ã€ŠRouge Bloodã€‹


 Chapter 1: Bloodline, Determination, and Power!

    Since time immemorial, the surname of one family has echoed across villages and kingdoms far beyond the borders of Ashendrell¡ªa name steeped in death and countless corpses at its feet, generation after generation. Others, more conservative, see them as the king¡¯s shadow, those who defend the realm in darkness and bear the weight of divine punishment with their curses.This lineage knows only blood as retribution, and from that very blood remains an eternal reminder in their ocular power: the "Crimson Eye," which dyes their hair red as its defining mark.The Rouge, better known as: "The Red-Haired Demons."

    It is said that the first man and founder of this family, Xavian Rouge, was an orphaned boy from the lowborn villages. Perhaps he was abandoned for his unusual red hair, as it was believed to herald a future of death and tragedy. Or perhaps, simply, his parents fell victim to that harsh life of misery and lament.

    According to records, Xavian lived as a vagabond and beggar on the streets until a harsh winter swept across the kingdom. Crops withered, and food grew scarce. The famine even touched the lives of the well-off¡ªthough their suffering could never compare to the boy¡¯s. Starving and on the brink of death like so many other unfortunates, he discovered a world where, in the face of despair, the only path left was assassination.

    Xavian collapsed at the feet of a man in sleek black boots, polished so finely that his own dying face stared back from their reflection¡ªan omen of his fate."Hey..."The man nudged the emaciated boy with curiosity, his lips twisting into a grotesque smile as Xavian stirred, his hollow eyes burning with desperation."You want food?"He pointed to a tattered old man, barely clinging to life, who merely awaited death."Kill that man, and I¡¯ll give you bread."

    The starving youth gripped the knife given to him by the gentleman, and¡ªas if born for this very act¡ªfelt no hesitation. He crept cautiously toward the old man, who noticed no threat at all, too consumed by a sickness that choked him with dry coughs, his eyes nearly sealed shut by thick crusts of mucus. An easy prey.

    His heart pounded with exhilaration, as if intoxicated by the sensation. And, sealing a fate that seemed almost predestined, he stabbed the helpless wretch again and again. Each thrust was like a release, his face twisting into a rapturous grin. Blood quickly coated his hands, face, chest¡ªeven deepening the red of his already emblematic hair. In total, he delivered ten stab wounds to the abdomen and nine to the neck, killing the man instantly, yet agonizingly. Those nineteen stab wounds would later become a symbol of the Rouge family, a number of fortune.

    "Here."The man tapped the stunned Xavian on the shoulder to deliver his reward¡ªthough in his frenzy, the boy had already forgotten his original hunger. He stood there, panting wildly, as if the world had narrowed to just him and the corpse at his feet."Eat. You¡¯ll need your strength if you want to follow me... and survive."The enigmatic figure chuckled as he slowly retreated into the alley¡¯s mist, the only audible sound being the disturbed boy¡¯s ravenous bites.

    The archives preserved across generations never mention the identity of the mysterious gentleman, but rumors whisper of a possible conflict between them. The erasure of the name of the man who laid the first foundations suggests a bitter falling-out¡ªfor it was through him that Xavian Rouge was later inducted into the most feared band of mercenaries known as the"Black Crosses."

    In the present day, two centuries have passed since that fateful beginning. Beyond the rise of a prominent family¡ªthe union of Xavian Rouge and Aelia Fairbairn, which birthed the infamous Rouge lineage¡ªthere now stand eight generations of power, wielding political influence yet shackled by a defamed bloodline that haunts them.

    The main branch of the Rouge family resides in the heart of Ashendrell, in a manor set apart from the aristocrats. Their isolation stems from the discrimination they face¡ªdue to their history, their legacy, and above all, their role as assassins.

    The central family was led by Hadrian, known as"He of a Thousand Shadows"¡ªa title earned through his mastery over the dark element. As head of the household, his presence commanded equal parts respect and dread. By his side stood Isolde, his wife, better known in her youth as"the Noble Seducer."It was said that in her prime, she enchanted men only to strike them down, a skill that cemented her legend within the bloodline.

    Together, they had brought three children into the world. The eldest,Alaric, now eighteen, was remembered for his sharp wit and bright demeanor. Yet fate had woven tragedy into his path¡ªone that would reshape him into"the Merciless."Next wasEzren, sixteen, a youth of serene but steely resolve, whose noble heart earned him the title"the Hero"¡ªthough few dared to speak it aloud. Lastly, there wasAstrid, barely fourteen, whose gaze burned with defiance and unshakable confidence. Initially dubbed"the Stubborn One,"she would one day be feared across the kingdom by another name:"the Lady of Death."

    Northern Exterior of Ashendrell, Rouge Manor ¡ª 19th of Janwarius, 12:00 PM

    Ezren swung a long, slender steel sword, trying to control his strength with each motion. Yet the blade felt too light for his liking."Tch. I need something heavier..."he thought, wiping sweat from his brow¡ªmore from the scorching sun than exertion.

    He set the weapon aside and headed for the armory, located near the courtyard where he trained. His eyes scanned the array of swords until, almost instinctively, his gaze locked onto an imposing blade¡ªlong, thick, and heavy. A grin spread across his face. That beast of white steel would be a worthy challenge, the perfect training tool.

    Without hesitation, he grabbed it and returned to the courtyard. But the moment he tried to swing it, the weight overpowered him, sending him crashing to the ground. He''d underestimated it.

    Clenching his jaw, he rose to his feet and let out a defiant roar, managing a shaky swing. Yet the sword nearly toppled him again. Still, he refused to yield. With each attempt, his grip grew firmer, his movements sharper¡ªhoning his technique with the stubborn perseverance that defined him.

    Fshh! Fshh!The blade cleaved the air with a clean, powerful sound, mirroring the unbreakable spirit of the young Rouge. It wasn¡¯t ambition that drove him, but something deeper: the need to not be left behind.

    Ezren could feel it¡ªlittle by little, his siblings were pulling ahead of him. Everyone said Alaric and Astrid were the most prodigious of the main family. Hadn¡¯t he been born with the same talent?

    2:00 PM

    Exhaustion burned through every fiber of his being. He¡¯d long since torn off his shirt, leaving his torso bare under Ashendrell¡¯s merciless summer sun. His back, chest, and arms glistened with sweat, muscles taut with each movement¡ªas if his bones might splinter. But pride refused to let him stop."Not enough. If it doesn¡¯t hurt, I¡¯ve achieved nothing,"he repeated, skin prickling with every slash at the air.

    This was how he¡¯d always trained. His body, forged through sheer effort, was remarkably athletic for his age. Yet in a burst of overexertion, he attempted a powerful swing¡ªand the strain betrayed him. He crashed to the ground, vision blurred by sweat, the sun punishing him without remorse."Tsk! What am I doing wrong?"he growled, punching the dirt in frustration. Was his technique flawed? Or was all his effort still worthless?

    "You¡¯re doing it wrong, idiot."Astrid¡¯s sweet voice clashed with her blunt tone."When you strike, lean your weight into the attack,"she explained, lounging against a barrel as she bit into an apple. Her relaxed posture suggested she¡¯d been watching him for a while."Do it right, and the sword¡¯s weight won¡¯t overpower you."She sighed.

    Ezren, still sprawled on the ground, pushed himself up with a grunt."Seems you¡¯ve mastered this,"he huffed, rolling his neck to loosen stiff muscles."I-I just read it somewhere..."she stammered, a flicker of nerves in her eyes. But her brother already had a fair guess where she¡¯d learned it."Fine,"Astrid exhaled, avoiding his gaze."I snuck into the barracks a few days ago and¡ª""Again?!"Ezren¡¯s voice spiked with outrage."If Mom finds out, you¡¯re dead, brat."He exhaled in resigned irritation.

    The mere mention of their mother made Astrid feel¡ªonce more¡ªlike a bird trapped in a gilded cage. One she desperately wanted to escape."So what if she does?!"she shot back, chest puffed with defiance."I want to be a swordsmaster, not some useless doll!"

    Ezren raised his sword again, the hilt scorching under the relentless sun. The heat only sharpened the sting of blisters on his fingers, but he ignored the pain."Lean into the sword, right?"he muttered, shooting a fleeting glance at his sister.Astrid nodded wordlessly, taking another bite of her apple.

    Ezren drew a deep breath, filling his lungs before exhaling slowly. He needed focus. With renewed determination, he lifted the blade and charged forward, cleaving the air with a powerful strike. This time, he followed her advice¡ªshifting his weight forward, balancing the force of his attack so the sword wouldn¡¯t overpower him.

    The impact reverberated through the air. A shiver raced down his spine. It wasn¡¯t just the weapon¡¯s weight¡­ it was the thrill of progress."Told you it¡¯d work,"Astrid smirked, admiring her brother¡¯s feat."For once, you were right,"Ezren chuckled."You owe me more than that, idiot!"she snapped, storming up to him."I¡¯m still waiting on payment for those armory keys, y¡¯know?"She glared, her threat playful but pointed."You¡¯d charge your own brother?"he teased, propping the sword against the wall."Astrid doesn¡¯t do ¡®family discounts,¡¯ little brother,"she declared, poking his chest."Start saving up, eh?"She punctuated the threat with a shove to his shoulder."Ow! That hurt, you heartless runt,"he exaggerated, rubbing the spot."It¡¯ll hurt worse if you¡¯re late on payment!"she warned, voice rising in mock outrage.

    But before she could continue, a familiar shout froze her in place."Lady Astrid!"The voice of Risa¡ªher maid and designated watchdog¡ªechoed across the grounds.Astrid¡¯s face paled for half a second before she spun on her heels."Say nothing, or you¡¯re dead!"she hissed at Ezren, then bolted.

    Her footsteps were swift, agile as a cat fleeing a puddle. In the blink of an eye, she¡¯d vanished behind the manor.

    Risa appeared almost the instant Astrid vanished. Ezren barely had time to blink before she stood before him¡ªwearing her signature gentle smile... but with an aura that made his skin crawl. It was as if a demon lurked beneath that serene expression.

    "Young master, have you seen your sister pass by here?"she asked sweetly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

    Ezren felt a chill slither down his spine. Risa was toying with his mind, a subtle threat veiled in courtesy.

    "H-Hey, Risa,"he laughed nervously, avoiding her gaze at all costs."Astrid? Haven¡¯t seen her in years..."The lie stumbled out, betrayed by his shaky voice.

