Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kim Rok Soo was a very light sleeper. He needed to be if he wanted to survive after all.

The creatures that lurked around their area weren't exactly the most friendly of folks— no, in fact, they were quite the opposite. They enjoyed wreaking havoc and ensuing chaos to just about anything that crossed their paths.

These creatures also loved to prey on the weak and defenseless. They’d creep up on them while they were asleep, and soundlessly devour them whole, sometimes these types of things happened so fast that when the prey woke up, they’d be deep in the belly of their predators, ready to be greeted by the god of death themself.

But despite it’s gruesomeness, this was actually one of the more peaceful ways to die.

It was quick and painless.

If you were one of the unlucky ones then you’d probably encounter something a bit more shrewd, something a bit more nasty; oftentimes it was something that liked to toy with its food for fun.

Hide and seek was supposed to be a game for children, but nowadays people saw it as a gamble with life. If you wanted to live then you’d best hope to find a good hiding spot.

After that violent upheaval, Kim Rok Soo decided to train himself to be as swift as physically possible. He trained day in and day out almost to the point of exhaustion, his skinny figure barely hanging on as he pushed himself even further.

But because he lacked the proper nutrition, his body stayed small and weak; he couldn’t face any of the monsters in his current condition, if he did then he’d most probably die trying.

However, Rok Soo’s strength lies not within his physical abilities but rather, in his wit and intelligence.

In order to avoid anything and everything that had the potential to eat him, Kim Rok Soo decided to hone his senses.

The easiest things to sense were the little noises. Noises like creeks in the floorboards or the crunch of pebbles underneath someone’s weight; sometimes he could even hear heartbeats or breathing.

And although auras and presences were also part of that list, they were somewhat harder to sense when his opponent surpassed a certain level of strength. But despite the slight drawback, it was an excellent skill for survival.

However, it did not come without any repercussions.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Kim Rok Soo to find himself sleep-deprived and dead on his feet the following morning, especially with the faintest footsteps sounding like drums in his ears, and the slightest shifts, the slightest inconsistencies in his surroundings, feeling like a sharp knife to the throat. It was better during the day of course, he had other things to keep him occupied, however, at night, where he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, Kim Rok Soo found it rather difficult to manage.

At night he’d feel the prickling sensation in the back of his neck whenever he noticed something venturing far too close to his vicinity. He’d often wake with a start, weapon in hand and ready to strike, only to realize that it was a mere lizard the size of his pinky. He’d then notice that his forehead was slick with sweat and his fingers cold as ice.

With the constant threat of death, Kim Rok Soo had never bothered to learn how to differentiate between dangerous and non-threatening. All he cared about was having a built in warning system that allowed him a head start on the creature that wanted him as prey.

But as time passed, the few that managed to survive were able to create a semblance of society again. People were beginning to feel safer — more secure even — they no longer needed to be on edge every waking second of the day. They could relax.

However, Kim Rok Soo found that relaxing was quite difficult to relearn.

Ironic how his dream was to be a slacker that laid around in bed all day, when he himself had forgotten what it felt like to dream in his sleep.

Kim Rok Soo chuckled.

It would’ve been nice to not be so on guard all the time.

Chapter Text

Fuck.

Kim Rok Soo had never wanted to curse out loud this badly before in his life. He was currently ‘asleep’ but there was something definitely different about the air in his surroundings. 

The first thing he noticed was the bedding. It was soft; far softer than that lumpy pile of blankets he had lying around in his apartment, it was also warm, and… comfortable? No, really comfortable, actually. Kim Rok Soo hadn’t felt this type of comfort since before the world had flipped over.

The second thing he noticed were the unfamiliar steps of a trained expert. 

However these footsteps didn’t belong to any of the people he worked with, if they did, then he’d know. Years of near-death experiences had Kim Rok Soo unintentionally memorizing everything there was to know about them; their appearances, their walking patterns, the shape of their shadow, the feel of their auras, their strengths, everything. He knew them by heart.

But these steps were different, they seemed dangerous.

He couldn’t hear their breathing or even feel their auras, he also couldn’t pinpoint their exact or general locations. The mere fact that he hadn’t noticed them until they were this close to his bed, unsettled him even more. 

Yes, these steps were definitely dangerous.

As Kim Rok Soo struggled to find the intruder’s location, he fleetingly wondered if they had some sort of cloaking ability that prevented them from being sensed with how difficult it was to pinpoint where they were. 

He had assumed that the intruder was about a few feet away from the door, just about to enter his kitchen, however, there was a sudden metallic clang by his head. It startled him more than he’d ever willingly admit.

His body moved before his mind could register what he was doing. He grabbed the first thing he could get his hand on and struck, not caring if the being he faced was a man or a monster. 

Kim Rok Soo had expected to meet someone big or imposing, maybe even a tad bit frightening, but instead he was greeted by a weak looking old man with graying hair. 

However, that weak looking old man caught his wrist like it was nothing; like his decade plus of training and experience were nothing.

Dammit . 

His arms were shaking.

This old man’s strength was something else entirely. And Kim Rok Soo wasn’t exactly someone you could call feeble either; he stood at a good hundred and eighty-two centimeters and had enough muscle mass to haul two grown-ass men over his shoulders while he sprinted for dear life. He’s done this a couple of times when both his colleagues were feeling especially stupid or reckless during a dangerous mission. 

“Oh? You’re surprisingly quite swift,” The old man chuckled.

‘...Huh?’ 

 “Did you perhaps have a nightmare of sorts, sir?” He asked, completely unphased by the weapon aimed at his neck.

Kim Rok Soo then suddenly felt extremely iffy about this situation. What exactly was going on here? Who was this guy and what was he talking about?

Kim Rok Soo subtly checked his surroundings, the interior instantly making him think of a classic European style household, and looked for anything that could help him gain the advantage. 

It was then that he caught sight of himself in a nearby mirror; fiery red locks and smooth, unblemished skin.

The face that stared back at him was definitely not his. 

“Young master Cale?”

“Huh?” The voice that came out wasn’t his either. It was high-pitched and had traces of a child’s innocence, not at all like his usual, which was gruff and dull from the constant lack of sleep. 

Wait a minute, did he say Cale? Cale as in —

“Cale...Henituse?” Kim Rok Soo asked as he pointed a confused finger towards himself. He then stiffened up at the sight of the older man’s curious smile.

How vicious...

“Yes sir, that is your name. Why don't we let go of the fork first, hmm?” The old man said as he palmed the pointed part of the makeshift weapon. “Then you can go wash up after you eat your breakfast.”

“...Right,” 

Realizing that he probably possessed Cale Henituse’s body, Kim Rok Soo decided to act the part and released his grip on the utensil then got off the bed. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening right now, but he didn’t want to anger a man who was far beyond his skill level, especially not in this body. 

It hadn’t occurred to him at that time, being far too occupied with thoughts of survival and whatnot, but he was a child. A short, feeble looking child. 

Just how old was he right now? Ten? Twelve? The Cale that he knew was an eighteen-year-old trash son of a Count, he was supposedly a minor villain in the novel ‘Birth of a Hero ’, whose sole purpose was to anger Choi Han, the main protagonist, and be the bridge between him, Ron, and Beacrox, an ex-assassin turned servant and a torture expert/cook respectively. 

Was he actually inside that novel?

“Young master Cale, ” Cale — no, Kim Rok Soo flinched. He had almost forgotten about the ex-assassin in his room. “Your food is getting cold, do you not wish to eat?” 

He turned to look towards the direction the servant had gestured at; and sure enough there, sitting on his unnecessarily expensive nightstand, was a tray filled with something that Kim Rok Soo hadn’t had in quite some time. 

Food. Real quality food.

Kim Rok Soo’s eyes became cloudy. He could still see the faint steam coming out of those fat, juicy steaks and sausages; there were fruits and vegetables there too. He couldn’t believe it, those things didn’t look at all like the usual molds his world had — no, they looked fresh , fresh as if newly picked and not scavenged. 

Seriously, when was the last time he had eaten anything other than rations?

‘...’ 

I think that speaks for itself.

“Ahem,” Ron cleared his throat as he took a few steps forward. The servant must have taken his lack of movement as a sign of not wanting to eat. “If you aren’t hungry, then do you perhaps want to wash first?” 

Seeing Ron’s satisfied smile made Kim Rok Soo prickle up with goosebumps. What exactly was this guy planning? Why was he so calm? Didn’t he want to ask about that earlier incident? Wasn’t he curious? This wasn’t exactly something you’d dub as ‘normal’ in a problem child’s behavior. 

“Young master-nim?” Rok Soo flinched. 

Shit. Okay, fuck, he’s been silent for far too long, he needed to respond. But what should he say? What would a twelve-year-old kid say?

“Water.”    

If Kim Rok Soo ever needed an opportunity to smack himself, now would be the perfect time to do it.

“Hmm?”

“Cold water.” He might as well commit.

“I... presume you will not be bathing in cold water. Are you asking for a cup of drinking water, sir?” Ron patiently asked.

“Yes,” To avoid further embarrassment, Kim Rok Soo decided to head towards the bathroom, or what he assumed — hoped, actually — was the bathroom, and ignored the assassin‘s gaze. 

‘Was that simple ‘yes’ enough though? No, probably not, I need to act more like Cale.’

Kim Rok Soo turned to look back at the servant, brows furrowed and mouth turned downwards into a scowl. “Don’t ask me such obvious questions next time.” 

‘That should do it.’ He thought.

Ron placed a hand on his chin to hide his amused expression. “Of course, my apologies young master-nim. I will prepare it right away.” He bowed.

If Kim Rok Soo hadn’t looked away, then he might have noticed Ron’s satisfied smile widening even more at his retreating figure.

***

Ron had worked for the Henituse County for over a decade. And in that decade he had witnessed quite a lot. 

He had been there to witness Cale’s temper tantrums and squabbling when things didn’t go the way he wanted them to. He had also been there to change the young master’s poopy diapers and bottle feed him his formula. With the amount of time he spent with Cale, it wouldn’t be wrong for anyone to state that he had raised the boy himself. 

He thought he knew everything there was to know about the young master, with him being by his side all his life, but apparently he was wrong. 

Ron had always assumed that Cale was just a puppy-like young master of his. However, after his most recent encounter with Cale, Ron was starting to question if he actually knew the boy at all. 

The Cale Henituse that he had grown accustomed to was a spoiled little son of a bitch. He only liked fancy clothes and the most luxurious of foods, he’d often throw a tantrum if those two things failed to meet his standards.

However this Cale was different, it was as if he were a completely different person. 

It was extremely hard to believe that a young noble, who was coddled with the affections of luxury, would be capable of doing such acts. Especially one that had never worked a day in his life.

But Ron had seen how the young master  handled the makeshift weapon. He saw the practiced ease that no noble child should have in the swift movements of Cale’s fingers.  

Then, as if he hadn’t just tried to murder Ron, Cale went back to his usual stoic — almost rude — personality. And the assassin himself found that he was thoroughly impressed. 

If he hadn’t witnessed the change himself, then Ron might have never believed that Cale’s rude tone was fake. 

It made him wonder if those tantrums were fake as well. 

“Oho~'' Ron struggled to keep the smile off his face as he left to grab a cup of water for Cale to drink. It’s been such a long time since he’s last felt this type of excitement.

Ron patted his chest while he walked down the hall, heart almost purring at the mere thought of finally being able to teach and practice his specialty again.

‘Patience. Let's scope him out first,’

He needed to see how much potential this puppy young master of his had first, before he decided to do anything drastic like teach him how to stab. Properly that is.

Ron briefly wondered if it was the nostalgia that kept him from questioning Cale’s actions as he made his way down to the kitchen. The boy seemed to have some sort of experience, judging by the way his body moved earlier. Although his form was quite sloppy, Cale may have been swift but his execution was far from being perfect.

It doesn’t matter though , Ron thought. 

He could always correct him.

Of course, Cale’s form was only sloppy due to the sudden change in his height and reach. Mentally, he was a 36 year old man with over a decade of experience in fighting, his body having long since formed its own muscle memory. 

Whenever a mission spiraled into chaos, Kim Rok Soo was confident that his body could move the way he had trained it to. However, Cale’s body was weak and could not match the standard of fighting that Kim Rok Soo had held himself at. Thus his sloppy form. But Ron, who had no way of knowing this, simply assumed that all Cale needed was a proper hand to guide him.

He had been the one to raise Cale for the majority of his life, wasn’t it only right for him to also be the one to guide the young master?

“I suppose even dislike creates affection.” Ron mused.

He then decided to prepare some lemonade instead of water, as a special treat, for his puppy young master. 

The servant chuckled.

Was it even right to still call him a puppy?

***

Chop!

The carp’s head went flying. Beacrox was currently cooking in his private kitchen. He found it odd how his father was in such a good mood, especially after just serving the little menace his breakfast.

That ungrateful brat always called his food stale or disgusting. Mind you, Beacrox was an excellent cook, but if Cale didn’t like the taste of it then he’d waste the whole meal all over the poor maid that served it to him. After that disastrous bout, his father decided to take over for them; Cale still mocked his cooking every now and then, but he was better behaved with Ron serving him than when the maids did it.

But after seeing his father smile, Beacrox could only assume that something good must have happened.

He watched as his father made quick work with the lemon in his hands; cutting it in half and squeezing its contents into an empty glass. 

“Did he like my cooking?” Beacrox asked as he prepared a tray for him to use. 

Cale liking his food was the only logical explanation Beacrox could think of. Of course that , and the possibility of the brat getting what he deserved. 

However...

“Beacrox, please be prepared to welcome a new member into our family,” Ron said while he added a spoonful of sugar into the cup.

“E-excuse me?” This wasn’t at all what he was expecting. 

“He’s a bit of a handful, but that’s nothing we can’t fix.” Ron then poured cold water in and stirred. 

“Huh??”

“Also, the boy’s quite swift, so make sure not to let your guard down whenever you’re near him,” Beacrox was finding it hard to keep up with his father. He had so many questions. 

“Wait I’m confused, father what — “ However those questions remained unanswered as Ron continued on without pause.

“Or else he might end up stabbing you.”

The ex-assassin had a delighted smile on his face as he said that, and Beacrox was beginning to wonder if they were actually having the same conversation or if he just somehow managed to overdose himself with poison during last night’s training.

Ron gave a small huff of laughter at his silence. He then added some ice to fill the remaining space in the cup and took the tray from Beacrox’s arms. 

“We’ll talk more when I come back.” He gave his son a gentle pat on the back then proceeded to leave through the very same doors he came from.

Clack!

Beacrox was then left to stare blankly at the carp’s decapitated head, its eyes wide and mouth agape, and looking very much as shocked as he was feeling.

***

Meanwhile in Cale’s bathroom, Kim Rok Soo was trying very hard not to panic.

He had already examined his appearance, and there was definitely no doubt about it anymore.

He was Cale Henituse. 

But unfortunately he’s already been caught. 

“Haaa Rok Soo, you crazy bastard.” He sighed. He dug his thumb into the side of his index to calm himself.

Honestly. What sick 12 year-old would try to stab the guy that raised them all their lives? The 18 year-old Cale may have been trash but he’s never physically harmed anyone before, not even in one of his drunken stupors. There was no way Ron didn’t know he was an impostor.

What was Kim Rok Soo supposed to do when the old man eventually decided to skin him alive? 

Beg? 

Plead??

Psh, Ron hardly cared for the original Cale, what more for a fake like him?

Everything would have been fine if he woke up the normal way. If he had woken up calm and collected, then perhaps he could’ve tricked them into thinking he had a change of heart or something. If he was lucky then they’d just chalk his difference in behavior up to maturity. 

But of all people to wake up to, why did it have to be the assassin?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Young master Cale, I’ve brought you your drink.”

Speak of the devil. 

Kim Rok Soo made sure to keep his face neutral as he stood to exit the bathroom. 

‘That shield better still be there.’ He thought. Referring to the ancient power by the man eating tree; he needed it if he wanted to survive after all.

Chapter Text

Right after he finished eating his breakfast — absolutely heavenly, that meal — Kim Rok Soo had noticed that Ron still viewed him as a young 12 year old Cale. And judging by the old man’s demeanor, he didn’t seem to know that he was an impostor yet either; Kim Rok Soo felt an overwhelming amount of relief flood through his system at this. 

Everything about this predicament was completely new to him, but Kim Rok Soo had always been told he was good at adapting to unexpected situations.

He ignored the surprised gasps and uneasy glances that the other servants threw at him as he walked towards the direction of Cale’s study.

Once seated he read and reread what he had written on to the parchment. 

Everything he knew about that novel ‘Birth of a Hero’ was here, from start to finish, word for word, everything. Well, at least everything up until the fifth volume. There were ten of them, and regretfully he had fallen asleep reading the fifth one, waking up to Ron’s smiling face not long after and causing that whole debacle with the fork.

However, upon reviewing the information he had, Kim Rok Soo learned that there was absolutely nothing in the novel about Cale’s past. He was such a minor character that he had only his name and his reputation as trash to perceive him. Which led Kim Rok Soo no closer to actually learning how the previous Cale used to behave.

What the novel did mention though, was something about him being somewhat of an alcoholic, but that was meant for an 18 year old Cale, and the body that Kim Rok Soo currently had possession of was aged at twelve. 

The young boy slumped into his chair in defeat.

This would have been a whole lot easier if he had woken up as an 18 year old. If he had, then he wouldn’t need to worry about his behavior nor the consequences of his actions, since everyone already viewed him as a trashy young master that did nothing but squander his wealth and fool around with a bottle of wine or two in his hands, they wouldn’t think of him as weird at all. 

Absolutely no one would question him if he somehow decided to do something even more foolish, like haul a sack full of bread over to a man eating tree and feed it — or waste it, in their perspective. 

Kim Rok Soo gave a small huff of laughter as he set his pen down and stood to burn the pile of parchment he had used to rewrite the novel in. He found it ironic how the older the original Cale got, the less people expected of him. 

He wished he could’ve woken up that way as well.

But unfortunately, life loved to inconvenience the shit out of people, him especially, so he wasn’t all that surprised when he had woken up as a child in this munchkin of a novel. Panicked, yes, but surprised? No, not particularly. 

Although, it would have been better if he had gotten someone with a little bit more meat in their bones. Wincing as he did so, Cale rubbed the sore spot of his arm; he could still feel the ache from being held by the wrist earlier that day. 

“Haaaaa,” He sighed again.

‘...Well at least he’s rich,’ Kim Rok Soo’s only consolation was the fact that this kid had money. A fairly large amount at that.

Kim Rok Soo gave a smile as he looked up at the large ceiling high windows of Cale’s study, the birds peacefully flying by, a sharp contrast to the slight panic he felt upon waking.

Living his life as a wealthy young master did sound very appealing. Despite now having a scary assassin as a servant, this new life of his really wasn’t all that bad.

‘Hmmm,’

Maybe he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth after all. 

***

After about a week, Kim Rok Soo or now more commonly referred to as ‘Cale Henituse’, finds himself in the middle of a forest in a frantic search of a safe place to hide. He covered his tracks up the best he could and made sure to leave traces of himself headed towards the opposite direction, hoping that whatever was chasing him took the bait. 

It was getting darker and harder to navigate as the sun slowly started to set, the forest canopy blocking out what little light was left from the sun as well, and painted his surroundings in an eerie orange glow. 

Cale was sweating. His breathing was labored and his legs were aching, desperately begging for rest, however, he pushed through the pain and continued to run. 

There was no way he was going to stop now, not when he was this close to freedom.

He climbed up the tree nearest to the Estate’s walls and jumped. But just as he was about to reach the other side, Ron, the ex-assassin turned servant, caught him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back. 

He was gently settled down into the tree’s thick branch.

“Young master-nim, I wasn’t aware that you knew how to cover up after your tracks,” Ron tightened the glove on his hand, no doubt borrowed from his son, Beacrox. “But if you plan to create fake ones then I suggest you keep them subtle. No trained man would believe a deliberate attempt at diversion,” Ron said.

Cale didn’t respond, his lungs were still screaming for air, so instead he settled for glaring up at the old man as he catched his breath.

The ex-assassin then tilted his head in amusement. “And try not to breathe too heavily next time, it gives you away.”

Exasperated, Cale let himself fall back onto the sturdy wood, his legs dangling on either side of the branch as he let out a deep groan of frustration.

Ron merely gave a small chuckle in response. 

The ex-assassin then stood to his full height and peeked at the wall. “I doubt you could have made that jump young master, but nonetheless, I applaud your effort,” The young boy scoffed. 

‘This was completely ridiculous.’ He thought.

Ron then handed Cale a handkerchief and kneeled down to his level. “Let’s head back to the Estate now, shall we?”

It’s been about a week since that incident. A whole seven days and six nights since Kim Rok Soo had woken up as a 12 year old child in a novel filled with utterly terrifying experts like Ron and Beacrox.  

The first few days were spent with Ron closely monitoring his movements. Probably gauging how much skill or strength this feeble glass plate of a body of his held. Despite not knowing he was an impostor yet, the ex-assassin seemed to have taken an interest in him after that unintentionally memorable moment with the fork.

There was nothing dangerous about those days, as far as he could tell, but they kept Cale from getting the Indestructible Shield, an Ancient Power that protected it’s master in dire times of need.

And the servant’s eyes were sharp. Cale couldn’t just do whatever he wanted and expect the old man to just sit there and watch. No, he needed to lay low for a bit, then maybe when Ron’s curiosity died down enough, Cale could make his move.

However, by the fourth day, Beacrox had decided to join in. Which made getting that Ancient power even more difficult than it already was. 

Cale had already decided to wait things out, to be as still as he could possibly be for the next couple of days or so, but these two men didn’t seem to lose interest in him at all — no, if anything, his docileness seemed to be a ‘go’ signal of sorts for them.

Imagine the young boy’s surprise when a kitchen knife the size of his forearm almost beheaded him on his fifth day here. It was actually more luck than skill that allowed him to evade, he was by the border of the training fields scoping out his new environment when the light whistle of a blade came darting past his head as he tilted it for a stretch.

The knife had embedded itself deep into the tree behind him. Cale hadn’t even noticed how narrowly he had missed getting hit until he saw strands of red falling from over his shoulder.

When he turned to look back at the person that threw it, all he caught was Beacrox’s nod of approval.

‘What the fuck.’

Cale’s face might have been calm but his mind was a complete mess. What if he hadn’t dodged? What if he had gotten hit? Were they just going to casually bury him in his backyard and hide the evidence?

‘...oh,’

The young boy shivered when he realized that that was exactly what they were going to do had he not survived.

Today was the seventh night. Right after Ron came to serve him his lunch, he had given Cale a generous 30 minute head start. 

“Young master-nim, I would like to gauge how well you perform at hide and seek,”  

The servant gave no other warning as he pulled out his dagger, impossibly sharp and perilous, and chased after his young master through the open bedroom window. 

Cale felt like it was more of a hunt than an actual game of hide and seek, similar to those that he’d often have as Kim Rok Soo. Of course this time, instead of a 12 foot arachnoid hybrid, or whatever hideous being decided to spend it's playtime with him, it was Ron that acted as the predator. 

Not much of a difference really. Both were equally as terrifying, dare he say Ron was a tad bit more so than the actual monster.

Their game had steadily gotten more intense. It started out with simple running and hiding, but later into the day, Ron had eventually started to throw a never ending barrage of projectiles at him. It was mostly daggers no doubt, but there were definitely some thick needles in his arsenal as well, most probably laced with a light paralyzing toxin, if the stiffness in his legs were anything to go by.

It had gotten to a point where Cale actually had to use his skills from his previous life to evade. Which brings them to their current predicament.

“Come along now, young master.” Ron handed him an inconspicuous looking bottle of water before moving to jump down; Cale could’ve sworn this branch was at least two stories high up from the ground.

Instead of mindlessly jumping like the older man had, Cale decided to take his sweet time climbing down. His mind was far too muddled with fatigue to even think about why he was following an assassin back to his house, or greedily gulping down that bottle of water without question.

By the time they had both reached the Estate, the sun had completely set. Lamps were being lit and the horses were being led back into their stables.

A young teen opened the front doors for them and gave his greetings. “Welcome back young master-nim, how was your day out?”

“It was splendid, Mr. Hans. Thank you for asking,” Ron replied.

‘Shouldn’t I be the one answering that though?’ Cale thought. 

But despite his thoughts Cale made no move to acknowledge the butler in training’s words; he was completely spent. He had no energy to speak or to even walk, his calves were screaming at him and his entire body ached; he bypassed the two and dragged himself back into his room. 

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour, Sir. Why don’t you drink this then wash up while you wait?” 

Ron offered him a cold cup of lemonade. By now, Cale knew it was futile to refuse whatever this man offered him, so he took the cup and downed everything in one go, his face scrunching up at the drink's bitter aftertaste.

He plopped himself down onto the bed and laid down, uncaring if the filth he’s managed to accumulate over the course of their game stained his sheets. 

“I think I’ll take a nap instead,” Cale toed his mud caked shoes off then propped an arm over his face to cover the light. “I’ll bathe later,” He muttered.

Cale had almost drifted himself into a light sleep, when he suddenly felt his arm being lifted away from his face. “Young master Cale, I advise you to wash first,” Ron held his limp arm by the sleeve and loomed over him with a completely blank expression.

Cale was then sharply reminded of what this man used to do for a living. He stood without another word and moved to lock himself into the safety of his own bathroom.

***

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Slink!

The rhythmic sounds of chopping echoed around the kitchen, the mouthwatering aroma of spices and meat filling the air as Beacrox slid the remainder of the vegetables into the sizzling pan.

He, along with the other kitchen staff, were currently preparing dinner for the Henituse family.

As he stirred the pan, Beacrox saw his father walk in. “How was the hunt?” He asked.

“It went better than expected,” Ron replied.

Both he and his father have been steadily observing Cale all throughout this week. They had taken turns testing the young boy’s skills, and each time they switched, they had been pleasantly surprised by the sheer amount of potential that their young master had had. 

Beacrox noticed his father’s overly satisfied smile as he continued to load the tray with food. It seemed somewhat suspicious. 

The Cook raised a brow. “Is that so...” 

His father didn’t acknowledge his question and instead turned to speak to the prospective butler in training. “Young master Basen’s room is by the left wing of the Estate, Mr. Hans,”

He handed the young ginger a trey then returned to preparing the dinner plates for the other members of the Henituse family. 

“Yes, rabbits these days are quite clever,” He continued. Taking the dish from his son’s hands and arranging it into the platter with practiced ease. “The little thing actually managed to lose me for quite a while, but eventually it got tired of running, so it really wasn’t that much of a hassle to catch it,” 

This piqued Beacrox’s interest. Lose his father? A seasoned assassin?

“How?” He asked.

Ron simply widened his smile in response.

He then noticed the weird glint in his father’s eyes. “... You didn’t use poison to catch him, did you?” 

Surely his father wouldn’t go that far, right?

“Hm?” Ron gave a light hum at his question. “Now why would I use poison on such a poor little puppy, Beacrox,” The servant’s tone rose an octave, clearly amused. 

Huh. Apparently he would.

Ron then took a cup and proceeded to prepare some lemonade, subtly adding in a couple drops  of a substance that Beacrox just knew was used as an antidote for his lightest paralyzing toxin.

“Let’s save this conversation for another time,”

Ron left the bustling kitchen with a smile, and Beacrox wished that his father actually explained everything to him before leaving like that as usual

***

“Again?” Cale winced at the sight of the cup.

The old servant had come in not long after he had finished his bath, bringing with him a trey filled with goods that gave off an absolutely delicious aroma. However, he had also come in holding an increasingly familiar cup, Cale was starting to detest the sight of that cup, that was filled with a not so pleasing drink.

“Lemonade is good for you young master,” Ron pushed the cup closer to the young boy with a smile.

Cale let out a deflated sigh as he accepted his fate. He took the cup and stared into his rippled reflection one last time, seeing his scrunced up face while doing so, and choked down the drink's contents. 

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, my ass.

This new life of his wasn't a gift at all. Fuck whatever being decided to bring him here.

Chapter Text

| Training Fields, Henituse Estate 

|| 3:45 AM

Age: 12

Cale could hear the booms of thunder over his head, its momentary flash of light allowing him to see his surroundings. In the distance, the trees and their branches swayed heavily in the wind, almost threatening to break.

It’s been about three months since Cale had officially started his training with Ron. 

Any sense of decency or grace that he still somehow managed to keep all throughout those three months was now thrown completely out of the window during today’s session. 

Cale rolled around in the mud and dove into dirt, crawling and slipping into puddles in a desperate attempt to avoid getting cut by Ron’s blades; he didn’t at all care if he looked like a drenched street rat, he wanted to live. And the very being that was trying to take that away from him was having the merriest of times as he swung both his daggers on to his exposed neck.

Every now and then Ron would leave to disappear into the storm. Sometimes throwing a knife or two from a distance away, all while hiding and waiting for the perfect opportunity to close in on him and strike.

“If you cannot physically find your opponent then look for them through your environment,” Ron’s voice echoed from behind. 

Whipping his head around, Cale brought up his own blade, the one that Ron had gifted to him, the one he was steadily growing accustomed to using, close to his chest. Ready to either strike or parry the old man. 

Where was he? Where was his voice coming from? Cale couldn't see anything past three feet of him. The occasional flash of lightning being his only source of light. 

The rain and its mist also did absolutely nothing for Cale’s vision, it made the already deadly assassin even more of a threat as it masked both his scent and the sound of his footsteps; despite the young boy having less of an agile body, his senses were still damn near perfect, almost on par with that of Kim Rok Soo’s. This was what had allowed him to wake to Ron’s presence back on his first day here. However, with the rain drowning out both his sense of smell and hearing, as well as impairing his vision, Cale found that keeping track of the assassin’s coordinates was a near impossible feat to accomplish.

Whoosh!

“Wha!” Cale deflected the incoming projectile, the force of its impact tipping his balance and causing him to fall to his knees.

The young boy turned to look back at the direction the blade had come from, but there was no one there. He hurriedly tried to get back up, almost slipping back down from all the mud that clung to him; his clumsy limbs doing their absolute best to keep him upright as he flicked his eyes all over the dark stormy field. 

He ignored the slight sting in his palms from falling over so much and wiped off the muck that stuck to his chin. Cale hated the rain. It was cold, damp, and dark, and it made him shiver.

Whoosh!

“Dammit!” Cale cursed.

Clang! Cla-ang!

He had barely managed to deflect that second throwing knife. He was sure Ron knew that too with how oddly his blade had echoed.

“The ground, young master-nim. Look at the ground.” 

Cale gritted his teeth. He couldn’t understand Ron’s instructions at all. The ground? Why would he need to look at the ground? Taking your eyes off of your opponent was a sure sign of death back in Korea, you weren’t supposed to let them leave your sight. 

Your survival depended on the total visibility of the opponent. Lose sight of them and you’re dead. 

Those beings were shrewd. They'd stay within your vicinity and often wait hours on end for you to come out of hiding. You needed to know where they were at all times so you could avoid death. 

But what exactly was Cale looking at right now? An empty training field? A dark abyss?

He had long since lost the assassin’s figure to the storm, if this were a real fight then he should’ve been drowning in a pool of his own blood by now. 

“Look for the inconsistencies, Sir.” Cale flinched. He felt the unexpected whisper of Ron’s cold blade rest against his neck, the blunt end teasing his flesh for a split second as it slid by.

Gasping in surprise, Cale brought a hand up to his neck and covered the spot that could have very well been slit open. He turned to face the direction that Ron had disappeared to and tried to calm his wildly beating heart down by taking a few deep breaths in.

The rain was starting to sound muffled, the only thing Cale could focus on was his breathing and the deafening sound of his heart beating in his ears. He clenched and unclenched his hand around the pommel of his weapon in an attempt to steady himself.

Despite it going against everything he had been taught, Cale let his eyes fall to the ground before him. What he saw were the puddles from the storm and the ripples that each raindrop made as it reached them. 

‘Inconsistencies, inconsistencies, look for the inconsistencies…’ Cale repeated like a mantra. 

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Splash! 

‘Inconsistencies, the inconveniences …’

Drip. Drop. Drip. Splash! Splash!

‘Look for the inconsistencies...’

Drip . Splash!

