, and Earls.
More importantly, the blame for the attempted suicide would not fall solely on him. Instead, it would shift toward the supervision of the victim’s own family.
Undoubtedly, the weight would be shared.
“….”
But Simon didn’t need to know that.
He didn’t need to know that Vanitas Astrea had already ensured the narrative would unfold this way.
That, in the end, Simon Ainsley’s aspiring political dynasty would crumble, slowly but surely.
…..
“Are you satisfied now?” Vanitas asked, glancing up at Silas.
His family had left some time ago. Now, it was just the two of them in Vanitas’s office.
“I guess,” Silas responded. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “I’ll uphold my end of the bargain then, Professor.”
There was no need for an absolute oath. There were no guarantees their plan would meet its absolute fruition, neither on both sides.
This agreement was built on nothing more than mutual risk.
“And remember.…”
“Yes, yes.” Silas waved a hand dismissively. “By no means will I ever attempt to be acquainted with your sister.”
“Good.”
Silas paused for a moment before muttering, “You act like I’d be interested in her.”
Then, without another word, he turned and left. Vanitas watched as the door slowly clicked shut.
He had yet to formally reveal himself to the High Council of Nobles, yet he had already antagonized a fellow Marquess.
No, antagonizing was too strong a word. Simon Ainsley wouldn’t be able to make a move no matter how much he liked.
Contingencies were negligible at best. As powerful as he was politically, Simon Ainsley could no longer silence a Marquess like House Astrea.
Vanitas Astrea was indeed a powerful figure. A man who had single handedly subjugated an Archdemon, and was responsible for the Empire’s recent success during the Blood Moon.
That had probably caused Simon Ainsley to be extremely wary of him during their exchange.
“….”
But there was a much more pressing matter at the moment, causing Vanitas to exhale, a deep sigh escaping his lips.
“Haaa… So I’m a high-priority target for the Araxys, huh?”
That much was certain. But more importantly, because he was aware of it, the Araxys would be much more cautious.
They couldn’t make careless moves anymore.
“It seems like Clevius wasn’t taken into account.”
The Araxys hadn’t predicted that Clevius would act so prematurely, and had disrupted whatever plans they had to get to Vanitas Astrea.
Still, if that were the case, his enemies were no longer just his own.
They were Charlotte’s enemies too.
Meaning, the more enemies he had, the more she did as well.
“….”
Vanitas’s eyes darkened slightly as he leaned back in his chair.
Ensuring that she remained under constant surveillance was important.
And in fact, he had already set things in motion.
A servant had been instructed to watch over Charlotte and monitor any suspicious entities around her.
* * *
Winter was harsh in the Zyphran Dominion. A militaristic empire that prized combat capabilities over noble lineages.
The land was bleak and gray, with the air tinged with the scent of rusting metal and magic. Though it functioned much like a dictatorship, its structure was somewhat loose.
Even so, children still played and roamed the streets, undeterred by their surroundings.
Riiiing—
Then came the evening siren. Instantly, the bustling crowds cleared the roads, leaving space down the central route. Expectant civilians gathered along the sidewalks as the sound of marching grew louder in the distance.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
In modern terms, it was a military parade.
Yet this particular occasion marked the death anniversary of the previous leader, James Wagner III, who had been succeeded by his son, James Wagner IV.
To the aspirants who sought to join the Bundesritter, the esteemed military order of the Zyphran Dominion, their eyes flickered expectantly toward the marching procession before them.
At the front, knights bore gleaming swords. The middle ranks carried staffs, and at the rear, knights marched once more.
——Wow!
——Their uniforms are so cool!
Children’s eyes sparkled with innocent admiration as they watched the procession in awe.
One of the knights, catching their gaze, offered a small smile, causing the children to giggle excitedly among themselves.
Indeed, Zyphran was a militaristic empire. To outsiders, it was a bleak and uninviting land, dismissed as rigid, outdated, and unappealing.
In an era where wars between humanity had become relics of the past and modernization took precedence, few saw the appeal of a nation that still clung to the traditions of steel and magic above progression.
——To the Leader!
The chant echoed through the streets as the procession marched forward in perfect synchronization.
Some civilians along the sidewalks raised their fists to their chests in salute.
Even those who had once regarded the Dominion’s militarism with indifference found themselves swept up in the sheer presence of the Bundesritter.
At the front, the standard-bearers lifted their banners high—black and crimson. The sigil of the Dominion, a twin-headed dragon encircling a sword, gleamed under the pale winter sun.
——To the Leader!
It was then.
Boom———!
The crisp winter air was instantly consumed by the acrid stench of gunpowder.
A deafening explosion erupted at the center of the procession. Flames surged outward, swallowing the cold in an instant. Screams tore through the crowd as people stumbled back.
The Bundesritter’s disciplined formation fractured for the first time. Soldiers immediately moved into defensive stances as they conjured magical barriers while others drew their swords.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
The rhythmic marching had been replaced by frantic orders.
——Secure the perimeter!
——Get the civilians out of here!
——Where’s the source of the attack?!
No one had seen it coming.
No one had realized.
….That the Araxys had already embedded themselves deep within their government. Your journey continues with NovelFire.Côm
* * *
Karina, having just finished the grueling three-day written examination for the Ascension Licensure Exam, headed straight to the hospital where her father was being cared for.
Though her practical assessments were just around the corner, Karina still found time to visit. Despite his comatose state, she felt compelled to share every detail of her progress with the only family she had left.
Her father.
Well, step-father, to be precise.
He had married her mother when Karina was ten, and after her mother’s passing three years later, he became her sole guardian.
A man to whom Karina owed an unrepayable debt. He wasn’t even her biological father, yet he treated her as his own daughter, never once asking for anything in return.
But three years ago, he suffered a severe injury that left his mana core shattered and corruption spreading throughout his body.
Karina never understood how it happened. After all, her father was a journalist, not a mage or a knight.
“Haaa….”
Karina exhaled a shaky sigh and stepped into the hospital room.
“….”
Only to be confronted by a scene that ripped at her heart.
——Hurry, the defibrillator!
Beep— Beep—
Chants filled the air as two doctors attempted to cast magic.
Beep— Beep—
But the only sound Karina truly registered was the rapid beeping of the monitors. Her legs threatened to give out beneath her.
“Ah….”
“Sorry. Please step aside!”
Karina was nudged aside as more medical personnel rushed into the room.
It took only a single glance for her to understand.
“….”
Her father was going into shock.