    Risa¡¯s eyes narrowed, her smile widening¡ªsofter, kinder... and infinitely more terrifying.

    "She went around back, didn¡¯t she?"

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    Ezren sighed in defeat.

    "...Yeah."

    He knew he was a terrible liar, but at least he¡¯d tried.

    What followed was a cacophony of crashes behind the manor, like someone chasing a feral cat through a pottery shop.

    Minutes later, Ezren watched Risa return, dragging a flailing Astrid behind her.

    "My lady, you know very well you can¡¯t skip your mother¡¯s etiquette lessons,"she said flatly, ignoring Astrid¡¯s futile squirming.

    No surprise there. After all, Risa had been trained by Isolde herself.

    "EZREN! YOU GODS-DAMNED TRAITOR!"Astrid howled, jabbing an accusatory finger at him as if casting a curse.

    Ezren shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.

    "Sorry, little sis..."

    But deep down, he knew Risa was the lesser evil. If their mother got involved, things would getmuchworse.

    6:00 PM

    Night unfurled gently as the sky burned with the intense orange of dusk. Among the first twinkling stars shone the most mythical and revered by mages¡ªthe North Star,Polaris.

    An ancient legend had been passed down through generations. It told the story of Callista, a princess of unmatched beauty, whose face had been immortalized countless times by the greatest painters, for no other loveliness could surpass hers. Yet her heart belonged to a god¡ªand in a cruel twist of fate, not just any god, but Death himself:Letum.

    Could Death yield to love? In this tale, yes. His devotion to Callista ran so deep that for an entire year, all death in the world ceased. Exaggeration or not, so claimed the elders.

    But like all tragic legends, their love was doomed. Callista was forced to wed a prince to secure her kingdom¡¯s alliances¡ªa practice that, even today, endures. When Letum learned of this, he was consumed by the first cardinal sin: wrath. Blinded by fury, he stormed his rival¡¯s kingdom and slaughtered every living soul, leaving no witnesses.

    The higher gods swiftly punished him. As penance, they forbade him from ever walking the earth again. But before departing, Letum sought his beloved one last time. Upon learning her fate, Callista could not bear a life without him. She chose death over an empty future.

    As the god of the dead left the mortal realm, Callista begged the gods for mercy. Moved by her eternal love, they transformed her into an undying star, blazing brightly in the heavens so her devotion would never fade. Thus,Polariswas born.

    Yet beyond the legend, the star held far greater meaning. For centuries, it had been the source of magic in the world¡ªthe reason every living being was born with currents ofkomiandkarmaflowing within them.

    Ezren knew it.

    The air was thick with the sound of his sword¡¯s final, exhausted strikes, his ragged breathing, and the steady echo of his footsteps against the ground. The routine never changed¡ªunshakable as the star watching over him from above.Polariswas his guide, his aspiration. He wanted to be like her: strong, steadfast, unyielding.

    But he still had a long way to go.

    His body finally reached its limit, collapsing onto the earth. His muscles locked, refusing to move. Yet a smile of satisfaction tugged at his lips. He knew the training had been a success.

    Sleep was beginning to claim him when the clatter of a carriage jolted him awake.

    Ezren forced his eyes open, his exhausted body protesting as he stirred. His father and brother were returning from the barracks.

    Summoning strength he didn¡¯t know he had, he pushed himself up and hurried to greet them.

    From the luxurious black-and-red adorned carriage,Hadrianstepped down. His suit was immaculate and sleek, paired with a cloak of dark feathers that amplified his aura of power and respect."Lady Isolde is expecting you, my lord,"one of the maids informed him with a bow.Hadrian glanced at her briefly before nodding and striding toward the residence without another word.

    Meanwhile,Alaricdescended calmly, wearing the same carefree smile that always defined him."No need, thank you,"he said kindly when the maids offered assistance.

    Then, Ezren¡¯s energetic voice shattered the scene."Heeey! Alaric!"he shouted enthusiastically, entirely forgetting his sweaty, shirtless state."You took forever this time! You gotta see my progress!"He playfully punched his brother¡¯s shoulder, and Alaric responded with an amused grin."Training yourself to death again, huh?"Alaric said, resting a hand on his hip."You should really shower before¡ª"

    "Ezren."Hadrian¡¯s authoritative tone cut through the air¡ªthough he didn¡¯t even turn to look at him."Is that any way to greet us? Bathe and join us for dinner. Don¡¯t make me repeat myself."With that, he vanished into the house.

    "You heard him,"Alaric sighed, giving Ezren a few pats on the back before following their father."Tch! Promise you¡¯ll watch me train tomorrow!"Ezren called after him just as Alaric reached the door."Promise. Now go wash up, stinky,"Alaric teased with a laugh before finally stepping inside.

    The kitchen buzzed with hurried footsteps and the clatter of pots. Meat sizzled with care, the stew was richly seasoned, and the soup received meticulous attention.

    The Rouge family was treated almost like nobility¡ªwith one key difference: here, the cooks worked out of genuine devotion. Most of the staff had been rescued from poverty or slavery, finding new life within these walls. And so, they swore absolute loyalty.

    "Norma! Set the table! The family will be down for dinner soon!"barked Faust, the head chef, with his usual vigor.

    "Yeah, yeah¡­"The young girl sighed, dragging her feet."Ugh¡­ So tedious. Always the same thing."She reluctantly picked up the silverware, arranging it meticulously on the table.

    "With that attitude, you¡¯ll never make friends, Norma,"Marta scolded with a soft chuckle. The older woman was the most senior among the servants."And you¡¯ll never catch a man, either,"she added before flicking Norma¡¯s forehead.

    "Ow! What¡¯s your problem, old woman?"Norma rubbed her head, annoyed."What¡¯s the point of working hard at something so repetitive? I¡¯d rather put my effort into exploring the world!"Her eyes sparkled with the passion of a dreamer awakened."I¡¯ll draw my own map of the world! The only truth is what you can see for yourself!"she declared, pride and conviction ringing in her voice.

    "Then learn to live in the present before chasing the future, you little brat,"Marta chided, giving her ear a sharp tug.

    This Was Norma.

    The Rouge Mansion took her in when she was barely six years old. Her mother¡ªa nameless slave, branded by brutal masters¡ªhad passed down only two things: the violet hue of her eyes and a hatred forged in chains.

    Hadrian found her during one of his patrols through the city. The scene was grotesquely familiar: women in chains, human merchandise displayed amid muffled sobs. But something made him pause. There, a half-naked woman clutched a small girl¡ªNorma¡ªwith desperate strength, her eyes (identical to the child¡¯s) burning with a mix of terror and pure hatred. Not just fear. The ferocity of a cornered beast shielding its last cub.

    The Rouge patriarch was not a man known for compassion. Yet that day, he broke his own rules. He didn¡¯t buy the slave¡ªhe shattered her shackles. Brought her to his estate, gave her a name (Edith), and eventually, a purpose. Today, that woman is his left hand, while his wife, Isolde, commands the right.

    But the wound never healed. Norma grew up among the servants by choice. She rejected any contact with the Rouge family, nurturing a resentment deeper even than her mother¡¯s. To her, nobles weren¡¯t saviors. They were the root of all her pain.

    Dining Hall. 7:30 PM

    Everyone took their seats around the long table. At the center,Hadriansat with his usual solemn demeanor, methodically peeling off his leather gloves. His hands¡ªstrong and weathered by time¡ªrevealed an old memory etched into his flesh: a brutal scar that ran clean across his right palm, as if he had once tried to catch a naked blade.

    To his right,Isoldestood imposingly. Her black dress, threaded with crimson glints, seemed to devour the room¡¯s light, and those piercing eyes made even the bravest hesitate to hold her gaze for long.

    On the patriarch¡¯s left flank,Alariclounged comfortably with his ever-present, contemplative smile, clad in the high-necked black shirt that had become his second skin. Beside him,Ezrenlooked fresher after his bath, though he couldn¡¯t fully hide the exhaustion from his training. His sleeveless white shirt, practical and light, revealed muscles still taut from exertion.

    And at the far end, next to Isolde,Astridfidgeted restlessly in her seat. Her outfit¡ªa loose white blouse with black suspenders and a long skirt¡ªwas impeccable yet stifling to her. Even the ribbon tying back her wavy hair felt like a shackle, a constant reminder of constraints she longed to shatter.

    At Hadrian¡¯s signal, dinner began. Plates were filled, silverware clinked¡­ and, as always, the family chaos wasn¡¯t far behind.

    "Dad!"Ezren blurted, half-chewed food in his mouth."Take me to the barracks tomorrow! Please!"Hadrian didn¡¯t even glance up from his plate."You¡¯re not eighteen yet,"he replied, firm.

    The boy groaned and thunked his forehead onto the table.

    "Ezren!"Isolde¡¯s glare could¡¯ve melted steel as she sliced her meat with surgical precision."Is that how you eat?"He straightened instantly, as if electrocuted.

    Alaric, ever the peacemaker, patted his back."Don¡¯t sulk. If you¡¯re lucky, you might spot an A+-class warrior."Ezren¡¯s eyes lit up."Really?! Have you seen one? They must be insane!"

    Isolde sighed, sipping her wine with regal grace."I don¡¯t understand why you settle for scraps, boy. When at this very table sit two S+-class fighters."She cast a proud glance at Hadrian.

    Ezren shrugged."Meh. You two never show off. Boring."

    Isolde¡¯s smile turned lethal."How rude¡­ You know, I could reduce you to ashes right now, darling."Her laugh made even the servants shiver.

    Astrid, without looking up from her plate, muttered around a mouthful of meat:"Reduce him to ashes? With that much makeup, you¡¯d go up in flames too."

    Silence. Dead silence.

    "Astrid¡ª"Isolde¡¯s voice dripped with terrifying calm.

    THWACK!

    "Ladies do not eat like starved beasts!"The sharp smack to Astrid¡¯s head echoed through the dining hall.

    Hadrian cut through the scene with a dry cough.The dining hall fell silent instantly.

    "The day after tomorrow, we¡¯ll have guests."He raised his gaze to ensure everyone was listening."Your mother received a letter from Charles. He¡¯s coming with his fianc¨¦e, Livia, and will stay for a few days."

    A deliberate pause. His eyes locked onto the usual troublemakers."Behave. And don¡¯t interrogate him. Especially you two¡ªEzren... Astrid."