The young boy furrowed his brows. He was starting to notice something weird. He adjusted his grip on his weapon and squinted his eyes.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Splash!

Drip. Drop. Splash! Splash!

Yeah, there was definitely something weird going on with the ground.

Every now and then it gave off a very distinctive splash, it shone under the thunderous lightning, which had allowed him to notice them even through the thick of the storm. 

Silent as they may be, Cale could still see the surface of each puddle break in a way that was completely different from how it should, normally. Almost as if something heavy had been dropped on top of it.

The young boy’s eyes widened in realization. ‘So that's what he meant.'

Cale finally understood. Rain poured down rhythmically, Ron’s footsteps were what had made the inconsistencies.

He almost smacked himself with how obvious it all was. He had been so caught up with sensing the assassin that he had forgotten one of the most basic rules of survival. He couldn’t believe he used to pride himself at being able to sense these types of things before.

The environment had always been a constant, it only changed when something disrupted it. 

This was one of the first few things he had learned as a newbie at his company.

“Keep an eye out for any shifts in your surroundings, anything unnatural,”   His team leader had once said. “Monsters can sometimes be quite clever, but you can predict their movements based on what you can find around you.” These were the words he had been told during his first real mission.

“Keep that in mind and you won’t die.” And he had lived by them all his life. 

They had been trained to take note of the indentations on the ground — footprints, they learned; its size and depth often telling them if the being that left it was small, fast or heavy, and which direction they should take in order to avoid encountering it — as well as any unnatural fluids like fresh blood or drool on the surfaces of the rubble. Inconsistencies meant the presence of either a predator or a survivor. 

This time, Cale most definitely had a predator on his heels.

Despite the circumstances being completely different, that rule still held nothing but the truth.

Scoffing at his carelessness, Cale watched again; keeping track of his assailant’s coordinates. 

Drip. Drop. Splash!

Drip. Drop. Drip. Splash! Splash!

Drip. Drop….

Splash!!

When the splashes made a sudden turn, Cale smirked.

He was ready this time.

The young boy twisted his entire body and blocked off Ron’s strike. He felt the blades vibrating at the sheer force of their impacts, giving off an echo that rang all throughout the empty field, he saw the droplets of rain flying off of their clothes as he and Ron traded blows. 

“Form three.” Ron instructed.

Cale wordlessly followed through with the order, shifting his stance to match the now familiar form that was taught to him. He performed the sequence and moved in accordance to the ex-assassin’s strikes. 

Giving wide sweeps and attempting to gouge deep in order to compensate for his lack of height and reach. Ron gave him a firm nod of approval. “Good.” He said. 

Cale could hear his blade cutting through the air. With Ron, being as silent as ever, blocking each and every swing he gave. 

Not long after, the ex-assassin caught Cale’s arm mid swing and gave it a painful twist, effectively disarming the young boy. Groaning at the pain, Cale kneeled over; he swiftly caught his blade with the opposite hand and stabbed at Ron’s leg. 

He missed by a narrow margin, only managing to leave a small nick on the old man’s pant leg.

“Excellent.” Ron praised.

Right after freeing himself of the old man’s grasp, Cale put some distance between them. They stood like that for a couple more minutes, motionless and under the pounding rain while he struggled to catch his breath. The adrenaline that scorched Cale’s shivering figure was slowly dying down. 

Cale saw the composed old man smiling at him before he moved to disappear again. 

Some time after losing sight of Ron’s back, a startled laugh escaped Cale’s lips as he realized what he had just accomplished.

He had just gone up against an Assassin and lived.

He could see his breath fog up the air as he panted. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and crouched down to get a better view.

‘Inconsistencies, inconsistencies…’   Cale thought as he twirled his blade.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Splash!

The young boy’s eyes lit up with glee. ‘Found you.’ 

Taking a deep breath in, Cale adjusted his grip on his weapon and sprang up to chase after the splashes. 

It was finally his turn to hunt.

***

|| 6:30 AM

It was past dawn. And Cale had finally gotten back from his first real session of training with Ron. 

These past few months have been even more hectic than his first few weeks. The old servant now woke him up a few hours before dawn for practice, usually it was just strength conditioning and form corrections; it took some time to adjust to his new body’s limits, and it was still a work in progress, but eventually he started to notice some improvement. 

However, today was different. Ron had decided to take advantage of the weather. Claiming that it would be a perfect opportunity to sharpen his awareness.

Cale hadn’t really expected the ex-assassin to teach him anything, but apparently he still had much to learn. 

After the sun’s rays finally peeked from behind the dark clouds, signaling that dawn had arrived, Ron had announced the end of their training session. 

‘Thank god.’ Cale thought. He was absolutely spent.

Sinking into the warmth of his tub, Cale let his aching muscles relax. He was still incredibly feeble-looking, but at least now he didn’t look like a complete twig. He gained a bit of weight from all of Beacrox’s meals — he thinks of them as rewards — and the slightest amount of muscle from Ron’s drills.

After washing all the muck off of him, Cale dressed himself in his night clothes and slowly tucked himself back into his cloud-like bed. Cale let out a deep sigh, satisfied with the comfort it provided.

But just as he was about to fully immerse himself into sleep, he felt a tiny aura stop by the front of his door. It was Basen.

The younger boy slowly turned the knob and peeked his head in. “Hyung-nim?” He whispered.

Cale paid him no mind and kept his eyes closed. He was in heaven right now and he deserved to be there after everything Ron had just put him through.

His younger brother moved closer to his bed, “Hyung-nim,” He whispered again, “It's morning, you have to wake up,” Basen leaned over his ‘sleeping’ figure and gently shook him.

Cale gave a small groan in protest. ‘Just ignore him, he’ll go away,’

“Hyung-nim?” Basen shook again, this time with a little bit more force. “Hyung-nim,” A light pat. “Hyung-nim,” Basen went back to the shaking. “Are you awake yet? Hyung-nim,”

‘Haaaaa,’ Sighing internally, Cale cracked an exhausted eye open and hissed. “What?” 

He saw his little brother’s face light up with joy. “Hans said I could wake you up today.” Basen climbed up onto his bed.

Cale whined. “Basen it’s still dawn,” And he just got back from training.

“Isn’t that the time you’re supposed to wake up at? Mother says the early bird gets the worm." 

Cale scoffed. “Yeah but the second mouse gets the cheese.”

Basen gave a soft laugh at his response. He then moved to lay across Cale’s figure, his legs hanging off of the side of the bed as he hugged his older brother. “Come on, wake up. Take your classes with me,” He urged.

“No.” The redhead turned around and buried his head back into the covers.

One of the things he learned about this previous Cale was that he had stopped taking his successorship lessons when he was around the age of 10. Why was Basen bringing that up now?

“Cale Hyung, please?” Cale peeked his eye at Basen. “Tch,” and scoffed.

Basen was young, but he was incredibly smart and mature for a kid his age, had Cale not known any better he might’ve thought that Basen was the transmigrator instead of him. But he did know better, so he didn’t question it. However, that maturity of his was nowhere to be found, instead, all Cale could see was a kid asking his big brother to be with him in class.

“Haaaaaa,” Cale sighed again. “Fine,” He then grumbled.

He ignored Basen’s overjoyed look and moved to get out of bed. And like a light bulb had just lit itself over his head, Cale jerked to a stop and quickly added, “But you have to come with me after the rain stops,” 

“Y-yes? Where are we headed off to?” The younger of the two slid off of Cale so he could get dressed.

“We’re gonna go play some hide and seek,” Cale smiled at him before disappearing into his bathroom.

Basen was slightly confused at the sudden request to play but nonetheless he was happy to be able to spend more time with his older brother. 

After a while of waiting, Basen absentmindedly thought that that smile his Hyung-nim had on earlier seemed very vicious.

***

‘I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this sooner!’

Cale was currently lugging a sack full of bread over to a man eating tree, all while being thankful for the stealth lessons that Ron had drilled into him.

He and Basen had attended Class together, although Cale was just there lazily flipping through a book while Basen worked through his assessments. But upon further observation, Cale noted that his younger brother seemed to be quite happy with him simply being present alongside him. Smiling and swinging his legs as he wrote. 

Right after class, when the rain had stopped, both Basen and Cale went out to play. 

“You go hide and I’ll come find you,” Cale said as he moved to face the wall, before pausing and quickly turning back to add. “But remember to stay within the plaza.”

Basen nodded. And thus began their game.

In between their intervals, the young red head had snuck out to feed the tree. It was an extremely taxing job, as he had to run back and forth each round for a refill, but he’s never felt more excited. 

Cale actually beamed each time Basen found him, smiling and laughing with all the joy in the world, because it meant that he got to count to a hundred again, it meant that he got to go out and feed that tree while his younger brother hides and waits for him to finish and go his turn.

Both Ron and Beacrox couldn't observe him with Basen around either. It was absolutely genius! And not only that but he actually managed to get Basen to enjoy himself outside of the estate. 

The kid hated being outside, not many were kind to him; it pissed Cale off to see the adults sneering at his younger brother. He was eight for god’s sake, what exactly did he do to deserve that kind of treatment?

But regardless of that, he still managed to hit three birds with one stone. 

“Found you!” Basen cheered. 

“Splendid job Basen. You’re actually quite good at this,” Cale dusted himself off before standing. “But I think that’s quite enough for today, I’m tired.” He had already gone through an entire training session with Ron, adding in a few extra hours of weight lifting (bread hauling) with no actual sleep left him feeling exhausted.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Basen had a hopeful look in his eyes as he asked.

“Absolutely.” Cale nodded his head. He was feeling ecstatic. He was finally making progress towards getting his shield.

And besides, Basen wasn’t all that bad either. He gave his younger brother a light pat on the head before they both moved towards the direction of their estate. 

Cale made a mental note to keep playing with the kid even after he gets his shield.

***

Later into the day, both Ron and his son, Beacrox, had met up behind the servant’s quarters to discuss Cale’s progress.

“Did he pass today’s assessment?” Beacrox asked.

“With flying colors,” Ron answered. 

They had been steadily planning out the young master’s schedule, thinking that he’d be ready by next fall. However, he was progressing a whole lot faster than they had initially expected. 

He was a quick study and learned through observation. Ron had first thought that he would need to coddle the young boy during training but apparently all he needed to do was give him hints and instructions, perhaps even a few demonstrations and sooner or later the boy would figure everything out all on his own.

Their earlier session being a prime example of the boy’s brilliance.

It had been extremely surprising to see how fast Cale picked up on his queues, Ron had never once entertained the idea of Cale being smart. 

Since everyone portrayed the young master to be somewhat dull compared to the other noble kids his age; he had abandoned his studies after all. But, now that Ron actually kept an eye out for the boy, he noticed how sharp Cale’s eyes actually were. 

After a couple more weeks of observation, Ron had also learned that Cale was an extremely  shrewd little fucking bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing when he threw those tantrums of his.

Confirming Ron’s suspicions of them being fake.

The ex-assassin had noticed this when he was with Cale and the other Henituses at a Noble’s gathering. He was there as Cale’s personal Servant. 

Ron had moved to accompany the young boy for some fresh air but upon reaching an empty corridor, they had witnessed young master Basen getting scolded by their host. For whatever reason, Ron wouldn’t know. 

He never cared much for nobles, he served them, yes, but he never bothered to stick his nose into any of their business. So he bypassed that particular corridor and headed towards the direction of a balcony when...

Crash! 

“Oops,” Cale stumbled onto an expensive looking vase, it had intricately carved glass and gold laced rims. And was now completely shattered.

This type of thing often happened back at the Henituse County, so it was nothing new to Ron. However, the circumstance that they were in definitely was.

“Y-you bumbling fool!” The old noblewoman screeched. “Do you know how much this cost me?!”  

Ron was about to intervene when the young master interrupted.

“A little less than 10 gallons?” Cale scoffed. “It’s extremely hideous to look at. Honestly, I’ve seen rejects better than this,” He then lightly kicks the shard nearest to him.

“You! You-you!! —”

By the time the other Nobles had gathered around the incident, the woman already had her fists clenched and was red in the face demanding that Cale’s father compensate her. 

But as usual the little bastard was being snarky and disrespectful, had Ron not known the reason for his outburst, he might’ve labeled it as just another one of his young master’s episodes. 

However, this situation was completely different. Ron had witnessed it. Cale wasn’t acting out simply because he wanted to — no, he was acting out to get the spotlight of ridicule off of Basen; who had watched the whole thing with barely contained tears in his eyes. 

This incident had allowed Ron to finally understand Cale's temperament. 

After Deruth, Basen and Cale’s father, had resolved that whole debacle — leaving both his sons behind in order to coax the host — Ron had heard Cale lightly mutter to Basen, “Don’t ever let anyone treat you that way again, you hear me?” 

Basen sniffed and nodded his head, wiping his unshed tears away as he agreed. “Okay,” 

“Look proud, then. You’re a Henituse.”  

This time, a few tears did leak from his eyes, and with a wobbly voice Basen agreed again. “...Okay,”

Ron hadn’t expected to hear anything that precious.

Young master Basen was rumored to be of different lineage from the Count. This rumor had gotten many Nobles whispering; it had gotten many Nobles gossiping. Often resulting in the poor boy being the subject of ridicule. 

Ron had then noticed that Cale got especially rowdy when the other kids his age talked about his brother. Being rude, swearing, doing anything and everything he could to take the attention off of Basen.

When Ron had confronted Cale about his behavior, the young boy simply scowled and averted his eyes, “I’m just giving them someone else to talk shit about,” He said.

After that conversation, Ron had decided to reevaluate his views on Nobles. He had also decided to fully care for the boy, not just as his mentor, but as his friend and as a father figure as well. Both Basen and Cale had gotten little to no guidance from the Count; Ron took it upon himself to fill in that gap in his stead.

“Father, may I take over for poisons training?” Beacrox pointed to the list in Cale’s regime. 

Ron smiled as he was broken out of his thoughts. “Of course, Beacrox. You can start tonight.” He then handed his son the schedule. 

***

|| 10:00 PM

Beacrox laid out an extensive array of tonics and antidotes onto the ground. They were currently by the borders of the training fields, surrounded by the thick foliage and under the cover of moonlight.

“Take your pick,” Beacrox said. He pulled out a pair of gloves and proceeded to roll them on.

“Why? What’s it for?” Cale ran his thumb across the side of his index to soothe his nerves.

He felt extremely iffy about this situation. He was currently in his night clothes and squatting by the torture expert, out in the middle of who know where, with some shady looking bottles filled with purplish — almost black — bubbly liquid.

“Poison training.” Beacrox answered. “We need to up your immunity, it was shit when you and father had that hunt a few months ago. If he didn’t give you the antidote, then you would have lost your legs by the time morning came,” 

A lie, obviously. His father didn’t use anything lethal, but Cale didn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry, what? I would have what?” Did he hear that right? 

“So, do you want to start off with some light paralysis or jump straight into an imitation of death?” 

Cale looked at Beacrox as if he had grown a second head. Were they just going to casually breeze past the fact that he could have been amputated? And when did he even take the antidote? Was it that lemonade he drank? Is that how they were gonna treat him now? With fucking lemonade?

Cale found it ironic how the only thing that managed to save him that time was a drink he despised with a seething passion. Looking back at Beacrox, Cale asked.

“...Is there a third option, maybe?” Referring to the Cook’s earlier question. 

“I could have you eat either a scorpion’s tail or drink a snake’s —”

“Paralysis,” Cale cut Beacrox off. He wasn’t eating any of that shit. 

He then immediately started to regret his decision, Cale had momentarily forgotten whose kid Beacrox was.

Beacrox did look like a carbon copy of his father's younger self. ‘What if he’s just as vicious as Ron?’ He shivered.

The young boy side-eyed the Cook’s satisfied smile “Alright,” The torture extert said, shrugging his shoulders and popping the cork off of the vial, “Drink.” 

The 12 year old gagged at the putrid smell of the  viscous liquid. 

‘Dammit,’ Cale thought. ‘Should’ve gone with that death thing.'

He pinched the bridge of his nose and hastily downed everything in one go. Shivering at the um, spicy? Yeah, spicy aftertaste. He ignored the slight blob of slime that accompanied the watery portion of the toxin. 

“What is this thing even made of?” Cale couldn’t stop coughing. He examined the bottle in hopes of finding some kind of warning label of 'Do not drink' or something. 

“A mix of some ground up scorpion tails and snake venom,” Beacrox said. He smirked and had both his arms crossed as he informed Cale of the toxin’s ingredients. 

Cale said nothing as the paralysis had already taken effect. His face frozen up in pure betrayal and his free hand in the process of flipping the torture expert off.

‘This was considered light paralysis??’

Great. Now he needed the Vitality of the Heart. How the hell was he gonna get to Puzzle City without being noticed? 

Bonus:

|| 21 hours earlier

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Young master Basen?” Hans called out. “It’s me, Hans, the new Butler. I’ve come to bring you your dinner, Sir. Would you like to eat it in your room?”

The young Butler slowly peeked his head through the door, there he saw a young boy around the age of 8 looking through the window, hands plastered onto the glass and eyes searching through the fields.

“Young master Basen?” Hans called out again.

“Hm?” The young boy turned to face him this time but still had his hands on to the windowsill. 

“Are you... looking for someone, Sir?” The prospective Butler often found the young master starting off into the distance. He didn’t know what exactly the boy was looking at but by the looks of it, he seemed to really want to go there. 

Basen hesitated for a bit, avoiding eye contact yet still looking every bit of the dignified noble he was, before tentatively speaking, “...Hyung-nim,” Had Hans not paid close enough attention, he might have missed it with how softly the young boy had muttered it out.

Hans knew that Basen wasn’t referring to him. Basen only ever referred to one person as his ‘hyung-nim’. “Are you perhaps referring to young master Cale?” Hans asked.

“Yes, is he… is he still out there?” 

“Well, the young master got back about half an hour ago, you don’t need to wait up on him anymore.” 

“O-oh is that so… Okay,” 

The young boy’s face looked calm, but Hans had noticed the slight crease between his brows. He didn’t like seeing that.

Hans put the trey aside and kneeled down to meet Basen’s eyes. “It’s my turn to wake him tomorrow, do you wish to do it in my stead?” The teen tilted his head and smiled as he asked.

Mr. Ron might end up scolding him for neglecting his duties as the deputy Butler — in training no less — but it would be completely worth it if he gets to see the young master smiling at him this brightly again. 

Chapter Text

|| Puzzle City, Roan Kingdom

| 1:00 AM

Age: 12

Deruth looked past the reflection of his disheveled appearance and stared into the unapologetic rage of the storm. He saw the heavy droplets of rain pounding at his window as well as the quick, sudden flashes of light peeking through the dark clouds. 

Ba-boom!

Each bolt of lightning could be felt reverberating through the soles of his shoes. 

The Count blew the steam from his cup and took a sip as he ignored the absolute carnage that the storm had paved right outside his window. Leaves were tossed about by the wind and the trees were bent down to its will. 

However, despite that chaos, his surroundings had remained calm. His surroundings had remained quiet, serene, therapeutic even.

He could hear the occasional pops and cracks from the wood as it charred itself black over his burning fireplace. It flickered and sparked and gave off its heat in waves.

“Haaaa,” Deruth sighed.

It was the stark contrast of the storm and his office that had led him into a daze. He set his cup down and checked his pocket watch to see just how much time he had ended up wasting.

1:03 AM

A little over half an hour. Not too bad, he supposed.

Deruth was currently at an inn in Puzzle City, using his room as a makeshift office to go over some important documents for their territory’s affairs. He needed them done before the meeting he was scheduled to attend at the Capital in a week’s time.

However the large stack showed no signs of progress, even after hours of work. He’s been stuck in this particular section of the pile for the better half of his night. Going back and forth between actually making progress with it and zoning out as he stared at the rain. 

Deruth then rubbed his face in an attempt to rid himself of the exhaustion, allowing himself to fall back onto his chair as he sighed yet again. 

He had recently been made aware of his son’s sudden shift in temperament. It was nothing too drastic of course, Cale was still Cale; there had just been a few subtle changes to his otherwise normal behaviour. 

He didn’t quite know how to describe it yet, but his son was now somehow… milder? 

‘Well, if the dwindling stream of resignation letters are anything to go by, then yes, my boy is definitely milder,’ Deruth absentmindedly nodded as he argued with himself. 

The reports had stated that his son no longer made a fuss about the clothes that he wore nor the food he was served with. Usually, when these two in particular failed to meet his expectations, his boy would throw out harsh criticisms and unnecessary comments on personal matters that he had no business with even knowing; so it came as quite a shock to Deruth when he had learned that his Cale now wore simple garments, — a plain white shirt and some loose fitting trousers being the usual, instead of the fancy dress coates and garbs that he often used to push for — and ate whatever dish was prepared for him without much complaint, other than it being too hot for him to chew.

Moreover, Deruth had also noticed that Cale had been steadily replacing his extensive array of custom made loafers for more practical looking boots and hiking shoes. He hadn’t a clue as to what had sparked his son’s sudden interest in outdoor activities but he wasn’t one to complain about him finally getting some exercise in. Sunlight as well, heaven knows how pale that boy was. 

His wife, Violan, had suggested that he bring Cale along with him to the Capital. He was a bit apprehensive about the decision but eventually he had agreed, hoping that somehow, somewhere, during their month-long trip, his relationship with his son would improve. 

However, the young boy seemed to be quite occupied with matters of his own.

Ba-boom! 

Deruth paid the storm no mind as he continued to lose himself to his thoughts. 

He would often catch his son tailing the old servant and helping out with the chores. Sometimes Cale would simply watch from afar and follow along as Ron moved to complete his duties. He was a whole lot friendlier with their new Chef as well; and quite frankly, Deruth didn’t know if he should be proud or upset by it.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Deruth tapped his index against the side of his cup as the steam that rose from it danced across his lips. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but seeing his son look up at Ron for guidance and approval left him feeling something akin to that of envy. He couldn’t even remember the last time Cale looked at him the same way he did at Ron. It left a bitter taste in his mouth as he tried to recall a moment where Cale seeked him out that way as well. 

“Tsk.” The Count drank a third of his tea to wash out the bitterness. 

Setting his cup down with a soft ‘clack’, Deruth picked up his pen and decided to resume his duties, opting to focus on something that he could actually make progress with, instead of wasting his time and worrying about his relationship with his son. 

Cale was probably fast asleep by now. All wrapped up and warm on his toasty bed, blissfully unaware of his dilemma. 

****

BA-BOOM! 

Cale felt the soft mush between his fingers and the frigid wind howling behind him as he continued to drag himself further into the narrow cave. 

He didn’t like having to go through all of this, getting drenched and crawling  through pitch black darkness with nothing but the occasional streams of lightning and thunder as his sources of light, but it was a necessary sacrifice. If he wanted that Ancient Power then he’d at least have to endure this much.

The day after he had finally gained his Indestructible shield, his father had summoned him into his office.

It was sudden, but Deruth had apparently decided to bring him along to one of his annual trips to the Capital. Had it happened under different circumstances, Cale would have simply declined the offer altogether. 

Since he contributed absolutely nothing to the gathering itself, it meant that he’d be attending with his father as a wallflower. And honestly speaking, it was a complete waste of time and effort on his part. 

And of course, with the sudden change in scenery, Cale knew that Ron wouldn’t pass up the chance to have another outdoor session with him. 

“ Versatility is the strength of the weak, young master-nim.” 

Versatility, his ass. It was just an excuse to make him move more.

BOOM!

Cale could hear the fierce storm striking its thunder uncomfortably close to the cave’s entrance. His clothing having been long since soaked by the murky water that leaked in, the young boy felt the dirt and muck from it sticking to him like a second layer of skin. Itchy and uncomfortable.

“This better be worth it,” Cale muttered.

As much as he hated to admit it, he needed something at Puzzle City. And as fortunate — or unfortunate, depending on whichever side of the coin you decide to look at — as it may be, that City just so happened to be on their route to the Capital. 

Cale didn’t like the idea of spending an entire month filled with awkward silence with his father, but he couldn’t exactly refuse a free ride. 

Plus it gave him an excuse to actually be there, after all, who in their right mind would allow a legitimate child , physically anyways, to travel halfway across the kingdom alone for ‘sightseeing’ of all things. 

After a few days worth of travel, both he and his father had arrived at the borders of the Ancient City. And although it would have been better if they had gotten there by noon, which was the time the winds of the cave were at their weakest, their party had arrived not long after dusk and were scheduled to leave early the next morning. 

So his only window of opportunity was at midnight when everyone went to sleep.

Cale waited for the clock to strike twelve before moving to execute his plan. He grabbed his sheets and climbed down through the open bedroom window, he wasn't crazy enough to jump down like some main protagonist, and slipped past the guards on patrol.

He braved the rain with a hat on his head and a coat over his pajamas. Cale’s  footsteps left nothing but the faintest of sounds as he made his way up the mountain; though it was a difficult climb, he eventually managed to reach the entrance to the hidden cave where the Vitality of the Heart resided in. This ancient power was said to heal every injury that it’s owner was inflicted with, whether they be internal or external. 

Meaning that after he gained acquisition of the regenerative power, Cale wouldn’t have to worry about his poison immunity anymore, nor the actual training he did with Ron.

He’d have immunity over everything Beacrox would feed him and all of his cuts and bruises, as well as his soreness, would disappear almost instantly after his early morning sessions. It was perfect.

Though in hindsight, he should’ve probably put more thought into his attire before coming here. That was a mistake on his part. 

Cale paused to wipe the sweat and grime off his brow before he turned to look back at his discarded loafer. His poor shoe was stuck between the rocks he had used as a foothold.

Yeah, definitely a mistake on his part. 

The mush that he crawled on had varying degrees of solidity; some were soft like wet sand while others were sticky like hardened mud. Cale had ended up a loafer short due to his miscalculation. Abandoning his shoe was a small but necessary sacrifice.

Though he made a mental note to retrieve it back on his way out. 

In his last two months of training, Cale had already lost a grand total of three exceedingly expensive pairs of custom made loafers, if he lost another then Beacrox would kill him.

Normally, he’d be so much more prepared than this. It wasn’t in his style to do things out of spontaneity, he preferred to plan things ahead of time and prepare all the necessary items he needed before the mission, that way he’d only have to exert a minimal amount of effort to actually complete it.

But with the majority of his time being spent on training with Ron on espionage, stealth, and assassination; Cale learned that he couldn’t really find the time to do either of those. Beacrox had been especially ruthless with his portion of the regime as well, so absolutely no openings were left for him to take in preparation for this trip.

The torturer had handled both poison immunity and weapon arts. 

Oh, how Cale hated weapon arts. It was only a step above those immunity sessions they had, but he loathed it more than anything else in the world.

One small mistake and he’d be forced to repeat the entire process from start to finish, lifting heaps of metal forged into hilts and scabbards with his tiny looking twig-like arms to copy the forms that Beacrox had demonstrated for him, over, and over, and over, until he inevitably throws up. Or passes out. 

Or whichever of the two comes first. Usually it was the latter. 

The exhaustion he felt was often no different from the one he had experienced in his previous life, and that time he actually had to fend off beings that were twice, if not thrice his size; most of which having enjoyed preying on them for fun. If that comparison wasn’t telling enough of how grueling the torturer’s methods were when it came to training then he didn’t know what was. 

As Cale continued to crawl through the cave, he briefly wondered if Beacrox’s complete and utter lack of mercy had anything to do with his once abhorrent behavior towards his cooking.

“...Yeah, probably.” The young boy winced. He supposed he deserved it with how rudely the previous Cale had treated him, but that wasn’t him. It wasn’t at all fair how he had to reap something he didn’t sow.

For the first time since arriving, Cale lamented being trash. 

If he wanted mercy then he’d probably need to make use of his glib tongue more often. He wasn’t sure if it’d work on such a stoic looking man but it was worth a shot. 

And technically speaking, he wasn’t actually lying. Beacrox was an excellent Chef, so long as Cale ignored the fact that he’d often silp small doses of poison into his meals of course.  

‘For further immunity, my ass’ He scoffed.

After that first immunity session they had, the young redhead had refused to be within a hundred foot radius of those shady looking bottles, making use of everything Ron had taught him to evade each and every session that was scheduled out for him; much to the ex-assassin’s utter delight and torturer’s dismay.

However, Cale had failed to account for what the torturer might decide to do to combat his actions. He regretfully hadn’t noticed until it was too late. 

And he wasn’t even going to mention the betrayal he felt of having to find out his favorite meal of steak was used as bait. 

This was why he couldn’t refuse his father’s offer. He needed that Ancient Power. 

Cale just… genuinely hoped they were quiet.

Although the Shield had brought him an inexplicable sense of safety, despite having yet to find an excuse to really use it, the voice that accompanied it was one he could do without.

The glutton’s annoyingly persistent voice cheered at each dish that was prepared for him. She’d often go off with complete disregard of his peace of mind and describe the tenderness of the steak or the sweetness of the spices that he chewed on. 

It was annoying. It was consistent. It was madness. Cale would often catch himself wishing for an off switch that didn’t exist.

But secretly, he actually agreed with her nonsense, though he’d never willingly admit it of course. 

When you spend over a decade eating nothing but scraps and rations, anything else was bound to taste heavenly, more so if the Cook actually knew what he was doing, poison or no. 

Boom! Boom! Crash!

As Cale continued to inch his way towards the other end of the narrow cave, his mud-caked sleeves leaving heavy trails behind him on the mud soaked ground, he could hear the sound of the fierce storm growing fainter and the muffled noises of rocks crashing onto the walls getting louder. 

‘This must be it.’ He thought.

Cale activated his Shield and got ready for his next trial.

***

“Good morning, young master-nin!” Hans chirped, “You’re looking especially radiant today. Did you rest well?”

Cale didn’t dignify the teen’s comment with a response, he was still far too busy recovering from all the mental strain that Beacrox had given him the night previous. He thought he did a good job with sneaking out, but unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was in a munchkin novel with a ridiculously high number of hidden experts; a few of which being both Ron and his son, Beacrox. 

Right after he had gotten back from acquiring the Vitality of the heart — absolutely underwhelming, that trial. His expectations were set far too high after gaining the shield — he was faced with Beacrox’s wrath. 

He had to endure up to an hour of the torturer’s ‘stare’ all while having to listen to his lecture about him making people worry. 

However, Cale had understood that lecture, constipating as it was, as Beacrox being worried about his skills and disappointed in his stealth. ‘Does this mean he’s going to have me repeat my lessons again?’ 

Cale shivered at the mere thought of having to do more work.

He heard Ron chuckling behind him. He elected to ignore it in favor of peace and stepped into the carriage with his father. 

Bonus: Because why not?

1 week earlier

|| Henituse Territory, Rain City

| 6:28 AM

“Psst Hyung-nim,”

“No.”

“Come on,”

“Basen, I’m not getting up.”

“But it’s morning,” His brother argued.

“If it isn’t past ten then it's still night.” 

“Hyung — ”

“No arguments.”

Cale kept his eyes closed all throughout the entire exchange. He genuinely hoped this wasn’t going to be a regular thing between the two of them. He didn’t fancy the idea of having to wake up at the ungodly hour of three in the morning for training with Ron, only to be woken up a second time by his younger brother at six. 

He needed sleep.

His head was still spinning and he felt like absolute shit from all the vials that Beacrox had forced him to empty the night previous. 

Him drifting in and out of sleep in the wee hours wasn’t helping that much either. 

After hours upon hours of being woken up by the guards passing by on patrol, Cale was now intimately familiar with their schedules and when they’d switch out. It was good information to have, he supposed, but the method he had unintentionally used to acquire said information was far from favorable. 

He was already half certain that his eyes were bloodshot from the sudden burst of adrenaline he’d get from waking up. 

He thought he had gotten past the issue of him not being able to differentiate between the strong and the weak, however, training with Ron and Beacrox seemed to have pushed him back to square one.

Of course, his senses were still damn near perfect, but after a while of training, Cale learned that the more grueling sessions would often lead him to confuse the strength of everyone’s auras. Much like the time he had first started to sense presences. Clumsy and untrained. Paranoid and uncertain. 

Though a good night’s rest was often enough to set him back on track. 

Cale shifted underneath the covers to make himself more comfortable, taking extra care not to lean too much on the arm that Ron had twisted. The dull throb yesterday had blossomed into a piercing ache, he probably should have given himself a short break in between those the bread hauling intervals. But unfortunately he hadn’t, being far too excited with the prospect of finally gaining his shield than to even think about rest. 

