The word 'stealing' is merely terminology for those who lack access rights. Within the walls of the Noctis Residence, where bloodline is the supreme law, the act of taking family property was never called theft. It was simply an internal asset transfer. And to gain access to the Underground Sector—where the Codex Ignis lay enshrined—I did not need the sleight of hand of an intruder. I needed legitimacy.
I needed authorization from the man who held administrator rights in this family.
The Noctis family dining hall was vast, illuminated by the glow of symmetrically arranged candles. If this were an ordinary script, this long table would represent aristocratic harmony. However, from my perspective, it was merely a neutral zone where various factions observed one another.
My father sat in the main chair. His face was as hard as a steel plate, cutting his roasted meat with mechanical precision without emitting any emotion. My mother, on the other side, maintained her diplomatic mask, though the muscles around her eyes tensed every time our gazes intersected.
"Father," my voice cut through the clinking of cutlery. I modulated my tone at a flat but solid frequency. "There is a crucial matter to discuss regarding my resource allocation heading to the Academy."
Mother set down her fork. "Save it for later if you wish to speak, Veyr. We are in the dining hour. Adhere to the family protocol."
I ignored her interruption. My gaze was locked onto the head of the Noctis family. The data indicated that this man only responded to value and profit, not sentiment.
He did not immediately look up. It took four seconds before he set his knife down. "Come to my study after this," his deep voice resonated. "I expect your proposition to have a calculation worthy of consuming my time."
"Certainly." I rose from the chair, leaving the remainder of the meal. The first phase was complete.
Now, I had to ensure my physical condition was at an operational point before the negotiation. To convince Duke Noctis, I could not rely on rhetoric alone; I had to prove that this body still held investment value.
I strode toward the enclosed training hall in the west wing. This place smelled of metal, dust, and a discipline long abandoned by the original owner of this body.
"Status Window."
The holographic interface executed in the air.
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Veyr Noctis
Class: Curse-Bound / Noble
Condition: Unstable (Black Reflux: Active)
Skill Set:
— Black Veil (Active)
— Cognitive Analysis (Passive)
Weapon Proficiency: Dagger (A), Sword (B+), Unarmed (B)
Sword rank B+. A decent metric for the remnants of a body eroded by a curse. Veyr's base talent was actually above average. The problem was the Black Reflux—a curse that imposed a physical tax in the form of internal damage every time mana was activated. Like an engine with a destroyed cooling system; forcing it to ignite meant accelerating an overheat.
I pulled a wooden sword from the rack. I had to find the break-even point, the maximum threshold this body could use skills before its nerves were completely fried.
"Activation: Black Veil."
Residue of thick black shadow seeped from my palms, coating the wooden sword like obsidian liquid. The training room felt a temperature drop of several degrees.
First swing.
The air split with a sharp tearing sound. The kinetics were perfect. However, a split second later, a warning from my body exploded.
Extreme cold pierced my lungs. The Black Reflux sensation activated—tearing micro-capillary vessels in my chest. My pores oozed cold sweat. My vision suffered visual distortion for a full second. I did not suppress it; I merely analyzed its trajectory. Nerve degradation reached 2%. Still within safe limits.
I continued. 10 swings. 20 swings. 30 swings synchronized with Black Veil flashes.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Physical stress 45%. Warning: Black Reflux approaching critical threshold.]
At the 50th swing, my motor system nearly collapsed. I dropped one knee to the stone floor. My heart beat at an unstable rhythm, as though an iron hand was squeezing it. Sweat flooded my temples, and the taste of metallic iron pooled in my mouth again. I swallowed it down forcibly.
Though my body screamed in ruin, my brain recorded success. 10 Black Veil flashes and 50 physical strikes were my current maximum capacity. If I exceeded that number in a real battle, I would die from my own organs before the enemy touched me.
The sound of hard-soled footsteps echoed from the doorway.
"Physical training? Since when do you care about a wooden sword, Veyr?"
Selena stood there with her arms crossed. Her posture displayed full alertness. Right behind her shadow, Eris trailed with her head bowed, carrying a towel and a tray of water. The girl trembled, her instincts detecting the residual mana pressure from Black Veil.
I rose to my feet slowly, neutralizing the expression of pain into absolute blankness. "Merely performing a recalibration, Selena. I have a negotiation scheduled with Father."
Selena narrowed her eyes, scanning my sweat-soaked posture. "I hope you're not planning something that will disgrace our faction in his office."
"Your concern is unfounded." I shifted my gaze toward the blue-eyed girl behind her. "Eris. Step forward."
Eris flinched. Her body stiffened. Yet, she forced her legs to step closer to me. Her face was a fusion of pure terror and despair.
In the past, Veyr might have smiled sadistically, enjoying the terror on this maid's face. But for me, exploiting fear provided no efficiency whatsoever. I did not need a servant trembling so much she dropped cups; I needed a pawn that could function under pressure.
"Wipe my sweat," I ordered flatly. "You have ten seconds."
Eris's hand, holding the small towel, extended with trembling. As the cloth touched my temple, I stared directly into her eyes.
"Do not lower your gaze while operating. Look at your target," my voice dropped low, demanding chain of command.
Eris forced her head up. Her clear blue eyes collided with my gaze. Her breath was racing, but behind the screen of terror, I could see her pupils moving millimeter by millimeter—observing the bruise on my neck, the ice-cold temperature of my skin, and my irregular breathing rhythm caused by the curse.
Good, I thought. Her fear does not kill her analytical instinct. This asset is valid.
"Time's up. Return to your position," I commanded as I stepped back, breaking contact.
Eris immediately withdrew her hand as if she had just touched fire, hastily retreating to the shelter of Selena's back.
"Stop intimidating your servant without a logical reason, Veyr," Selena cut in sharply, positioning her body between me and Eris.
"That was not intimidation. That was a functionality test," I countered tonelessly. I walked past them, taking a black coat from the rack. "And she just passed."
I left the training hall without looking back. From a distance of ten meters down the corridor, my auditory sensors could still catch their quiet conversation.
"Are you alright, Eris? Breathe," Selena's voice softened, contrasting with her harsh tone toward me.
"I-I'm fine, Miss. But... Master Veyr's skin... was so cold. Like..." Eris hesitated.
"Like what?"
"Like a living corpse, Miss."
I merely maintained the rhythm of my steps. A highly precise observation from the Heroine.
The main corridor leading to Duke Noctis's study was enveloped in oppressive silence. I straightened the collar of my coat, ensuring there were no visible signs of physical weakness, and restructured the sentence framework for the upcoming negotiation.
I would not ask for permission to borrow the artifact. I would offer a transaction in which he felt he gained the advantage.
I stopped precisely before the massive oak door carved with the crest of a black raven. Without hesitation, I knocked twice.
"Enter."
I turned the brass doorknob, stepping into the territory of this family's apex predator, and prepared to move my first pawn across the chessboard.