    "Charles?"Astrid frowned, pressing a finger to her cheek as if digging for a distant memory."You were too young last time he visited,"Alaric said, smiling nostalgically."Six years ago."

    "He¡¯s the heir of the second Rouge branch, right?"Ezren leaned forward, intrigued."Yes. And a rather... famous man."Alaric shot a mischievous glance at their father before continuing, savoring the suspense."Want to know his Class, little brother?"

    Ezren held his breath."Charles Rouge, ''the Immortal.'' SSS+-class warrior."

    Astrid¡¯s fork froze midway to her mouth. Ezren paled as if he¡¯d seen a ghost."WHAT?! OUR FAMILY HAS A MONSTER LIKE THAT?!"Astrid nearly vaulted from her chair, teetering on the edge of climbing the table.

    "Astrid."Isolde didn¡¯t raise her voice, but the danger in her tone was enough to make her daughter slump back into her seat like a scolded cat."Manners."

    "But..."Astrid stared at her father, bewildered."If Charles is that strong, why areyouthe main leader of all the Rouge branches?"

    Hadrian sighed, as if he¡¯d answered this a thousand times."Tradition. The branch you¡¯re born into... is the one you¡¯re destined to protect."

    The dining hall went deathly quiet.Even Ezren¡ªalways eager for battles¡ªseemed to weigh the gravity of those words.

    "Hey..."Ezren leaned toward Alaric, dropping his voice to a whisper:"In my entire life, I¡¯ve only ever heard of one SSS+-class..."

    Alaric smirked, replying just as quietly but with a hint of gravity:"The King of Ashendrell. Right?"

    A shiver ran down Ezren¡¯s spine.

    "''The Sun King.'' The strongest man in the world..."Alaric paused dramatically, letting each word sink in."But you¡¯re missing some intel, little brother. He¡¯s not the only one."

    Ezren held his breath.

    "Our cousin Charles is the second strongest man alive. And the only one who can stand toe-to-toe with the King."

    Silence.

    Ezren¡¯s fork stabbed into the tablecloth without him noticing. His mind burned with a single revelation:The second strongest man in the world... was coming to THEIR house in two days!

    The only one who could fight the world¡¯s most powerful king as an equal?! The second strongest man alive¡ªcoming HERE?!

 Chapter 2: Moonlit Duels

    Interior of Rouge Mansion, Ezren''s Bedroom. 9:00 PM

    Ezren couldn''t sleep.

    Excitement burned through his veins, driving him to climb onto the windowsill, one hand gripping the frame for balance. The night sky shone indifferently at his restlessness, yet he stared at it as if the stars might answer his questions.

    "Charles is coming."

    The mere thought quickened his pulse. The last time he''d seen his cousin, he''d been just ten years old. Back then, Charles was already an S+-class warrior - like his parents... but there was something different about him. Something that, even as a charismatic, smiling man, made young Ezren feel that primal instinct of danger, as if facing a wolf in sheep''s clothing.

    And now... now that same man was SSS+-class. The second strongest in the world.

    Ezren clenched the window frame until his knuckles turned white.

    "What will he be like now...?" he murmured, wondering if that old smile still hid the same lethal edge.

    The sudden tock of a pebble against glass snapped him from his thoughts.

    Ezren blinked, startled, and peered down to spot Alaric''s silhouette in the moonlit garden. His older brother wore that trademark smirk that always spelled trouble, making exaggerated gestures for him to come down.

    "Alaric?" Ezren muttered, arching a brow. "What does he want at this hour?"

    A sigh, a quiet chuckle, then he leapt from the windowsill with practiced ease. If Alaric was summoning him at night, it meant only two things: chaos or secret training.

    "He must want to see my progress," he thought, taking the stairs two at a time, his excitement about Charles momentarily forgotten in the thrill of action.

    Ezren raced through the mansion''s silent halls, his footsteps echoing on marble floors. As he veered toward the back door, he threw it open with such force that he missed the foot that suddenly appeared in his path.

    "Oof!"

    Face-first into the lawn, mouth full of dirt.

    "Payback for earlier, dumbass," Astrid huffed, stepping over him with the grace of a smug cat, heading toward where Alaric waited.

    "Hahaha, didn''t see that coming!" Alaric laughed, though at least had the decency to offer a hand to help him up.

    Ezren spat out a blade of grass and lunged at Astrid, teeth gritted.

    "You''re a petty little shit, midget!"

    Astrid froze mid-step.

    She turned slowly¡ªlike a predator catching the scent of blood.

    "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING ¡®MIDGET¡¯?!"

    CRACK!

    Their foreheads collided violently, nose-to-nose, eyes blazing into each other. The air between them crackled, as if literal sparks might fly at any moment.

    Alaric dragged a hand down his face.

    "Ah, shit... Here we go again."

    He wedged himself between them in one fluid motion, arms barricading them apart like iron gates.

    "If you wanna brawl, save it for later," he groaned, his voice dripping with big-brother exhaustion. "Tonight¡¯s about progress. Don¡¯t disappoint me."

    A taunting grin spread across his face as he crossed his arms, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

    Astrid¡¯s eyes glowed like embers as she threw down her gauntlet:

    "Ha! I¡¯ll shred Ezren to pieces before he even blinks."

    "Oh really?" Ezren barked a laugh, but his fists were already clenched, battle-ready.

    "I¡¯ll bury you right here, dumbass!" Astrid lunged¡ªonly for Alaric to snag her by the hood like a misbehaving kitten.

    "Weapons first, kiddos," Alaric teased, jingling a keyring in their faces. "No clue how the hell Astrid swiped the armory keys... but they¡¯ll do for training."

    With an exaggerated sigh, he tossed them skyward. Ezren caught them with a metallic clink¡ªthe prelude to something far greater.

    They chose their weapons with deadly intent.

    Astrid didn¡¯t hesitate for a second¡ªher fingers closed around the rapier hanging on the wall, its blade needle-thin and forged for swift, lethal strikes. She swung it with the ease of someone who¡¯d spent countless hours mastering it, the steel tracing an arc through the air that hissed as it split the night breeze.

    "Don¡¯t expect me to hold back," she warned, her smile sharp enough to imply she knew exactly how to pierce a heart in three motions.

    Ezren, meanwhile, strode to the corner where his sword lay¡ªthe same massive blade he¡¯d trained with at dawn, so thick it resembled a slab of metal. With a grunt, he hefted it, his arms trembling under its weight.

    Alaric arched a brow.

    "Wow¡­ You¡¯re seriously using that thing?" Half impressed, half amused.

    Ezren adjusted his grip, staring at his warped reflection in the steel.

    "Yeah. It¡¯s perfect for what I want to become." Not a shred of doubt in his voice.

    "Reminds me of Mom¡¯s sword," Alaric added with a wry chuckle.

    Exterior of Rouge Mansion. 9:30 PM

    The stage was set.

    They took positions in the courtyard, far enough from the mansion to avoid suspicion. Moonlight drenched their makeshift battlefield, turning their blades into liquid silver extensions.

    "First round: Astrid vs. Ezren," Alaric announced, arms crossed. "Winner fights me."

    A silence thick with electricity.

    Astrid coiled forward like a spring about to snap.

    Ezren braced his stance, ready to absorb the impact.

    Then¡ª

    "Begin!"

    Astrid moved like a whirlwind, her feet barely grazing the ground before striking. Her rapier hissed¡ªFshh!¡ªa silver streak shooting straight for Ezren, almost too fast to track.

    "She¡¯s this fast?!" Ezren barely had time to think**, hefting his massive sword like a clumsy shield.

    CLANG!

    The impact vibrated through his bones. Astrid didn''t pause¡ªshe pivoted mid-air, evading Ezren''s slow but crushing counterattack with a graceful leap, as if the wind itself cradled her.

    "You''re... too slow," she hissed through bared fangs that made her look every bit the predator.

    And struck again.

    CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

    Ezren staggered back, barely defending himself. Every thrust from Astrid was lightning aimed at his throat, his ribs, his legs. No time to breathe¡ªonly block, dodge, survive.

    "Alaric!" Ezren gasped between parries. "When the hell did she learn to move like this?!"

    Leaning against a tree with crossed arms, Alaric only laughed:

    "Ever wonder why she steals keys so easily?"

    Astrid gave no quarter. Her rapier carved a lethal arc toward his shoulder when¡ª

    Ezren roared, driving his heels into the earth with such force the ground shook. His sword recognized the flow of his komi and¡ª

    WHOOSH.

    The massive blade erupted in flames, wreathed in a dancing cloak of fire.

    "Fire, huh?" Alaric whistled, equal parts impressed and amused, as the orange glow lit up his grin.

    Astrid, already mid-lunge, twisted her body mid-air to evade the fiery slash¡ªbut too late.

    WHOOSH!

    The searing wave of flame slammed into her, hurling her against a tree meters away. Dry leaves around her crackled for an instant before dissolving into ash.

    "You bastard...!" Astrid spat blood, yet her eyes burned with even fiercer fury.

    Ezren didn''t relax. He knew this was just a scratch to her.

    "You always underestimate your opponent, little girl," he taunted, tightening his grip.

    The insult ignited something primal in Astrid.

    "''Little girl''?!" she whispered¡ªthen

    SHINK!

    She lunged again, but this time her rapier wasn''t aiming to wound¡ªit sought to kill. The needle-thin blade drove straight for Ezren''s heart without hesitation.

    "You can''t tell hunting from training, can you?" Ezren grunted, deflecting each thrust with his flaming sword. "Little beast..."

    CLANG! FSHH! CLANG!

    Astrid''s strikes turned chaotic, frenzied, as if rage had transformed her into a steel whirlwind. Yet something was missing...

    Alaric, watching from the shadows, frowned.

    "Why isn''t she using her elemental affinity?" he wondered. Was Astrid still unable to awaken it?

    Astrid didn''t relent. Her attacks kept coming like a storm of steel needles, each thrust faster than the last, forcing Ezren into desperate defense. But then...

    The flames on his sword surged with sudden fury, forming a heatwave that pushed Astrid back. Exactly as he''d planned.

    "Fireball!" Ezren conjured with a simple gesture¡ªdrawing a circle in the air and blowing into it.

    FWOOM!

    A massive sphere of fire roared from his fingertips, hurtling toward Astrid with devouring hunger.

    "Seems he''s mastered his element..." Alaric muttered, arms crossed. Even he was impressed.

    But Astrid didn''t flinch.