And it wasn’t like he could do anything to change the past, he learned that it was far easier to simply accept things the way they were than to mope. 

However, he was glad that today’s schedule only had theory in it. He didn’t think he could handle another one of the ex-assassin’s drills with the way he was feeling right now. 

Ron had decided to forgo the usual schedule in favor of discussing theory with him. And it was… interesting, to say the least; educational too. He never knew there were that many ways to silence someone with a quill. 

‘Absolutely vicious, that man.’ Cale shivered.

He turned his back to Basen and went back to sleep. 

However, Basen seemed to be having none of it. “Hyung you promised to help me with my studies.” 

Perplexed, Cale peeked an eye out. “What? When?” He doesn’t remember even promising to do such a thing.

Instead of answering Basen had simply dropped an entire set of books onto his nightstand and, before he could even react, robbed him of his covers. He didn’t know how but his younger brother had somehow managed to make the barbaric act seem graceful. Nobles like him had a talent for that apparently.

Basen had then proceeded to draw the drapes, allowing the early morning sun to filter through his room. It would have been a pretty sight to see, what with all the warm beams of light and soft specs of dust floating around, but Cale had brought a hand up to his eyes and hissed at the sudden change in lighting.

He quickly sat up with a groan of frustration and caught sight of himself in the nearby mirror.

He had to stare at it for a couple more moments before he realized it was him. Blinking lazily to get the sleep out of his system, Cale examined his appearance.

One side of his hair stood up like it loathed gravity and none of the buttons that his nightshirt had on were aligned straight. His lashes were covered in stardust and he was pretty sure that at some point, during his sleep, that dried up stain by the corner of his mouth used to be drool. 

Disgusting, Cale thought.

At least his sheets were clean though. No mud or dust.

He decided to at least fix his collar before turning to look through the books that Basen had dropped for him. Cale was up anyways, he might as well. 

He ignored the light rustling of the curtains as his younger brother pushed them aside, squinting a bit and struggling to see with how bright his room had become. 

Cale looked through the books and examined their covers. These books were hard bound and heavy, the usual types you’d often find when you looked through an old library, it had a dusty yellow tint to its pages and the customary seal from their publishers. They were all well worn out too, signifying that they’ve been in constant use over the decade of their existence. However, Cale noticed that these books tackled subjects like History, Politics, and… Administration? 

Cale sleepily closed an eye and scratched the nonexistent itch on his arm as he scowled at the books.

He knew that Basen was smart but wasn’t he eight? Territory administration and politics weren’t topics for kids who were eight.

Most children his age couldn’t even spell the word “necessary” right without fucking it up somewhere down the middle. How in the world was his brother already at the level of an academic scholar? 

The redhead rubbed at his eyes to rid himself of the exhaustion before turning to face Basen, who was rounding his bed after drawing all the drapes. Cale needed to gently turn his younger brother down. Make him understand that he wasn’t the right person for all of this. 

“Are you aiming to fail?” Cale asked, with a completely dead tone; ignoring how his younger brother had tilted his head in confusion upon reaching his side of the bed.

Everyone, both inside and outside of the estate, was well aware of the fact that he no longer took his lessons for successorship, there were even rumors of him being dull or slow, Basen was far too intelligent to not be aware of that as well. “I have no knowledge on these types of things so if you’re asking for my help then you’re basically aiming to fail.”

A moment of realization flashed across his brother’s eyes. Basen gave him a raised brow and an amused smile. “Oh, is that so Hyung?”

“Yes,” Cale didn’t like that look he had on, it reminded him far too much of Ron’s everytime he acted out as trash. “I’ve failed quite a lot of these topics so I suggest you find another tutor.”

His younger brother hums out in absentminded agreement. Cale then watches as Basen clambers up onto his bed with the help of a step stool. 

“Well, Ron says you fail on purpose though so who’s word should I really believe?” Basen nonchalantly grabs the book nearest to him and flips to the page he needed help with, completely ignoring his older brother’s dumbfounded expression.

“Here,” Basen said as he handed the book to Cale. “He said you were good at this too. Oh no, not that one, page 358, second paragraph.”

Administration. 

Cale scowled but flipped the page. He scanned a couple more of the book’s pages, memorizing its contents and storing it away, before slamming it shut and raising three of his fingers.

“Your first lesson is negotiation.” He said. 

Basen smiled at this and scooted closer to him. Cale took that as his nonverbal queue to continue. “Your goal is to determine whether or not my conditions are valid or complete bullshit.”

Basen opted not to comment on his Hyung’s language. He nodded his head and Cale nodded in return. “Alright, condition number one; ” The redhead let the first finger fall. “Keep that bit a secret between us and I’ll help you with your studies.” Referring to Basen’s early quip about him failing on purpose.

It was reasonable, Basen thought. Hyung-nim was getting rid of the possibility of being blackmailed all while effectively establishing his place as someone that Basen needed. He made himself into someone who wasn’t easily replaceable. 

Basen’s lips twitched upward. He knew his Hyung was smart.

“Valid.” He said.

“Splendid,” Cale let his second finger drop. “Condition number two: Come to my room three hour later than usual.”

“H-huh?” This one had caught him off guard. Basen could not help but stutter out his reply. “But that only gives us an hour of study time.”

“Negotiating requires confidence, Basen. Stutter like that again and you lose the deal.”

“Okay then, two hours.” He replied almost instantly. His brother was a fast learner, this was one of the things he liked about him. 

“Three.”

“Two and a half.”

“Four.”

The two argued like that for a few moments more before Cale eventually decided to give him another hint. “What exactly can you offer in return to make me want to extend my time with you?”

Basen stayed silent. He toyed with his suspenders in thought, furrowing his brows but offering no reply. 

“Think, Basen. What do you have that I would want?”

And again, silence.

“What is important to me?” They sat facing each other for what seemed like eternity as Cale waited for him to respond.

Basen shifted his eyes to Cale’s bed head, taking note of how a few strands still stuck up despite his earlier attempt at taming it.  “...Sleep?”

Cale wanted to smile, despite it being true, but he kept his face neutral. This was a teaching moment and he needed to be serious. “Okay, Yes. But something tangible. A favor, a deal. What would I want?”

His younger brother seemed to be weighing his options. Looking up at the ceiling before wincing and offering up his thoughts. “If you allow me to come two hours later instead of three...” Basen trailed off.

Cale kept quiet and allowed his brother to work out the kinks of their deal on his own. It was a good exercise to have, supplying someone with a real life demonstration, it was often one of the most effective ways to teach. Of course, it was a case to case basis but Basen seemed to bode well to this type of teaching method.

“Then I’ll keep Ron—” Cale’s ears perked up at the ex-assassin’s name —“busy?” 

“Sold.”

Basen was obviously unsure about his end of the deal but Cale couldn’t care less. If he kept Ron at bay for even an hour then it would be heaven for him.

“Every hour you keep him occupied is another hour of tutoring.”

“Really?!” 

“Professionalism.”

“Oh right. Right. My apologies.” He was a bit clumsy but ultimately, Basen would make a fine Count for their Territory someday. “And the third condition?” He asked, excited and ecstatic. 

Cale smiled. 

“Condition number three:” A short bout of silence stretched between the two as the older let his final finger fall. “Please make it so that everyone thinks of me as trash.”

Chapter Text

|| Puzzle City, Roan Kingdom

| 7:30 AM

A benign old man. 

That is what Ron is. That is what he had made himself to be. A kind and gentle and soft spoken old man that does nothing but serve a family whose only linkage to him is a contract of work. And even after twelve long years of service, Ron had not once broken his image. He was always careful with his words, always careful with how he acted, he had never let anyone in on his true nature nor his vicious colours, for fear that it may attract unwanted attention and cause them to lose what they’ve worked so hard to gain. 

However, today, he allowed himself a rare moment of authenticity as he dropped his smile. 

Of course, Ron made sure that the young master’s back was fully turned towards him before doing so. Soft and gentle features making way for a cold, and unforgiving stare, as took his dagger out and turned to look towards the other maids and servants packing away their luggage. 

“Tsk.” Ron clicked his tongue in distaste. 

He was rather upset with how soon they were departing, quite bitter as well with his wasted effort at navigating. 

The young master had seemed so genuinely excited to reach Puzzle City during their travel, subtly asking questions, and eyes lingering on its spot on the map; Cale had never outwardly expressed his delight, however Ron had learned to pick up on the boy’s tells for when he was feeling excited. 

That puppy of his had quite the limited range of expressions, a few of which included; boredom, frustration, and oftentimes very mild amusement. On occasion, the boy would also show intrigue, if not curiosity, for the concepts that Ron would discuss with him. 

However, explicit excitement — or impatience rather — was quite hard to come by in those sharp little eyes of his. 

“Um, Mr. Ron?”

The ex-assassin immediately softened up his features as he turned to look towards the young ginger. “Yes, Mr. Hans,” And with practised ease, slid the dagger he’d been toying with, up his sleeve under the guise of tidying it up. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, no, no, I just had a question.” Hans scratched his cheek and gave the old servant a sheepish smile. 

Ron gives the young teen a small huff of amusement, authenticity lost to him as he resumes his benign image. “Alright,” He says, guiding Hans to his designated carriage. “And what might that be?”

Hans patted around his pockets and reached into his vest before finally pulling out what seemed to be an itinerary of sorts. 

“Well I noticed here, that we’re ahead by two days in terms of scheduled arrivals, but as per your promise to the young master, should we not be staying another night to keep track? And also ─ ” 

There was a barely noticeable pause in Ron’s steps when Hans had mentioned his promise to the young master. 

After training, the young redhead had offhandedly made a comment about being excited to break a rock tower, and taken aback by the rare moment of childlike wonder in Cale’s eyes, Ron had offered in return that he was willing to speed up their pace to get him there. That lighthearted conversation of theirs had morphed into one of requests to explore alone and to play as they ate an early breakfast under a large tree away from others. 

Of course, Cale was simply asking permission to go off on his own so he could get his Ancient Power with no questions asked, using his deceptively innocent face to feign naivety and childish impatience.  

However, that act had rendered itself useless as he had to sneak out at the dead of night to go and claim it. Coming back completely drenched and absolutely filthy to top it all off. He had gotten quite a scolding from Beacrox, but luckily, Ron was willing to be a lot more lenient with his punishments.

Cale would tolerate a full glass of lemonade if it meant he didn’t need to run fifty laps around their inn in a storm.

The ex-assassin discreetly slid his eyes over to the teen as they made their way over to the carriage meant for their party’s maids and servants. 

That conversation of theirs had happened at the break of dawn. And no one, apart from a few other guards patrolling their area, was awake yet to overhear them.

Yet this little one knew about it. 

“Mr. Ron, don’t you think we should stay another night too? Given the weather and all, it would be best if we stayed, right?” The young butler handed him the itinerary, however, Ron had simply closed the tiny handbook and placed it back into Hans’s vest.

“Master Deruth seems quite intent on reaching the Capital early this year.”

“Well, I suppose so, yes, but ─”

“And regardless of the itinerary, we follow his orders.” Ron tidied up the young ginger’s coat before gesturing for him to step through the carriage door. “Shall we?”

Before Hans could even voice out his opinion, Ron cut him off, “Good.” Gently ushering him inside, Ron bid him farewell and closed the door. “I’ll see you at the Capital Mr. Hans.”

Clack!

Ron made his way over to the forefront of the party where the Count’s carriage was stationed.

“We have ourselves a rat.” He said, passing his son an itinerary. “Your thoughts?”

His son wordlessly turned to look towards Hans’s direction; the young butler was happily cooing at one of the younger horses that passed by. Beacrox opened up the handbook and read through its writings. Nothing but gibberish and time slots.

The torturer scoffed. “Harmless.” 

“Oh?” Ron gave his son a low chuckle. “Alright then.”

The ex-assassin checked his pocket watch before moving to climb back up with the coachman on the Count’s carriage. “But in any case keep an eye on him, Beacrox. I leave him in your care.”

“Yes, father.” 

Ron did one last check to see if everyone was ready to depart before giving the coachman a firm nod.

“Hiya!!”

This was yet another issue he had to take care of apparently.

***

|| Huiss, Capital of Roan Kingdom

| 3:48 PM

After a few days worth of excruciatingly awkward silence, both Cale and Deruth had finally reached their destination.

As their carriage wheeled to a stop, the young redhead could see their Villa coming into view.

‘ It's even better than I expected. ’ Cale thought.

Past the large iron gate, was a five-story residence. It wasn't exactly as big or as fancy as the one they had back at Rain City; it had none of the marble or granite fixtures attached to it nor any of the sculptures or fountains commonly associated to that of a Henituse household—except maybe for that small golden turtle at the very top of their front doors. 

‘I wonder how much money he spent building this.’ Cale mused.

Stepping off of the family carriage, both Cale and his father were greeted by Ron; there was another man there as well, who Cale later learned was their Villa’s head butler, Jefferson.

They each held a large umbrella and were meaning to escort them inside. The light drizzle didn’t really bother him though,  Cale had gone through far worse a few nights previous; with the storm fierce and its lightning even fiercer, striking as close to his heels as it could without actually touching him or the cave he was in.

“Master Deruth! Young master Cale! Welcome to the Capital!” Their servants greeted, the strained volume of it making the young boy wince.

Sometime during his stay in this munchkin of a novel, Cale had learned that it was customary for the Count, or any succeeding noble actually, to walk the length of their home upon arriving. From the gates to the front door, with their servants and maids all lined up to greet them.

However, Cale found the attention to be quite bothersome. He didn’t see such a formal greeting to be necessary. 

His father, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed by their over the top welcome at all.

After the greeting, Cale wordlessly moved around back to help with the luggage. 

“Here” He said as he picked a bag up.

“O-oh, no need young master Cale. You can go rest now, we’ll handle things from here.” The maid’s voice wavered a bit. She hastily tried to take the bag from him but flinched when he drew near to hand it to her.

Most of the Henituse staff were still wary of his temper. Cale couldn’t blame them though, he acted pretty brash at times.

“That's right, young master-nim! You can leave the unpacking to us!” Hans chirped.

Though there were a few who were immune to his problem-child like behaviour. Hans being one of them; Ron and Beacrox another.

The cheery butler seemed to have taken a liking to him after being assigned to a week of wake up duty, no matter how rudely he acted, Hans would simply bounce back and respond with the same amount of cheek he’d often give him. After a while, Cale got tired of putting in the effort so he simply acted as he would with Ron and Beacrox, which only seemed to have furthered the young teen’s enthusiasm.

However, this wasn’t exactly the issue here. Cale needed something to keep him occupied, otherwise his father would drag him in to get dressed for tea time or dinner with the Wheelsmans.

“Let me help.” Cale said. 

‘Let me help so I’ll have an excuse to be away from the Count. Just give me the lightest bag we have or the smallest. No, on second thought, I’ll make due with whatever you give me. Just let me help.’ 

Cale did his absolute best to convey the message through his eyes, but as usual, no one had understood. With his short stature and the way his head was angled up at them, the redhead looked more like a pitiful stray asking for scraps than an actual young master giving them an order.

Hans and the maid looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed with the situation. Do they allow their charge to do labor or deny him of his request? This was the first time the young boy had voluntarily been kind to them, and without prior lip service too. It left the poor maid and surrounding staff members at odds with themselves.

It was then that their head servant, Ron, had offered his suggestion, clearing his throat before angling the umbrella a little closer to the redhead to prevent the young boy from getting wet. 

Cale had almost forgotten that Ron was following him around with an umbrella, the harmless thing now having the potential to become a deadly weapon in the hands of the expert. 

Cale eyed it for a few seconds before willing himself to calmly meet Ron’s benign mask.

“Young master-nim,” He smiled. “Why don’t you come and assist me instead? I hear wild rabbits run rampant around these parts of town. Would you care to join me as I go hunt some?” Ron emphasized the word ‘hunt’ by clenching a single hand around the air as if to strangle the imaginary prey’s neck.

Cale replied almost instantly. “No thank you.”

Rabbits were a code for training, as were hide and seek and tag. And quite honestly speaking, Cale didn’t really feel the need to sweat or to even move more than he already had for today; those camouflage drills earlier were enough to last him a lifetime. So to avoid that, he simply declined the offer of further torture.

If anyone had told his newly transported soul that he’d eventually have enough courage to say no to this vicious man’s offers then he’d check them for a fever, thinking that they’ve gone mad. 

“Ho! You wound me, young sir. Is this Ron perhaps too old for your company?” The old servant placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Shall I call for my son Beacrox instead?”

Cale gave a mental grimace at this. 

Ron was clearly messing with him, he knew that Beacrox’s methods were far more grueling than his own; whether the old man had mellowed out with age or if Beacrox himself simply had higher standards, Cale wouldn’t know, but regardless of that uncertainty, he knew that he hated their sessions all the same.

But unfortunately, it seemed he was going to have to take one. 

Looking around, Cale noticed that the majority of the staff that his father had decided to bring along with them, the ones that hadn’t already gone into their Villa that is, had been secretly listening in on their conversation. 

They had all seemed to be lagging behind; slow movements and obvious stalling. 

At one point a guard had dropped down to tie his nonexistent shoelace while a maid had feather dusted a horse. 

‘Haaaa’ 

If he kept this up then he’d eventually have to lead  an entire entourage of workers into their Villa. And Cale couldn’t emphasize this enough but he did not want that kind of attention on him. 

Training with Beacrox was suddenly starting to sound far more appealing than carrying luggage.

“Alright,” Cale said, handing the old servant the bag he managed to snatch. “Where is he?”

Ron gave him a low chuckle as he moved to take it from him. ”Shall I take this as confirmation to my previous statement?”

The redhead raised a brow.  

“Is this Ron perhaps too old for your company?” 

Huh. 

Ron had such a meticulous work ethic. Cale didn’t think he'd ever care about such trivial matters like that. 

Of course, he knew that this was a fictional world, but the characters he’s been with so far; Basen, Ron, Beacrox, they all seemed so real; even his father, Deruth, had seemed genuine with his uneasiness. 

It was starting to blur the lines between fiction and reality.

“Young master-nim?” Ron called out to him after a few minutes of prolonged silence.

It was completely fine though. Him not responding right away had happened countless times before, he was sure Ron was used to it by now. Either an attention to detail problem or simply rude, Cale would allow those privy to their conversations the choice to decide. 

Either way he’d still end up as trash. Regardless of whichever they’d choose.

“Sir?” 

Cale moved his eyes over to Ron’s shoulder after being called out to again a second time. 

Drip. Drip. Drip!

It was getting soaked. The light drizzle earlier had morphed into a downpour sometime during their talk.

Cale furrowed his brows and readjusted the ex-assassin’s hand so the umbrella covered him as well. 

 “You have decades to live, Ron. Don’t ask such senseless questions.” Instead of waiting for a reply, the young redhead moved towards the direction of the fields, uncaring if the rain left little dots of grey onto his pristinely pressed shirt.

He didn’t feel Beacrox’s aura in the Villa. He assumed that the Cook was either by the forest or the marketplace.

It doesn’t matter. Tracking them down had always been easy when they weren’t explicitly trying to hide.

***

Meanwhile in the comfort and safety of his office, Deruth mentally berates himself for allowing that piece of information to slip his mind.

“How are your studies coming along this year?” He asked. 

As if he hadn’t been the one to permit his son to stop two years prior.

Walking further into the office, Deruth allows their head butler to take his coat off of him as he makes his way over to the large ceiling high windows. Two other servants came in with his paper works and settled them onto his desk. 

He watched them and followed their movements with his eyes, filing paper and readjusting the placement of his ink bottle and quill.  He waited for the three to vacate his office, patiently tapping his foot as he clasped his hands behind his back.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

It was taking quite a while. 

Instead of waiting, Deruth decides to move over to the shelves lining his office walls. 

As he pushes aside the ladder to find his accounting book, it gives a mute squeak. He pauses and eyes the ladder for a few seconds, before tapping a knuckle onto it and facing the head butler. “Be sure to have this attended to,” Deruth said.

“Yes, sir.” Jefferson, the Villa’s head butler, replied. “We’ll have it done before dinner tonight.”

“Excellent,”

Turning back around, Deruth continues to berate himself as he recalled the response his earlier question had garnered.

“I’ve… stopped taking them?” 

The image of his son tilting his head in confusion had burned itself into the farthest corner of his mind, ready to be forgotten and discarded for the sheer amount of embarrassment it had provided him. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Deruth could hear his pocket watch ticking from inside his vest; slow and repetitive in its rhythm, a complete contrast to his, whose heart hadn’t known peace since arriving.

He found his book and gave a short nod to the servants as they left. 

The dark office had a few slivers of light peeking from behind the drapes, he moved to part it. But upon doing so, he was greeted by the sight of his son adjusting the umbrella for their servant, Ron. 

“Tsk.” Deruth let the curtain fall back to its original state. 

It doesn’t matter. The dreary atmosphere provided little light anyways. He didn’t need to draw the drapes to allow that in when he could light a perfectly good fire right then and there in his office.

The Count placed his book down and lit a match then threw it onto the fireplace. 

He watched as it burned the length of its stick before dying out in smoke. The charred portion glowing embers, bright and warm, yet ultimately useless in its endeavors to start his fire.

Deruth took another match out and the stick broke in half.

He took another and its flame died out too soon.

The matchbox only had about two more in it and he didn’t want to waste his efforts. In a half hearted attempt to finally get his fire started, Deruth picks up the broken match and lights it.

He stares at it for a while, seeing its flame lick close to his fingertips, feeling the warmth that could burn just as easily, before tossing it into the hearth. It disappears into a mass of half charred wood and offers up a trail of smoke. Perhaps an indication that it had gone out.

Deruth gives a small sigh of frustration.

‘I should have just called for a servant,’ He thought. Deruth stands to notify Jefferson of his request, leaving behind his book and his office to have someone come in and light his fire. 

Clack.

As the door closes, the smoke gives a small dance. 

It waves around for a mere moment before flowing straight upward again, this time however, it gives off a distinct scent that indicates the very beginnings of a flame.

Small. Shy. Fragile. 

Easily blown out.

But a flame nonetheless.

BONUS : pt2

Title: Deceive the deceitful and use the useful

(This happens right after Cale and Basen negotiate in the prev chap!!)

|| Henituse Estate, Rain City

| 10:32 AM

Hans happily soughners down the hallway leading up to young master Cale’s bedroom.

Mr. Ron was a whole lot more lenient than he had initially thought. Once he found out about him passing down his duty of waking the young master to Basen, he had simply smiled and assigned him to a week of wake up duty. Mr. Ron didn’t reprimand him nor did he give him a sanction for acting out of line at all.

Hans found the servant to be such a sweet old man. Very considerate. Yes, very considerate. 

Hans had been informed that the young master prefered to wake at a later hour so he made sure to come a few hours after he had woken young master Basen.

However, once he was close enough to the door, Hans had to slow himself down to a stop as he heard hushed discussions on politics and diplomacy.

“Look here Basen, the Crown doesn’t always hold power over a Kingdom.” The ginger assumed that this was young master Cale speaking.

“Huh? Then who does?” And surmised that this must be young master Basen responding, given the context of Cale’s words. 

“The administrative council, of course. Sometimes Kings are mere puppets to them, a face to show to the public if you would; if a Prince ascends to the throne without enough influence then the officials would walk all over them. Their opinions wouldn’t have that much of an impact during meetings and their suggestions would be brushed off.”

“Hyung-nim, isn’t that a form of treason?”

“I believe the correct term for that would be insubordination.”

“So is it?”

“No, it's a very common form of politics, um diplomacy… if executed correctly that is.”

The young butler was certain that this room had belonged to young master Cale. 

Absolutely certain of it.

Mr. Ron had given him the tour months ago and Hans had spent the majority of his free time wandering the halls in order to familiarize himself with the layout. So there was absolutely no doubt in his head that this room belonged to Cale. 

But if that much was true, then why was he hearing young master Basen’s voice? Wasn’t today his schedule for self study? Wasn’t he supposed to be at the library? 

Hans had escorted him there himself. Why was he here? 

And on that note, why did it seem like young master Cale was tutoring him?

Hans was fairly new to the estate but rumors would often bounce off of walls. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the young master wasn’t favored by the staff that worked here. 

Cale was rumored to be quite dull and bratty. But as far as Hans had noticed, the young master was but a child that needed a firm hand to hold. The Count-nim was usually busy with handling the territory so he had little time to be with either of his boys, much less to actually parent them.

“— so be careful with those that approach you purely for influence.”

“Is that why our family has a neutral stance to most parties?”

“Oh?” Hans heard Cale’s voice raise an octave. “You catch on pretty fast. Did they teach you this in those lessons of yours?”

Hans had a mental image of young master Basen shaking his head. He saw the lesson plan. It wasn’t part.

“No? Well they should; it’s an integral part of our history. But regardless of that, yes, we stay neutral to most parties to avoid conflict. Let’s move on to the next topic then shall we? —”

Hans heard what he presumably thought was a book, close, before the young master moved on to discussing their history.

This made Hans curious. He himself was taking classes as the Henituse’s new butler, it was his job to be knowledgeable on topics such as bloodlines, history and even current events, just in case he needed to supply the person he served with the information.

And despite being young, Hans was very competent. This was why he had been chosen, among the candidates that had better backgrounds, to take on the job as their new butler. However, despite that competence, the young teen still held most of his innocence with him, so even if it went against standard protocol and etiquette to do so, Hans opened the door a crack to sate his curiosity.

What he was met with was complete silence and pitch black darkness. He looked towards the bed and sure enough, he saw the outline of the young master’s sleeping figure.

Huh. 

‘ Maybe it was just my imagination? ’ Hans thought, despite being sure he heard voices.

The young teen quietly closed the door and stood back. He straightened up and readjusted the uniform that was given to him, folding the cuffs and tightening his tie; it was definitely a few sizes too big for him but nonetheless it was something he was eager to grow into. He then motioned to open the door again, this time knocking to announce his presence.

After a few more attempts with no response, Hans decided to step in, tiptoeing his way down to the young master’s bed and giving the boy a light pat. “Young master-nim,” He whispered. “It’s time to get up, Sir. It’s morning. 

“Young master-nim?” Cale gave a soft groan in protest. However he cracked an irritated eye open. This was enough to tell the young butler that he was up.

While Cale stretched his limbs and got out of bed, Hans moved to draw the drapes. “Did you sleep well sir?” 

The boy ignored Hans’s question in favor of asking his own. “Why aren’t you giving me water?”

“Pardon?” Hans asked.

“Cold water. Where is it?”

Mr. Ron had told him of the young master’s tendency to ask for a cold cup upon waking, and in his carelessness, Hans had left the cart containing his breakfast out in the hallway. “Ah, yes, right. Please excuse me, sir.”

He quickly left to go fetch it, completely missing the redhead's discreet motion.

Cale still looked every bit of a child being woken up; squinted eyes and bedhead, rumpled clothes and a bit of yawning. Though despite his outward act of calmness Cale felt like his heart was just about ready to burst out of his chest. One of Basen’s books was still visible from its place underneath his bed; he had kicked it in an attempt to hide its presence from the young ginger. And it worked, apparently.

He had gotten so engrossed with teaching that he had failed to notice Hans’s aura, paired up with his fatigue and significantly lowered guard, Cale felt next to nothing until the prospective butler was just a few moments away from opening his door.

Once he finally did feel it though, Cale quickly dragged Basen to his bathroom, pushing him and locking the door before haphazardly shoving all of his books underneath his bed. The young redhead hardly had any time left to draw the drapes when Hans had first peeked his head in. 

Luckily, Cale had managed to play his role believably enough for Hans not to question his behavior.

“Here you are, young master-nim! Cold water, fresh out of the well!” Hans said as he wheeled the cart in.

However, Cale still had Basen in his bathroom. He couldn’t just leave him there, Cale offered him no explanation as to why he had shoved him in, despite Basen being the sharp little noble that he was, he was still a child. A child that was bound to get curious. A child that was bound to ask questions. And out loud too for everyone to hear, if he didn’t act now then they’d be caught.

But at the same time, he couldn’t just let him out or explain things without Hans noticing. 

“Change it,” Cale scoffed. “I want the cup warm and the water cold.” So instead, the young redhead had simply decided to use this opportunity to get the butler out his room. 

The nearest kitchen was about a 10 minute walk from here, even if the butler ran then that’d still take around 4-5 minutes max. This should be enough time to explain things to his younger brother and get him out.

“E-eh?”

“Tsk. Are you daft or something?” And maybe he also did that to further his reputation as trash; after all, acting on your own became far, far easier when people expect little of you, more so if they expect nothing at all. 

“I said change the cup. Make it warm, I hate it when the droplets touch my fingers.”

“...”  

Hans was at odds with Cale’s request. Why not just wipe the cup before giving it to him? Or have the young master wear a glove? 

No, no, that second one seemed like a hassle. But he couldn’t exactly refuse an order.

Hans did the mental gymnastics to calculate just how he was going to keep the cup warm while it had ice cold water in it. He looked up at the ceiling and thought back on his lessons with Mr. Ron. 

Did they cover this?

“Well?” Hans was broken out of his thoughts at the young master’s impatience. “Are you going to do it, or am I going to have to get Ron to do your job for you?”

Startled, Hans replied almost instantly. “Yes — ! No! I mean no! I mean I’ll get going right away, young master-nim!”

Hans swiftly left the room and sprinted to the kitchen to find Mr. Ron. Despite him seeking out the old man’s guidance and wisdom, Hans was very quickly starting to see his deceit. 

So this was why he hadn’t been assigned a sanction for neglecting his duty. 

But one day on wake up duty seemed punishment enough though, why on earth was he assigned an entire week ?

Hans retracts his earlier statement of Mr. Ron being considerate. That man was the complete opposite of considerate, in fact he was vicious, yes, that's right, vicious, not at all sweet or kind. 

This was a lesson learned for the young butler, he won’t ever pass up his duty to anyone else ever again. No matter how brightly young master Basen smiles up at him.

But … perhaps he could use this week to properly get to know the young master? Rumors were a distorted version of the truth after all, maybe Cale wasn’t as bad as everyone thinks. 

Startled by the suddenness of it, Hans halted in his steps, he then quickly discarded the thought the second he looked down at the hand that held the cup. 

Hans resumed his search for the well respected servant, if that thought of his was true then he’d find out within the week, right now he needed to focus on his task. 

Yes, that's right. 

Water. 

Mr. Ron. 

Warm cup. 

Focus. 

Meanwhile in Cale’s bathroom, Basen sat with his head resting on his fist and debated if he should knock and ask his question or wait a couple more minutes for his hyung to let him out.

In the end, he decided to go with the latter.

He opened the book that got shoved in with him and reviewed his notes. 

What was it that Hyung-nim said again? Deceive the deceitful and use the useful? 

Basen was fairly certain that if someone were to take that phrase out of context, then it could potentially sound like a scam in the making. But then again, who were they to question his Hyung-nim’s teachings?

Smiling as he flipped the pages, Basen committed the phrase to memory.

Deceive the deceitful and use the useful. 

Smart. 

Chapter Text

Beacrox and his father, Ron, had arrived a few hours prior to Young master Cale and Master Deruth, it was customary to send at least one person to their destination to notify the head of their arrival. 

Beacrox was assigned as the Kitchen staff’s representative, his father was their estate’s head servant, they had a lot of preparation to do so immediately after arriving, the young cook took it upon himself to do some restalking. The Villa hasn’t been used in about a year so supplies were quite low, even with the ones they had brought over, their kitchen would still be short on his favourite herbs and spices. 

It wouldn’t make sense for such a wealthy family to be short on ingredients. 

When one is in need of herbs and spices, the first place they’d visit is a food stall.

However, Beacrox much preferred their family greenhouse over the bustling marketplace. Rain brought about growth, it brought about life, and as ironic as it may sound for a man of such standing, he cherished every bit it had to offer. 

He uprooted a few stems and brushed the dirt off of them before storing them away in his wicker basket. 

At twenty-four, the torturer was the youngest of the official cooks their estate had had, but age did not necessarily equate to skill or ability. With that being said, Cale Henituse, the young boy he used to detest for criticising his food the way he did, was quickly shaping up to be one of the most skilled trainees both he and his father had ever encountered. Or rather, his father had encountered. 

