[Flashback — After the Imperial Audience]
The ride back to his estate was uncomfortably quiet. Lord Carveth sat inside the curtained imperial carriage, his gloved fingers resting on the polished head of his cane as the capital blurred past in muted lantern light. His expression remained a practiced, court-ready mask, but beneath it, his thoughts churned.
The carriage rolled through the noble district and passed the wrought-iron gates of his manor. Servants bowed as a footman opened the door.
"My lord."
Carveth stepped out without acknowledging them, his eyes tracking the towering stone terraces and swaying banners of House Carveth. It was a respectable house, built on patience, calculation, and the understanding that stability was the only true currency in politics.
He entered the silent marble halls and walked straight to his study, where the masks of court could finally be removed.
The heavy doors clicked shut behind him, leaving the room dimly lit by a single mana-lamp hovering over a desk piled with ledgers, trade maps, and diplomatic treaties—the quiet machinery of an empire.
Carveth removed his gloves and sank behind the desk.
"Your mood appears troubled, my lord," an elderly but upright voice spoke from the shadows. The household butler, who had served three generations of the family, stepped forward in his immaculate black uniform.
"Troubled?" Carveth leaned back. "No. I am disappointed."
The butler inclined his head. "Why, my lord?"
Carveth's fingers tightened around his cane. "Because the Emperor is an indecisive fool."
The butler stiffened. "My lord, please refrain from such words. The walls have ears."
"You fool!" Carveth barked, the sudden outburst cracking through the quiet study like a whip. "Do I look like I care?"
The butler quickly lowered his head. "N-o, my lo-rd."
Carveth exhaled slowly, but the anger in his chest only simmered. The scene from the Imperial Hall replayed in his mind—the Emperor's calm dismissal, the indulgence granted to the Divine Sanctum, and the quiet acceptance of an anomaly, in Carveth's mind, should never have been allowed to exist.
"An unblessed otherworlder," Carveth muttered, rising to pace the room. His cane tapped sharply against the marble floor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"The ritual meant to summon a Hero produced a deviant, and yet His Majesty chooses restraint."
Carveth stopped before the tall window overlooking the estate gardens. Lanternlight flickered across the trimmed hedges and silent fountains outside. His reflection stared back at him in the glass.
"Do you understand what this means?"
"My lord?"
"If the existence of that boy becomes known…" His voice hardened. "…Atlantis will be ridiculed."
"Imagine the histories written a century from now. The Empire of Atlantis—the first nation in recorded history to perform a Super-Grade mortal hero summoning and pulled a useless failure alongside a Hero."
"They will laugh at us."
"My lord... perhaps the Emperor believes the Hero's brilliance will overshadow the anomaly," the butler offered cautiously.
"That boy Kouki will indeed become a symbol. A banner. A weapon of prestige." He walked back toward the desk slowly.
"But not in the eyes of our enemies!"
"Prestige is fragile. The other major powers will feast on this weakness."
"The Noblesse Sovereignty, the United Crown, the Barbaric Hegemony. And the Merchant States."
"They will all whisper that Atlantis has grown careless."
"And the worst part..." His eyes darkened. "The Emperor thinks he can simply ignore the problem by handing a deviant otherworlder to the Divine Sanctum for 'observation'."
"My lord… perhaps His Majesty believes the matter will fade with time."
Carveth stared at him. "You truly think so?"
The butler hesitated.
Carveth answered for him. "No, Secrets do not remain buried in an empire this large. The summoning priests, the imperial magi, the retainers... all it takes is one loose tongue." He scoffed.
And the story would spread like wildfire.
The Empire that summoned a flawless Hero…
…also summoned a useless deviant.
His jaw tightened. "History would remember the failure just as much as the success."
"What do you intend to do, my lord?"
Carveth sat down, his voice dropping into a cold, measured clarity. "Remove the problem. I want that boy eliminated."
The butler's eyes widened slightly. "Forgive my boldness. If I understand correctly… the otherworlder is under the protection of the Divine Sanctum. No reputable assassination guild would dare touch a target under divine jurisdiction."
"Then we will not use a standard organisation," Carveth leaned forward, a ruthless resolve hardening his features. "Contact The Obsidian Veil."
The butler inhaled sharply. The Obsidian Veil. A shadow organization whispered about in every court and criminal underworld across the world. Assassins who accepted contracts no one else dared touch. Kings. Archmages. Even saints had fallen to their blades.
But their price—was legendary.
"My lord, even they may hesitate to breach the Sanctum."
Carveth's patience finally snapped. He stood abruptly, sending his chair crashing backward, and hurled a secondary wooden seat straight across the room. It shattered violently against the stone wall.
"I don't care!" Carveth thundered, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He pointed a shaking finger at the butler. "Use every connection, every shadow agent, and every broker I have. Offer them a VIP bounty if you must, but I want that boy dead. For the sake of the Empire. No matter the cost."
The mana-lamp flickered faintly in the heavy silence.
The butler bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord."
..
Outside, the night wind passed quietly through the manicured gardens of House Carveth, entirely unaware that a single, obsessive decision had just sealed the absolute ruin of the estate.