    At the last instant, she backflipped as her hands flew through a rapid ritual¡ªfive consecutive hand seals, each motion as precise as her rapier''s edge.

    "Water Gun!" she shouted, blowing through her clenched fist.

    SHHHHHH!

    A violent water jet speared through the air like liquid lightning, shredding the fireball into a steam explosion.

    Alaric nearly choked on his own spit.

    "Water?!" He blinked, bewildered¡ªthen realized. "But... she used hand seals. Which means..." His eyes narrowed. "It''s not her elemental affinity."

    They counterattacked with feral intensity.

    "ARGHHH!" Their screams merged as they collided with force that shook the very air.

    CRACK!

    Astrid''s rapier split in two, unable to withstand the flaming sword''s brutal strike. The impact''s vibration sent her reeling¡ªlegs buckling as she crashed onto her back.

    "Am I... going to lose?" The bitter thought twisted her face.

    Then¡ª

    SHHHHIIING!

    A pillar of ice erupted from the ground like a silent scream of defiance, flash-freezing Ezren''s blade mid-swing and suspending it in the air like a frozen trophy.

    "Ice?!" Alaric stepped forward, eyes alight with revelation. "No hand seals... It''s innate. This is her true elemental affinity!"

    The silence that followed was thicker than the ice itself.

    Ezren blinked at his imprisoned sword.

    "What the hell just happened?" he whispered, still processing.

    Astrid, sprawled on the ground, exhaled a ragged breath.

    "I don''t know..." Then, against all odds, a genuine smile broke through. "But I think I lost."

    Alaric approached, studying the moonlit ice.

    "Yeah, you lost. Your back touched dirt," he confirmed¡ªthough his voice carried pride, not disappointment.

    10:00 PM

    Alaric passed them a jug of cold water, which Astrid and Ezren grabbed with trembling, exhausted hands. As they gulped it down, he leaned against a tree trunk, arms crossed and grinning.

    "Here. You both surprised me," he said, watching Astrid''s breath mist in the chilly air.

    "Really?" Astrid laughed between swigs, her cheeks still flushed from exertion.

    "You¡¯re seriously asking?!" Ezren scolded, dripping with sweat. "Since when can you do that?!"

    She lowered the jug and shrugged¡ªthough a mischievous smile played on her lips.

    "No clue..." She sighed, staring at her hands like they were strangers. "But it looks cool, right?"

    Alaric burst out laughing.

    "Always knew you''d be a freak of nature, Astrid."

    "WHAT¡¯S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?! HUH?!" She sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, exhaustion forgotten.

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    "Easy, easy..." Alaric raised his hands in surrender¡ªthough he couldn¡¯t help thinking, "She flares up just like Mom..."

    "I mean you¡¯re different from the rest of the family," he clarified, praying she wouldn¡¯t incinerate him with her glare.

    Astrid scowled but finally flopped back onto the grass with a "Hmph!", her pout betraying her curiosity.

    "You think ice affinity is normal for Rouges?" He twirled a dry leaf between his fingers.

    Astrid¡¯s eyes lit up like beacons.

    "See..." Alaric leaned in, savoring the suspense. "Rouges are usually born with darkness or fire as their elements. Anything else? That¡¯s an anomaly."

    A dramatic pause.

    "And those are the most fun to watch."

    "So... I¡¯m the only Rouge with ice?" Astrid¡¯s voice held an excitement they¡¯d never heard before.

    "Bingo." Alaric nodded. "Ezren got fire, like Mom. I got darkness, like Dad..."

    Ezren puffed out his chest, pride swelling.

    "But don¡¯t think you¡¯re the only ¡®weirdo¡¯ in the family," Alaric added, eyes glinting mischievously. "There are three living Rouges with off-brand affinities¡ªyou included. Wanna know who the others are?"

    His tone was pure campfire storyteller... and they bit the bait hard.

    Alaric cleared his throat, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt before dropping the bomb:

    "The first... our dear cousin Charles, ''the Immortal.''"

    He paused strategically, letting the title hang in the air like a threat.

    "Leader of the second Rouge branch, SSS+-class... and with wood as his elemental affinity."

    Ezren blinked, suddenly thrust into half-remembered childhood flashes.

    "That¡¯s why he always smelled like a forest after rain..." he muttered, almost to himself.

    But Alaric wasn¡¯t done. Leaning forward with conspiratorial gleam:

    "And know why they call him ''the Immortal''?"

    Astrid and Ezren instinctively inched closer.

    "His wood absorbs karma from trees¡ªeven from roots he sprouts himself." A slow grin. "Basically regenerates like some cursed magic log."

    Ezren paled, picturing that monster turning entire forests into his personal medkit.

    "No wonder he¡¯s the Sun King¡¯s rival..." He shuddered.

    Astrid, however, didn¡¯t look daunted¡ªshe looked thrilled.

    "I¡¯ve decided," she declared, springing to her feet. "I¡¯m challenging him to a duel!"

    Ezren nearly choked on his water.

    "He¡¯ll splinter you without leaving his chair, dumbass!" But she was already gone, deaf to reason.

    Alaric dropped the next name like a spark onto gunpowder:

    "The second anomaly... is our cousin Selene Rouge of the third branch¡ª''the Incorruptible.''"

    Ezren frowned, digging through memories until his eyes lit up.

    "She¡¯s the Kingdom¡¯s Chancellor!" he blurted, recalling his parents¡¯ hushed discussions.

    Alaric nodded, savoring each second of revelation.

    "Exactly. In charge of administration and diplomacy..." A dramatic pause. "...and also an SS-class archer who turns entire villages to ash when she fights."

    Astrid¡¯s throat clicked with an audible swallow.

    "Her element..." Alaric¡¯s voice dipped to a theatrical whisper, "...is indigo fire."

    The air turned viscous.

    "Blue... fire?" Ezren imagined flames even he couldn¡¯t control.

    "Flames that burn eternally... until she chooses to extinguish them," Alaric finished, watching horror and awe twist through his siblings¡¯ expressions.

    Astrid, for the first time that night, looked genuinely awestruck.

    "An archer... with that power..." She envisioned arrows igniting the horizon. "She must be... lethal."

    The tension grew taut as a bowstring about to snap. Alaric had saved the most unsettling for last.

    "The final anomaly..." He smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his clothes. "S+-class. From the third branch... and Selene''s elder brother."

    A calculated pause let the suspense fester.

    "Elazar, ''the Empty-Eyed.''"

    Astrid and Ezren unconsciously held their breath.

    "His affinity..." Alaric''s smile never reached his eyes. "...is blood."

    Thick silence smothered them.

    "He controls it¡ªcan solidify it like steel." He crushed a dry leaf to dust between his fingers. "Fights weaponless. A mage wholly dependent on his element."

    Ezren frowned, sifting through memories.

    "Elazar Rouge... The royal army''s second commander, right?" He sought confirmation in his brother''s gaze.

    Alaric nodded with a laugh that sounded more like a warning.

    "Bingo. Seen him at the barracks with Dad..." His voice turned uncharacteristically grim. "He''s... broken. Depressive. Speaks little, but his sense of justice is sharper than his blood-daggers."

    A weighted pause.

    "He''d rather die for a civilian... than take one step back."

    "We really are a family to be feared..." Ezren exhaled, pride and awe tangled in his voice.

    Astrid gazed toward the horizon where city lights flickered faintly.

    "Guess that¡¯s why we live so far from everyone else..." A rare resignation tinged her words.

    Alaric, ever the peacemaker, tried to lighten the mood with a smirk.

    "And who¡¯d want otherwise? Imagine the chaos if we mingled with common folk."

    But Astrid didn¡¯t laugh this time. Her eyes¡ªusually blazing with fury or sarcasm¡ªheld an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

    "Sometimes I wonder... will we ever live among people who don¡¯t fear us?"

    The silence that followed was louder than any answer.

    Until¡ª

    "Then let¡¯s not just sit here staring!"

    Ezren sprang up, pointing defiantly at the North Star.

    "If the adults can¡¯t change things... we¡¯ll turn the world upside down ourselves!"

    His voice rang with such pure conviction that even the wind seemed to pause.

    Astrid stared at him... then burst into laughter¡ªbut this time, it held no mockery.

    "You¡¯re such an idiot..." she said, in a tone she¡¯d never used with him before.

    Alaric chuckled too, leaning back against the tree with arms behind his head.

    "Easy for you to say..." he murmured¡ªyet his smile betrayed him.

    Because for that moment, under the stars and the weight of their legacy, all three of them dared to believe it possible.

    10:30 PM

    The final duel began under the full moon.

    Ezren leaned forward, muscles coiled like springs, his massive sword¡ªas wide as his torso¡ªresting on his shoulder, its edge gleaming blue in the moonlight. Across from him, Alaric waited calmly, his ordinary yet well-balanced longsword held with the ease of a lifelong swordsman.

    Astrid, slumped against a fallen log with arms crossed, couldn''t hide her frustration.

    "You''d better win, Ezren!" she shouted, grinding her teeth with equal parts envy and anticipation.

    Alaric tilted his head, smiling with that infuriating calm only he could muster.

    "You really don''t want to make her angrier..." he remarked, as if they were chatting at the dinner table rather than facing off in battle.

    Ezren swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his sister''s words as much as his sword.

    "I know..." he muttered, tightening his grip with resolve.

    The wind whistled through the trees, scattering dry leaves that danced around their feet like eager spectators.

    Ezren dug his heels into the earth and charged with heavy steps, dragging his colossal sword like a warhammer.

    "Such a basic attack?" Alaric smiled, but his stance tightened instantly. He raised his sword left-handed, blocking just in time.

    CLANG!

    The impact thundered, shaking the grass beneath them and hurling sparks into the air. The force sent both stumbling back¡ªbut Alaric recovered first.

    He counterattacked with speed that left afterimages in the air.

    Ezren held his breath. Fast¡ªalmost as fast as Astrid. No time to think.

    "Don¡¯t underestimate me, little brother...!" Alaric laughed¡ª

    Then his shadow came alive.

    It twisted into jagged spikes of pure darkness, lunging at Ezren like black serpents.

    But Ezren didn''t flinch.

    "Tsk! I know you too well, dumbass." A savage grin split his face as he swung his flaming sword in a devastating arc.

    WHOOSH!

    A firewave sliced through the air, shredding the shadow spikes and crashing into Alaric¡ªwho barely managed to cross his swords in defense.