Beacrox was far too young a boy when his family had perished. He hadn’t had the chance to take someone in under his wing yet like most people his age had, in the assassination field that is; Cale was his first. He liked to think of the young redhead as himself. He wanted Cale to be able to protect himself and his family if things ever went awry, he didn’t want the kid to end up having regrets of not being able to protect his loved ones like he did. 

This often resulted in him working the young master to the bone but he knew it would eventually pay off.

As he parted the grass, dewdrops settling in on his spotless gloves, Beacrox heard the near silent footsteps of a child. “Are you looking for blue flames?” 

Beacrox pauses in parting the weeds and looks towards the direction of the voice, there he sees the young master, waiting by the door of the greenhouse. He eyes the boy’s shoulders for a bit before he eventually notes down with distaste how frail he looked soaked in all that rain water.

Beacrox had been especially adamant that the boy ate all of his meals on time and that he had enough rest each night, now that he had to go through intensive training with both him and his father, proper nutrition was a must.

“Tsk. I’m going to have to increase your caloric intake.”

But it seems he’s made a slight miscalculation.

Beacrox gestures for the young master to come in before he resumes his search through the weeds, completely ignoring the boy’s earlier question of whether or not he’d been looking for a poisonous bud.

Blue flames were a hybrid species of the medical herb black root, they were known to be one of the most potent toxins for paralysis. 

The two grew about in the weeds and looked near identical, if not for their blue flame-like buds then one would never be able to tell the difference. The torture had recently introduced them to Cale as an alternative to snake venom and scorpions, extracting their sap and mixing it in with his meals. 

But looking at the young master’s figure… maybe he should lower the dosage?

Cale, who was used to Beacrox’s manner of speech, simply follows through with the gesture and grabs a stool on his way in. He plants the stool next to the cook and peeks into Beacrox’s wicker basket.

“Why aren’t you with Master Deruth?” He asked. Cale and the Count were supposed to have tea with the Wheelsmans today, dinner tomorrow and lunch the next. Their invite was sent immediately after they arrived. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“I plan on hiding here for a few hours, don’t tell.”

Beacrox gave a small huff of amusement. “And what exactly do you plan to do for another three hours?”

Cale pulled out a herb from his basket and examined it like it was as deadly as a Blue flame. “I came to you didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I’m busy.”

“Pulling weeds?”

“Herbs.”

The young boy let out a silent ‘ah’ and nodded as if he finally understood. “So that’s what this is…” He muttered.

“Did you think it was poisonous?” 

Tak!

Beacrox quietly smiled as he dropped a fluffy white towel over the boy's head. He knew the young master hated their immunity sessions. It was often quite amusing to see him go through it. 

“Something like that.” Cale muttered, drying off his hair and hanging the towel over his neck.

Everything in Birth of a Hero was different from Earth, they had similarities but never exact copies, it often made identifying such simple items like herbs or spices significantly harder for Cale, especially now that Beacrox had decided to give him poisons training.

Poison training took into account not only his immunity but also his knowledge on herbs; Cale had to relearn what was edible and what was poisonous, he had to relearn what he could use as medicine as well as what he could either discard or scatter.

However Cale, or rather, Kim Rok Soo, had already had an extensive grasp on plants and their functions, he studied them and forced that knowledge to leave an imprint.

Food was scarce in his previous world, and medicine was a damn near miracle to find. And given their shit circumstance, it was a must for everyone to at least have basic knowledge on what was edible.

Though it was useless now as none of those herbs existed in this lifetime.

Cale tossed the herb back into his basket and stood up. He was still quite short but Beacrox could see the progress their training had provided him.

“Will there be playtime today?” Cale asked.

“I’ll check in with father tonight to see if he has an available slot.”

Beacrox minutely handing the young boy a clean pair of gloves upon seeing him part the weeds with his bare hands. “You’ll get filthy. Put those on.”

Cale had about three training sessions each day. One in the morning and two late at night. Sometimes they’d add in a fourth session if they found the time.

Session one belonged to his father. It was often referred to as ‘tag’ but the agreed upon name was ‘hide and seek’; this session focused on situational awareness, using all five of the senses to find and monitor your opponent's movements. 

Ron would often pick the most incapacitating environments for the young master to learn in; mist filled fields for vision or mudded trails for tracking. Beacrox had gone through the same thing as a boy.

The next two sessions were his. Session two or ‘Rabbit’ as they call it, was focused more on weapon arts and conditioning. 

Usually Beacrox would have sparring sessions with Cale similar to those his father would initiate, however his was on a much larger scale. And quite literally too. Great swords, glaves, spears; Cale needed more than just one weapon if he wanted to be efficient.

Beacrox tore both his gloves off before putting on a new pair, layering another one on top just in case. He dusted himself and stood to find a better spot.

Session three or ‘snacks’ were for poison immunity, usually these sessions were only held after dinner, breakfast, if Cale somehow managed to evade him, but for the most part Beacrox would have them at night. That way the young master could sleep off the effects.

Quite generous if you asked him.

“Who’ll be teaching?” Cale followed behind him and asked.

“Father, most probably. Hold this.” Beacrox handed his basket to the boy and resumed searching through the weeds.

Every now and then, he and his father would take the time to sit Cale down and discuss theory. This was session four.

Things like how to hide a body. How to clean out blood. How to lie . 

They call it ‘playtime’.

“Not you?”

Beacrox gave the young boy that stood beside him a small but genuine smile. “Only if I’m available.” 

He would never admit it, being the stoic man that he was, but it felt rather nice to have the young master seek him out like this. 

Beacrox stood and dropped a few more herbs into the basket, it weighed the boy down a bit. “I'll probably be busy though,” He stated. "The countertops need cleaning."

"Do they now?"

"Hm," Beacrox absent-mindedly agreed. "Dont pull on the stem,"

“I wasn’t. But while we’re on the topic, may I hide with you in the kitchen? We can have theory there.”

“No.”

“No?” Cale echoed.

“No.”

The sudden rejection had caught him off guard.

He wasn’t expecting Beacrox to flat out refuse his request, maybe dissuade him a bit or have him help out with the chores instead of simply slacking off in his personal kitchen.

“Why not?” So he couldn’t help but ask.

“Because I have an assignment for you.” Beacrox tore both his gloves off before taking the towel from Cale’s neck and wiping his hands clean.

Cale scrunched up his face as he turned to look up at the young assassin. Who, in response, simply plucks the poor herb out of his hands and adds it into his basket.

It was beyond saving but Beacrox didn’t want the young master’s efforts to go to waste.

“I want you to observe the Nobles and their children. Scope them out maybe and see which of them you can use or rely on in the future; I’ll be expecting a three page report by noon tomorrow, at the latest.”

"Observe… but that means I'll have to sit through tea with them,"

"Yes,"

Cale scrunched up his face in distaste. "I don't want to,"

"..." A slight bout of silence stretched between the two as Beacrox withheld the urge to flick the young master's ear.  Pubescence was said to be the most trying period of any parent's life. Beacrox was inclined to agree.

"Three page report, sir. Tomorrow."

Cale sighed but didn't argue.

It would be a good exercise, this one. Having the young master seek out alliances under the guise of an assignment would not only improve his ability to gather information, but also aid his future as the new Count. He’d have connections and people to fall back on if ever things were to go awry.

Beacrox grabs a nearby umbrella and hands the basket over to Cale; as they prepare to leave the garden, Beacrox asks. “Any questions?”

Cale places a hand under his chin in thought. Did he have to spy on them or simply assess their usefulness? It wouldn’t make much sense to follow them around in broad daylight, no, that'd be far too suspicious.

So what exactly did he need to do?

After much thought, Cale finally decided to ask the question that held the utmost importance. He looked back up at the expert torturer, and in all seriousness, asked.

“If I do this, will I be exempted from hunting rabbits tomorrow?”

Beacrox had no qualms with flicking the young master’s ear this time.

***

1 Week Later

| Royal Palace; Roan Kingdom
|| 6:18 AM

“Remember not to stray too far away from the palace, Cale.” Deruth states.

“Yes father,”

“The treasury is off limits,”

“Of course,”

“The training fields and stables as well.”

“Hm.”

It was currently a quarter past dawn and the soft pink glow of the sun was filtering through the large pillars of the Palace halls.

Cale absentmindedly traced the gold lace embroidered into the hem of his father’s shirt, it shone each time they passed through a beam of light and dulled when they were in the shadows; it was curious to see how soft such a thing could look when threaded through the linen.

Cale was mesmerised.

To the palace guards, however, it seemed to them that the young master was pitifully seeking out the Count’s gaze as he walked behind him to the King’s audience room, hoping for his approval and dutifully following his every word just as an heir would.

However, in truth, Cale was simply calculating how much coins that thread of gold could make if he somehow managed to sell it.

It's been a full week since they’ve reached the Capital, three since they’ve left Rain City.

And after all that waiting, the annual meeting was finally underway.

However, Cale had yet to reach the minimum age requirement to attend the meeting as his father’s successor, so he had to sit and wait outside along with the other noble children his age.

And good thing too. Cale had not the slightest intention of succeeding the title of Count. That was Basen’s job.

Of course, the young redhead was given the option to wander around the palace just as his father had suggested, but there was only so much he could do in a highly restricted area.

“But what of the library though?” Cale asks. “Is that open to the public or is it off limits as well?

He genuinely hoped it wasn’t restricted.

“As long as you don’t tread past the second floor then it should be fine.”

Cale raises a brow at this.

“Why, what’s with the second floor?” He doesn’t remember the novel mentioning anything of particular importance being kept hidden in the library. Well.. in the first five volumes, that is.

“I believe it’s reserved for the scholars, you probably won't find anything that suits your tastes there.”

'Ah.' Cale agreed.

Though it didn’t matter. As long as it was quiet then that was already half of everything the redhead needed.

“If you’d like,” Deruth says, slowing in his steps to match with Cale's lethargic pace. “You can go play with young master Eric by the garden while you wait. Do you still remember him?”

“If by Eric, you mean Eric Wheelsman, then yes. We spoke a bit the day before.” Cale replied. “But I’ll stick to the library for now. Just have Ron fetch me when you’re done.”

“Of course,”

After that conversation, Deruth resumed his usual pace, taking a few long strides so that Cale fell a little ways behind him.

He and the other territory representatives were scheduled to meet with the King once every year with updates about their regions progress; riches gained, assets lost, alliances formed, they were expected to have detailed reports pertaining to everything their region had gathered. Of course, they’ve always had privy to sending in a few files or documents through their servants or through a selected messenger, but this was politics.

Every meeting set was an opportunity to grow, it was an opportunity to flourish.

Most families would often send their smartest and most eligible men to represent their territory, somehow hoping that they’d gain His Majesty's favour and take a step up the metaphorical ladder.

But it was futile really, the King had never once taken in a subject through these types of gatherings. It was more or less his way of putting a leash on them, making sure that they weren’t gaining enough power to overthrow him or any of his trusted advisors.

“Basen wants a pen by the way.”

Broken out of his thoughts, the Count looks towards his son. “I’m sorry?” He wasn’t quite sure he heard that right.

“A pen.” The redhead repeats. “I promised him a gift and he said he wanted a pen. Can we visit a few shops after this?”

Deruth blinks at the question.

He couldn’t quite remember the last time Cale had initiated spending time with him on his own. And the request itself was shocking enough, but the fact that both his boys were now close enough to promise gifts and ask for presents was a surprise in its own right.

‘When had they gotten so close?’ Deruth thought.

There was a long enough pause that Cale turned his head to look up at him with a questioning gaze.

Startled, Deruth replies almost instantly. “Ah, right. Yes, of course.”

Deruth slows down to a stop and faces Cale, though it doesn’t register to him that they’ve reached the corridor that separates the Library and his Majesty’s quarters until Ron clears his throat.

“Ah,” Deruth turns to look towards the corridor, then to his pocket watch, before he addresses his son. “I’ll… I’ll arrange a schedule for that.”

“Thank you, father. I’ll take my leave.”

Deruth had wanted to say more. However, words refused to come out no matter how desperately he tried to speak. He could only watch as his son’s back grew smaller and smaller each step he took away from him.

***

Cale arrived at the Palace library not long after both he and his father went their separate ways. He was relieved to see that the books he had been hoping to find were there, it saved him a lot of time and effort.

“Where did you get that?” Cale asked.

“Get what?” Eirc, Count Wheelsman’s son, asked in return.

“That. The book. Where did you get it?”

About a week before they were scheduled to meet up with the Crown, the rest of the Territory representatives had come to discuss a few things with his father. It was under the guise of tea and a playdate with other noble children his age, but Cale knew that they came to try to pull his father to their side, to entice him maybe, with the prospects he were to gain if he so decided to align himself with their faction.

Though it was futile really, the Henituse household was known to stand firm with their neutrality, and even with the bribe of power, fame, or money, Cale doubted they’d ever succeed in convincing his father to pick a side.

And not only that but Cale hated playdates. He didn’t particularly mind children, he just didn’t fancy the thought of having to sit through something so easily avoidable.

Being treated as a child was inevitable given his current size and age, but that didn’t mean he had to behave like one.

And though his original plan was to hide in the kitchen with Beacrox while Ron pacified them with treats — a plan wholly rejected by Beacrox himself —, Eric just so happened to walk in holding exactly what Cale had been looking for these past few months.

“Oh this? It’s from my father's office, why?”

It was a book on the Mongoru Empire.

Of course, books such as there were still accessible to the general public, informing them of their achievements and the like, however those copies have been heavily censored during the translation, leaving nothing but the barest of minimums. Which left the young redhead no closer to finding what he actually needed.

“Where can I get one?” Cale asked.

“Oh... Well, it’s a bit hard to say,” The older teen rubbed his neck as he trailed off. “He bought it from the Empire so you probably won't find another copy unless it’s from the Palace library or from Mongoru itself.”

The young redhead mulled it over for a bit as they made their way over to the venue.

He spent these last couple of months — in between training sessions — looking for an untranslated copy. He’s already got the basics down so it probably wouldn’t be that hard to translate the book himself.

Of course, it would be much easier to steal Eric’s copy at the dead of night but Cale had already promised himself that he’d keep a low profile, it wouldn’t do him any good if Ron somehow decided to up his training again.

Tch. Versatility his ass.

“Then am I allowed to rent it from you?”

Cale saw panic flash through Eric’s eyes, fixing his glasses and readjusting his already spotless tie as he tried to think up an excuse.

“Oh, uh... Father is, um, well father is not — he’s, he’s very particular with his belongings, you see.” Eric laughed, awkward as it may have been to see him do so. “And I don't believe he’d allow anyone else other than close family relatives to rent it. The book I mean. So um, s-sorry, I can't— I mean you can’t, no, I mean—”

Cale crossed Eric out of his list of nobles to use in the future.

In theory, making deals and alliances should be fairly simple. Interest was conveyed through how open you’d allow yourself to be to your counterpart; crossed arms, a body or foot angled away from you, or even a smile that lasts a little bit too long for it to be considered friendly, were telling enough of how much this person was willing to trust you. Which, to say, wasn’t much.

In his previous life, Cale used to be able to pick up on body language like it was second to breathing. He wasn’t actively trying to look for them of course, but he’d often be able to catch when people were feeling uncomfortable with something.

Either that or they were lying.

Fending off monsters weren’t exactly the only aspects of Kim Rok Soo’s job. There were companies that he needed to look out for as well; as a team leader, he’d often be assigned to watch out for any potential threats on their side, potential betrayals, even. It was inevitable, given the hopelessness they were forced to face; Kim Rok Soo honestly couldn’t blame them.

After all, a cornered mouse always bites.

Why would us snakes be any different?

“It's fine.” Cale decided not to push the teen. He could always look through their villa’s library. Maybe his father had a copy of his own there as well.

Cale made his way over to the tables and picked out his sweets. Taking full advantage of Ron’s absence and adding in a couple tablespoons of honey instead of lemon onto his hibiscus tea and cake.

I might as well enjoy the playdate. He thought, blissfully unaware of the surprised look on Eric’s face.

In the end, Cale wasn’t able to find a copy of the book.

Both the libraries in the Henituse Villa and their Estate in Rain city were stacked to the brim with books of all kinds, they were a wealthy family after all, it wouldn’t make sense for them to be short on anything, knowledge most especially.

His father had purchased an extensive collection for them to read at leisure. History, politics, mundane everyday topics like cooking, herbs and food; Cale would sometimes sneak in to look through the history and geography sections and memorise them from cover to cover.

Cale needed all the information he could get about this world. Nothing was set on stone until the true story began.

He spent about a week going through all the books their Villa had had but unfortunately, none of them were able to offer the type of information that Cale was looking for; it was the same for their Estate at Rain city as well.

So seeing them at the Palace library was like a breath of fresh air.

Of course, he had already thought of a backup plan in the off chance that the Palace didn’t have what he needed, but seeing as they did, Cale decided to postpone his visit to the Fragrance of tea and poetry for another time.

He supposed it wouldn’t matter if he waited a couple more years before meeting with that bastard son, Billos.

I’ll find him when I need something from him. Cale thought. For now I’ll stick to this.

The young redhead chose the books he needed and stacked them onto an empty table by the corner of a window. He had a perfect view of the courtyard as well as a good portion of the library’s interior; it was a pretty good spot for him to read and observe at the same time.

Cale could feel about two other auras apart from his inside the library. He didn’t feel any malice from them so he opted to ignore their presence altogether.

He was halfway through his first book when someone a floor above him had suddenly asked a question. “Are you actually able to read that?” The voice had asked.

They must have been watching him through the second floor balcony.

“No, not really,” Cale answered. “I only memorised the swear words.” He didn’t turn to see who it was, nor did he take the time to actually think about his reply, far too engrossed with the new information to even be bothered to entertain a passing spectator.

Cale flipped the page and continued to read. He managed to get half a page in before he was interrupted a second time.

“Yeah? Then what book are you looking through then, hm? ” The anonymous voice piped.

Cale ignored it and continued on to flip through the pages. He then heard a slight creak in the railings, almost as if his spectator was leaning over and squinting to get a better view of the book in his hands.

“Geography doesn’t offer up any curses by the way.” He heard the voice chuckle. “Much too formal a setting.”

A crease threatened to form between Cale’s brows. He doesn't know how this guy managed to read such fine print from that height but he wasn't about to question it.

“So I’ve noticed,”

Boom!

Cale closed the book with far more force than he had initially intended, causing a slight cloud of dust to erupt from the rusty yellow of the book’s pages. Though it didn’t really matter since it had done its job; that annoying voice was now gone and the peaceful silence had returned.

Good. Cale thought as he looked up, happy that the railing was empty.

Despite the novel providing him with absolutely nothing on the previous Cale’s past, it had still given him a few key events that were sure to happen in about six or so years from now.

One of said events involved him getting beaten half to death by the main protagonist, Choi Han.

And at the moment, Cale was pretty damn occupied with simply surviving the Molan duo, he didn’t think he could handle another bloodthirsty maniac after his throat on top of all that. And no matter how much he’d train — which he hates, mind you — Cale would never be able to withstand the brute of Choi Han’s strength.

This man had trained for tens of hundreds of years, Cale only had about six more to go. And he hated moving more than he loved slacking, so he was desperate to find an alternative.

He and his poor glutton shield could only withstand so much.

This is why he had spent months looking through their libraries. He needed information. If Cale was lucky then maybe he’d stumble upon something that’d help him survive the beating with little to no injuries at all.

But funnily enough though, his struggles wouldn’t end after a single encounter with Choi Han.

He may have forgotten to mention this, but the novel may have hinted at an intercontinental war between the Western and Eastern continents, with the Mongoru Empire and Northern regions being a few of the key players.

If he, by some miracle, somehow managed to avoid the main protagonist’s beating, then Cale would still need to deal with the aftermath of a nasty war.

Knowing this, he couldn't just sit around and do nothing. The events were vague so needed all the information he could get; maps, history, potential battlefields, alliances, in order to accurately predict where and when this war would strike, that way he could avoid getting caught up in it.

Northern regions were so closed off from the rest of their continent, that they hardly had any info on them.

Cale would eventually need to look for a way to access theirs as well.

Maybe he should meet with Billos then?

If he played his cards right then maybe he could live out the remainder of his life as a slacker in some far away secluded area that the war wouldn’t be able to reach, sipping grape juice and munching on candy.

Cale smiled at the childish thought.

He then picked up another book and skimmed through its pages, carefully memorising it’s contents and storing away the information for later use.

However, that voice came back to disturb his peace not even five minutes after it had disappeared; and instead of hearing it from the balcony above him like he should have, the voice now sounded like it came from directly behind him, just a few feet away.

“You do know that those books used to be from the Mongoru Empire, right? I doubt they’d offer anything that contained such crude written language in them as a gift to another Kingdom,”

‘Did this bastard really come all the way down here just to lecture me?’ Cale thought.

“Oh?” The voice had gotten closer and now Cale could feel their presence leaning down from over his shoulder. “I suggest you skim through a dictionary instead, maybe you’ll have a bit more luck finding a curse word there, History is quite—”

“Tsk.”

Cale had had just about enough of this guy. His still developing body could only handle a fraction of his power to record information. This much was already causing him to overheat. And he didn’t fancy the thought of adding in an unwanted headache on top of all that.

“Will you please fuck off?” Cale didn’t care if he was being rude. He was bound to be trash anyway, what was a mesely curse going to do?

Cale twisted in his chair to completely tell the voice off, but snapped his mouth shut upon realising who he had just cursed at.

“Well that was refreshing,” The teen tilted his head in mock amusement, his bright golden hair shifting along with him as he stepped forward.

It was Alberu Crossman. The Crown fucking Prince.

‘Kim Rok Soo you crazy...!’

Cale wished that the him of 5 seconds ago had at least turned to see who he was talking to before deciding to cuss them out. He definitely needed to learn how to reevaluate his words before thoughtlessly lashing out like that again, lest he attract another unwanted annoyance.

Alberu set his books down and loomed over Cale’s significantly smaller figure; the young boy actually had to crank his head up to meet the Prince’s eyes.

“Pardon my lack of introduction, but what was your name again?” Alberu had an overly friendly smile plastered onto his face as he asked. Somehow, Cale could hear the word ‘bastard’ radiating off of that sunny expression of his.

The young redhead briefly considered lying, say that he was the son of some foreign noble or that he was just mere passerby, but he then caught sight of the Royal crest pinned to Alberu’s clothes.

‘Dammit.’

His father attended annual meetings at the Royal Palace as their Territory’s representative, if he lied now then Alberu would most definitely find out and come to bite his ass for it.

This shrewd bastard pretended to be nice on the outside but on the inside, they were more alike than anyone else Cale had ever had the dismay of meeting. So he knew exactly how Alberu would act.

Taking a deep breath in through the nose, Cale gave the Crown Prince his most dazzling smile.

“My name is Cale Henituse, your Highness. It’s an absolute honour to meet such an esteemed person such as yourself.”

He hoped flattery worked on this guy.

Chapter Text

Flattery is most commonly used to get people to like you, it's used to get them to open up, to get them to trust you; simple nuances like getting someone to agree to an opinion or to gain material assets, annoying persistence and empty words. That is what people viewed flattery as. 

But to those that are more adept to the world of politics and survival, flattery is known to provide a leeway for snakes that wished to devour you whole; it is used to garner a false pretence into someone at odds with a decision, to create a sense of security within the realm of utmost danger. 

In simple terms, flattery was used to manipulate the victim into thinking they made the choice.

And Alberu himself wasn't above using his subjects for the betterment of his Kingdom. 

"Esteemed…" Alberu carefully echoed. 

In the novel, Alberu was notorious for his absolute hatred of oil-tongued bastards. He had a personal loathing for men like these, perhaps it was because they reminded him too much of himself. 

Though said hate was only known to that of the novel's readers of course, since this bastard had mastered the art of smiling though his teeth like the lying nuance he was, so none of the actual characters in the book knew of his true nature. 

However, Cale, being a reader in his past life, had full knowledge of what ticked Alberu off. 

He just hoped flattery worked as well as the novel said it would.

"Yes, your Highness," He said.

It was far from ideal to have the future Crown Prince hate him, or at the very least, find him annoying, but Cale knew that if he somehow managed to execute this correctly then Alberu would not only stay out of his business but also inadvertently seal his trash persona. 

After all, what type of bastard would he have to be for someone from the royal family to hate him.

That being said, Cale did his very best to exude a child-like innocence, smiling up at the teen and clasping his hands behind his back as he continued, "It isn't everyday that you get to meet your kingdom's future crown prince after all,"

The prince seemed to be at odds with his sudden shift in temperament. Although he was smiling, Cale had caught the split second his mouth had twitched downwards.

"I see…" After blinking a series of times and clearing his throat, Alberu extended his hand to Cale in greeting. "Well in any case, it’s an honour to meet the spirited young master as well.”

' Spirited, huh?'

Unable to hide his smile, Cale tipped his head down and scratched the tip of his nose. 

It somewhat amused the boy how quickly Alberu could decorate his trash like attitude pretty with praise. 

Cale was their family’s problem child and given that he’s acted like a complete shit to everyone in the estate, it wouldn’t be a surprise if the only good thing people could say about him was his consistency; it wasn't easy to find compliments for someone so full of faults after all.

“Is it now?" Cale made sure to keep his smile up as he shook Alberu's hand in return.  "You praise me too much, your Highness, I don't deserve such recognition,”

Cale distinctly remembers Alberu denying his quip about being undeserving of praise but he didn't care nor did he put in the effort of comprehending the teen's actual response. Instead, the young redhead decided to spout the most obnoxious praise he could think of.

"I must truly be favoured by the gods to be able to share such a treasured day with you, your Highness.” The younger of the two spread both his arms wide as if to embrace Alberu. 

And Alberu, bless his soul, kept his smile all throughout the exchange. “Hm,”

Withholding the urge to grimace at the absurdity that was their conversation, Cale gestured to the table that he previously sat at. “Care to join me?”

Cale obviously didn’t want this guy snooping around him while he was gathering information. If his eyes lingered then eventually Ron’s eyes would soon follow. 

It wouldn’t make much sense for such a seasoned assassin to not notice that one of their kingdom’s Princes had taken an interest in his most prized pupil. 

Of course, Cale could always play it off as him wanting to learn more about other nations, like take for example, the Mogoru Empire, but that would be counterintuitive to his initial plan of being an incompetent trash heir. He was already at lesson twelve with Basen and he wasn't privy to the idea of wasting all that precious sleep time only to end up taking his father's seat. 

He had already been caught going through their Villa's library, and as a result,  Ron had increased his study load. Cale could only imagine the hellish regime he'd have to go through if the duo ever learned that he had the crown's eyes on him as well. 

And not only that but word would spread that he had gained the favor of one of the princes; this would tip the balance, and no sooner misconcept their family as one of the royal supporters instead of standing neutral.

So to avoid such a fate, he used flattery to get Alberu to back off. 

The Crown Prince hated people like him – oil tongued and scheming, if Cale somehow managed to exaggerate their likeness then it would be a sure goal to success.

Still gesturing to the table, Cale smiled and prompted again. “Shall we, your Highness?”

'Best case scenario, he leaves. Worst case, he stays,’ 

Cale prayed for the former. 

He was shameless enough as is, he doubted Alberu would be willing to tolerate any more of his bullshit.

“Of course,” 

"..."  

The young redhead blinked at Alberu's response.

He must have heard that wrong. 

Just as Cale was about to ask again to confirm Alberu's answer, the shitty bastard smiled and took his seat.

"It’s always a pleasure." The prince said. "Thank you for inviting me over, young master Cale." 

Fuck.

***

To better understand how and why Alberu came to the decision of accepting Cale's invite, we may need to go thirty minutes back. 

"Esteemed…" Alberu echoed, almost as if doubting his own ears.

He was looking down at the young redhead with a graceful smile but he was beyond dumbfounded at the sudden shift in his temperament. 

What is he up to?

"Yes, your Highness," Cale replied. The kid momentarily tipped his head down and clasped his hands behind his back. Innocent looking, the little menace. "It isn't everyday that you get to meet your kingdom's future crown prince after all." 

It isn't everyday that you end up swearing at them to their faces either. Alberu thought.

His initial impression had missed by miles. 

He had approached the child knowing full well who he was. Alberu didn't need an identification card nor did he need a family crest to deduce which family he had belonged to; the bright red colouring was enough of a trademark given how uncommon a pallet it was in their Kingdom.

Cale Henituse. The eldest son of the Henituse County.  

Despite having already been excused from his responsibilities as heir, Cale still caused trouble; arguing with his father's vassals and splurging on clothes and accessories. He was their family's supposed disgrace. 

Though frankly speaking, money wasn't an issue for the Count, he had more than he knew what to do with, so Cale being extravagant didn't matter. What did matter though, was his son's behaviour towards those around him as it affected their family's reputation and hindered its potential growth. 

Alberu had always taught himself to not discriminate between images, usually people had a reason or a motive for the way they acted, and only upon uncovering that would Alberu be able to trust their words. 

However Cale seemed to fit his trash description no matter how much he thought about it, he was rude and disrespectful to a fault. Of course, that was before the kid had done a complete 180.

"I see, well in any case, it's an honour to meet the spirited young master as well," Alberu was a bit lost be shook himself out of that as he extended a hand in greeting. 

"Is it now?" Cale asked, smiling as he shook his hand in return. "You praise me too much, your Highness. I don't deserve such recognition." 

Before running into Cale, Alberu was collecting his study load. Growing up with the status of a prince meant that he would eventually be a subject to its rigorous education program, the standard practice would be that he'd be given a tutor to guide him through the curriculum while either a maid or a servant delivered him his materials, however, considering his current situation, Alberu wasn't exactly in the position for such privileges. 

After his mother's death, Alberu's influence had plummeted, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he was a prince in name only.

He had none of the actual power to wield what was rightfully his. Alberu was a mere puppet, a mere face to show to the public, those that held the real power hid behind fake smiles and chained him to a collar under the guise of showing him the ropes. In order to survive being the least favoured by the king, Alberu had to learn how to utilise what little assets he had, and given that he was ostracised by his siblings and supposed subjects, his choices were limited. 

Luckily though, in place of a tutor his maternal aunt, Tasha, a disguised dark elf, took charge and gave him his education. She was over a couple hundred years old so she knew quite a bit; anything that she failed to accommodate, Alberu would compensate for by studying on his own. 

He had managed to get a copy of his sibling's workload from another one of his late mother's allies - of course, them being another dark elf in disguise, so he was able to maintain his seat as one of the prospective crown princes. 

Alberu had already read through half of the books present within the palace library, the other half being either restricted or inaccessible to the general public, so as a result, Alberu was able to familiarise himself with the contents in Cale's hands almost instantly. 

However…

That book is from the Mongoru Empire. 

Most books from the Empire were written in a language different to theirs, they had unique characters and were usually very distinguished. Alberu had already learned how to read and write in it but seeing as how Cale could as well was quite the shock. 

He wasn't one to eavesdrop but Cale was quite well known for his absolutely splendid personality. One would have to be living under a rock for them not to know of him. 

The eldest child from the Henitus County was rumoured to be quite dull – or slow, if you would; stupid, illiterate. Hushed whispers of mockery were being passed down from one person to another, serving their master's son with knives as mouths and eyes showing something akin to that of either scorn or contempt. 

Though who could blame them. 

No one wanted to serve an ungrateful brat that tarnished their master's name. Much less one that used violence to get what he wanted. 

Apart from squandering his father's wealth and causing a ruckus, it was said that Cale hadn't stepped foot into his study for over 2 years, refusing to further his education or to even involve himself with anything that regarded their territory's affairs. 

And yet here he was, going through a book, and from a foreign Empire no less. 

Unable to contain his curiosity, Alberu had asked. 

"Are you actually able to read that?"

At first he had passed it off as simple curiosity, maybe he's just looking through the pages . He thought. But after a while, Alberu noticed Cale muttering the same words he had when he studied that section of the book.

"No, not really, I just memorised the swear words."

Liar. 

Hearing the clear lie coming out so naturally made Alberu raise both his brows in amusement. 

He refused to believe that Cale couldn't read in the imperial language. 

The kid looked far too engrossed to be just skimming through the book. He was tracing the words and flipping through the pages as if he was looking for something he desperately needed.

