The sky over the Northern territories always looked like a canvas washed in ash—gray, heavy, and oppressive. Beneath the shadows of those brooding clouds, a carriage bearing the silver crow crest raced through the silence of the frozen pine forest. Inside sat a man dressed in neat, dark blue velvet robes.
Dayn Raven, the Baron of the Raven family, was no ordinary man. He was the ruler of the Northern outskirts, a subordinate whose loyalty had been tested over time under the banner of Grand Duke Vornhart. Yet, more than just a nobleman, he was a scholar. His name was honored within the corridors of the Imperial Academy as one of the most brilliant thinkers of his generation.
Throughout the journey, Dayn's fingers tapped his knees in an anxious rhythm. His thoughts were fixed on one thing: the insane tradition of the Vornhart family. History recorded how cruelly the family forged their descendants. A newborn child would be cast into an isolated mansion, left to grow in silence, accompanied only by servants whose morality was often lower than that of wild beasts.
Poor children, Dayn thought with a flicker of sympathy that he immediately extinguished. Sympathy was a disease for a servant of Vornhart. His task today was not to feel pity, but to instill knowledge into the mind of an heir.
However, one thing troubled his heart. According to the original agreement, he was supposed to arrive four years from now. Suddenly, an emergency summons had come, forcing him to attend to the tutoring of a three-year-old child.
Three years old? Dayn mused skeptically. No matter how bright a boy is, at that age, they cannot even distinguish between ethics and animal instinct. What do they expect from me? To teach him how to spell his own name over a pool of blood?
Yet, as the carriage stopped and the doors of the Trial Mansion opened, all of Dayn's skepticism crumbled into pieces.
Standing before him was a small boy in extravagant clothes that seemed too heavy for his tiny frame. However, it wasn't the clothes that made Dayn freeze, but the look in the boy's eyes.
This child... is no ordinary little boy! Dayn screamed internally. Those red eyes held no spark of typical childhood curiosity. Instead, they stared at him with a terrifying sharpness, as if dissecting every inch of Dayn's anatomy, searching for the most efficient point to mutilate his nerves.
Beside the boy stood an even more terrifying figure. A tall man in a flawless, perfect servant's uniform. Hans Vaneheart.
That name was a dark story throughout the empire. Hans came from the family of Duke Vaneheart—a lineage that shared the same ancestors as the Vornharts. However, their destiny had been patented centuries ago: a Vaneheart would always be the "Loyal Dog" to a Vornhart. Hans was known as a moral-less monster on the battlefield, an executioner whose loyalty transcended the concepts of right and wrong.
"Greetings, Great Young Master," Dayn said with a slightly trembling voice. He bowed his head deeply, fearing that prolonged eye contact would trigger the wrath of either the boy or the servant.
"He looks like an obedient person," Lucien said suddenly. His voice was small, yet it carried a weight of authority that was nonsensical for his size.
Hans was slightly surprised, but a thin smile curled on his pale lips. "Young Master, he is Baron Dayn Raven. A highly talented young scholar, the top graduate of the Imperial Academy with journals that have aided the Empire's progress. Or so I have heard."
Hans glanced at Dayn with a demeaning look. "His Grace the Grand Duke commanded him to teach you general knowledge. If you find him boring or useless, you may kill him at any time. He is not the only clever scholar in this Empire. We can find a more interesting replacement."
Dayn felt his blood freeze. He was a Baron, an honored intellectual, yet here, before these two monsters, his life was merely a commodity that could be discarded like waste paper. He knew well that the Vornhart family possessed the power to erase his name from history overnight, and even the Emperor would not dare raise a voice.
"I am Dayn Raven, it is an honor to meet you, Great Young Master Vornhart!" Dayn said with a more urgent tone, attempting to salvage his remaining dignity with sky-high praise.
Lucien did not react. Instead, he furrowed his brow. That last name—Vornhart—sounded like a curse in his ears. To him, the name was the source of all his suffering, the reason he had to rot underground for three years. He hated the blood that flowed in his veins, yet he realized he needed that name to destroy those who had insulted him.
"I have already heard your name from Hans, why must you introduce yourself again? A waste of time," Lucien asked lazily.
Dayn did not dare to be angry. Instead, he forced a thin smile. "Forgive my impertinence, Young Master."
"Hans, take him to my room. I wish to have lunch before studying," Lucien commanded without looking back.
Hans escorted Dayn to the third floor, to the master bedroom that had now been transformed into an elegant study. The room was dominated by dark colors and gold, giving an impression of majesty and dread. On the desk, Dayn saw a cup of black tea still emitting thin wisps of steam.
Hans left him alone to fetch Lucien. Dayn, whose throat felt dry from fear, sat in the chair and unconsciously reached for the tea. As the dark liquid touched his tongue, Dayn gasped. A rich bitterness, the scent of rare flowers, and an energy that seemed to clear his mind.
This tea... Vornhart Royal Black Tea! Dayn jolted inwardly. This was a legendary tea whose production was strictly limited each year. Even the Imperial family had to queue and pay a price equivalent to a small village just for one small box of its leaves.
Dayn sipped it again and again. In his resignation, he thought that if Lucien were to kill him later, at least he would die having tasted a piece of heaven. He waited there for two hours, then three. His patience did not waver, thanks to the black tea that accompanied him until the last drop.
The door finally opened. Lucien entered with a casual stride, followed by Hans. Lucien went straight to the desk and stopped.
"Eh? Where is my black tea?" Lucien asked suddenly.
Dayn's heart felt as though it had stopped beating. He remained sitting stiffly, cold sweat beginning to drench his back.
"I left it here because it tastes better when it's cold. Hah... it seems I must ask the servants to make it again," Lucien muttered with a tone of disappointment.
Dayn realized his mistake. He had consumed the monster's property.
Hans turned sharply toward Dayn. His cold eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Baron Raven, you still sit calmly as the Young Master arrives? And... were you the one who finished the tea?"
The pressure of the aura Hans emitted was so strong that Dayn felt as though his bones would shatter. Without a second thought, Dayn immediately stood up and then threw himself to the floor, prostrating with his forehead touching the carpet.
"Mercy! Please forgive my insolence, Young Master! I... I did not mean to finish it, but the taste was so extraordinary. Please, do not take my life!" Dayn wailed with a trembling voice.
Hans was already prepared to remove his white glove, his hand emitting a blackish-blue aura that looked like a smoldering fire, ready to sever the scholar's head in one clean motion. However, before that hand could move, Lucien raised his small hand.
"Stop, Hans," Lucien said calmly. "It is just a cup of tea. We can make it again and again. It is not worth a human life."
Hans then put his glove back on, though his eyes remained fixed on Dayn like a predator whose meal had been delayed. Dayn let out a breath of relief, but his relief lasted only a moment.
Lucien walked closer, his small footsteps silent upon the carpet. He leaned down, bringing his face close to the ear of the still-prostrate Dayn.
"Of course... if his life is truly worth that much," Lucien whispered in a tone so cold it made Dayn feel as if he had just been handed a delayed death sentence.
Dayn trembled violently. He felt as though his soul had just been gripped by something far darker than mere death. With what remained of his courage, he reached for the tip of Lucien's foot and kissed it in total terror.
"Mercy, Young Master! I promise to give my entire life, all my knowledge, and do anything—anything to satisfy you! Please, let me live!"
Lucien stared at the man prostrating at his feet with a hollow gaze. A thin smile, barely visible, appeared at the corner of his lips.
"Anything?" Lucien asked shortly.
The question hung in the air, full of the promises of darkness that were about to begin.