    BOOM!

    The blast launched him backward, sending him flying meters upward as if punched by an invisible giant. But just before he hit the ground...

    His own shadow yawned like an abyss and swallowed him whole.

    "What the hell?!" Ezren cursed, spinning with senses razor-sharp. He knew his brother could emerge anywhere, any moment.

    And so it happened.

    From the very shadow Ezren cast, Alaric emerged like a specter, his smile glinting in the gloom.

    "My turn..." he whispered, hands weaving six seals in the blink of an eye.

    "Fireball!"

    He blew through a circle formed by his fingers, and a sphere of roaring flames took shape before him, painting his face in sinister light.

    It all happened too fast.

    Ezren barely managed to leap back¡ªbut too late.

    BOOM!

    The fireball struck him square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and hurling him through the air.

    "Incredible..." Astrid murmured, her eyes alight as she tracked every move.

    But Ezren wasn''t done.

    Still mid-air, he thrust his palms backward¡ª

    FWOOM!

    A controlled explosion of flames erupted from his hands, propelling him into a stabilized fall. He landed knees-first, skidding several meters before stopping.

    Alaric couldn''t help but smile, though he tightened his combat stance.

    "You''ve got guts."

    Ezren didn''t reply. Instead, he flipped forward and charged bare-fisted, his sword discarded yards away.

    "Should''ve expected that stubborn streak!" Alaric laughed, eyes alight with genuine challenge.

    In one fluid motion, he hurled his own sword into the earth where it quivered, embedded.

    "Let''s fight on equal terms!"

    Then¡ªlike black lightning¡ªhe lunged at Ezren, closing the distance in less than a blink.

    "Are you seriously brawling like kids in mud?!" Astrid groaned.

    The air whistled between their clenched fists, the impact imminent.

    The impact was brutal and perfectly synchronized.

    POW! CRACK!

    Both fists found their mark simultaneously, smashing into each other''s jaws with a sickening crunch. The force sent them reeling¡ªbut they lunged again within seconds, like two bulls trapped in the same pen.

    The duel had devolved into something primal: pure, unadorned physical power.

    Alaric stepped back momentarily, wiping his split lip with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson streak on his skin.

    "Gotta admit..." He grinned, spitting red onto the grass. "You''re stronger than me."

    Then his eyes gleamed with cunning.

    "But strength means nothing without technique."

    And he proved it.

    In a burst of calculated speed, Alaric unleashed a surgical strike combo:

    A right cross to the gut that bent Ezren double.

    A left hook to the cheek that made stars explode behind his eyes.

    A final hammer-blow to the arms that Ezren barely blocked¡ªhis bones vibrating from the impact.

    Ezren forced himself up once more, though every muscle in his body screamed in protest. His vision blurred, pain sat like a boulder on his shoulders, and the exhaustion of the entire day¡ªthe brutal training, the duel with Astrid¡ªweighed like lead in his veins.

    But he stood.

    Alaric watched with a mix of awe and curiosity, dodging his brother''s increasingly sluggish, erratic swings.

    "Tell me..." he asked, pausing for a breath. "What keeps you pushing?"

    Ezren lifted his gaze, eyes burning with a determination that defied his battered body.

    "The very act of surpassing my limits!" he roared¡ªand as if those words were a spell, his stance straightened, his fists regained their flow.

    POW! ¡ª A clean hit to Alaric''s left cheek.

    CRACK! ¡ª An uppercut that made his brother''s teeth rattle.

    But Alaric was no easy opponent. In an instant counter, his right fist smashed into Ezren''s cheek with a THUD! that sent him reeling.

    In one last desperate effort, Ezren clenched his fist with all his might. Unbeknownst to him, a dark, distorted energy began coiling around his arm¡ªanti-karma, the force opposing the world''s natural flow.

    Alaric''s eyes widened slightly at the sight.

    "Anti-karma...?" he murmured, studying the unaware expression on Ezren''s face.

    A smile of pride and curiosity tugged at his lips.

    "Seems he doesn''t even realize what he''s doing..."

    As he analyzed, his own left fist began vibrating with the same twisted black energy.

    "Let''s test your resolve..." he declared, bracing for the final collision.

    Astrid, from her log, leaned forward, eyes blazing with fascination.

    "Huh? What are those black currents around them?" she whispered, as if afraid to interrupt something sacred.

    In that instant, with a simultaneous roar, the brothers charged at each other.

    "ARGHHH!"

    Their fists collided.

    The world seemed to freeze.

    Then¡ª

    BOOOOM!

    An anti-karma shockwave detonated, fracturing the air with black lightning that scarred space itself.

    Nearby tree leaves withered and fell as if cursed by an invisible blight.

    Dirt and debris spiraled into a violent whirlwind, exploding outward in all directions.

    The ground beneath them cracked, webbing fractures spreading like shattered glass.

    Yet neither yielded.

    Ezren and Alaric stood locked in place, fists still connected, their contest no longer physical but spiritual.

    Who would break first?

    "You fought well, brother..." Alaric smiled with genuine pride¡ªyet his eyes burned with resolve not to lose.

    Suddenly, his fist erupted in a denser vortex of anti-karma, the black energy pulsing like a dark heart.

    CRACK!

    The final blow smashed into Ezren''s left cheek, hurling him meters backward.

    Ezren slammed against a tree with a sickening thud¡ªand this time, he didn''t rise.

    Alaric had won.

    Alaric gasped, swaying before collapsing to his knees. His left fist smoked, the skin seared with severe burns¡ªas if the anti-karma had devoured it from within.

    Astrid sprinted over, first to scold Alaric.

    "Hey! You went too far!" she shouted, though her voice carried more worry than anger.

    Alaric let himself fall backward onto the grass, laughing between labored breaths.

    "Pretty sure Ezren would¡¯ve hated it if I held back..." he murmured, staring at the sky as if searching for answers among the stars.

    Astrid made an exaggerated pout, feigning indifference.

    "Whatever..." But curiosity got the better of her. "What was that energy in your fists anyway?"

    Alaric let out a pained chuckle, wincing as his injured arm spasmed.

    "Should¡¯ve paid more attention in class, dummy..." His tone held more affection than mockery.

    Land of Earth, Border Village Near the Fire Country. 11:00 PM

    The moon bathed the deserted village streets, illuminating the carriage ready for departure. Livia adjusted her wavy bangs¡ªalways covering part of her forehead¡ªas her traveling dress fluttered in the night breeze.

    "Charles, darling," she called in that honeyed voice reserved only for him. "The driver¡¯s loaded our luggage."

    Charles responded with a soft smile, brushing her cheek with his knuckles.

    "Understood... Let¡¯s go."

    His black eyes gleamed under the lantern light, his ponytail swaying.

    "We should reach Ashendrell¡¯s forest by tomorrow."

    But as he moved to follow her, he froze.

    He¡¯d sensed it.

    Multiple hostile komi signatures approaching rapidly.

    "Dearest?" Livia turned, noting his tension. Her voice brimmed with innocent curiosity. "Is something wrong?"

    Charles didn¡¯t look back. His expression hardened briefly before melting into a warm smile.

    "It¡¯s nothing..." A lie delivered with practiced ease. "Just forgot something at the inn."

    He took her hands, squeezing them reassuringly.

    "Board the carriage and tell the driver not to wait. I¡¯ll catch up, okay?"

    Livia blushed but nodded.

    "Oh... Don¡¯t be long..." she whispered, climbing aboard with one last worried glance.

    The moment the wheels began turning, Charles¡¯ smile vanished.

    Now only the lethal calm of a predator remained.

    CRRACK!

    Branches snapped like bones as six hooded figures emerged from the darkness, moving in perfect sync. Their black hoods with white trim gleamed under the moonlight like a macabre mockery.

    "Now!" a male voice roared from among them.

    In an instant, black chains shot toward Charles, coiling around his torso and arms with serpentine hunger. The metal clanged as it tightened¡ªyet he didn¡¯t even flinch.

    "Black hoods with white trim?" he mused, as if examining a scientific oddity. "Could you be that criminal guild that hunts specific clans?"

    One hooded figure let out a razor-edged laugh.

    "Those chains are forged in anti-karma, Rouge. Neither your wood nor your damned regeneration will save you now."

    Charles remained unshaken.

    "Who are you?" His voice never rose, yet each word carried the weight of an anvil.

    The nearest assailant straightened with arrogance.

    "None of your concern! We just need you docile for delivery to the boss."

    His mocking laughter tangled with the chains¡¯ creaking.

    Charles remained unfazed by their chains.

    The hooded men yanked harder, but he only smiled¡ªas if this were a tedious game.

    "Seems your leader underestimated me," he laughed, his voice blood-chilling.

    "The hell you mean?! You''re trapped, idiot!" one shouted, shaking the chains violently.

    Then Charles'' smile vanished.

    "Then... I''ll take you."

    His eyes changed.

    The whites darkened to pitch black.

    The iris stained deep red, like dried blood.

    The pupil burned crimson, like live coals.

    His hair turned scarlet, as if dipped in gore.

    The Crimson Eye had awakened!

    BOOM!

    A wave of terrifying aura exploded from his body, sweeping the area. Five of the six attackers dropped unconscious instantly¡ªlike flies exposed to poison.

    Only the loudmouth remained standing.

    "W-What are you?!" the man stammered, legs buckling as he scrambled back. He looked like he¡¯d stared straight into the devil¡¯s maw.

    Charles shrugged off the chains with a single motion¡ªas if they were silk threads.

    Then¡­ the roots came.

    CRACK!

    Spear-like shoots erupted from the earth, piercing through the hearts of the unconscious men. Instant death.

    The last survivor screamed.

    "N-NO! Stay back, you monster!" He tried to run, but his legs betrayed him.

    A root shaped like a giant hand burst from the soil, clutching him like a doll.

    Charles approached, that smile never touching his crimson eyes.

    "So... feeling cooperative now?" The false sweetness in his voice was more terrifying than any roar.

    On a distant hilltop, two figures observed the massacre with detached calm. Their black hoods with white trim fluttered in the night wind¡ªidentical to the fallen attackers''.

    The woman, straight pink hair escaping her hood, licked her lips as she adjusted her telescope.

    "So that''s the infamous Rouge ''Crimson Eye''..." Her whisper dripped with obscene fascination. "The boss was right. Anti-karma chains aren''t enough to contain him."

    Her fingers toyed with a lock of hair, twisting and untwisting with barely contained excitement.