"Yeah?" The teen asked, half leaning over the railing. "Then what book are you reading through then, hm?"

"..."

At the lack of response, Alberu squinted his eyes and noticed the tea stain he had unintentionally scarred on the book during one of his late nights. 

"Geography doesn't offer any curses by the way," Alberu couldn't help but chuckle. "Much too formal a setting."

He knows since its sentence structure lulled him to sleep causing the tea stain. 

Before the young redhead could reply, Alberu decided to head down and have a proper conversation with him. Packing his books, the young prince sauntered down to the main floor and approached the young redhead.

If Cale could really read in the imperial language then those rumours might actually have a fault to them. 

Alberu had always thought rumours to be quite fascinating, his aunt calls him a gossip but Alberu prefers the term effective reconnaissance. To him, it never mattered if those rumours held half truths or complete lies, rumours often had a tendency to tell you more about a person when proven wrong opposed to those that have been proven right. 

How does a person react to them? How do they feel? What do they do? Do they make deals? Do they threaten you? 

Or are they pathetic and plead innocent with tears?

Alberu discreetly smiles knowing that he's encountered a few that do.

However, there were also an odd few that neither affirm nor deny any of the rumours. Simply treating the supposed scandal as though it were a passing breeze. 

Alberu liked these types of people. 

Allowing such bastards to run their mouths meant one of either two things: One; they don't care much for what it does to their reputation, Or two: they intend for things to go to shit. 

Either way, Alberu knew he was going to have a ball digging for the truth.

“You do know that those books used to be from the Mogoru Empire, right? I doubt they’d offer anything that contained such crude written language in them as a gift to another Kingdom,” The young prince dusted off his vest as he spoke, wanting to keep up his pristine image even in front of someone like Cale.

He walked up to the young redhead and peeked over his shoulder. "Oh?"

'The History and lineage of the Mogoru Empire'

The title further emphasised Cale's deception. Where in the world would anyone find a curse word in a book that's made to praise its heritage?

 "I suggest you skim through a dictionary instead, maybe you’ll have a bit more luck finding a curse word there, History is quite—”

Before Alberu could complete his sentence, he heard Cale click his tongue. 

"Will you please fuck off."

***

Alberu distinctly remembers being amused at how annoyed Cale looked before he had realised who he was, ehem, someone with direct lineage to the crown, but now all he could think of was how unpleasant it was to talk to someone whose mind mirrored his own.

"I must truly be favoured by the gods to be able to spend such a treasured day with you, your Highness." 

Alberu withheld the urge to frown at Cale's glib tongue.

He kept up his smile, trying his best not to clench his teeth, and said in the most non-stained voice he could muster. "Hm."

It felt sickening to have someone use his own tactics on him so blatantly. 

He played along at first, hoping to somehow get the truth out, but at some point during their conversation, the young prince wished he had opted out of the entire ordeal while he still had the chance

"Care to join me, your highness?" Cale asked, prompting him to stay.

Something about the way this kid talked irked Alberu, he couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that made him so guarded, but Alberu's instincts have never been wrong before. 

Let's keep our distance. He decided.

Alberu was just about to refuse and excuse himself, using his supposed duties as a prospective crown prince, when he caught sight of Marquis Stan out in the field. He, just like Cale and his father, Count Deruth, seemed to be here to attend the annual meeting.

The Stan family were an avid supporter of the second prince; they were a constant sore in his foot, especially that kid, Venion. 

Now there was a kid that definitely had something wrong with him.

Once, while waiting for their fathers to finish their meeting, the young prince had unintentionally caught Venion plucking feathers out of a poor songbird, leaving the caged thing half bald and inevitably flightless.

A 14-year-old Alberu had felt that bird's trauma on its behalf. 

The court was connected to an opening in the palace a few feet away from where they currently stood. If Alberu went out now then they'd end up meeting in the hall. 

The young teen shivered at the mere prospect of having to come face to face with that menace again.

"Shall we, your Highness?"

At Cale's prompt, Alberu found himself agreeing. Relief flooded through his system at having found an excuse to stay. 

"Of course," Alberu said. "It's always a pleasure," He didn't waste any time and shamelessly sat himself down next to Cale's seat. He vowed to someday repay the kid for his unknown act of kindness but for now, a word of thanks was all he could give.

"Thank you for inviting me over, young master Cale."

Although, that seemed to be the wrong thing to say, if Cale's mute display of internalized regret had anything to do with it.

***

Now back to the present.

About an hour into the whole ordeal, Cale gave up on his good boy image. His initial plan of having Alberu back off had backfired… and badly at that. 

The only other option he had left was to tolerate the sunny looking bastard until he decided to leave.  

"How old are you again?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve," Alberu echoed.

"Yes, your Highness, I'm twelve this year. Problem?"

"No, you just don't look twelve, is all,"

"..."

With a deapanned look, Cale stared out into the open feilds and thought of all the ways he could put Ron's teachings to use – specifically, on Alberu – without the need to flee the kingdom for treason.

"Enlighten me then; how old do I look?" 

Cale couldn't care less about this guy, he wasn't really a threat given his current position, he just needed him to leave and never speak to him again. That way, Cale could avoid any – and if possible, all – interactions with Choi Han since Alberu would most definitely get tangled up with him sometime in the near future.

"I'd say ten, if looking from a distance."

The comment made the young redhead pause. He turned to look at Alberu and asked with a flat tone. "Are you saying I'm short?"

Alberu smiled and rested his cheek on a fist. "I'm saying there's room for growth." 

Cale wanted to slap that smile off of Alberu. Mind you, he used to be well over 180 centimeters! 

Truth be told, Alberu had initially wanted to keep his distance from the boy, but after Cale had gone back to his usual swearing self, Alberu found his behaviour to be somewhat easier to handle. He acted in a subtle manner that didn't draw much attention; it oddly stood out to Alberu since he had acted the exact same way before.

Still resting his head on his fist, the prince discreetly slid his eyes over the young redhead and took note of the books he had stacked right next to him.

Foreign politics, administration, geography, history… the list went on. 

Alberu let out a small huff of amusement upon confirming. He then turned his gaze over to the open field and sat in thought.

Those rumours of Cale being dull could not be farther from the truth; this kid was a lot smarter than he led people to think, acting on impulse and lashing out must have all been a calculated farce to make his trash image seem more believable. Alberu had witnessed firsthand how quickly Cale could shift, that alone was proof enough. 

The question though, was why. 

Why would someone that had everything laid out for him go out of his way to ruin his own reputation? What would he gain? Who was he doing it for? He couldn't have been doing it for himself, what sane bastard would ever willingly soil his own name without a quantifiable reason to do so?

But unbeknown to the young prince, Cale was said bastard that did exactly that.  

As the two sat in silence, a tall figure approached them from behind. 

Cale picked up on their presence and made sure to tense up in case they meant any trouble, he didn’t really have a weapon on him as of the moment – his dagger had been confiscated a few days prior by Ron – so his quill will have to do. 

Twirling the feather in his hand, Cale stared hard into the pages of his book, brows furrowed and attention centered on the figure's silent footsteps. 

"Your royal Highness," 

At the figure's call, the two turned and saw a beautiful looking woman with tanned skin. 

"Ah, is it time already?" Alberu looked a bit shocked and opened his pocket watch.

8:01 AM

"Hm. It has been for a while now," The woman raised her brow but later turned to tip her head to Cale, with her hand on her chest, she greeted. "My apologies for interrupting, young master Cale. My name is Tasha, I am His Highness's maternal aunt."

Cale doesn't remember the novel ever mentioning Alberu's aunt, but nonetheless, he decided to respond with proper decorum, lest he attract another unwanted annoyance. 

Matchung Tasha's gesture, Cale greeted in response. "Pleased to meet you," 

"Likewise," She smiled.

Tasha was a stark contrast to Alberu's pallette; she looked like a southerner, pitch black hair and dark brown skin, though Cale wouldn't argue that the two shared a few similar features. 

"I hope you don't mind, but his Highness has a few issues to attend to, so I'll be taking him with me for a bit."

Cale smiled.

"By all means. Feel free to never come back with him as well," It was on the tip of his tongue, but there was no way he could say these words out loud. 

So instead, Cale settled for a slightly less disrespectful approach and gestured for Tasha to take Alberu away.  "I don't mind at all, Lady Tasha,"

And as if on que, Tasha moved to gently escort Alberu out of his chair.

"Thank you. We'll be on our way then,"

"Yes, take care,"

Alberu looked mildly offended with the way the two were talking about him like he wasn't there. 

"Do I even have a say in this?" He muttered. 

But as usual, the two paid him no mind.

Bonus: Tea, Mr. Hans?

It was late into the night when Hans had decided to go for a walk, he doesn't remember why he wanted to go on one, but he definitely regrets waltzing right through an empty corridor without a proper light.

Imagin his surprise when he came face to face with his own reflection. Though instead of a mirror, it was through a well polished dagger.

"Your aim was off," Hans almost lost his neck, but he was pushing his luck with how fast he turned it towards the person that spoke.

"Was it?"

"Slightly so,"

Both the young master and their head servant, Ron, were standing in the opposite end wearing black robes. They were walking side by side and acted as if they hadn't almost beheaded him. 

"My apologies, Mr. Hans," Ron pulled the dagger out of the wall, blowing on the mark and dusting it off like it'd make a difference, and smiled as he said. "The young master is a bit fatigued today, he mistook you for an intruder,"

Hans was at a loss of words. He opened and closed his mouth but no words came out.

He watched as the young master held his hand out for the blade, only to be ignored as Ron stuffed it into his vest. 

"Would you like to join us for tea?" 

It took every ounce of courage for Hans to not cry on the spot.

Chapter Text

As soon as the library doors closed, Cale dropped his smile. 

It had been a little over 2 hours since he had first started reading, though he supposed it would have taken him far less if Alberu hadn't interrupted.  

Good riddance though . Cale mused.

The young redhead sat back down and skimmed through the remaining pages of his book. 

It was a lot calmer now that he was alone.

It felt good.

Taking a deep breath in through the nose, Cale resumed focus.

"History…" He muttered.

The Empire had a long list of accomplished individuals, each contributing greatly to the height and glory of their nation; some of which have managed to do so as warriors, and others as founders, though Cale knew that behind every seemingly flawless gain, was a sacrifice swept under the rug. 

Be it the life of a thousand men or the health and safety of a thousand women, glory cared not for those that carried little to their name. A growing empire would no sooner choose to sacrifice a child if it meant that they'd win a sieging war. 

Cale found this side of history appalling. 

He didn't like that people had to be sacrificed in order to gain victory. 

He knew how it felt to be helpless.

He knew it clawed at your skin and left you feeling raw, unable to stop the paranoia from eating at you, and causing you to lose yourself to fear.

"Tsk."

Cale continued to flip through the books and ignored the sweat sliding down his temple.

War wasn't as glorious as people made them out to be. 

War was bloody and war was cruel, the only joy that came from war was the relief that flooded through a crowd, one that had never seen the blood that their heros had to bathe in, as they realised they'd won. 

In the novel, Alberu was set to be one of those heroes that changed the tides of war, along with Choi Han and his party, they managed to gain an edge over their enemies. 

However Cale had a preference for a complete and overwhelming victory rather than one that caused needless sacrifices.

He's experienced enough carnage in his life as Kim Rok Soo, he didn’t want this body to go through the same.

Since he had already met Alberu he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give him a few tips and pointers, maybe even point out some possible strategies to use during the war. He was a strategist after all. It was in his nature to think of an escape route even when they were completely out of range of fire.

He just needed a way to do it anonymously so he and Choi Han never cross paths.

'...'

A sudden chill went up his spine. 

Cale was supposed to be strategizing for a vacation, what was he doing thinking of work?

"Focus, Rok Soo."

The young redhead shook himself out of the daze and stood to find more books. His pile was growing low.

***

When his ears started to ring, Cale knew it was time to stop. 

The young redhead closed his book with a snap and saw the rusty yellow of its pages erupting a slight cloud of dust. 

He grimaced when the sound got sharper.

Overheating and being overly sensitive to sounds were often a side effect of going beyond what his body could handle when using his record ability.

If he kept going then he'd eventually get a nosebleed; those were always a pain to clean up after, he didn't want to have to explain to the bookkeeper why her books waged war on his face.

Cale needed to stop. 

But of course, this was all after he had gotten the information he needed – which was immensely useful, might he add – but it wasn't nearly enough. Cale still needed to come back.

Though in broad daylight with eyes watching his every move, it would be quite difficult. That is why he decided to come back later that night. 

It was less busy and the palace guards often prioritised guarding treasuries and rooms with actual occupants rather than a study filled with generalised information. 

If he gets lucky then he might even be able to get through more than half the library.

“Haaaaa…”

Cale wiped his chin with his sleeve and loosened up his tie. 

"Its hot,"

Unbuttoning the top portion of his shirt, Cale proceeded to leave through a window in the far corner of the library, it was an area with no witnesses, no prying eyes, and no disturbances. The kid needed to leave for some fresh air, but the hall was a warzone filled with potential bombs. In his current condition, the young redhead doubted he could keep himself from bumping into another major character.

He might as well wear a sign with his name in bold if he left through that door.

Cale opened the window and proceeded to climb out.

"That sad attempt you call an exit is a fail, sir."

The young redhead stilled at the voice. He looked beside him and saw Beacrox sitting on the ledge peeling an apple. 

"..."

"..."

A few beats of silence passed by before Beacrox passed him a slice with his paring knife.

"Open," Beacrox said.

Cale eyed the cleanly cut piece of fruit and gave it a grimace. "...Is it poisoned?" He asked.

"Not the apple, no."

Maybe it was the heat that kept him from questioning Beacrox's response but at that moment Cale just didn't care, all he knew was that his arms were getting tired and if he prolonged this any longer then he'd wake up with a broken neck. 

That is, if he woke up at all. This was the 3rd floor and Cale wasn’t made of rubber.

Cale then opened his mouth and allowed Beacrox to feed him the slice. 

But just as he was about to bite down, the bastard added. " – The knife is laced with your usual though,"  

PTU!

Cale spit the slice out. And for good measure, he hacked the back of his throat to rid himself of any residue poison as well.

It was because of this man that Cale had trust issues.

Beacrox wordlessly watched the apple fall, pitying the poor gardener that fell victim to it, as the young master wiped his mouth over his sleeve.

The ledge that he sat on was only a few inches wide, just enough to fit the width of his foot maybe and half an inch more. 

His father had instructed him to keep an eye on Cale while he was with the Count. 

He was curious as to why the kid was chatting up a storm with one of their Kingdom’s princes but he wasn't in a mood to pry. This whole setup prevented him from experimenting with a new palette; he had a few recipes he wanted to try out, even new methods for cooking, but he couldn't go against his father's words, so he had to put everything on hold until further notice to watch their newest pupil.

Sighing, Beacrox passed the boy a bottle of water. "This one's clean."

As if to prove his point, Beacrox broke the seal and passed it to Cale.

The young master greedily gulped the entire thing in one go; he was heaving and looked just about ready to pass out.

"Do you want one more?" Beacrox offered.

"Please," Cale responded.

He passed the bottle and took the empty one away from Cale; the young master seemed to have caught a light fever, his cheeks were flushed red and the tips of his fingers were warmer than usual. Beacrox frowned.

"I don't normally pry, sir, but the situation concerns me. Are you going to answer if I ask?"

"It depends," Cale momentarily paused to reply before proceeding to drink again. "Are you going to tell Ron?"

Of course he was. That was the whole point of this operation.

But seeing Cale's face made the young cook reconsider.

Beacrox wasn't that well versed in caring for kids. He knew how to keep secrets and torture someone to the brink of insanity but if you asked him to comfort a crying child then he'd be at a loss of words. 

He opened his mouth a couple of times before tentatively asking Cale.

"Were you doing something you weren't supposed to?"

"..."

"Was it illegal?"

"..."

The young master was quite skilled at lying, that Beacrox could admit, but oftentimes, when caught red handed, Cale had the tendency to keep to himself rather than explain the situation.

And it was telling enough with the way the brat was avoiding eye contact and sipping on his bottle like it was grape juice.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Beacrox sighed.

He stood and dusted his knee then motioned for Cale to follow. "Come, let's get you cleaned up and dressed before either of our fathers find out,"

His response seemed to shock Cale. "You're keeping it a secret?"

"If you help me with supper tonight, I will."

"Ah, I have pla–" One raised brow from Beacrox was all it took for Cale to rectify his response – "Yes, tonight works perfectly."

***

Meanwhile, in the palace halls of Roan Kingdom, Ron openly stares at the Count's back, free of his benign mask and devoid of all emotion, as their steps fell in sync.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap…

"Do you have everything ready for the meeting?" Deruth asked, readjusting the cuffs on his sleeves for the millionth time that day.

"Yes sir,” The old servant kept at his usual pace and allowed for the gap to widen. “Everything is in order."

It wasn't a common practice to walk behind someone you were supposed to escort, however, Deruth had hastily taken the lead once his son had left for the palace library.

And though disrespectful, the old servant made no move to correct it; it would be the same either way, whether he led or if Deruth walked on his own, they'd both still end up reaching the King's audience room. 

"Good." The Count nodded in approval.

Ron wasn't an official Aid nor was he Deruth's Butler, those two roles were usually tasked to assist with the household's administration, so it made little to no sense for people when they learned that he'd often accompany the Count to these annual meetings.

However, Ron had been with the family far longer than anyone else. He had been there to see these supposed changes, these supposed improvements, supposed laws, being implemented by the Count, and was smart enough to follow through with Deruth's orders. So there was no better assistant than the former assassin himself.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap…

As they walked Ron continued to stare at the Count. 

He couldn't understand why Deruth refused to voice out his concerns. Cale was right in front of him, he had every opportunity to acknowledge the issue, or at the very least give the boy the time to express himself. 

Yet they've been here for a week and no progress has been made whatsoever.

Tsk . 

Seeing the lack of action made Ron want to click his tongue in distaste.

Though it was his mistake for expecting the Count to take initiative.

When you spend more than half your entire life in a field that forces you to predict your target's next move, you'll start to believe you'll know how they'll act when they aren't your next kill.

Ron was far more used to his victim's paranoia, he was more used to their frantic heartbeats, their hasty decisions; he was more used to their unease if nothing else really. 

People that operated with a healthy state of mind were harder to understand. Ron was less certain of how they'd react to his games.

Decisions were often based off of experience, and experience is founded upon by failure, a panicked mind wouldn’t have the time to think back on past mistakes. It will act on impulse and move in the basest of instincts: to survive. To cling to life. 

Such was the way of nature.

But the people that lacked that urgency moved in time with what they believed was right, and even then their choices in life could vary. 

As though sensing his gaze, Deruth gradually slowed to a stop. 

Tap. Tap. Tap…

They both stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity, Ron could see the guards further down the hall discreetly glancing their way, perhaps questioning why they had suddenly decided to stop when they were only a few feet away from the door.

"Master Deruth?" Ron called out. "Shall we head in, sir?"

"..."

"...Count-nim?" 

At the lack of a response, Ron took a step closer and donned on a look of concern, paired up with a harmless tilt of the head and a warm tone, no one would believe he had more blood to his name than a butcher that breathed and bathed in slaughter.

Deruth took a minute to gather his thoughts, this was something that had been weighing him down for a while now. He had been toeing the line, thinking of a way to voice out what had been on his mind.

"Tell me your thoughts," He eventually said.

"Sir?" 

At the old servant's confused tone, Deruth belatedly realised he hadn't offered much of an explanation.

"On Cale," He clarified. "What are your thoughts on my relationship with my son?"

Deruth calmly turned to look at Ron, they were out of hearing range from the palace guards, so to them, it seemed like a last minute check with the documents.

Deruth saw Ron smile at his question, but rather than answering, Ron had instead taken the documents he had with him out and calmly flipped through their pages. 

"Would you like an honest answer, sir, or a kind one?"

Deruth eyed the files Ron went through, taking the one that was handed him and raising a brow at the servant's odd behaviour. 

Ron was often a very straight forward man, if he was asked he would respond, if he was given a task he would move to complete it. Though today, he seemed to be stalling.

"There are two answers to your question, Count-nim." Ron didn’t spare him a glance as he sorted out the files, but he did, however, smile to himself in thought. "You might find either two insulting, but personally, I'd take it as a sign to improve,"

Deruth furrowed his brows at the unexpected remark, it reminded him of a conversation he had a while back with his wife, Violan. 

"Which answer would you prefer?" Ron smiled.

***

Despite being absolutely terrified of what this man could do, Cale couldn't deny that Beacrox was a very useful allay to have when in times of need.

"Don't lose this pair, sir, it's the last one you have,"

Said man was currently crouched on one knee tying the young redhead's shoe lace. It was an identical pair to the previous one's Cale wore, the boy didn't necessarily  need to change this part of his outfit as well, but Beacrox felt like a clean pair would help his fever go down a bit.

Cale raised a brow in response. "There are two more in the closet though?" Two more loafers he means.

He had an extensive array back at the Henituse county and another at the Villa.

"Don't test me," Beacrox tisked. "You've lost three this past month."

"..."

Cale could refute his claim. He remembers the pair he sacrificed to get his second ancient power.

They were currently in the next room over. The young cook had somehow gained access through one of the open balconies. Luckily, it was empty, so for the time being, both Cale and Beacrox used it as a resting spot of sorts.

Cale had changed into an identical set of what he wore earlier; a plain whit shirt with gold trimmings and some brown trousers – he has no idea where the cook managed to get it from but he was happy he didn't have to stay in sweat soaked clothes.

Cale was slowly getting used to being pampered like this, he was genuinely afraid he'd forget how to brush his own teeth if this type of treatment continued.

Ah, speaking of which, Beacrox had also brushed his hair back and wiped away the remaining sweat. He looked more put together than a host at a banquet.

"Time?" He asked, taking his seat on the comfiest looking chair there was.

"Quarter past ten," Beacrox replied.

Cale blankly stared as the cook pulled a glass pitcher out of his vest then moved to serve him with his father's special. Cale then blinked.

"..."

Yeah, he was getting used to this type of stuff too.

Beacrox placed the cup in front of the boy and pushed it a tad bit closer.

Once Cale took the cup, the cook settled himself on the opposite chair.

It was often considered a great disrespect if a servant sat in front of their master without prior promting or their permission. This act alone was enough to tell Cale that Beacrox wasn't there as his personal cook, but instead as his second mentor and trainer. 

Upon realizing, Cale slowly sat the cup back down and stayed perfectly still. All while avoiding eye contact of course. 

Shit, here it comes.

"So about supper," The cook smiled.

***

Bonus:  Light reading

||Henituse Villa, Huiss

| 2:12 AM

The ex-assassin had watched and observed as Cale kneeled down to pick the lock to their main library, using the blunt end of the rod and twisting until he heard a soft click; Ron doesn't remember ever teaching the boy how to pick locks, and he knows for a fact that his son, Beacrox, hasn't either. 

Where did he learn that? 

This puppy young master of his had always been a fast learner. He only needed to see a demonstration once and he'd be able to replicate it almost instantly. However, the fact that neither he nor his son had taught the boy was a bit concerning, from a parent's point of view.

He might need to have a talk with the young master at a later time.

 It was currently the third night upon arriving at the Villa, Ron had woken up to the soft tapping of near silent footsteps. 

He knew these steps by heart.

Ron calmly got out of bed and subconsciously grabbed his blade from his nightstand.  He slipped it up his sleeve then moved to follow Cale from a distance behind. 

The old servant had initially intended to wait outside the library for the boy but after a couple of hours, it became apparent that Ron would need to go in after him.

Upon slipping through the door, Ron saw the young master sitting hunched over a book at the far end of the library's shelf. 

Had it not been for the rows upon rows of stacked up books acting as the boy's footprints, then Ron would have passed this up as a simple late night whim. 

As the boy's personal servant and friend, Ron knew that it wasn't right to be following him around like this without his knowledge, but as his mentor and legal guardian, Ron had every right to reprimand the boy if he somehow ended up doing something out of line. 

Of course, this was ignoring the fact that he was training the pup to someday kill. 

"You should be in bed," Ron muttered, making the young boy flinch.

"Ron?" 

At Cale's surprised face, Ron couldn't help but smile "Hello, young master-nim," 

The library was very dimly lit, their only source of light was the candle that the young master had set on the cold marblewood floors. It illuminated the area and encapsulated the two in a soft orange glow, a complete contrast to the deeper end of the room which looked near black at just about every corner you turned to.

 "What are you doing here?" Cale was still sitting hunched over a book on the floor; though his initial surprise had morphed into that of his usual indifference, with the dim light softening up his features.

Ron tilted his head and replied. "I could ask you the same thing," 

He passed the young master a clean handkerchief after seeing the boy damp with sweat. Cale took it like it was second to nature and said thanks.

Ron was growing more and more used to this version of the boy, he liked it. It showed how at ease he felt with him, not needing to hide behind a scowl or a trash farce.

He moved to gently pry the book away from the young master's hands and flipped a few of its pages. He then raised a brow upon realising what this book had covered.

Foreign politics…

"Hm."

He supposed he could guess why the young master was reading up on politics. 

Basen, the second young master of their household, had recently gotten Cale to be his tutor. Ron wasn't acutely aware of the specifics but he had pretended to be oblivious everytime Basen came to him for lessons, which he most evidently did not need, on kitchenware. 

That must have been one of their conditions. 

However, Basen, in and on his own, was already brilliant, he didn't need the extra hours of studying nor did he need an actual tutor; Cale was just able to explain things to the boy in a far more… efficient way compared to that of the standard procedure that most mentors used. 

Basen learned faster with Cale and thrived under his influence, and though Ron was happy that the two had found something to bond over, he wasn't thrilled that Cale had decided to exhaust himself like this for his younger brother.

This was, of course, a misconception that would only serve to give the boy a headache further down the lane, but panicked as he was, Cale couldn't think that far into the future. 

"What books are you looking for?" 

Ron didn't take his eyes off the book as he asked. Simply reading through the page as he waited for Cale to respond. 

"Nothing specific, really," Cale said, dusting himself off and feigning indifference. "I just wanted to catch up on some light reading," 

Inwardly, Cale was sweating bullets; Ron wasn't supposed to catch him. Overusing his record must have made him complacent, he hadn't even felt the old man's presence or when he came in. 

Ron eyed the long trail of books behind the boy and smiled in mirth. "It seems we have yet to agree on our definition of 'light' young master-nim."

Tak!

Ron snapped the book shut and handed it back to Cale. "If I may–" He strode past the boy, candle flickering at the slight gust of wind he's made, and neared the only section of the wall with books still lining its shelves – "I'd like to recommend you a few of my favourites, if you are indeed 'catching up on some light reading'."

***

A few moments later and Cale is following behind an eager Ron.

"You'll end up short if you keep sleeping this late, sir." Ron stacked three books on top of Cale's outstretched arms. 

"I'm– Oof."

Ron clicked his tongue a series of times and practically ignored how Cale had kneeled over at the weight. "It'll be such a shame," 

"Ron," Cale followed behind the older man and adjusted the books he had stacked on top of him. He had already read everything in the library, but he didn’t have the heart to tell the old servant in fear of the questions that may arise. "Ron, I'm taller than most kids my age,"

The old servant stopped grabbing books and turned to look at Cale, "Are you?" 

"I am."

A slight pause passed between the two before the old servant eventually decided to reply.

"Well, I hope you don't take this the wrong way young master-nim, but I somehow doubt that,"

Ron withheld the urge to smile at how mutely offended the young redhead looked at his comment. 

Ron then resumed stacking book after book over Cale and snuffed out their only source of light with his fingers; the small ember had left a trail of smoke as Ron walked towards the exit. 

They couldn't afford to have a light with them, given that there were guards stationed at every corridor, the candle would only hinder their movement. 

 "An acquaintance of mine can be of help with whatever it is you're looking for, sir. She's skilled in reconnaissance and her gathering skills are top notch, you could learn a thing or two from her as well," Ron opened the door for the boy and followed from behind. "Just be sure not to ask her to sculpt anything for you. Her works look demonic."

"Demonic…?" Cale echoed and raised a brow at his description, though Ron, amused by his own choice of wording, had simply winked in response.

Cale didn’t buy the old man's promise, he simply saw it as the usual playfulness Ron often exhibited when given something new to play with.

Though he was slightly confused as to why the old servant hadn't interrogated him yet. He was suspicious. The old Cale never did shit like this before, he hated books, the current Cale – who was caught reading past his bedtime – embodied the exact opposite. 

The two moved in complete silence, with Ron leading the way and Cale following closely behind. They took shortcuts and rounded a few corners to avoid the guards, it seemed so natural, as if the two knew exactly when the guards would switch out. 

Which they did actually, though for two extremely different reasons; one for mere tracking purposes, and the other, a poor victim of sleep deprivation. 

The late night air made the clock's ticking seem louder, it filled their silence and acted as a substitute for their mute footsteps.

Ron could almost feel a hole boring through his head at the young master's gaze. He waited for the boy to gather his bearings and walked at a slower than usual pace to give him more time.

"Aren't you going to pry?" Unable to contain his curiosity, Cale had asked. "You haven't properly questioned me about anything yet."

'Properly…'

Cale must have meant the new interrogation method he had learned a few nights previous. Intimidation, manipulation, coercion, a few among the many ways to get someone to spill, Ron had taken the time to sit the boy down and go through a couple of drills with him at that time, he must be wondering why Ron wasn't enforcing the lesson when given the perfect opportunity to do so.

Ron angled his head down and turned to look back at Cale as they walked. The boy looked small behind the books he had under his chin, blanketed by the shadows, and looking his age for the first time in a long while.

"I believe some secrets are meant to be kept personal, young master-nim," Ron said softly. 

And given that he had a couple hundred himself, it was only fair. 

"..."

As if sensing his inner thoughts, Cale's face scrunched up into a mild grimace. It made Ron chuckle.

Once the two reached the room, Ron relit the boy's candle.

 "Hand me a list of the topics you want to read and I'll have my friend find it."

Without sparing Ron a single glance, Cale strode right past him and entered his room, leaving the stack of books on his nightstand and climbing into bed then plopping right down. 

Ron smiled at the characteristic gesture and gave the boy a slight bow, wishing him a peaceful night.

"Have a good night's rest, young master-nim, sleep well."

***

Hans was still in his night clothes, bunny slippers and all, as he picked book after book and placed them back into their rightful places; he doesn't remember how he got himself into this mess but he sure does regret being nosey.

"Be sure to organise them according to their category, Mr. Hans." Ron held a small lamp and instructed from a distance. 

Hans turned to brightly smile at the old servant before bending over to pick the books up. He screamed internally but made sure to smile again once he was ready to place the books back into their shelves. 

The Henituse library was by no means small, Hans wondered how long it would take him to get everything  back into their shelves. 

He looked up and gulped at the dark abyss that swallowed half the Library's walls. 

"Don't dilly dally, it will be dawn soon."

Hans withheld a sigh and got back to work. 

He should have never said yes to that damned tea party.

Chapter Text

"Garlic… spring onions… bean sprouts…?" 

"Keep going," Beacrox ignores the young master's bewildered expression as he urges him to continue reading through the recipe. 

"Why does it have bean sprouts in it, I thought we were making soup," 

They were currently going through the menu for dinner later that night; it consisted of a four-course meal, complete with dessert. Cale's mouth watered at the mere thought of having lobster and steak, but he was dreading the part where he had to make soup all on his own. Sure, he was a decent cook in his previous life, but his current body had yet to learn how to even fry an egg.

"It's a simple dish. I'm sure you'll do well." 

"Simple or not, I've never worked a day in my life." 

It was important to note that he'd been pampered his entire stay in this munchkin of a novel. Cale was by no means confident that he would come out unscathed; no, if anything, he'd probably leave with a few cuts and burns. Vitality of the heart be damned; he didn't want to go through any of the unnecessary pain.

Beacrox huffed, seemingly amused by his response. "I can help with that, sir," 

As if waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, Beacrox plops a thin folder down onto the table. "I've decided to take you in as my apprentice."

"..."

Somewhere in the distance, thunder goes off. 

"I'm sorry?" 

Cale refused to believe he heard that correctly. He hasn't been able to get much sleep these days, maybe he should tone it down with the research and take a few days off to –

"You'll be tasting, cooking, and replicating the recipes I give you. This comes with the added benefit of poisons training. It'll boost your immunity, all while you learn the art of cooking."

"... Ah." Cale gave a pained blink at Beacrox's explanation. It turns out he did – unfortunately, hear everything correctly.  

Cale could not even begin to fathom why this man would want him as an apprentice. He had definitely been more appreciative of his cooking, who wouldn't after a lifetime of eating rations, but the sudden change deviated too far off from the original novel. 

He already had his hands full with preparing for Choi Han’s arrival and finding a safe place to hide from that war, taking this offer on top of his current apprenticeship with Ron would be more that he could chew. 

And Cale could not stress this enough, but he wanted no part in that apprenticeship, the poor boy was already saddled with one he hated. He didn't need another to top it all off.

In a desperate attempt to ward off this man’s offer, Cale tilted his head and asked in an almost mute voice. "I'm already your apprentice though," hoping the childlike innocence worked the same way it did with Ron.

The attempt itself was sad enough however that it made Beacrox's stern lips curve up into a smile. "You're my father's apprentice, sir, I haven't officially taken you in under my wing yet." 

Dammit!

Cale pursed his lips into a thin line and resisted the burning urge to curse out loud.

“...Right,”

***

| Royal Palace, Capital of Roan Kingdom

|| 11:30 AM

Meanwhile, Ron walked along the corridor towards the palace library. 

The old servant deliberately allowed his steps to leave an echo as he passed by a few guards on patrol, tipping his head towards them in greeting and smiling as he said hello.

Their meeting had ended a lot earlier than expected. The King seemed to be in somewhat of a hurry, not bothering to ask any of the usual questions nor probe for further documentation. It was, to say the least, severely underwhelming. 

Ron had expected the meeting to go well over its allotted time frame. Because not only were they tasked to report everything to the King, they were also required to have a thorough track record of every major event that had happened thus far. 

It was an annual meeting after all, there was a lot to discuss.

The old man reached into his vest and pulled out his pocket watch.

11:33 AM

Deruth had informed Cale that their meeting would end by noon, but given his student's personality and cautiousness, Cale was bound to be ready and waiting by the time he arrived. 

Ron stood in front of the library doors and stated his purpose to the young knight guarding its entrance. "I'm here to pick a young boy up," He states. "He goes by the name Cale,"

The knight flicked his eyes over a clipboard of those that had entered and raised a brow. "Henituse?" He asks briefly to clarify.

"Yes," Ron smiles.

The knight then nodded and handed him a pen. "Please write your name down as well as your time of visit."

When the knight moves to open the doors, Ron catches a glimpse of who else had entered the room before him. 

Alberu Crosman.

Seeing the name causes the old servant's smile to grow cold. 

As the eldest among his siblings, Alberu Crossman should have had the title of Crown prince by default, no matter how brash or incompetent the child may have grown to be, the right to the throne was his. Supposedly, that is. 

His vassals had the power to manage his assets for him if he ever decided to eat and play all day, the Prince shouldn't have to compete for something that was rightfully his. He shouldn't even have to work for his birth right.

But for whatever odd reason, the King had decided to leave that seat open, causing a long and tedious fight to break over who got to be his successor. It often brought too much light to the families that took sides. 

Ron was glad the Count was neutral with his stance. However, seeing the name being listed right under the young master-nim's was unsettling enough that it caused the old servant to frown, marring his features with small creases, visible only to those that knew him well enough to tell. 

He’s been slipping past my nose quite often these days. Ron thought worriedly.

What has this puppy young master of his been up to lately?

"Anything beyond the second floor is a restricted area, " Broken out of his thoughts, Ron looked up to find the young knight standing by a previously closed door. "Offenders are subject to interrogation and imprisonment should they be found guilty, up to three months of monitored probation is sentenced upon fair trial,"

"Restricted, you say…?" Ron questioned.

If you led people to believe the upper floors were restricted then they were bound to get curious. 

People often have a tendency to want the things they can't have. It is innate in all humans to crave something just outside of their reach, something that they could so easily have yet not. On extreme occasions, it causes people to hoard the experience, the very thrill of the thought of finally having possession of it.

Call it an obsession if you would, but Ron knew that there was nothing of great importance beyond those floors, if they were that precious then the king would never have exposed them to such a public location. 

"Yes sir, the floors are imbued with sensors. Anyone who steps beyond that is subject to trial."

“Ah,” Letting a low chuckle roll out of his chest, Ron smiled and passed by the knight without another word. "I see,"

But it seems the young master still felt the need to check.

Once the door behind him closed, the old servant straightened up and held his hands behind his back as he walked a leisurely pace towards the direction of Cale's scent – or what remained of it at least, as he looked around the room.

The library was spacious enough that it made anyone that entered it feel small. Ron had always been with Deruth during these types of meetings so he had never gotten the chance to simply look around.

Looking up, he realized that the ceilings were hardly visible given how far up the floors went, small flickers of light could be seen among the masses of books as well, spiralling up higher and higher until it reached the dusty railings of the last floor. Those small flickers of light were no doubt lamps lit to help the scholars navigate.

Ron took a few seconds to familiarize himself with the interior before rounding a corner. 

There he saw a table stacked to the brim with books of all kinds. Mostly those with geography and foreign politics as its main set of discourse.

"Hmm." Ron picked the book with the strongest scent from the young master and turned it over to see its cover.

The History and lineage of the Mogoru Empire

"..." Ron blinked.

That boy has some explaining to do.

Ron put the book down and opened another, he flipped its cover but upon doing so, a soft glow was emitted from between its yellowing pages. 

Haaaaaa

Ron withheld the urge to sigh and clenched his jaw. He slammed the book shut with more force than necessary before scaling the nearest shelf.  

Within seconds, dozens of guards could be seen rushing to his location.

"We got the alert. Lock the doors and get me a list of everyone that came in today."

"Yes sir!"

One of the knights came and flipped a switch; doors, windows, vents and even the skylight, they were locked in. 

"Tsk." 

Ron found all of this cumbersome. He stood and dusted himself off then began making his way over to the opposite end of the room, silently moving above ground and using the shelves and their racks as footholds.

He has no idea how Cale managed to read any of his books without triggering an alarm but either way, he'd need to have a proper discussion with the boy. And soon.

Tak!

"Excuse me good sir,"

"Hm?"

"Could you perhaps spare me a quick moment?" 

Jeremy was one of the younger knights assigned to the library. This type of thing wasn't a common occurrence so many of them were more or less new to this whole ordeal. "Oh yes, how can I help?" 

Behind him was an old man looking quite well worn, he was wiping his temple and had a look of distress. 

"I was looking for my Master's son, Cale Henituse. But I find myself lost in this maze of a room, do you happen to know where the nearest exit is?"

***

“I’m not doing it.” 

“Why not? Your favourite weapon is a throwing knife of all things, how is that any different to a kitchen knife?”

Throwing knives were his favotire because it kept these fuckers at bay! Moreover, he still hasn't forgiven this crook for nearly beheading him on his first week here. But there was no way Cale could say that to Beacrox’s face however, so instead he opted to say his second choice of reasoning.

“Well if that's the case, then I don't want any oil popping on me,”

“It’s soup, sir.”

''Soup' he says.' Cale mentally mocks.

“And what makes you think we won't eventually get to that?” Cale was determined to dodge this apprenticeship, he could deal with Ron’s viscous smiles but he wasn't about to sell his soul to this demon of a man. “After I learn how to chop and peel the vegetables, you’re going to have me saute them.”

"Yes, that's because we're going to work our way up. I won't be mindlessly throwing you into the fray without any proper guidance, that would be considered negligence on my part."

The younger of the two grimaced. He hated how sound that argument was, if he were any less terrified and a little bit less informed about this man's particularly gruesome skillset, then he might have been tempted to accept. Key word here being 'might'. But given his current situation, Cale knew nothing good was going to come out of this arrangement. 

So instead, he opted out.

"Can I not stick to just being Ron’s apprentice? I'll help you cook dinner later tonight if that'll help but the offer seems a bit much, don't you think?"

Beacrox shook his head in disagreement. “It’s a necessary life skill that every child must have." 

They hadn't had the chance to tell him yet but he and his father, Ron, were planning to take the young master out for field missions once he was ready. It wouldn't do the boy any good if he somehow got lost and died of starvation. Hunting and rations were only going to get him so far, Cale needed actual life skills to keep himself alive out there; e specially when neither of the two were around. 

"It'll be good for you." Beacrox urged.

Contrary to what most people think, the standard field mission was more than just infiltrating a base and taking someone out, no, it was more of an art that consisted of multiple complexities. 

Field missions could range from espionage to sabotage to stealth, diplomacy even if you were good enough at it, assassins were versatile. Most of the people that Beacrox knew often spent months undercover, simply gathering information.

As an assassin, you needed to play multiple roles. Live multiple lives. 

Sometimes stealth meant integrating yourself into your target's life so seamlessly that they’d mistake you for something harmless, sometimes it meant being their servant, other times it meant being their cook; and on not so rare occasions it meant you bathed and breathed their blood.

Beacrox turns his eyes over to the boy seated across him.

The young master was by far the most skilled trainee Beacrox had ever encountered but that doesn't change the fact that he had been raised his entire life surrounded by luxury; the boy had never had to work to get food on his table or get his hands dirty to simply survive. No, Cale had people attend to him day and night, even the simple act of getting dressed had to be done with the assistance of either his father, Ron, or Hans. 

Cale would collapse the minute they take him outside those walls of comfort. 

Beacrox didn't want that. 

He needed the boy to understand that survival was more than just having a good head on his shoulders. It was more than simply knowing theory. 

They've already started conditioning him to an environment different from what he was used to but Cale still needed the practical application to go along with it.

“A necessary life skill huh ….” Cale muttered

"Yes sir, it's something every child must come to learn."

Cale's dexterity and precision could be refined through Beacrox's teachings; a dagger wasn't that much different from a knife after all. Once the boy accepts the apprenticeship they could start touching up on his passive skills as a trainee.

The young redhead sat there, deep in thought with his brows furrowed.  "A necessary life skill…" Cale says again.

The tone Cale used made Beacrox hopeful. But just when he thought he had managed to get through to the boy, Cale responds and proves to him just how far-off the target had missed its mark.

“I doubt Lily knows how to cook Beacrox.” 

"..."

The young cook could do nothing but sigh as he dropped his head into his hands.

This conversation is beyond logic at this point. It was starting to remind him of how annoying this punk used to be before they took him in.

Beacrox strained himself back up to look at the young master. “Young master-nim, whether you accept the apprenticeship or not, I will still be one of your mentors." Although it was an important opportunity, Beacrox supposed his approach was a tad bit too early.

"It is not a necessity but the choice is yours to make." 

Perhaps he could try again some other day. He thinks.

However sceptical of his intentions, Cale eyed the thin piece of paper at Beacrox's words. He had already read through everything, the terms, the conditions; nothing was amiss, it was just a regular old contract that led point A to point B.

Though it wasn't really the apprenticeship he minded, if he was careful enough then the cuts could be minimised and burns could be treated. And in addition to his previous skills as Kim Rok Soo, Cale now had the Vitality of the Heart, so the process of learning in his new body wasn't actually that much of a hindrance.

However, the mentor…

"What's with that sour look?"

Cale belatedly realised that he was making a face at the man. He wasn't sure how subtly he had made it but he was sure it wasn't subtle enough, given the mildly offended look on Beacrox’s face.

"Ah… Sorry," Cale quickly schooled his features and turned to look the other way. 

He had about another week or two here at the capital. The annual meeting was a long and tedious process and he didn't want anything to do with it. But it gave him the opportunity to scour the abundant amount of knowledge that was the palace library.

If he accepted this offer then it would cut his already precious time in half!

But if he didn't accept however… then Ron would find out about his meeting with Alberu. His eyes would be on him and finding the necessary information for the war – and not to mention the tools he needed for his next ancient power – would be near impossible. 

Cale sighed.

In the end there was simply no way out of this; whichever option he chose, Cale would still end up with the short end of the stick. 

He might as well surrender at this point.

BONUS: Supper time later that night

"It's so nice of you to help out with dinner young master-nim," 

Hans happily saunters down into the kitchen and loads two full sets of ingredients onto the table. "Beacrox will be here in a minute, so you can start by washing the vegetables while you wait."

He was the prospective butler of this family's County, but he was still learning, as an applicant he needed to work with all of the staff, from maintenance to housekeeping, to kitchen duty, he needed to understand the internal roles and how they worked before being appointed the head of management. 

His role in the kitchen often consisted of dish duty and early prep for meals, following that would be his duties with Ron as a servant for the family. But now that the young master was taking an interest in culinary arts, Hans could relieve some of his tasks over to the boy. 

And good thing too, he still had to help the maids out with housekeeping.

Phew, when was he ever going to finish all of his tasks. 

"Sit tight young master-nim! I'll be back with the third and fourth basket!"

"..."

Cale eyes the heavy looking basket for a solid minute before turning to look back at Hans’s retreating figure. 

When it became apparent that he wasn't going to get any specialized instructions on how to wash the earth looking – yet not earth looking – ingredients, Cale sighed. 

"So much for proper guidance." He said, referring to Beacrox’s earlier comment about him not leaving Cale to fend for himself.

Chapter Text

| Capital of Roan Kingdom

|| 11:42 AM

After settling things with Beacrox, Cale left with Ron and got into the carriage with his father. 

There was a light drizzle hitting his side of the carriage window.

Their wheels creaked as they rolled onto harder soil, the wet splashing and sloshing coming every other minute as their carriage ran over large dips in the road. 

As he stared outside his window, Cale noted how his legs were a few inches short of fully reaching the floor, simply hanging off of the edge of his seat and unintentionally swaying each time their carriage rocked. 

Though he didn’t really mind it. 

It felt rather soothing to not feel the ground underneath his feet again. And as ironic as it may sound, the contact — or lack thereof, rather — grounded him to the fact that he was no longer a thirty-six year old Kim Rok Soo but Instead a twelve year old Cale Henituse. 

Well… twelve and a half. He’d turn thirteen in about five or so months from now. 

Perhaps he could start drinking then? 

Cale didn’t particularly like the taste of alcohol but he didn’t hate it either. And now, with the Vitality of the Heart, it was virtually impossible to harm his body both inside and out —permanently that is— so drinking an entire barrel each day wouldn't really do much, except maybe shorten the intervals to his bathroom breaks.

However Cale knew that it’d probably — no, definitely feel like a chore to constantly follow along with something that he wasn’t. 

The original Cale had developed a taste for liquor when he was nearing his sixteenth birthday, completely emptying their stash by his seventeenth, and falling deep into alcoholism by his eighteenth. And despite having a high enough tolerance, to keep himself from blacking out or getting drunk, the current Cale didn’t really feel obligated enough to follow in that specific timeline. 

'I still need to keep an eye out for Choi Han.' Cale thought. 

And not only Choi Han but there were the Molans and the war as well. Not to mention that damned apprenticeship; Cale couldn’t afford to be intoxicated. No, one wrong move and he'd be done for. 

Taking an interest in liquor should be concerning enough as a child, Cale didn’t need to fully delve into the alcoholic image to achieve that. And either way, it wouldn’t change too much of the novel, no matter what route he’d choose, the young redhead would still end up as trash. 

A small smile threatened to escape as Cale thought of all the slacking he could do once people had lowered their expectations of him. 

At times like these, knowing how to negotiate and plan truly was the best.

“Ahem,”

However, his thoughts were cut short upon hearing his father fake a cough. 

Cale tore his eyes away from the window and turned to look over at Deruth. The older man seemed extremely uncomfortable with their silence.

He clasped and unclasped his fingers in an attempt to seem occupied, occasionally breaking eye contact with him to pick at the nonexistent lint on his coat then nonchalantly whisking it away before moving to clear his throat and repeatedly stare back at him again

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.   

Cale could hear his father’s pocket watch ticking from inside his vest. 

With how silent they both were, the rain and its rhythmic ticking almost seemed to echo alongside the horses’ hooves. 

The young redhead followed each action his father made with his eyes, patiently waiting for the older man to speak. While waiting, Cale dug his thumb onto the side of his index in time with the clock’s ticking to count the seconds.  

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

After about sixty, Cale finally decided to take pity on the man. He took a breath in through the nose and asked. 

“Is there something you’d like to ask me, father?” 

"Ah, well…" Deruth opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before eventually settling on a response. "Basen has grown quite well over the years hasn't he?" 

"I … suppose so," Cale absent-mindedly agreed. He wasn’t sure where this was going.

"How is he? Is he doing well?"

BA-BOOM!

A stray bolt of lightning struck the ground a few feet away.

Cale could feel its low rumble pass through his chest. It made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle up at the static. 

Their carriage halted for a moment and the young boy saw his father turn to look outside, he followed suit and moved his eyes over to the spot where the ground was burnt black.

Both Deruth and Cale were the only two occupying the large carriage. 

The rest of their party had either shared a carriage of their own or marched alongside the horses as guards.

“Whoa there, it’s alright. It's alright, just a bit of lightnin’ ain’t gonna hurt ya’. Calm down now.”

The coachman must have been keeping the younger horses at bay so as not to cause panic to the others. 

Ron, the ex-assassin turned servant, was up front with the coachman, keeping a watchful eye out for any bandits that might decide to ambush them on the uneven trail. While Hilsman and the rest surrounded them as they marched.

"So Basen?"

Cale looked towards his father again, this time with a slight amount of confusion occupying his features. 

"He's a good kid. Smart. He's doing well with studies too so you don't have to worry." It was nice to see Deruth finally taking an interest in his brother.

"Ah. That's good to hear,"

"..."

"..."

Another bout of awkward silence stretched between the two. Cale tapped his fingers together a few times before eventually deciding to speak up. 

"About that pen I'm planning to get him, when are you free?" Basen would appreciate the gift more if Deruth had helped choose. The kid never said it out loud but he was looking for approval. Cale saw how he stared at their father during meals, the poor boy was far from being subtle.

"Well," His father trailed off. This was the part he was dreading. "It's a bit hard to say," 

Cale nodded. "You're right," It was hard to find time when their schedule was fully booked with meetings. 

However, their route back to the villa was surrounded by shops of all kinds, an hour or two probably wouldn't hurt. "We should set a date that aligns with our schedule." He concluded.

"Yes?" Deruth seemed a bit startled by his sudden proclamation, but it went unnoticed as the gears in Cale's mind started turning.

"Basen has a preference for fountain pens," He muttered.

"Cale," Deruth called out, unsure of how to bring up the topic.

Cale had learned a lot about the boy, Basen often came to seek him out when he was free. The majority of Cale's time was spent training with Ron, if not then he was catching up on some much needed sleep, but between those was him tutoring his younger brother. Spending time with someone – repeatedly, might he add – makes you pick up on things you normally wouldn't. Like their favorite color. "He likes Green." Or their favorite hobby. "...Journaling too,"

"Cale." Deruth called out again, this time much more firmly.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Cale looked up at his father and suggested the plan he had in mind. "Perhaps we can –"

"I won't be able to come with you, Cale."

"You – huh?"

"The King decided to make full use of our stay at the Capital. I won't have any time,"

"..." 

"I'm sorry."

Cale wasn’t surprised by the news, things like these often happened in his previous life as well. And given their current circumstances with the festival and the weather, the last minute changes were well within their rights.

However…

Cale couldn't quite help but notice the bitter taste it left in his mouth. "That's fine,” he said. “I can still get him the pen." 

He supposed being trapped in a child’s body had influenced the way his mind worked at times. He didn't mean to get so excited over buying a gift. 

In his previous life, Cale had grown up shunned. Not many adults took the time to actually check on his well-being, much less to give him the time and care a child his age needed. 

This was why he had grown up to be such a self-sufficient man. Cale preferred using people and making deals over simply asking for help; seeking assistance didn’t appeal to him because he couldn’t trust them enough to care about his goals, unless there was something in it for them then he’d never assume they were doing it for his sake.

It was the exact same with his current life right now. Deruth may have given him monetary compensation but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he had abandoned his son to cope with something his young mind wasn’t at all ready for yet. 

Death.

"Right… yes," Deruth mumbled, trailing off as he avoided his eyes.

Sensing an end to their short conversation, the young redhead resumed looking out their window, crossing his arms and leaning back into the soft cushions. 

He sighed.

Many forget, but death is often a foreign concept to a child that has yet to encounter it. 

The closest thing they could associate it to is sleep. Yet death is nothing like sleep. 

People who went to bed at night, woke up the following morning. People who were greeted by death stayed dead until their corpses rotted over with maggots stipping flesh off of bone.

Death wasn’t warm nor was it safe, no, death was cold and death was cruel. It was painful. It stabbed at you and clung to your heart with vicious vines that refused to let go. 

If one would ever be inclined to force them off then they’d only end up hurting themselves even more.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick…

Cale would often be told countless times, over and over and over again, to be strong for his father. Forcing him to stifle his sobs and wipe away his unshed tears to remain composed enough for the two of them. 

‘Rip the vines’ The voices would say.

What absolute bullshit that was.

Kids weren’t supposed to be treated as emotional pillars for adults. It must have been so confusing for a child to suddenly lose someone they loved and be told not to cry about it.

As Kim Rok Soo, he had barely managed to stifle his own grief, he wonders how the child could have ever managed his.

Of course, he understood that people needed time to grieve by themselves, but Deruth had left his son to cope alone, and had even formed a new family before Cale’s wounds had a chance to fully scab over.

And even after that, he had allowed his boy to grow bitter and spiteful to the world, doing absolutely nothing except fuel his temper with gold and neglect.

That didn’t sit well with him. It left an uncomfortable tingle on the tips of his fingers that wouldn’t go away unless he rubbed at them raw.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick…

He'd hate for that same neglect to happen for his younger broth– 

BA-BOOM!!!

"...!" 

Deruth's eyes momentarily turned to his son who had leaped at the thunder's call. 

"Are you alright?" 

"... Yes," It took Cale a heartbeat too long to answer. 

'What am I doing?' He thought.

Cale Henituse's past had nothing to do with him. Why was he getting so worked up about it?

'It doesn't concern you,' He reminded. He didn't have a right to be upset about it at all.

But no matter what Cale did, he couldn't quite rid himself of the bitter aftertaste. Perhaps it's because he himself had gone through something similar? 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.. 

"... Sigh,"

"Cale?"

Either way it didn't matter.

"I'm fine." 

He really was.

To get his mind off of things, the young redhead decided to put the matter to sleep and plan how he was going to stage his downward spiral into alcoholism. It was the first step to securing his slacker dream after all, he needed to make it seem realistic. 

***

The King had ended the meeting early that day but someone had come running after the Count to inform him that they would be extending the succeeding events. Something about squeezing in another gathering before the week long banquet. 

This meant longer meetings, longer discussions, longer documentations, in arguably less time. By the time he’d finish a day’s worth of work it would probably be half past ten, he doubted any store would be open past that time.

At the sudden change, Deruth may not even be able to bring Cale along as the meetings would stretch on for the entire day. 

His only consolation was the fact that he and his boy would be attending the mid year festival together as the representatives to their household.

"Alright then," Deruth shifted in his seat and cleared his throat before looking outside the window opposite to Cale’s. 

The lush greenery that had once surrounded them as they traveled, had now made way for residential homes and small shops and bakeries. Tiny trinkets and fruits could be seen displayed on either side of the road, the dreary atmosphere and the light drizzle doing absolutely nothing to dampen the spirits of the bustling market. 

Deruth could see their smiles. He could see their laughter.

Though he supposed it wasn’t that much of a surprise to see everyone so lively at this time and hour, the festival was nearing after all. 

Their annual meetings were usually followed by a celebration of sorts, citizens and travelers alike all came together to feast and to have fun, to celebrate yet another successful harvest perhaps.

However that wasn’t exactly what Deruth was staring so intently at. No, Deruth wasn’t looking at their smiles. He wasn’t looking at the enthusiastic gait their steps nor the playful splashing.

Deruth was looking at the reflection of both him and his son.

The distance between them had seemed like a gorge. An endless pit with a wide enough mouth to swallow the entirety of their estate and more.

Deruth had initially tried filling that gap in with money. 

He had tried filling it up to the brim with gifts, with toys, with clothes. Deruth had given his boy everything he could find, to build a bridge of sorts between them, to mend the damage. 

However, each offering he’s ever made, only seemed to have chipped at the edges and widened their distance even more. To the point that even their servant, Ron, had noticed.

Deruth clenched his fists upon remembering their talk earlier that morning.

“Whoa there,” the coachman said.

The Count hadn’t even noticed that they'd reached their destination until the carriage was pulled to a stop. 

"Cale," Desperate in his attempt to fix things, Deruth hurriedly called out to his boy before the young redhead could step out. 

This startled Cale. 

"Yes…?" He asked. He was one step away from Ron and the umbrella and the position he was in was quite stiff.

"..."

"Yes?" He asked again.

"..."

Cale tilted his head at the lack of response.  "Father?" 

"Count Wheelsman – " Deruth shook his head – "No, Lady Ubarr has invited us to their territory. Would you like to go sightseeing with me?"

Forgetting his earlier discomfort, Cale's eyes lit up. 

"When?" He asked.

The Northeastern shoreline was where the Sound of the Wind was located. It was made up of sharp cliffs and small islands, though it wasn't really sightseeing material. 

Sure, it had a breathtaking view and a complicated maze of whirlpools, but that's what made getting his next ancient power so much harder than it actually should be. 

He had intended to go after he got the rest of his issues sorted out but now that the opportunity presented itself, Cale knew had to take it. 

"After the festival," Deruth was mentally commending himself for picking Lady Ubarr's invite. If he had known Cale would respond like that then he would've brought it up sooner. "We planned to have a short discussion on how to maintain the border. We can walk along the cliffs once we're done. I heard the sunrises there are breathtaking."

At that response, Cale smiled . 

'After the festival, huh? Good.'

This meant he had time. A good two weeks or three if he's lucky. There was no way Cale was going to swim down to get that thing barehanded, he'd die before this body got to experience its 13th birthday. No. No, he needed tools.

And as painful as it was to say, he knew exactly where to get them.

"Sure. Yeah, let's go do that."

Things were finally starting to look up.

***

2 Days later

| Royal Palace; Roan Kingdom

|| 10:30 AM

Tasha lost count of how many times she’s had to snap her nephew out of a daze. 

"Alberu," Tasha dropped the textbook she was holding onto the table, startling the teen. "If you aren't going to pay attention then you may as well give your seat up for Crown Prince."

He’s been like this ever since that god awful meeting with the nobles. Everyone in the royal family had to take part and make an appearance at the official start, however only the King was allowed to remain for the duration of the gathering. It was a formality of sorts that served no other purpose but to show the Nobles that the crown still held strong. 

Either that or to have them take their pick. To choose their Crown Prince.

Tasha wasn't acutely aware of the specifics but she knows that whatever happened then had to have caused enough of an impact on the teen.

"I was paying attention," 

"Oh were you?"

"Yes –" Alberu raised a brow and slid the book closer to him– "I was."

He attempted to flip through its pages in a nonchalant manner, perhaps hoping to pass it off as an instinctive habit.

Though Tasha took note of his little cheat and slid the book closer to her instead. 

"Who signed the agreement for the Northern region's trading rights and mainland passage?" The dark elf crossed both her arms and asked.

Alberu was usually a very good student. He almost never took things for granted. He didn't share the same privileges as his half brothers who received full support from both the King and their respective mothers, so he strived to make due of what he had. 

Tasha couldn't always be there for him since she wasn't an official member of the royal family; she paid him frequent visits but the child mostly grew up on his own inside the empty Palace. And perhaps as a result of that, Alberu had become very religious with his studies, but today he seemed a bit off. 

He spaced out more times than she could count and didn't respond when called. He was lost in his own little world and no matter how many times Tasha dragged him out of that daze, the teen would simply dive back in not a minute after.

She doubted he learned anything during today's lecture.

Though contrary to her expectations, her nephew managed to answer her without pause.

"The 3rd emperor's 2nd son, Mewth," Alberu said, speaking as if reciting something he's memorized a hundred times over. "He signed it in place of his father and older brother since both were tied to a political dispute with the south."

Still doubting his words, Tasha continued to prod. 

"Alright then. Why was there a dispute in the south?"

"Tax evasion,"

"Their proposed solution?"

"A monitored collection."

"How about the issue with the tax rates, was that problem ever resolved?"

"On paper yes, in practice no; the Duke put the matter to sleep right after the Empire's eyes left them. Their rates are still as high as ever."

Tasha paused. 

She was absolutely certain this brat wasn't listening.

"Hm." After a brief silence and a 10 second staring match, Tasha eventually nodded and admitted defeat. "I suppose you were listening…"

Alberu pressed his lips into a line and tipped his head down as if to agree.

"Does this mean I'm dismissed for the day?" 

"No, only until noon. We still need to cover your last lesson on Administration." Tasha tapped her index against her arm and thought back on their last discussion. "Do you have your notes with you?" She asked.

"Yeah, in the office," Alberu replied, standing to pack his things. 

Each sibling had a separate study and office for when they started to address small kingdom related issues. Alberu had just recently gained his own despite already being seventeen. He was supposed to have one by the age of fifteen at the latest.

As Tasha watched Alberu clear his desk, she felt a bit guilty for doubting him. He's gone through a lot, perhaps he crossed something that upset him that day.

She should have been more considerate.

"On second thought, why don't you take the rest of the day off instead?"

"Yes?" Alberu seemed confused at the sudden offer. His aunt was very strict when it came to studies so she hardly ever wasted a second on day offs.

"You've worked hard," Tasha smiled. "I'll handle those old geezers so for now just go and enjo–"

"I will indeed, thanks!"

Before Tasha could get another word in, Alberu had left the study.

A startled laugh escaped when she realized just how happy her nephew had become after being given a break. How stressed would that child have to be for him to rejoice at having the afternoon off?

Tasha chuckled to herself as she packed Alberu's materials. She stacked his books up and cleared his desk. 

After putting everything away, Tasha dusted herself off and turned to face the chalkboard; what she saw made her want to swear at herself for not realizing sooner.

While she discussed she wrote notes on the board. She had completely forgotten to erase them when she questioned Alberu. 

No wonder he answered everything correctly. That cheat!

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Tasha, I got you that cheesecake you … wanted," A young teen about her nephew's age came and knocked on the door. However, upon seeing the death-like aura she had released onto Alberu's study, his words trailed off. 

"Did I come – are you, is this a bad time?"

There were multiple dark elves disguised as regular workers at the Palace. They were fond of both Alberu and Tasha, often bringing them small gifts and snacks.

"Del, give me that knife."

"... Why?"

"Give me–"

"Tell me why first."

But for the most part they tend to stay away during study time.

Why, you ask?

"If you won't hand me that knife then tell me where my youngest nephew is." Tasha clasped her hands together and looked deceptively angelic. However, Del knew better.

"I'm almost afraid to answer that."

"Then hand it over."

They didn't want to be caught in the crossfire.

Del decided to let fate take its course as he handed Tasha the butter knife.

Chapter Text

Alberu decided to forgo the standard practice of using a door and left through one of the nearby windows. His aunt was sure to hunt him down like a mad dog either way, so it was best to make his escape before that hound of a woman even realises he cheated.

Once a safe distance away, Alberu takes a quick second to look back for prying eyes, then swiftly hoists himself up a windowsill.

The young prince didn't have any formal training nor an instructor like most of his siblings did, but he didn't plan on making a fuss about his lack of accommodation. Being secretly skilled was his version of a trump card. If another attempt at his life was made then he'd have to at least be ready with some form of self-defence skills under his belt.

Last time he had barely made it out alive, had it not been for his aunt's intervention, Alberu would have had his head rolling about in some ditch by now.

Well it was either that or rotting by the riverbank.  

Alberu shuddered. "Awful memory, that one,"

Regardless though, the young prince decided to keep up with his training. It would be good to come prepared; his mother's allies were centuries old. There was a lot they could teach him.

However, before he could completely settle himself, Alberu felt a soft something land on top of his head. Perplexed, the young blond patted the spot then looked up just in time to avoid being crushed by a deranged maniac.

"What the…!"

The prince caught himself on a nearby tree and clutched his chest. He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline flow through his body as he tried to make sense of the situation.