    Beside her, the burly man lowered his binoculars.

    "At least we got intel..." He adjusted his mask. "Charles Rouge is heading to Ashendrell. Right where we''ll make our next move."

    A sigh escaped him¡ªnot of fear, but anticipation.

    The woman laughed, a sound like poisoned windchimes.

    "Perfect... Two birds with one stone."

    A criminal guild targeting Ashendrell and Charles?! Is the Rouge family in danger?!

 Chapter 3: Transformation and Conflict

    Exterior of Rouge Mansion. 9:10 PM

    The echoes of Astrid and Ezren''s battle reverberated even at the mansion''s doors, windows trembling faintly with each collision.

    Hidden among the garden shrubs, a pair of narrow, gleaming eyes observed every move with rapt devotion.

    Silvren¡ªa tall, slender youth with hair as long and dark as night¡ªheld his breath when Astrid''s ice pillar erupted.

    "Ice?" he whispered, startled. But his expression soon melted into pure reverence.

    Because in that moment, Astrid was sublime.

    As she descended slowly to the ground, that signature wild and defiant smile on her lips, her black hair tousled by the wind and eyes alight with exhilaration...

    "She looks so beautiful..." Silvren whispered, clawing at the bushes like they were the edge of a cliff.

    His heart pounded so loudly he feared the fighters might hear it.

    "Psst, Silvren..." A voice sweet as poisoned honey breathed directly into his ear.

    Before he could react, a blunt thwack struck his skull.

    "The hell you doing creepin'' on that brat?!" Norma snarled, clenching her teeth to avoid detection.

    Silvren muffled a yelp, desperately covering his mouth.

    "Miss Astrid will spot us! What¡¯s wrong with you?!" he hissed¡ªthen paled and sealed his lips with both hands.

    Norma glared at him with equal parts disgust and resignation.

    "You¡¯re a goddamn stalker," she sighed, shaking her fist like it¡¯d touched something vile. "You promised me training. So honor your word, you creep."

    Silvren made a petulant face, never tearing his eyes from Astrid¡ªwho still panted on the ground after her defeat.

    "Tch! Plans changed! I won¡¯t miss a single second of Miss Astrid in her wildest state," he declared, crossing his arms with childish stubbornness.

    Norma¡¯s eyes sparked with fury.

    "Men are the worst!" She yanked a rope from her blue jacket, its coils glinting under moonlight.

    "You¡¯re the only brat also taking the rank-calibration exam. So it¡¯s do or die."

    With expert precision, she bound his wrists and began dragging him like a sack of grain.

    "Ghk! Let go, you vile wench!" Silvren kicked, then immediately dropped to a hysterical whisper:

    Top Floor of Rouge Mansion ¡ª Master Bedroom

    Hadrian Rouge stood by the window, his silhouette etched against the moon''s glow. His face remained impassive as he watched his children''s battle, slowly sipping red wine that mirrored the hue of fresh blood.

    "It seems Astrid will follow no rules... not even her clan''s," he murmured, gaze fixed on the ice pillar still gleaming in the garden.

    Behind him, Isolde glided like a shadow in her black silk nightgown, the fabric clinging to her curves with each movement.

    "Fate is ever capricious, don''t you think?" Her whisper carried a low laugh as her fingers traced Hadrian''s back with spiderlike delicacy.

    She leaned in, pressing her lips to his neck in a kiss that was half caress, half warning.

    "But she must learn a woman''s place in this society..." Her words dripped like poisoned honey as her hand slid to his chest, nails biting lightly through his shirt.

    Her hot breath seared his ear as she added:

    "A woman who seeks freedom only finds tragedy."

    Hadrian set his glass on the windowsill with a precise click, never breaking eye contact with Isolde¡¯s abyssal gaze. His hands locked around her waist, pulling her close with unyielding force.

    "Can you truly quench a caged beast¡¯s longing for freedom?" The question carried the same tone he used to test their children¡ªa verbal trap veiled in silk.

    Isolde didn¡¯t flinch. Her lips curled into a predator¡¯s smile.

    "Did you forget whom you married?" She trailed fingers up his chest before closing the distance in a kiss that tasted of defiance and red wine.

    Moonlight bathed them through the window, their shadows merging into one.

    When they parted, Isolde toyed with his collar.

    "Though... we could try for another girl. Can lightning strike the same place twice?" She nipped her lower lip.

    But Hadrian didn¡¯t smile.

    His stare fixed beyond the forest where the darkness seemed to thicken. The fingers gripping Isolde¡¯s waist tensed.

    "I¡¯ve a terrible premonition..." A confession so quiet even the shadows might hear.

    Land of Earth, Border Village Near the Fire Country. 11:10 PM

    The man dangled grotesquely from the wooden hand sprouting from the earth, his feet kicking like a trapped insect. Panic made him drool as he babbled:

    "I swear I know nothing! A friend recruited me... said it was easy money!"

    Charles studied him with those soul-piercing black eyes, hunting for the faintest lie. But this time... the man spoke truth.

    Had he caught the weakest link? Or was this all a test?

    "Do you remember any superior''s name or face?" The question came with the calm of someone who''d done this a thousand times.

    The prisoner averted his gaze¡ªa tic that betrayed his lie before he even spoke.

    The wooden hand crunched tighter.

    "ARGH! Fine!" He spat through pain-tears. "A woman! Pink hair... but masked. She gave the orders."

    Charles didn''t flinch, though the hand loosened its grip.

    The air thickened with the man''s terror, his dilated eyes reflecting the warped image of Charles'' Bloody Eye¡ªa demon made flesh.

    "Give me something useful, and I won''t kill you now," Charles ordered, his voice colder than a dagger''s edge.

    The prisoner swallowed hard, panic crawling up his spine like a venomous spider.

    "I-I heard a name!" he shrieked, hurling his last hope into the void. "The guild''s called ''Gourmet Vulture''!"

    Charles didn¡¯t blink.

    Gourmet Vulture? The very group that hunted powerful clan members to steal their abilities.

    His suspicions were confirmed... yet questions multiplied:

    Why him? Had they been tracking him? Or was this mere coincidence?

    Seeing a flicker of hesitation in those red eyes, the man made his final play:

    "Please! I gave you something useful, right?" His grin revealed blood-stained teeth.

    Charles tilted his head slightly, like a scientist observing a lab specimen.

    "Indeed..." The wooden hand began tightening around the man¡¯s throat. "But did you truly think I¡¯d let scum like you live?"

    The prisoner thrashed, choking on his own whimpers.

    "Weeds... are best uprooted."

    Then the wood came alive.

    CRACK.

    Filament roots burrowed into his skin, draining every drop of his komi like a sponge soaking water. His body convulsed, withering under Charles¡¯ dispassionate gaze¡ªuntil only a dried husk remained.

    Charles exhaled slowly, feeling the Bloody Eye recede from his being.

    His pupils deepened back to black,

    The whites of his eyes regained their clarity,

    His hair faded from scarlet to its usual ebony.

    With a weary gesture, he raised his hand¡ªand the roots obeyed, dragging all six corpses into the forest''s depths. Not a trace remained.

    "Should catch up to Livia..." he murmured, though he knew his fianc¨¦e would be safe... for now.

    But before departing, a bitter thought struck him:

    "Apollo... you''re as inept as ever. Never keep your word." The whisper dripped with contempt, as if the Fire Country''s King himself lurked in the shadows.

    Then a thick root coiled around his feet, cocooning him before pulling him underground.

    As he traveled through the root network, his mind raced:

    "The royal summit''s on February 1st... They''ll likely strike then. Or¡ª" A more troubling possibility hit him¡ª"Are they moving during the rank-calibration exams?"

    He frowned even mid-transit.

    "Either way, that bastard Apollo won''t be there..." Annoyance bled into genuine concern.

    What a headache...

    Inside Rouge Mansion ¡ª Ezren''s Bedroom

    January 20th ¡ª 8:00 AM

    Dawn light seeped through the curtains, illuminating the disaster that was Ezren: mummified in bandages like a rebellious corpse, bruises blooming from purple to sickly green.

    "So I lost, huh?" He tried to sit up, but a stabbing rib pain slammed him back into the pillows.

    The door creaked open, and Althea¡ªthe family physician¡ªentered with a tray of herbs and ointments.

    At thirty-two, Althea was a spectacle unto herself:

    Jet-black hair piled into a deliberately messy bun,

    A fitted dress that paid homage to every curve,

    And a smile that knew exactly its effect.

    "Try not to move, young master," she chided, setting the tray on the nightstand. "Yesterday seems to have been... very demanding."

    She leaned over him, examining his injuries with expert yet deliberately slow fingers.

    "Torn muscles, extreme exhaustion, and¡ª" She lifted his bandaged hands, tsk-ing. "Anti-karma burns on your knuckles. You¡¯ll need more caution next time."

    She fluffed his hair with a gesture that¡¯d make a saint blush¡ªbut Ezren was too wrecked to notice.

    Althea stepped back gracefully, lighting a long, slender pipe before settling on the bed with calculated languor. Thick, aromatic smoke curled around her face as she spoke:

    "Your recovery would take two days... if you knew how to use karma. But since you don¡¯t¡ª" A dramatic pause over the pipe¡¯s rim. "¡ªyou¡¯ll need a week."

    Ezren paled.

    "A week?!" He tried to rise, but white-hot pain nailed him back down. "You mean I¡¯ll face Charles like this?!"

    Althea smiled through the smoke, her eyes glinting with more than professionalism.

    "Unless... you¡¯d prefer a special treatment, dear master..." She rose with serpentine fluidity.

    Setting the pipe aside, she leaned over him¡ªclose enough for Ezren to notice two things:

    The scent of medicinal herbs... and something metallic.

    Her now-bared fangs, glinting shamelessly.

    "But it¡¯ll hurt..." A warning that sounded more like a promise.

    Ezren swallowed. He knew Althea was no ordinary physician... but he had to stand before Charles arrived.

    "Do it," he conceded, shutting his eyes like a condemned man.

    Althea grinned ear-to-ear.

    "Perfect. Just relax..." Her whisper grazed his neck as¡ª

    After five years of service at the Rouge mansion, Althea had secured her privileged position¡ªnot just through medical prowess, but with that dangerous charisma she wielded like a blade.

    Hadrian and Isolde trusted her implicitly. Not only because she healed wounds... but because she never asked questions.

    And in turn, she owed them everything.