Was this another assassination attempt?

Should he have stayed with his aunt?

Alberu breathed in hard through his nose and was prepared to run, but before he could even think of taking another step, the culprit straightened themselves back up and looked towards his direction.

The prince momentarily paused.

"...Cale Henituse?" 

"Ah… Your Highness, the prince."

Seeing the little menace had Alberu absolutely dumbfounded, and for a split second, Cale had almost looked just as startled by his presence as well.

“You’re – ”

“Pardon me,” 

“Ye-yes?”

Cale pushed aside the prince’s foot and grabbed the small marble like sphere from between the damp grass. He polished the marble for a bit then slowly walked away as if nothing had happened.

"..."

Alberu was speechless. 

He had indeed taken full offence at having been asked to move out of the way for a mere marble – it was rude enough to be cut off like that, nevermind his status and how he was a direct descendant of the King – but currently he was more concerned about how this kid had just jumped out of the third story window.

Fully intact and still very much alive , might he add.

'Honestly,' He sighed.

Alberu rubbed his temples then ran after Cale. “Young master Cale,” he called.

“Hm?”

“Any particular reason as to why you’ve been jumping out of windows as of late?” The incident may have phased him for a short while but the prince was smart enough to know that those stances weren't something a normal person could do without proper training. And even then they would still need to do a great deal of conditioning to fully ensure that they'd land without any lasting injuries.

Cale didn't even come up to shoulder. How was he able to perform something Alberu still struggled to do even in the basest of forms?

It was mere curiosity with Cale's surprising intelect. But now he simply had to know.

'What are you up to Henituse?'

It was said, long ago, that the Henituse family were once great defenders, they protected the people from the beings that lurked beyond the Forest of Darkness and guarded the walls, fortifying them, strengthening them. Those stories still held true, but these days the creatures never strayed too far away from their territory, the Henituses were no more watchmen than they were guardians.

But still…

Did they all receive some kind of special training or something? 

Contrary to his expectations of a flustered response however, Cale had instead tilted his head in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He asked. "Who jumped? Me?"

The prince was taken aback. "Huh?"

"Huh?"

Didn't this kid just jump out of a three story window?

"...Huh?"

"Your Highness, you must have mistaken me for someone else, I came with one of my servants from behind the palace,"

Unable to believe his words, Alberu looked back expecting to see nothing but an empty field, but instead was met with a man who had the Henituse crest embedded into their chest pocket. 

"Ah," Alberu instinctively took a step back in surprise.

"Pleased to meet you." He nearly stutters. This man had a terrifyingly silent presence, enough so that the prince had forgotten that he was to be greeted first given their difference in status.

As if catching the minor slip, Beacrox gave the blond a sharp grin before lowering his head to return the greeting. "Likewise, your Highness. It's an honour to be in your presence."

Moving to stand beside his servant, Cale continues. "We do apologise for the earlier intrusion, prince Alberu, but we must be on our way. One of our horses escaped their pens and Beacrox here – " Cale nods head towards him.” – has spent his first few years at the County as a stable boy. They're much more used to his handling so catching them won't be that much of a hassle if he joins in."

"Joins in…" Alberu tilts his head at this, confused. "You mentioned horses earlier; are you headed to the stables?"

"Yes, we cut through the courtyard earlier to make haste."

At that response, Alberu's eyes darted to Cale's dress shoes. They were clean. The courtyard was flooded from last night's rain, Cale's shoes should be caked with mud.

Not only that but the stables were off limits to everyone except the royal curriers. The Crossman family's assets were kept at a separate pen away from the others, but to prevent any issues from occurring, the original coachmen that came with the territory representatives were allowed to care for the carriage horses.

Of course, in the event that a horse were to escape, their men followed a process that needed little to no outside help at all. 

There was absolutely no reason for them to be there.

So why would Cale….

A thought suddenly occurred to Alberu.

"You aren’t lying or trying to gaslight me, are you?"

"..." 

A brief silence filled the space between the two at the prince's question.

"No, your Highness. That would be treason."

Treason in the Roan Kingdom meant being stripped of your title and surrendering the entirety of your assets to the Royal family. On top of being reduced to a glorified commoner, you either lived the rest of your life in solitary confinement or had a front row seat to the Crossman family's personal guillotine. 

"I've been told that treason is bad." Poverty and death weren't exactly appealing prospects to someone wanting to retire wealthy. "Very bad,"

Alberu rolls his eyes at the return of Cale's facade.  "That's remarkably insightful of you." 

"Thank you, I take pride in it."

The conversation was going nowhere so Alberu opted let the two go. However as soon as they were out of his sight, the prince makes a split second decision to tail them from behind. If the little menace wasn't going to spill then he may as well tip the can himself, as a prince he was expected to be familiar with the palace's interior, all their exit routes and passages. 

"Twelve, thirteen… fifteen, ah here we are." At the seventeenth window, Alberu makes a climb. He planned to cut through the palace to get to the stables, if Cale wasn’t there then he'd scope out the area, find possible leads. The stables weren't his favourite place to be at so he should be safe until his supper. 

Contrary to his expectations however, Alberu would soon face his darkest fears.

***

"...!!"

Del's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull when he saw his cousin's head pop up from outside the window their aunt had just recently passed.

'Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.'

This brat was mere centimetres away from being caught.

Del waved his hands and motioned for Alberu to go back. Forming X's and mouthing No's in a desperate attempt to warn him of his impending doom.

Alberu was already halfway through the window when he caught sight of the gesture. He hastily lowered himself back down, unhooking his leg from the windowsill and silently praying to whatever gods felt generous enough to listen as he did his damn hardest not to fall. 

His very helpful but not so caring cousin however, felt the need to assist by giving him a quick shove.

"Fuck –!"

Tasha heard a strained whisper and a soft thud before she saw her eldest nephew leaning against one of the nearby windows.

"Lovely weather today, am I right Tash," A loud clash of thunder rang outside and painted the halls white. "Real peaceful, if I had to say." 

"..."

"... "

"Ahem, so anyway, I heard Alberu frequents the garden. May I suggest doing a quick sweep, perhaps a thorough scan if need be? That punk couldn't have gone too far with those scrawny little legs of his," Del rambled on despite being an inch shorter than his younger cousin.

"Oh, and personally I wouldn't waste too much of my time on the courtyard, much too wide a space for – Ow!"

"Who gave you permission to call me by my first name?"

Del rubbed the sore spot in his forehead and grumbled. "I just insulted a prince but you're mad cuz I called you by your – ?" 

"My…?" Tasha smiled, brow raised and knife still in hand as she urged her nephew to continue. 

Del was quick to abandon his previous grievances. "No you know what, I was wrong. It is completely, and truly in the right for you to question, aunt Tasha. My apologies. Take my word for it, we'll find him and give him a thorough beating."

Del led his aunt by the shoulders and discussed all the places their favourite halfie liked to hide at.

As the voices faded out Alberu vowed to give his cousin hell as he picked himself off the ground. He dusted his trousers and picked the blades of grass that stuck to him, there was nothing he could do about the mud stains though so he supposed that amount of tidying up would have to do. 

He swiped his knee a few times before visibly pausing when he felt a slimy substance coat the tips of his fingers. 

Alberu wasn't in the mood to check if he had landed on bird droppings right now, but if he did then his cousin Del would never see the light of day again. 

Ignoring the sickly feeling of goo in his fingers, Alberu wipes his hand on the wall beside him and decides to take the long way around the castle instead of his earlier plan of cutting straight through it to reach Cale. 

***

"Your alibis need work, sir."

"He bought it, didn't he?"

Very early on, Deruth had given Cale a list of all the restricted areas in the palace. Marked bold and written in bright, bright, eye-catching red, were the treasury and training fields; following closely behind were the stables and the upper floors of the palace library. 

Everyone with a head knew they weren't allowed in unless they had the official seal showing an approved visit.

However, a certain someone had decided to declare to a Prince – who, mind you, should have known that they didn't have the authorization to enter – that they were going to waltz right in without prompt.

"Lying is only effective if you have a sound enough argument."

They were lucky prince Alberu hadn't asked to see the entry permit.

Cale chuckled, a small ghost of a smile decorating his features as he looked back at his mentor. "What are you going on about, Beacrox, lying is effective when the people you tell them to are dumb enough to believe it," the young redhead then looked both ways before crossing the busy street. "Now's not the time for theory though, we're looking for someone, remember."

Billos Flynn. 

The bastard son of a wealthy merchant.

He had what Cale needed for his next ancient power. Or at least had access to acquiring them. 

The sound of the wind was lodged deep within the heart of a whirlpool, if he so much as dips a toe in those waters, Cale would be shredded to bits before Choi Han even got the honours of doing it himself.

He needed the tools. He needed the gear.

And Billos was just what he needed.

"Come on we're almost – hup!"

"Watch it, boy!"

Cale's glares at the coachman driving away and turns to look up at Beacrox. "Thanks. You can put me down now. It's just across this street." He points.

The two were currently in the midst of a bustling marketplace, the street damp with rain but filled with trinkets of all kinds. Cale had an air of excitement around him that was very rarely seen. He was keen on visiting this one tea store that held poetry books, Beacrox was pretty sure they had a main branch back at Rain city as well.

From an outsider's point of view, the choice itself seemed dull and lacked the vibrancy of the town's festive occasion.

However, Beacrox was already acquainted with Cale's reading habits. The child would read from dusk till dawn if given the chance, he could understand the young master's hype; but that didn't mean he was going to let that excitement get the better of the boy.

"I'll carry you," Beacrox had grabbed Cale by the scruff of his coat before the carriage got to him. Now though, he straightened out the wrinkles he caused and scooped the young master up. "Be still." 

"Yes? Wait no, I can– no put me, Beacrox I can walk."

Cale hated being treated like a child, being treated as such was mortifying if you took into account his mental age.

"I said be still. I might drop you." Beacrox adjusted his grip on the boy and carried him under his arm like a sack of potatoes. All sense of duty and respect gone as the older man ignored Cale's squabbling.

"Beacrox!"

From afar the two looked like a regular pair of arguing siblings, one calmly walking across the street while the other fighting tooth and nail to be put down. 

Eventually though, after much struggle, Cale decided to stay limp and hide under his hat in an attempt to ward off the shame.

He silently thanked himself for having the initiative to wear a disguise. If anyone found out about this he'd die of embarrassment.

Beacrox walked up to the entrance.

He and the young master had agreed to visit the shop for a short while then head back before either of their fathers found out. Cale said he wanted to meet someone but it was hard to believe when he insisted on a shop called the fragrance of tea with poetry.

"Master Deruth will meet us for a quick recess after the first half of the meeting. We have to be there by noon at the latest, lest father finds out." Beacrox urged Cale into the shop before closing the door behind him. "Make haste." He said.

Clack!

***

|| Earlier that morning, Henituse Villa

| 4:21 AM

"Ack…!"

Cale failed to catch himself and landed heavily on his arm. 

"Balance, young master-nim. You must find your balance."

"I'm trying," Cale hissed, low enough for Ron not to hear. 

He and Ron were currently out in a clearing polishing his reflexes. For the past half hour or so, the old man has been throwing him around in different angles and pushing him past his very limits, without a single ounce of mercy or even fear of accidentally killing him.

Cale had been steadily growing more used to these harsh beatings but this was too much, even by his standards.

Gasping, Cale then rolled out of the way as a large axe landed right next to him, he grabbed his staff and mutely groaned at the dull ache left behind by the fall.

The axe was by far the largest and most unusual weapon they had utilised since the start of his training; it was easily the size of Cale's torso and had a chain attached to its hilt.

He traced the chain with his eyes and was met by Ron’s eerily calm face a few several feet away. "You're getting slow, sir."

The old servant flicked his wrist and before Cale could even realise it, the axe was sent flying his way once more. He ducked under the swing and made a hasty turn as he sprinted towards Ron. 

Frantic as he was, Cale had no time to think of organising his strikes, he swung his staff without pattern and hoped to somehow catch the older man off guard with his spontaneity. It was hardly his preferred tactic but fatigue had never once been kind to its victims.

Cale aimed for Ron's legs. Then his chest. And without missing a beat, the boy tried swinging for the assassin's head. 

In hindsight, that was probably the worst place to aim at given their proximity. 

"Shit –!!" 

Cale felt a strong force jerk him up into the air before it slammed him back down. 

"Sloppy." Ron tisked.

The poor boy hardly had any time to understand what had happened before the air was knocked out of his lungs a second time. 

“Ugh..” Cale was bruised beyond belief and it felt almost nauseating to breathe. “Ron – ” he groaned – “Ron, timeout.” He probably had a cracked rib. And judging from the chain markings on his arm, he'd leave with a minor sprain as well. 

Cale rolled onto his stomach and made an attempt to reach for his weapon, breathing very shallowly to ease the pressure he felt on his chest and clenching his teeth at the pain in his arm.

“There are no timeouts in a real fight, young master-nim. You either win or find yourself unfortunate enough to lose.” Cale heard the chains on Ron’s weapon move before he turned to look at the older man. He was met with the reflection of his own features as the axe pointed towards his neck. “Which side are you leaning towards, hm?”

Ever since that meeting, the intensity of his training sessions have been upped tenfold. Ron no longer adjusted his pace or gave him any hints, from then on, it's been a raw, and desperate fight for survival. 

"I'm…"

But before Cale could even finish his line of thought, Ron lowered his weapon and headed towards the forest. "Get up, it'll be dawn soon. The watchdogs are out."

Cale furrowed his brows at Ron’s unusual behaviour. 

Why was the man so agitated? Surely it couldn't have something to do with his run in with Alberu? 

"Come along sir, we'll touch up on your hunting." 

Cale opted not to question Ron as he got up on shaky legs. He walked towards the forest’s edge where the older man stood. 

‘My throat itches,’ He thought.

Thinking nothing of it, Cale slowed in his steps and cleared his throat a bit to get rid of the tingle. 

“Hu-hem… ahem,”

Ron noticed the young master slowing down and felt a sense of guilt building up in his chest. Perhaps he was too harsh on the boy. Ron turned and walked back to Cale, intending to apologize and maybe end their session for the day when… 

“Cough! Cough!!”

“Cale!” Ron rushed towards the boy and dropped their things.

What started off as a small cough had turned into a huge fit with the boy hacking out his lungs in a desperate attempt to breathe. 

A dark sticky liquid bled from between Cale’s fingers as he held them to his mouth. 

He dropped to his knees.

“Young master-nim!”

He distinctly remembers hearing panic in Ron's voice before feeling infinitely better. His bones no longer ached and his fatigue had cleared up.

Huh. With how good he currently felt, his dramatic display earlier had him feeling embarrassed. 

“I’m fine.”

“Sir, you –”

“No really, I’m feeling better now. We can go for another round,” It was always a pain to clean the blood out from underneath his fingernails but he supposed it was enough of a compromise if it meant he'd feel this refreshed. “We’re at lesson six, right? Hunting?”

Cale smiled. These Ancient Powers honestly felt like a cheat, if only he could use his shield more often then it would be perfect.

“...”

Noticing the silence, Cale looked up at the older man. “...Ron?”

“Young master nim...” 

"Ah," Cale dropped his smile when he noticed the death-like aura Ron exuded.

***

Cale yawned as he walked a leisurely pace behind Hans. 

Today marked the third day of the annual meetings, they weren't even halfway through the first phase and Cale was already craving the end of it. 

His hair was neat and his clothes were pressed clean but his complexion was far from decent. 

Cale was exhausted. 

"You must keep in mind your health and your opponent's strength, young master-nim. If the only thing on your mind is completing the mission's objective then you may find your head rolling amongst the weeds."

Ron was especially harsh on him that session. Usually if he asked for a break then the man would happily grant him his request. However, today….

It really seemed like he wanted to kill me.

Cale shivered at the viscous memory. He thought he had somehow gotten through to the man but he must have gotten too comfortable.

As he entered the dining room, Cale greeted his father and sat at the opposite end of the table. He waited patiently for the servants to serve him his meal.

Lost in thought and more spaced out than usual, Cale frowned.

Something about that encounter didn't sit quite right with him.

"It would do you well to avoid those stronger than you. Keep away from them."

Naturally Cale, or Kim Rok Soo rather, knew not to underestimate an opponent, he had witnessed first hand how devastating that mistake could be after all. 

And it's not like he didn't think of other factors that went into completing a mission. In his previous life as a team leader, Cale took everything into account, he'd often spend his time creating endless simulations, creating endless scenarios, thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong, and would go wrong, and make an escape route for both him and his team; he did this even for missions they had yet to be assigned to. 

He was that careful. 

He was that prepared 

Cale needed to put the same amount of effort into assuring he and his team survived every single encounter they had with an entity.

He knew to keep his opponent's strength in mind. He also knew when to take the risk to ensure they all lived.

However, Ron seemed to think he was being reckless.

"You charge in without thinking of the consequences."

Cale frowned at that.

"You don't value your well being."

"If it means completing the objective then you have no problem with using yourself as a tool."

"It's sheer lunacy, sir."

This was where Cale drew the line. He respected the older man because of his experience in the field and for everything he's taught him but he wasn't about to let him trample on something he had taken such great care to fix.

"Need I remind you of your position in my life, Ron." This was the first time he had ever gotten truly angry at someone in the novel. " I don't need you to correct something that isn't a problem. We were sparring, I was pushing past my limits, that was all."

Cale shook his head to rid himself of that unpleasant memory. He hadn’t meant to blow up like that, normally he didn't care if anyone said shit about him, his ultimate goal was to become trash. But hearing Ron call him out, when he had worked so hard to cover up on all his lapses, it was, well… disheartening, to say the least.

He should probably apologise though. 

Ron didn't deserve that. 

Looking back, his reaction made sense since Cale hadn't disclosed that particular skillset of his yet. That was the first time Ron had ever seen the Vitality of the Heart in action.

The ancient power did its job of fixing his body but it had to work overtime to sort out his fatigue, a small cough of blood wasn't enough this time; Cale ended up hacking half his lungs out to be able to breathe through the thick sludge. It must have been quite a shock for the man to see his charge suddenly bleed out like that.

Sighing, Cale made up his mind to make amends with the old servant.

"Is the food not to your liking, young master-nim?"

"Huh?" Broken out of his thoughts, Cale turned to look towards the person that spoke.

"Your food." The person repeated, his tense features betraying his tone. "You haven't touched it yet, would you like me to make something else for you?"

"I…" Not understanding what the chef meant, Cale looked down and realised his plate had remained relatively untouched all throughout his meal. "Ah,"

The chef must have taken his silence as confirmation to his earlier question since he moved to take Cale's plate away. "What would you like me t–" 

"No, it's fine. Its fine, thank you."

Cale hastily stopped the chef from taking his plate away and took a few small bites to show that he wasn’t upset about the meal. "I like steak. Thank you."

"Hooo," This startled the rest of the staff. They weren't expecting the young master to be so polite, much less give them thanks – multiple times at that.

It was a busy morning. 

They still had to get ready for the meeting today. As Cale finished the rest of his meal, he stood and bid his father farewell, following closely behind Hans and making his way over to his chambers once again to get dressed, fully unaware of all the eyes that followed him.

***

|| Capital of Roan Kingdom

| 11:04 AM

Beacrox lowered his gaze once Cale's figure disappeared through the doors.

Tension between his father and the young master has been high ever since their fight. He may have played a part in it by keeping things from his father but he hadn’t expected things to escalate this quickly.

It turns out his father was aware that Cale had entered the restricted portion of the palace library but it didn't seem like he knew about prince Alberu yet; the older man was simply concerned about the young master being caught up in something he couldn't handle. 

Of course as his designated mentors, the two should've been bursting with pride at his success, but given the amount of training he's currently had and the limited amount of resources – not to mention the young master's nonexistent experience – it could very well spell disaster for the young boy. 

That was what his father was trying to avoid. 

However Cale, being the stubborn little pup they knew, continued to act without regard for his own safety.

When Cale suggested they go out together, Beacrox was originally against it. This shop had a main branch back home at Rain City, the one Cale wanted to go to was a lot smaller, it held little books and Beacrox doubted the boy would have much luck finding what he was looking for.

But seeing the eager look in his eyes…

"Haaa, let's hope they patch things up soon."

"Who patches up with whom?"

"...?" Beacrox raised a brow and turned to look towards the door. There standing with a proud look on his face was Alberu Crosman himself, the eldest of the Royal family's siblings.

"Good to see you again. Beacrox, was it?" He smiled.

Chapter Text

|| The Fragrance of Tea with Poetry

| 11:08 AM

Billos was never one to stick his nose into the business of nobles, whatever gossip it was they were arguing about didn't concern him. Sure he often made deals and traded with some of the wealthier snobs, but that's all they were; a transaction, an investment. If it wasn't about the money then Billos found it extremely difficult to get himself to care. 

Clack! 

However, seeing a particular boy dyed red with embarrassment after being ushered in by his servant was enough to get anyone's head turning; Billos’ included. 

“Oh?” This boy looked rich. Billos’s eyes crinkled at the mere thought. 

“Red hair, shiny new shoes, that turtle-like emblem, if my memory serves me right then this boy belongs to the Henituse family.” He muttered.

Yup, definitely rich. 

Now Billos may have been an outcast and the subject of ridicule for most of his young life but he was no stranger to wealth, he knew the ins and outs of abundance like it was the back of his hand, like it was second to breathing even, being surrounded by the finest silks and linens often did that to you; he had learned to tell when someone grew up wealthy. 

And right now, his nose was telling him this boy reeked of gold. 

“Welcome, welcome!” Billos beamed as he walked over, teeth bared like a wolf ready to draw its prey in. “What can I help this fine gentleman with on such a lovely morning?"

The Henituse family were a noble group in the northeastern territory of the Roan Kingdom. Their territory was one of the top producers of marble and the family itself was widely celebrated as the finest winemakers in the entire continent, because of this, their influence on the market and its distribution was second to none. Billos remembers the first time he’s ever attempted to trade with this family. It was a sunny day, filled with warmth and promise, he was walking up to one of their breweries and was pleasantly surprised by the aroma even from a distance away, he knew then that if he managed to seal a deal with them then he’d be set for life. 

Unfortunately though, the deal was too far out of reach at the time – the lack of credentials and active business projects had made his proposal a weak one. An oversight in his eagerness, he supposes. 

‘It would be too much of a gamble to take a deal when the merchant’s name itself holds no real weight to it.’  It had stung at the time but Billos had to thank Count Deruth for his advice. ‘I suggest making a start up first, come back when you have the numbers to prove you can handle the responsibility.’

His honesty was just what Billos needed to get himself going. ‘The Capitol is always a good place to start.’ Deruth had said with a smile.

Now that he thought about it though, the Count had two sons, one with dusty brown hair and the eldest with more of a fiery red hue. The annual meetings should be well underway around this time of year, perhaps the Count had brought one of his boys along with him on the trip. But with that being said, what would the eldest son of a noble house be doing out here all on his own? Even with his servant waiting outside the boy was still left relatively defenseless, he could get hurt, or worse yet – scammed.

Cale looked towards the burly man and returned his smile in kind. “I was looking for something light and easy to read. Do you have anything on tides?” 

Billos did his absolute best to keep his lips from twitching up into a smile. “But of course,” 

Men, women, children – money was all the same regardless of where it came from, a clean conscience be damned. 

I’ll just have to thank the Count another way, he thought. 

Born out of his father's greed and lust, Billos was an illegitimate child that he had to claw his way up to the top, clinging to every opportunity he could find, gnawing at them and bleeding them dry till he reaped his profits. 

He wasn't like his siblings, he didn't have an inheritance nor was he even allowed to use the family name. By the time he had managed to leave that hellhole of a life behind, both rot and gold alike had already chipped away at his teeth, leaving him in a constant state of hunger, in a constant state of greed; wealth was the only thing that could sate his hunger these days, and even then it would still leave him feeling a strange sense of emptiness inside. He needed more.

“The Fragrance of Tea with Poetry has an assortment that any man would be proud to call their own, come have a look,” Billos led the boy to a far corner with literature lining its walls. “Let me know if anything catches your attention.”

The books were small but compact, they had a dusty hue to their pages as well, probably from the years of wear and tear. 

Cale chose the first book he got his hands on and sat by the window. 

The Sound of the wind was said to be lodged deep in the belly of a whirlpool, those pools of swirling doom were strongest during the high tide so Cale needed to plan his visit for when the water level was at its lowest and to do that, he needed information. 

“Cold weather often makes tea leaves taste even more delicious. Might I suggest a crowd favorite?” Billos asked.

Broken out of his thoughts, Cale looked towards Billos then turned to look outside the window. 

It was still raining. 

The young redhead knew he had about an hour left before they had to leave for the palace again, Beacrox was deathly strict about schedules so he had to make things quick. Deciding to throw pleasantries out the window, Cale asked in a hushed voice. 

“Does your shop happen to rent merchandise to anonymous customers?”

Billos’s squinted eyes widened for a slit second, more surprised by who had asked rather than the question itself, before he gave the boy a satisfied grin. “That depends, how much are they willing to pay for me to keep my mouth shut?”

“That also depends.” Cale smiled. “How much can your pockets hold?” 

*** 

Meanwhile, outside the teashop and oblivious to the current deal his charge was making, Beacrox frowns. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Oh?” Alberu tilts his head in response, the motion practiced and robotic, as he widens his smile. “I could ask you the same thing, aren't you supposed to be with Cale?”

Beacrox's frown deepens at the familiarity. Were those two friends? He doesn’t recall them ever being close enough to call each other by name. 

Although they did have a relatively civil conversation back at the palace, the young cook couldn't find it in himself to see that as a friendly exchange. Seeing how the young master was practically lying to the face of royalty that is. 

“The young master won't be available to talk, your Highness,”

Beacrox had always had sharp senses. Even as a boy, he had learned to tell when someone was worth trusting. 

However, for Alberu Crossman – the epitome of fake smiles and faux personas, Beacrox found himself at odds with a decision. 

Should he take the risk? Trust him and have him be near Cale? 

No. Beacrox shook his head in disagreement with himself. Alberu was dangerous. There was no use getting tangled up in his mess. 

Given that royalty was essentially just politics and family drama wrapped up in a pretty bow, those of royal lineage often had to step on people and use them to gain leverage, gain power, rank. It didn't matter if you were friends, even family members had decided to sabotage each other's lives just to get a turn at the throne. How eager would they be if the fight were against a mere stranger instead? 

“We can do without the pleasantries,” Alberu waved a dismissive hand.  “Alberu will do just fine.”

“Yes?” Beacrox raised a confused brow. 

Not properly addressing someone from the Royal family were grounds for treason and often resulted in execution if the person involved felt offended enough. 

Was he planning on framing me? The young cook felt his temples throb at the mere insinuation. 

“My apologies. But I'm afraid I might not be able to do that.”

It was right for him not to trust this bastard.

“Shame.” Despite his statement, Alberu’s smile hadn't wavered in the slightest. “Why don't we step in for a quick mome – ” 

Tack!

Alberu’s hand froze in place. He felt the familiar whisper of a blade graze his cheek as he moved to open the teahouse’s door. When he turned to see who had attempted such a reckless act, he locked eyes with Beacrox, who looked just as startled. 

“Give me your money!”

“....” 

“...”

A third person had joined them on the porch.

“I said give me your money!!”

The young teen was at a loss of words. Am I… getting robbed? 

Finding the situation absurd, Alberu nervously chuckles and looks towards the cook. However Beacrox, feeling no obligation to intervene, offers no help whatsoever.

“I um… We don’t, I-I don’t really have any money on me right now.”

The thief laughs, the mere act a mockery to his response already. “You expect me to believe that? With a clean face like yours?” 

“Really, I don’t.” Alberu emptied out his pockets and showed that he had nothing inside of them. 

Before leaving the palace walls, Alberu had removed all his valuables, pins, broaches, rings, he had taken them off and buried them in his usual spot thinking nothing of it. Leaving his belongings behind was something his aunt Tasha had drilled into him as a child. Back then he had simply thought it was so no one would recognize him, right now though, he was beginning to suspect otherwise. 

“Hmm,” Raising a disbelieving brow, the thief points his blade towards the prince’s feet instead. “Well you got nice shoes though, they worth anything?” 

Alberu closed his eyes with a pained expression. The shoes in question were worth an entire villa.

If he ignored how he was currently being robbed, Alberu felt that he needed to up the Kingdom's level of security sometime in the near future. Given how close they were from the Palace gates, thieves should even be anywhere near them. 

Should I just take care of this myself? 

The answer to that splendid question is no. He should absolutely not handle this on his own. 

Putting this man in his place had the risk of being recognized, the streets were packed with residents after all and even had a few knights nearby. 

Though he supposed it was a blessing in disguise that no one had come to help, if any of the knights were to come then they'd report to the King in an instant. It wouldn't do him any good if his father were to find him loitering about instead of catering to the little duties he had as a prince. 

Not to mention the absolute shame he'd feel if they found out he had gotten robbed by a common thief. It would probably hurt his pride less if it were a trained expert of some sort, but one from a random alley? He’d rather eat dirt than have any of his siblings find out.

“Hey, I see you judging me. What’s with that foul look on your face. You think you’re better than me? Huh? Huh?!” 

“Just take the shoes.” 

In the end, Alberu chose peace. 

*** 

Billos had often been told that he needed to work on his patience. 

But as a child, he didn't feel the need for it if his impatience got him ahead of everyone else; first to finish eating, first to finish coloring a picture in, first to gain an award for being most well behaved, being ahead felt euphoric when you knew everyone else was a lap behind. But every now and then, he would be reminded that the empty space behind him didn't always mean he was on the right track. 

Billos kept the sigh from escaping his lips at the thought. 

Clack!

It seems the boy wouldn't be an easy target after all.

The young redhead dropped a small pouch onto the table as proof, it spilled over just enough to show that it was filled to the brim with gold coins. 

Billos shot a quick glance behind him to check for any witnesses.

Luckily, the rest of the shop’s customers were by the opposite end of the building, far too occupied with their own readings to even notice the transaction from happening. 

Satisfied that no one else had witnessed the act, Billos then gave a nearby servant a nod before scooping the coins back into their pouch. “Follow me,” he said.

Cale looked towards the servant and noticed that he had closed up the shop, swapping the previous ‘Open!’ sign to ‘Closed’. 

He hoped this deal wouldn't take too long, Beacrox might come barging in.

Billos led him to a room on the second floor of the building. “This is my private office,” he explained. “No one is allowed to enter without my permission so feel free to drop the act so we can get down to business. What do you need?”

Cale was pleasantly surprised by how quickly the older man adapted to his behavior. “I’m planning a trip to the Ubarr Territory by the end of the month and I need something to keep me alive and quite preferably intact even after a late night swim.”

“A late-night swim,” The piggy man echoed. “Surely you don't plan on jumping into one of those death pools?"

Thinking nothing of the older man's question, Cale asked in return. “And what if I do?”

“...”

“....”

A still moment of silence stretched between the two before the older man burst out laughing. 

Offended, Cale crossed his arms, but given his short stature the act seemed more cute than it did menacing.

Billos laughed in a way that felt far too genuine to be banter, though he had eventually managed to pull himself together and wiped a tear from his eye before placing a piece of parchment onto his table. “If you're dead set on that little outing of yours, our policy requires an 80% down payment and a 30% security deposit for a week-long delivery.”

Cale scanned the document for a short moment before raising a brow at the absurd conditions. “Is that deposit refundable?" 

“I mean, if you survive,” Billos shrugged. “Then of course it would.”

On the surface the Fragrance of Tea with Poetry was a teahouse that sold literature to its customers while they enjoyed a cup of warm tea, but to those who knew of its true nature, it was a hub for unique and rare items, consider it a lesser evil to that of a black market if you would. Anything from ancient artefacts to modern day tools could be procured by their intelligence team within the given timeframe and rented out. 

It was the perfect place for Cale to gather just what he needed. 

However, there wasn't anything on the contract stating what conditions to follow should either party fail to comply with the return policy. 

“On the off chance that something were to go wrong, say an accident that prevented me from returning the items on time, what would happen then?”

“The Fragrance of Tea with Poetry has a floral branch down south, if the contract voids itself due to the other party becoming deceased then we'll be sure to send you our nicest flowers in kind,”

An amused huff of laughter escaped from the boy's lips. He said ‘accident’ not death.

If that's how they were going to play it then so be it. “I'll pay in full and give you fifty if you manage to get everything by tonight.”

“Tonight? You mean by this moonfall?” Billos was surprised by the sudden urgency of the deadline.

“Why, can't you do it?”

A week-long delivery wasn't gonna cut it, it would take too long, they were already set to leave by the end of the month. If they missed the date then Cale wouldn't be able to get his hands on the Sound of the Wind for at least another year or so. 

If he wanted a full proof plan of surviving the upcoming war between the Western and Northern continents then he'd need more than just a shield; his father had already given him the perfect opportunity to obtain the Sound of the Wind, he'd be damned if he didn't take the chance.

Over the course of his stay in this munchkin of a novel, Cale had noticed that even with the Vitality of the Heart, he was still susceptible to more serious injuries; if it struggled that much with just the Molan’s pace then who knows how much it could handle during an all out war.

Cale shivered at the mere thought of a decapitated head. Could the Vitality of the Heart even regenerate limbs? Erm – heads?

Tap. Tap. Tap… 

Billos was quiet for a while, contemplating his answer. “Sixty and we'll make it happen.” 

“Fifty-five,” 

“How about fifty-eight?”

Cale shook his head, suddenly having a weird sense of deja vu occur to him. “I stand firm on fifty-five,”

“That offer is quite generous, however…. is there really no chance of going higher?”

“...??”

Is this a new way of telling people to fuck off or something? 

Exasperated, Cale couldn't help but add a bite to his response. “I wasn't aware the Fragrance of Tea with Poetry had such a dire need for funding.”

Billos chuckled. “It seems I may have misspoke.”

The large man stood up from his seat and walked towards a portrait of himself. “We’ve been in business for a little over two years now, but intelligence says we're stronger than any other group formed within the last decade,” Billos then turns his head to meet Cale’s eyes. “Do you know why?”

The Flynns were a merchant family that tossed aside their second born in favor of the legitimate heir. Being incompetent as the new head had then led that family to lose not only their best asset but also half their entire fortune. While Billos, who had to build his business from the ground up, not only managed to singlehandedly surpass their wealth, but also flourish in every single project he took part in. He wasn't exactly sure how but hoping to humor the man, Cale had instead opted to let his glib tongue get to work. “I suppose it has something to do with your tactical brilliance in the Business industry?”

“You flatter me,” Billos placed a hand over his heart in appreciation, “But yes, it's because we deliver results. We don't go back on our word and we treat our customers right. Of course, for a fee.”

Cale raised a brow, confused. “Okay so… Do we have a deal?”

“I can pull some strings to make it happen, yes. But I'd need you to deliver something for me as well,” the large man pushes aside his portrait to reveal a safe. He punches in the code and takes something out before he gives the boy a quick wink.

“Do you perhaps have the habit of hiring your customers as couriers?"

Not expecting his response, Billos huffs in amusement. “Don't be absurd. My uncle will be visiting the Ubarr territory come spring, I just need you to leave this letter by the Flynn's post office. You'll pass by it on the way,” 

Cale takes the envelope handed to him and stuffs it directly into his chest pocket before crossing his arms in distaste. “It won't be a detour, now will it?”

“Rest assured, every carriage – be it noble or merchant, passes through a checkpoint by the border, the post office is just a few miles up.”

Cale clicks his tongue but offers no other complaint. They draft up a contract and the boy leaves with more than half his entire savings in the merchant’s hands. He then passes Billos a note. “I want you to bury the items by this address.”

“Won’t you be claiming them?”

Cale shrugged. “It's just easier this way.” Easier to get them past Ron, that is. 

***

Earlier that day

|| Royal Palace, Roan Kingdom

| 9:31 AM 

"Ron, the documents please."

The old man smiled as he took a thick pile out from the folder he had with him and passed it to the Count. "Here you are, sir."

As soon as Deruth received the report, he signed it with their family's seal. 

Ron flowed through by handing the King's aid his version of the copy, verifying its contents before moving back to his rightful place behind Deruth. He had kept his senses sharp all throughout the meeting, taking note of where each individual guard stood, both those that were visible and those that were not, and thought of the best way to execute an escape should they ever need one.  

"How is your son doing by the way, Count Deruth? Is he helping out with the Territory?" 

At the question, Ron found himself snapping his gaze over to the King.

The King had always had a special interest in their territory, despite being a small spec on the map, Rain City was one of the more stable areas, in terms of economy that is. That being from the hard work of the previous Counts and Deruth himself, who had managed to double their fortune through their wine breweries. 

They had attempted to recruit the family to their faction on multiple occasions, but had failed at each possible attempt. When you had more riches than you knew what to do with bribes often lose their appeal. 

Because of this, the Royal family had developed a somewhat strained relationship with the Henituse family as the family itself refused to take either side. 

They were far too powerful to be treated as an enemy but also far too useful to be left alone. 

In the end, the Royal family had decided to regard the Henituse family itself as a tool. Silently keeping watch and tracking their every move. 

However, despite their near obsessive interest, they had never outwardly expressed it. Especially not towards a specific individual. 

"Pardon?" Deruth opened and closed his mouth but was finding it hard to reply. "You mean Cale, your Majesty?"

"Ah yes, Cale, was it?" The King mused. "How is he? Still acting up, I presume?"

Ron's eyes turned dark at the King's mocking tone. He withheld the urge to slip his dagger out from under his sleeve and instead busied himself with packing up. It wouldn't be good to act out of line right now, they'd be at a disadvantage. 

Guards, knights, and even a few archers lay in wait for the King command; if Ron were to move an inch towards malice, they'd pierce him clean through. 

"Ah, he's…" Deruth trailed off, not knowing how to respond. He tapped his index on the table a couple of times and furrowed his brows before eventually settling on a response. "My boy is doing well, your Majesty. We’ve just recently started involving him with the external affairs again."

“Oh? Does that mean we'll be seeing him again next year then?”

Deruth raised a brow. “I suppose so, yes.”

“That’s good to hear.” Zed smiled and nodded as if satisfied. “We thought you'd rescinded his rights as an heir. Imagine our surprise when we saw the boy right next to you during the opening ceremony.”

The King laughed and the men behind him followed suit.  

“Ah, yes…” Deruth nervously laughed along but felt a bitter taste in his mouth. There was nothing false about the King’s words but hearing them so plainly felt foreign. 

“That's quite enough of that. Thank you for humoring this old man, Deruth, you may take your leave.”

As they left, Ron kept his gaze on the ground, quiet but conscious of the hidden blades resting within his vest. A small consolation for being unable to use them.

Tap. Tap. Tap…

When the old man moved his eyes towards the doors behind him, the King's widening smile could be seen through the closing slit. 

Boom! 

Ron had a bad feeling about this. 

***

When His Majesty waved a hand to dismiss them, both Ron and Deruth walked towards the direction of the carriage. Ron was supposed to have the Count seated first before moving to fetch Cale, but it seemed his son, Beacrox, had already beaten him to it. 

“Beacrox,” Ron greeted. Both his son and Cale were already by the carriage waiting, albeit a little disheveled. “Anything to report?” 

He raised a brow at the mud caked shoes the two sported but made no other comment as he ushered the Count inside. 

The young master followed suit but made it a point to avoid eye contact with him. If it weren't for the misplaced smell of street food and rain then Ron might have never thought anything amiss. 

Did you both leave the palace grounds? 

He leveled his son with a look and waited for his response. 

Instead of directly answering him, Beacrox had instead taken the bag from his fathers hands and loaded their meeting’s materials into the carriage. 

Ron watches as his son gets the carriage ready to depart, doing tasks a stable boy were meant to carry out.

Just as the younger of the two moves to board the carriage with the coachman, Ron calls out again. “Beacrox,” this time with much more force. 

“Do you have anything to report to me?” At this, Beacrox pauses. It takes him a while to offer up a response. 

“... No. Nothing of importance, father.”

Ron couldn't say he wasn't disappointed. “I see…”

Chapter Text

|| Henituse Vill, Roan Kingdom

| 5:12 PM

Ron let out a silent sigh, genuine in his features for once as he toyed with his dagger. He was currently out back, alone behind the villa and contemplating his encounter with Cale for the millionth time that day.

"You charge in without thinking of the consequences."

 “What? No, I –” 

"You don't value your well being."

“Ron, I was just –” 

"If it means completing the objective then you have no problem with using yourself as a tool!" 

“....”

Ron hadn't realized he'd raised his voice at the boy until a look of betrayal bled through Cale’s eyes.  

“I'm sorry.” The old servant looked away.

Guilt was slowly eating up at him, but Ron wasn't going to take it back, he had meant what he said. The boy's lack of self preservation itself was already a concern, if Cale kept this reckless act up then he'd be gone before he even came of age. However…

Ron let his head fall to hands and signed again. “I'm sorry…”  

Cale was a child. He didn't understand how these types of things would affect him yet. All he saw were his results; but the method of achieving such came at a price. If the young master were ever to answer to these before he was ready… 

Ron didn't even want to think about the possible repercussions the boy could face. 

Seeing the dark liquid staining the boy's clothes, Ron decided to set his thoughts as he kneeled down to meet the young master's gaze. Cale's health came first. 

“Is there anything broken, sir?” he asked, with a slow and tentative hand reaching out. 

When the young master shook his head, Ron gently drew him in closer, “Can you tell this Ron of yours where it hurts then? Hm?”

“...”

At the lack of a response, Ron began wiping away the blood starting with the boy’s hands then up his arms, “You must keep in mind your health and your opponent's strength, young master-nim.” He said. 

“If the only thing on your mind is completing the mission's objective then you may find your head rolling amongst the weeds.” 

Ron had then poked and prodded the boy for bruises and sprains, when he reached a certain point on his arm, Cale gave a wince.

“Ah,”

Ron paused. “Does it hurt?” 

However, instead of answering his question, Cale had pulled away completely, as if repulsed. 

“Arent you training me to be a tool?” Cale had asked, his tone confused and questioning but seeping with hurt. 

They had exchanged harsher words following that moment, it was a fight that Ron wasn’t at all proud of. 

Ron clenched his jaw. 

“Sheer lunacy,” he muttered. 

Cale was not a tool. He was free to do whatever he wanted with the skills they've passed down, but when Ron learned that the young master had trespassed onto the King's personal collection, he had nearly lost it, almost confronting the boy right then and there. It wouldn't have been an issue if it were anyone else's, but the King's? That was a different question altogether.

Of course, he was training the young redhead under his field, and as a mentor he should have been bursting with pride at his success. However, as his friend, the act brought about nothing but concern. 

If he had failed, if Cale had been caught, there would have been nothing he could do to prove the boy's innocence; probation was probably the lightest punishment he could get, but that alone was enough to ruin the young master's entire life. 

How much of a bastard would you have to be to be banned from the palace at the age of twelve? Ron was already starting to grey at his age but the amount of stress this boy brought him was enough to have him go bald.

And to add salt to the wound, Cale had not only trespassed, but had deliberately read from the restricted area as well.

Thus, he had lashed out on the young master and caused a slight rift to form between them. It hadn't been his intention to scold him like that so out in the open, he had merely wanted to remind the child of the dangers that lurked outside and to never challenge anyone beyond his current skill level. 

It was reasonable enough excuse for growth, but for something akin to that of treason or suicide, Ron would not tolerate any such form of thoughtlessness.

Ron was already aware of Cale's tendency to cause a ruckus, that is why he had attached his son, Beacrox, to the boy to ensure he stayed out of trouble, however that seemed to have had the exact opposite effect. 

Because not only had he done something illegal – ironic as it may be, but it seemed he had somehow managed to get his son in on it as well.

"Beacrox, anything to report?"

"No… Nothing of importance, father."

Ron sighed again. 

"You've been doing that quite a lot these days."

“Well, these days there is a lot to think about.” Broken out of his thoughts, Ron pushed off the wall he was leaning against and approached the hooded figure. “Did you get what I asked for?”

"Naturally," said a woman's voice. "These don't cover our region much though. They mainly focus on the Northern territories."

"That will do."

Ron received the satchel and dropped a small pouch in their hand in return. The hooded figure opened the pouch to check its contents and raised their brows for a split second in surprise. "This… this is more than the agreed upon amount."

"Yes." Ron nodded in absent-minded agreement. "Consider it a gift."

"You don't give gifts," if anything, Ron brought death. He was the head of the Molan family and was said to be the best in their field had he not retired. 

"It's for coming early," Ron said. "...I needed these." He added softly after a beat more.

It had been a total of two full days since his argument with Cale, and the atmosphere itself only served to grow colder with each passing minute. He needed to make amends.

"I suppose this has something to do with that little menace?"

The hooded figure had heard a lot about the young master, his reputation in particular was …. curious, so to speak. But she had also gotten word of his training, surprisingly, the young boy had somehow managed to worm his way into their hearts, leaving weeds in his wake and having them grow to an uncontrollable margin. “Trouble with defiance, perhaps?” She asked.

The older man then huffed in amusement. 

"Of sorts,” Ron said. “That puppy of mine can bite now. Fangs and all." 

Ron then opened the bag and flipped through the books one by one. The books had maps to tunnels, to passageways, he liked to believe these weren't open to the general public given the broken seal on the front cover. He smiled. 

Meanwhile, the woman stared as he looked through the contents of the bag. It was rare to see a man of his calibre asking for such a simple request, usually, his requests were accompanied by another head to hunt. This time however, he asked for books. Geography, History, Lineage and Political line ups, and even a travelogue. 

Eventually, after a few moments of silence, she pulled her hood down and spoke. "What will you be using these for?"

Ron couldn't have been asking for the standard hardbound, so the young woman took great care in finding him ones that provided unfiltered information. They were an absolute pain to gather but she was never one to back down from a challenge.

Instead of acknowledging her question however, Ron simply smiled in response, "I appreciate your time, Fresha. I hope to see you again soon."

The younger of the two pouted but made no other comment. She fixed her cloak and headed out once more.

***

Once Fresha was out of sight, Ron turned to address the silent figure nearby.

“Postpone your session with the boy, Beacrox. I'd like to have a word with him,”

Beacrox, no longer feeling the need to hide his presence, comes out from behind one of the nearby trees with a slight frown decorating his features. In hindsight, this outcome was to be expected given the older man's skills but that hadn't stopped the mild annoyance that came with how easily he had done it.

As if sensing his displeasure, Ron chuckles. “You smell of carp and fresh herbs.” He explained, waving a hand through the air in jest to ward off the scent. 

Beacrox takes a seat on one of the logs and ignores his father’s teasing, “What do you plan to do?” he asks. 

“Talk, for the most part,” Ron replied. “It's been quite some time since I've last had a conversation with the young master.”

Beacrox nods at this, agreeing. Preparations for the Crown had indeed taken a considerable amount of their time and Cale, for all his bickering and complaints, often fussed about the long hours he had to spend at the palace. Any time spent outside of training was already deemed a rare luxury. Now that the annual meetings were taking place, it took even more of their already sparse time, Beacrox couldn't find it in himself to fault the child for any tantrums.

These days though, Cale had been unusually – for the lack of a better word – quiet. Doing exactly as he’s been told to do without a word of complaint, which was odd coming from a child whose entire vocabulary consisted of curses and endless criticism. 

Though in truth, Cale was simply happy to now have a source for his materials; said source being a little piggy looking merchant whose wealth rivaled that of a high noble.

The young cook fixed his eyes on the bag his father had slung across his back. It looked heavy. “Are those books for him then?” 

“Yes, do you think he’ll like the gift?”

The books inside must be a peace offering of sorts, knowing his father, he’d have gone out of his way to gather written works that suited the young master’s taste. But rather than history or the usual geography, the boy now had a very keen interest in poetry.

So much so, that it's all he's been reading. 

The young cook held his tongue as he recalled the last couple of days they've spent sneaking out to visit the fragrance of tea with poetry. It was a shop just down south of the main road leading to the Palace. 

Beacrox remembers briefly entertaining the thought of disclosing these visits to his father, but back then he hadn't known how the older man would react, especially not after his argument with the young master two nights prior. So Beacrox had decided against it. Now though, it seemed his father was willing to see things through a different lens. 

“He will,” Beacrox says, in response to the older man’s question. “But the young master is quite taken with poetry these days,”

“Poetry?” 

“Hm,”

That’s new. Ron thought. “Is that where you two went off to that day? To read books?”

“Ah, yes…”

Ron huffed in amusement, already expecting the response. “Alright, I can respect that. But the last I heard, the young master preferred more practical topics like those of academics.” 

Did his tastes change? It was a shame he didn't have such literature on him. 

“That as well, I suppose. But children these days often jump from one obsession to another. Heaven knows what that boy is into these days,” 

Beacrox reaches for the book in his father's hand and looks through it. “Was it necessary to contact Fresha for these though? We could have gotten these ourselves.”

“We probably could have, yes. But our time is sparse these days, venturing out during peak season wouldn't be ideal.” Ron then tilts his head and raises a brow. “Why? Did you have any objections to having Fresha gather them?”

“No. I just…find it a bit odd how an assassin would need anything from a pickpocket, is all.” 

He had met Fresha once before when he was younger. They had crossed paths when he and his father were out on an assignment for their family; though brief, Beacrox could vividly remember the near silent footsteps that had cost them their score.  

“Ah, in that case, let's just say I'm calling in a favor from an old friend then.” The younger of the two withholds the urge to roll his eyes at his father's statement. 

He doesn't recall a favor ever involving a pouch full of gold coins.

While lost in thought, Beacrox feels a slight flick on his forehead. Surprised, he brought a hand to his head and looked up to see his father sporting an amused expression. “Connections are a valuable asset to have, Beacrox. It would do you good to bury past resentments.”

“Past resent – I don't have past resentments.” Beacrox spluttered. 

Ron merely widens his smile in response and stifles the laugh threatening to escape his lips. 

It was almost funny how often he's managed to catch his son being petty these days; the subtle emotion was a clear and loud call for someone with his dense range. 

Being such a stoic man often meant that these reactions were far and few in between. Ron himself had even gone out of his way to elicit such reactions when he felt that his boy was being too stern with himself, but it seems he wouldn't need to try as hard this time. 

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Beacrox rubs the spot on his forehead and routes their conversation back to Cale. “When are we going to resume the young master's training?”

“In a month,” 

Ron had gone too far during their last training session, exerting the boy and pushing him far beyond his usual limits. Cale needed time to recover. Though the injury was nothing more than a minor sprain, Ron still believed he owed the young master this much at least. 

“A month?”

However it seemed not everyone was inclined to agree. 

“Is there a problem, Beacrox?” A slight crease formed between Ron's brows as he asked. 

“I think a month is too long of a break, father, he might lose progress,”

Ron clicked his tongue. “He won't." 

“He will.”  

In the four short months that they had been training together, Cale had grown immensely, however Beacrox knew that stopping now would only plateau the boy into a stagnant pace. 

“...”

“...”

“It would do you good to bury past resnt —

Before his son could even finish his sentence Ron let out a deflated laugh, the earlier tension leaving his body as he allowed himself to take a seat next to his boy. Ron wasn't expecting his words to be said back to him that quickly. 

He had to admit though, Beacrox had quite the comedic timing. 

“Alright, I admit defeat,” Ron said. “We'll resume his training in about a week or so,” That should be enough time for the young master to recover. 

“Right,"

Beacrox looks at his father and notes how his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. It looked pinched, not quite forced, or ingenuine for that matter, but pinched. 

When Ron’s eyes met his gaze, Beacrox looked away. 

“Do you have something on your mind, son?”

There was a brief pause before the younger of the two gave his response. “Once we resume … shall I lessen the intensity of his training?”

“Yes. That would be ideal,”

“....”

“I can tell that that wasn't the question you had in mind though. What did you want to tell me?”

Beacrox runs his thumb over the broken seal on one of the book's front covers. The young master was more mature than either of them gave him credit for. His protective nature with young master Basen was proof enough, he of all people knew what it was like to look after someone and have their intentions be misinterpreted. 

“He knows you meant well,” he says eventually. 

A guilty smile makes its way to his father's face. “Perhaps, but papercuts will still bleed and bruises will still leave you feeling sore.” 

Ron knew what Cale had gone through as a supposed trash son of the Count, just because those words were half meant, doesn't make them any easier to hear. Not only that but it was unbecoming of him to be so harsh on the boy. 

“Dont you trust him?” He'll forgive you. 

They both picked up on the words left unsaid. 

Ron let out a deep sigh and looked towards the forest's canopy. “I trust that he's been hurt before, and that an apology is something he hasn't grown accustomed to hearing.” 

If he left things as they were then Cale might never feel he was worth any of the effort. 

“...”

Ron then let out a small huff of amusement. “I'm hardly one to talk, apologies aren't my strong suit either; but it's only right that I still try.”

“I see,” 

His father was right, it may have been a small dispute but when things pile up, arguments often had the tendency of weighing heavy on you. It would only be a matter of time until things topple over, and by then it would be too hard to clear things up with a simple word of remorse.

“Then… good luck,” Not knowing what else to do, Beacrox rests his hand on the older man's shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze, offering his silent comfort instead.

The two sat in silence for a few moments, before Ron eventually voices out his concern. “Do you still think he’ll like the gift? I hadn't anticipated his change of taste,”  

Beacrox smiles. “Knowing the young master, he'll think you’re giving him homework.”

The two laugh, finding Cale's aversion to work amusing. The young master truly did hate being assigned unnecessary labour; if given the chance he'd avoid it like the plague.

“He certainly would, wouldn't he,” Ron smiled. 

The atmosphere was a lot lighter now, mirth breaking through their stiffness. This was the first time since their fight that Ron could look forward to another session with the boy. He was happy.

***

“Jeffrey should be getting the hall ready by now, why don't we head back.” Jeffrey was the Villa’s head chef, he was in charge of getting the dining hall and dishes ready for the Master’s meals. 

“Of course, but let's not rush ourselves. An evening stroll sounds quite nice, don’t you think? Help us clear our heads.”

“There's no shame in admitting that your joints are acting up, fath – ” Beacrox has but a minute to smile before he ducks under a knife aimed at his head. 

“Oh my, my hand must have slipped. Be a dear and come help your poor father up, Beacrox. Age seems to have gotten to me,” 

Ron had emphasized the word “age” but he spares his son no time to think as he grabs yet another knife and gives a piercing aim towards the man's chest. 

Woosh!!

Beacrox grabs the incoming knife by the handle and manages to narrowly miss being stabbed. 

Ron laughs. His eyes give off a deadly glint as he slips two new daggers from his vest. His son, on the other hand, returns his smile in earnest and tightens the gloves he had on each hand.

“Does this mean I'm forgiven?” Beacrox asks, referring to the outing he had kept a secret. 

“Of course. On the condition that you beat this old man within an inch of his life,”

***  

| Henitise Estate, Rain City

|| 11:03 PM

It was a quiet night. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

A rhythmic clicking of heels could be heard echoing behind a woman as she roamed the length of the Estate's halls. 

From outside, a single light is seen brushing past the mansion’s windows, following in silence the path of its keeper, licking the glass and painting it a soft orange hue before fading back into the shadows that surrounded it. 

Tap. Tap. Tap… 

It had been a stressful week with her husband gone. 

Looking at the growing pile of paperwork often drove Violan to work like a machine, robotic, cold, detached. Sometimes she'd remember to have lunch or take a break, but more often than not she'd find herself working well into the night. 

Tap. Tap. Tap… 

Despite being so busy however, Violan learned that she quite liked these quiet nights. 

They were peaceful. 

She liked the feeling of being the only one awake, being the only one around. It was a nice contrast to see such a busy corridor being empty and quiet for a change; it made the already large hall feel so much more spacious. 

This wasn't to say that she didn't love the life of a busy matriarch of course, she thrived in the art, and reveled in the meticulous nature of being the Lady of the house. 

But nights like these… Violan breathed in deep through her nose and let the cold crisp air reach her lungs as she let her shoulders fall. 

Nights like these, they were more than welcomed. 

Tap. Tap. —

“Basen?” The young woman paused upon seeing her son by the foot of their family portrait. 

“Ah, mother – !”

The young boy quickly got up from his place on the floor. Seeing that he had been squatting down, Violan patted Basen's clothes to get the dust off of him. “What are you doing up?” she scolded. 

“I… couldn't sleep,”

Violan raised a brow but didn't press further. Looking around it seemed her son didn't have an escort with him either, he may have slipped out while no one was looking. This child, really.

Sighing, Violan fixed her dress to squat down to his level and placed her lamp on the floor next to them, its soft glow made the shadows around them seem a lot warmer than they normally would. 

“It's past your bedtime you know,” a soft voice reaches Basen's ears

“I know,” He smiles, a sheepish tilt in his head as he does so. 

“Are you not tired?” 

Basen doesn't answer for a while, he instead looked towards their family portrait, staring long and hard at each of their faces before eventually voicing out his thoughts, “I guess I am,” 

Violan noted how Basen's eyes seemed to linger on a certain redhead. 

Her Basen had always been mature for his age, it often made her wonder if an old man was trapped inside that brilliant little head of his. But it looked as though he was just missing the presence and comfort his older brother brought him. 

“Why don't we write them a letter?”

At the suggestion, Basen's head snapped to her direction, eyes looking especially bright and wide with wonder. “A letter?” 

“Yes, to Deruth and your older brother,” she said. “I've gotten a telegram stating that their next stop is by Ubarr Territory. If we write the letter today and mail it first thing tomorrow morning, it might arrive before they do,”

The young boy's shoulder seems to drop at this, “Does that mean they aren't coming back home yet?”

“I'm afraid not,” Violan gave a sad smile. “But the letter itself will be a warm welcome once they reach their destination, wouldn't you agree?”

Though his disappointment was clear, the young brunet still managed to give a small smile in response. 

Taking this as her queue, the young woman stood and moved to leave the hall. “Come now, I have some ink and parchment left over in my office.”

“...!” Basen grabbed the lamp and quickly caught up to his mother, following behind her and looking up to ask a question with baited breath. “Can I be the one to stamp the letter?”

Violan took her son's hand and gave a teasing grin. “If you promise not to go beyond your bedtime, I might even consider letting you seal the envelope.”

“...”

“Im not hearing a yes,”

“Pftt... Yes, mother.”

Though it was clear her son had no intention of following his schedule, Violan still felt that this was a memory worth treasuring. 

Later, when dawn had arrived, two figures could be seen handing a small envelope to a currier on horseback. 

The air was cold that morning, but their hearts felt warm and full with excitement.

Bonus: this is an epilogue Alberu being robbed in borad daylight

Alberu and Beacrox were currently behind a nearby alley, though said alley had the unfortunate circumstance of being right behind tens of hundreds of parked carriages. 

Plop! Plopp!! 

The prince found himself shivering at the scent of droppings. 

He was breathing very shallowly, trying to filter out the putrid smell of something near rotten. He had tried breathing through his mouth a few moments back but the prince had learned very quickly that the moist, warm air did not make for a very good experience. 

“This is a nice change in scenery, don't you think?”

Beacrox turned to look towards the pile of manure for a short moment, before moving to look back at the prince. 

“I was joking,”

“Hard to tell when you're that good at lying,”

Alberu felt his eye give an involuntary tick at that response. But he couldn't exactly refute the man that had saved him from being robbed. Speaking of – “You know you could have helped before we got to this point,”

The supposed cook was currently tying the thief down with something that looked suspiciously like a dishrag, Alberu had to admit that he admired his resourcefulness, but the mere act of even considering such a harmless household item a weapon spoke volumes of this man's violent tendencies. “I suppose, but I've been told not to butt into other people's businesses,” 

It spoke volumes of his lack of regard as well. 

“Hey, I was being robbed –” Alberu argued – “And does Cale know his servant has the habit of carrying around a knife with him?”

Said knife, being tucked under the man's belt, felt the need to mock him by shining under the nonexistent lighting. 

If Alberu hadn't known any better then this entire conversation could be some weird fever dream. It was definitely a possibility given how worn out he's been with the recent events. 

Annual meetings with the King often took several weeks to complete, so that meant his unfinished work would be distributed among his men. And though neglected by his father's vassals, the prince wasn't an exception to the added work; if anything, the growing pile of documents indicated that the majority of the King's workload had been dumped on him instead. 

“You can ask him yourself, your Highness, you two seem quite… close,” 

“Ah,” Looking at the dangerous glint in Beacrox's eyes, Alberu felt that he was being threatened. “I apologize for speaking so informally.”

Being part Dark Elf meant that Alberu had a heightened sense of smell and hearing, these two in particular often gave him an edge at sensing assassination attempts or detecting poison in his meals, but right now all it was giving him was unnecessary anxiety. 

What was up with this family? 

Cale jumping from the third floor and coming out fully intact was shocking enough, but a chef holding a knife?? 

“...”

Alberu realised that that second statement sounded completely within the range of normal, but he had every right to believe that this man – this, this Beacrox, wasn't. 

I mean look at him. Alberu judged. 

“Hey – ow! Ow!!”

Beacrox ignored the prince's weary gaze and tightened the knot between the thief's hands. 

He was dead tired and he wanted out. He wanted out of this situation, and he wanted out of this alley. It was crawling with filth, the rats were fat enough to be mistaken for kittens, and the mere stench of it all was down right maddening; if Beacrox were to have it his way, then he'd have left the prince to fend for himself without a single ounce of remorse. Royalty could go fuck themselves for all he cared, the young cook just wanted a clean space and his kitchen. 

But as usual, the universe denied him even that. 

“That hurts!!”

“Quite your whining.” Beacrox could already sense the headache coming in. “Nothing good will come out of it.” he added after a beat more. 

“What are you going to do with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we can't just leave him here, can we?” This place was filthy. Sure this man had tried robbing him but leaving him here would be cruel; and not only that, but the theft was a danger to the general public as well. If he was shameless enough to rob a prince, then he'd have no qualms with robbing anyone else that passed by. 

Beacrox may have been petty and lacked the normal respect one should have for those of royal lineage but surely he wasn't that heartless, right? 

“Of course we can. Watch.” Beacrox stood up and started walking away. 

Okay, that was on him; Alberu had set the bar too high, which led the older man to simply walk right under it.

“Hey!! Are you just going to leave me - ah!! Get it off me, get it off me, get it off me – someone he - AHH!!!”

A bulbous shaped rat paraded right onto the thief's chest and started nibbling something within the man's vest pocket. Alberu swears the rat may have caught skin at some point but he decided to think positively and give the poor thing the benefit of the doubt.

“It bit me!! The rat fucking bit me!!!”

Or not. 

Alberu grimaces at the shrill voice but follows after Beacrox, leaving the poor man behind.

The supposed cook was walking a leisurely pace a few meters away. As Alberu jogged to catch up to him, Beacrox plopped a small hat onto the prince's head. “Oof,”

“Wear that,”

“Ah, thanks…” A small brown newsboy cap, it was just enough to cover Alberu's golden hair. 

Alberu had already prepared a disguise of his own, a small pendant imbued with transformation magic, he had dispelled the effects a while back when he first approached the cook, however, he had forgotten to reactivate it after leaving the narrow alley.

The young prince didn't have the heart to tell the older man though, so he had simply accepted the offer instead. 

“The young master is a good kid,”

“Huh?”

“I hope you don't involve him in anything dangerous,”

Alberi looked at Beacrox like he had grown a second head. Cale? A good kid? Okay, he could accept that the little fucker was smart and that he knew how to smile when necessary but did this man genuinely believe that Cale was pure to his core?

“He likes reading and drinking tea, he hates lemons, and loathes exercising even more. If you plan on staying in contact even after the annual meetings, then please keep it to a minimum. We don't want any eyes on him for the time being.”

Dear lord. He did think Cale was pure. 

Alberu felt horrified on his behalf. Setting aside the fact that this man had all but left someone for dead not even five minutes ago, it seemed he was quite gullible and had even fallen for Cale's glib tongue.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Alberu cleared his throat. “But um, he seems quite brash at times, doesn't he?”

Beacrox chuckles. “Most people think that the young master is violent, but he's actually a very sweet child.”

Will you please fuck off?

Alberu was then suddenly brought back the first conversation he's ever had with Cale. He could still hear the ringing in his ears from how loudly that little menace had screamed at him. 

“Yes, very sweet indeed.”