    For Althea was of the Batte clan¡ªa bloodline hunted by envious nobles.

    Whispers claimed the Batte descended from vampires, though centuries had diluted their traits to only:

    Needle-sharp fangs,

    And an innate gift for manipulating healing karma.

    But in a world where clans with unique gifts were trophy-hunted, the Rouges had offered her sanctuary... in exchange for her skills.

    Alaric¡¯s Bedroom. 8:05 AM

    Alaric stirred beneath the sheets, his bandaged knuckles and arms mottled with violent burns¡ªthe aftermath of his duel with Ezren and wielding anti-karma.

    His brother¡¯s distant scream roused him from drowsiness.

    "Making this much noise already?" He yawned, stretching like a lazy cat.

    Unlike Ezren, his wounds had already begun healing.

    Shhh...

    A faint steam rose from his bandages¡ªproof of his karma repairing the damage. Not as swift as Althea¡¯s "special treatment," but it didn¡¯t involve bloodcurdling screams either.

    "So tired..." He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

    The door swung open unannounced, revealing Hadrian Rouge¡¯s imposing frame. His feathered cloak whispered against the floor like a raven¡¯s wings.

    "How did you find them?" Those abyssal eyes pinned his son.

    Alaric remained unfazed. He adjusted against the headboard, lacing fingers behind his neck.

    "Each has potential..." A smile brimming with pride. "Even Astrid. Seems she¡¯s been training in secret."

    A deliberate pause let the implication hang:

    "You should let her take the calibration exam with Ezren."

    Hadrian didn¡¯t answer immediately.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    He settled into a nearby chair, his feathered cloak draping over the back like a mantle of shadows. Crossing his legs with predator¡¯s grace, he propped an elbow on his knee, resting his cheek against his hand.

    "I¡¯ve no issue with her being a warrior," he said, voice cold as winter steel. "But having a woman in the family grants us political... leverage."

    His fingers tapped lightly against his cheekbone, weighing each word.

    "If she truly wishes to fight for her freedom¡ª" Then, something unusual happened:

    A smile.

    Small. Nearly imperceptible. But there.

    "¡ªshe¡¯ll have to go through Isolde."

    Astrid¡¯s Bedroom. 8:10 AM.

    Astrid tossed between dreams of battle, clashing against knights in impenetrable armor, until¡ª

    CRASH!

    She tumbled headfirst off the bed, landing with a sharp thud on the wooden floor.

    ¡°Ouch!¡± she groaned, rubbing her forehead as she muttered curses under her breath.

    But when she looked up, the air froze in her lungs.

    Isolde was there.

    Seated in the armchair by the window, wrapped in a red-and-black dress that clung to her figure like a second skin, she filed her nails with a calm that made the silence weigh like a slab of stone.

    ¡°Give me one convincing reason for what you did yesterday, girl¡­¡± she said, without even glancing at her, the scrape of the nail file the only reply for long seconds.

    Astrid sprang to her feet, her heart racing but her voice brimming with her usual defiance.

    ¡°Huh?! What are you doing in my room?!¡±

    Isolde sighed, as if the question were tedious.

    ¡°Answer mine.¡±

    Astrid clenched her fists, resentment rising like bile in her throat.

    ¡°Tch!¡± She plopped onto the bed with her arms crossed, glaring straight into her mother¡¯s eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the doll you wish I was¡­¡±

    She took a deep breath, gathering the courage to spit out what she¡¯d swallowed for years:

    ¡°I want to train and be strong¡ªjust like my brothers!¡±

    Isolde stopped filing her nails.

    For the first time, their eyes met directly.

    Astrid refused to be intimidated:

    "Why am I the only one you''re so strict with?" she asked, her voice barely cracking. "Does being born a woman make me different from them?"

    Isolde rose with the elegance of an unsheathed sword, her long black hair¡ªpulled into an elaborate bun with hairpins¡ªnot even shifting from the sharp movement. She crossed her arms, and her gaze turned glacial.

    "That¡¯s precisely why," she said, each word sharp as a knife¡¯s edge. "What fate do you think awaits women who seek independence?"

    Astrid felt the weight of those words, but Isolde wasn¡¯t finished.

    "Who do you think you are, strutting around wielding that rapier?" Her voice rose, cutting through the air like a whip. "Do you plan to be unique, to stand apart from the rest? Do you think no one has tried before?"

    A step forward. Isolde¡¯s shadow engulfed Astrid.

    "You¡¯re just a spoiled brat blinded by naivety!"

    Astrid instinctively recoiled, her eyes glistening with frustrated tears she refused to shed. For a second, she looked like a child again¡ªsmall, afraid.

    But then...

    "You''re right..." Astrid muttered, lowering her head. Tears hit the floor, but her fist clenched tight.

    And when she looked up again, something inside her had shifted.

    "Maybe I am naive, but¡ª" She stretched out a trembling hand, pointing straight at Isolde like a challenge.

    "Astrid isn¡¯t like other women!"

    Her voice was fire, even through the tears.

    Isolde stood frozen, Hadrian¡¯s words ringing in her mind like a cursed echo:

    "Can you truly suppress the yearning for freedom of a caged beast?"

    But before she could react, Astrid had already bolted from the room, leaving behind only the cold wind of her furious departure.

    Astrid sprinted down the corridors, fists clenched and vision blurred with rage.

    "If she thinks she can control me, I¡¯ll break these chains myself!" she hissed under her breath, dodging servants and furniture with feline agility.

    Norma, carrying a tray of tea, was bowled over without ceremony.

    "Hey! Watch where you''re going!" she shouted, but Astrid didn¡¯t even glance back.

    "They think they can do whatever they want..." Norma sighed, irritably gathering the shattered remains of the spilled tea.

    Astrid pressed forward until she reached her destination:

    The armory in the basement.

    She took the stairs two at a time, her breath ragged, footsteps echoing off the cold stone. The air smelled of metal, sweat, and dust¡ªbut to her, it tasted like freedom.

    In the darkest corner of the room, where weapons rested in barrels and on worn wooden tables, she found what she sought:

    A razor.

    She gripped it with determination, the weight of the steel in her hand like a promise.

    Before the mirror fogged by her breath, Astrid stared at herself one last time.

    The reflection staring back was that of an obedient girl¡ªwith long, wavy hair that Isolde had so insistently adorned with silver ribbons and combs.

    That Astrid no longer existed.

    With a firm motion, she seized her black mane and¡ª

    SCHICK!

    The hair fell to the ground like a slaughtered animal, scattering in dark coils.

    But she didn¡¯t stop there.

    She trimmed the sides with surgical precision, her eyes in the mirror blazing with a resolve she¡¯d never shown before.

    When she finished, the transformation was radical:

    A rebellious black crest now crowned her head.

    The shaved sides revealed the pale skin of her neck.

    Yet her face¡ªsharp and icy¡ªremained beautiful, a reminder that she would now define what it meant to be Astrid Rouge.

    She touched her cropped hair, feeling the rough texture under her fingers.

    "Better this way..." she whispered, smiling for the first time in what felt like ages.

    Royal Palace of Ashendrell ¡ª Secondary Hall

    8:30 AM

    The dawn light filtered through the tall windows, bathing the room in golden hues. Aveline, the Royal Secretary, bowed in a flawless curtsy, her snow-white hair falling into a perfect fringe that partly concealed her left eye¡ªwhich remained covered by a white silk patch.

    "Your Majesty, the preparations for your escort and luggage in the carriage are complete," she announced, her voice as clear as crystal.

    Apollo, the King of Ashendrell, did not rush to reply.

    With a calm smile, he swirled his wine glass gently, watching the ruby liquid catch the light.

    His attire was a statement of power:

    A golden crown studded with rubies, glinting beneath his white, black-speckled fur mantle,

    A white silk robe with red lining, draped elegantly over his frame,

    The blue tattoo on his left forehead¡ªthe gleam of a star¡ªshone subtly, a reminder of an ancient lineage.

    "I see. Thank you for informing me," he replied at last, turning toward her. His blue eyes¡ªcold yet curious¡ªrested on Aveline.

    Aveline leaned against the wall with casual familiarity, arms crossed. The unguarded gesture betrayed years of trust¡ªthe remnants of an era when they had been mere comrades, before he wore the crown.

    "One more thing, Your Excellency..." she said, a hint of irony lacing the title. "Your sister has declared that if you don¡¯t take her, she¡¯ll participate in the calibration exam."

    A quiet laugh escaped his lips, as if the princess¡¯s stubbornness were a private joke between them.

    Apollo sighed, setting the wine glass down on the table with a precise click.

    "Still on about that, is she?" he murmured, tracing the gilded rim of the glass with his fingers.

    He stepped toward the window, the morning light grazing his sharp profile and the starborn tattoo on his forehead.

    "If she goes to a foreign kingdom like Aquilonis, she¡¯ll be in danger. Our attendance at that summit is trouble enough."

    A pause. The wind stirred his speckled fur mantle.

    "Regardless... I¡¯ll speak with her."

    Royal Palace of Ashendrell ¡ª Princess''s Chambers

    The princess tugged at her golden hair in irritation, sunlight dancing through the waves like liquid silk.

    "Tch! That insensitive brother of mine... Never pays me any attention," she muttered, yanking the brush through her locks with renewed force.

    Her dress¡ªblood-red at the bodice, snow-white at the skirt¡ªaccentuated her slender frame, the ruby at her d¨¦colletage pulsing like a stone heart.

    "I''ll make him remember he has a sister..." She pouted, adjusting the side ribbon that gathered part of her mane. Her perfectly calculated split bangs framed her face.

    A soft knock interrupted her brooding.

    "Camille, may I enter?" Apollo''s voice was calm, but the barely restrained sigh betrayed his annoyance.

    Camille straightened in an instant, flopping onto her bed with feigned nonchalance.

    "Fine. Do as you please..." she replied, glaring at the window rather than the door.

    Apollo glided through the room with silent steps, his fingers grazing each piece of furniture as if searching for something unseen.

    "Aveline told me what you said." He avoided direct eye contact. "If you want me to take you along, prove you won''t be a burden."

    When he finally looked up, his blue eyes held an unmistakable warning.

    Camille shuddered. She knew she wasn''t strong, but the pain of being left behind again and again burned in her chest.

    "I''m not a burden," she whispered, clenching her hands in her lap. "I just want you to see me."

    The Jaune Clan.

    A name whispered with terror and reverence.

    As mythical as the Rouge, yet condemned to persecution and extinction.

    Their crime?

    A power too great:

    An affinity with light, capable of tipping the scales of any battle,

    A pure force both feared and envied by other clans.

    The massacres were brutal.

    But none so infamous as the Cinventhal genocide, where hundreds of Jaune were exterminated in a single night.

    Today, only two remained:

    Apollo, "the Sun King"¡ªthe last bastion of their bloodline.

    Camille, "the Radiant"¡ªhis younger sister, the fragile hope that their lineage might yet endure.

    Apollo gently lifted Camille''s chin with two fingers, as though cradling a delicate flower.

    "If you insist on taking that exam, I won''t stop you," he said, his serene voice belying the fire in his eyes. "But you must understand the gulf between us..."

    His smile was thin as a dagger''s edge, etching the chasm that separated them:

    The King... and the princess.

    The warrior... and the child.

    The final wall... and the weight that could topple it.

    Camille jerked her arm away abruptly, tears threatening to fall.

    "I-I... I want you to acknowledge me. I want¡ª"

    Apollo cut through her words like winter wind:

    "Acknowledge you?" he repeated, with a calm that froze blood. "The day you comprehend the burden of our lineage and all it entails... that day, you''ll cease to be a liability."

    Camille stood frozen, like a crystal statue on the verge of shattering.

    Her expression¡ªonce brimming with childish fury¡ªnow held only profound sorrow.

    She refused to be seen like this any longer.

    Not as a burden.

    Not as the weak one.

    They had started the same, bearing equal pain, equal loss.

    But now...

    He carried the weight for them both.

    Apollo didn''t look back.

    His imposing figure retreated down the hallway, the speckled fur cape fluttering like a banner of solitude.

    For a fleeting moment, the window''s light caught him¡ªglimmering faintly on his starborn tattoo¡ªbefore the corridor''s shadows swallowed him whole.

    Like the last flicker of a candle in a prisoner''s cell.

    Like the last Jaune left standing.

    Camille drew a deep breath.

    She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white, her brow furrowing into an expression no longer of helplessness...

    But of resolve.

    The Calibration Exam.

    It was her only chance.

    She would become strong...

    No matter the cost.

    Inside the Rouge Mansion ¡ª Kitchen Hallways

    8:30 AM

    The kitchen bustle was organized chaos: the scent of freshly baked bread, fragrant herbs, and strong coffee filled the air as servants darted about like a swarm.

    In a corner hidden behind a flour barrel, Norma and Silvren whispered like conspirators.

    "I swear it was her! The Rouge girl!" Norma gestured dramatically, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Now she looks like a boy!"

    Silvren clutched her teacup like a lifeline, her face flushing crimson.

    "S-stop spreading rumors about my g-goddess¡ªI mean, about Lady Astrid!" she stammered, nervously adjusting her glasses. "She may be rebellious, but I doubt she¡¯d do something so... radical."

    Yet even as she spoke, doubt seeped into her voice.

    Norma huffed, crossing her arms smugly.

    "Don¡¯t be ridiculous!" she snorted. "After I bumped into her, I followed her... and saw her go into the basement. When she came out¡ª"

    She paused for dramatic effect, letting the suspense build.

    "That long hair¡ªthe one Lady Isolde treasured like gold¡ªwas gone! Now it¡¯s a short, wild crest!"

    An indignant puff of air blew her black bangs upward, briefly revealing her hidden eye before it was covered again.

    "So believe me or don¡¯t!"

    Fausto''s roar, the head chef''s bellow, thundered between pots and pans:

    "Norma! Stop slacking and hurry up with the cutlery!"

    Norma shot Silvren an exasperated look, but not before dropping one last bombshell:

    "Tsk! Whatever... You''ll see for yourself. Lady Isolde is talking to her right now in the garden," she whispered, with a mischievous smile that promised chaos.

    And before Silvren could respond, she slipped away between the servants, leaving him alone with his half-drunk tea and racing heart.

    Silvren didn''t hesitate.

    He gulped down the rest of his tea in one go¡ªburning his tongue in the process¡ªand shot off like a rocket.

    He had to see it with his own eyes!

    He had to witness the moment when Astrid Rouge, his goddess, his muse, faced Isolde with her new rebellious look!

    His feet barely touched the ground.

    Ezren¡¯s Bedroom

    Ezren was on the floor, carefully working through his stretches, feeling his still-aching body respond better than expected thanks to Althea¡¯s "special treatment."

    Suddenly, the door burst open.

    Alaric appeared in the doorway, eyes blazing with excitement.

    "Ezren, come quick¡ªyou¡¯ve gotta see this!" he exclaimed, nearly breathless.

    Ezren raised an eyebrow without pausing his arm stretches.

    "What¡¯s going on?" he asked, though something in his brother¡¯s expression already told him this would be worth it.

    Alaric did not disappoint.

    "Mom and Astrid are about to clash!" he announced, in the tone of someone who¡¯d just witnessed the prelude to war.

    Ezren froze mid-stretch, a slow grin spreading across his face.

    "What?! What did she do now?" he laughed, imagining a thousand scenarios¡ªnone bold enough.

    Alaric leaned in like he was revealing state secrets.

    "She completely changed her look... You have to see it for yourself."

    That was enough.

    Ezren sprang up from the floor¡ªignoring the residual pain¡ªand sprinted after Alaric at full speed.

    What the hell had Astrid done this time to provoke Isolde?

    Rouge Family Inner Garden

    8:40 AM

    An unusual wind stirred Isolde¡¯s cultivated roses, their thorns glinting under the morning light like silent warnings. This garden¡ªtypically a sanctuary of peace¡ªhad become a battleground.

    Two figures stood at its center, separated by precise distance, like swords about to clash.

    Astrid Rouge, transformed:

    <ul>

    <li>A black jacket stolen from Alaric¡¯s closet, oversized yet impossible to ignore,</li>

    <li>Gray pants with black trim, hugging her agile legs,</li>

    <li>A white shirt left provocatively unbuttoned,</li>

    <li>And that hair. Short. Spiked in rebellious ridges, as if she¡¯d torn away the "doll" image Isolde had so meticulously crafted.</li>

    </ul>

    Isolde, unshaken in her lethal elegance:

    <ul>

    <li>A crimson-red mini dress, its black embroidery tracing roses that seemed to bleed,</li>

    <li>Black stockings sheathing every inch of skin like secondary armor,</li>

    <li>Stiletto heels stabbing the grass with each step, sharp as daggers.</li>

    </ul>

    The silence between them spoke louder than any scream.

    Alaric and Ezren arrived just in time to witness the clash of titans.

    "What the hell?!" Ezren clutched his chest as if his heart had lurched. The figure facing Isolde wasn¡¯t the Astrid he knew. She was something wilder. Something free.

    Alaric never looked away from the spectacle, a twisted grin of pride on his lips:

    "Can¡¯t you feel it, brother?" He gestured to the air between them, where steam danced like a phantom trapped between two worlds.

    Astrid¡¯s cold seeped into every crack of the garden, frosting rose petals. Unintentional. Uncontrolled. Her rage was a winter that froze the very breath in their lungs.

    Isolde¡¯s heat, in contrast, was a calculated fire. Stones cracked under her stilettos from the sheer thermal pressure. Her gaze wasn¡¯t just anger¡ªit was a challenge. A test.

    Silvren watched like a condemned man drinking poison.

    He dug his fists into the wall, nails carving grooves into the stone as he devoured every detail of the new Astrid: her cropped mane sharp as a freshly forged blade, her defiant stance, that feral glint in her eyes he¡¯d always secretly worshipped.

    "She¡¯s perfect¡­" he rasped, his voice raw, as if he¡¯d forgotten to breathe for hours. "Not a lion¡¯s roar¡­ but the hiss of an ice storm."

    The garden had become an elemental battleground:

    Isolde¡¯s side was a furnace.

    Roses at her feet withered within seconds, their blackened petals crumbling like ash. The air trembled, distorted by heatwaves.

    Astrid¡¯s side was a glacier birthing itself.

    Frost clawed across the grass in jagged patterns. Every exhale from her lips froze midair, glittering briefly before disintegrating to dust.

    Between them, the steam didn¡¯t just struggle¡ªit agonized. It twisted into frantic spirals, trapped between the cold that sought to crystallize it and the fire that tore it apart. A silent war. And Silvren couldn¡¯t decide what thrilled him more: witnessing Astrid unleashed, or imagining her defeat.

    "You¡¯ve crossed the line from defiance into recklessness, Astrid."

    Isolde¡¯s voice lashed through the air, dripping with a disdain colder than her daughter¡¯s ice.

    No room for rebuttals.

    "I don¡¯t want excuses." Her hand rose with the elegance of an executioner steadying the axe. "I want to see if this audacity is a tantrum... or something you¡¯d die for."

    The air ignited.

    "Punition", one of the nineteen sacred Rouge weapons, materialized in a swirl of ashes, its weight shaking the earth as it took form. The sword was a beast of metal:

    <ul>

    <li>A black hilt with gold filigree snaking like veins,</li>

    <li>A red gem at its base, pulsing like a cursed heart,</li>

    <li>A thick, brutal blade curving lethally toward the tip,</li>

    <li>Sunken marks in the steel like scars from ancient battles,</li>

    <li>The hole near the point¡ªan empty eye that seemed to watchAstrid with hunger.</li>

    </ul>

    Isolde wielded it as if it weighed less than a feather. The ashes of its summoning still danced around her ankles when she spoke:

    "Show me you¡¯re not just a broken toy."

    Astrid laughed.

    Not a mere act of rebellion, but an icy roar that split the silence as cleanly as her razor had severed her hair. The blade flashed in her hand, spinning between her fingers with the ease of an extension of her own body.

    "Astrid no longer asks for permission." Her voice rang out, sharp and clear. The cold around her intensified, frost crawling up her boots as if the earth itself froze beneath her resolve.

    "Astrid will be what Astrid chooses."

    The razor flipped one last time before locking into her grip, its edge gleaming in the ghostly light of the divided mist.

    "And if that means becoming the strongest swordsman this damned world has ever seen¡ª"

    Her breath billowed white, stirring the frozen fog like a waking dragon.

    "¡ªTHEN SO BE IT!"

    Will mother and daughter clash in an epic duel?!

    And what of the kingdom with Apollo absent at the Royal Summit?!

    What schemes does Charles plot in the shadows?!