The Black Thunder Falcon flew as if the concept of distance didn't exist.
Six hours dissolved into roaring wind and cracking thunder, while I was clinging to a mana-hardened harness, re-evaluating the life choices that had led me to trusting a baby apex predator with transportation.
The bird chirped once.
A shockwave tore through the clouds.
I stopped thinking.
By the time the Ironcreed estate came into view—its towering walls, layered formations, and ever-present banners bearing the black stallion sigil—I was exhausted in a way sleep wouldn't fix.
The falcon descended smoothly, wings folding with the confidence of long habit, and touched down in the central field with practised ease.
Given Ironcreed logistics, it probably was practised.
The servants and guards were already waiting.
Not panicked.
Not rushed.
Prepared.
That alone told me everything was proceeding as planned.
The moment my boots touched stone, my knees threatened to buckle. I steadied myself, adjusted Nova without thinking, and took a slow breath.
Finally home.
Which, lately, meant temporary safety.
Victoria dismounted last, completely unbothered, as if riding a thunderbird after exterminating assassins was a light warm-up.
Elder Jack stepped forward immediately to address the situation.
"You can relax later," he said calmly. "We report first."
Of course we do.
With that, we started walking towards the Family Administration Office.
...
Family Administration Office
We were seated in a finely decorated meeting hall—polished obsidian floors, reinforced sigil-lined pillars, and a long crescent table etched with authority runes so subtle they hummed rather than glowed.
Several elders responsible for reviewing and cross-checking reports were already present, their expressions ranging from professional interest to thinly veiled concern.
And then there were the unexpected ones.
At the head of the table sat a beautiful middle-aged woman with silver-black hair tied neatly behind her back, eyes sharp and calculating beneath a calm smile.
Lady Mirage Ironcreed.
Head of the Second Branch.
My great aunt.
Opposite her—hands resting on a violin case that radiated quiet menace—sat the family patriarch himself.
Sir Drust Ironcreed.
Musician of Death.
The room felt… heavier with him present. Not oppressive. Not violent.
Just aware.
I could understand the patriarch being here. A dungeon anomaly, assassins, related to his daughter, an SS-ranked Sword Maiden—it all warranted his attention.
But Lady Mirage?
She might be my great aunt, but we were about as close as strangers who happened to share blood and political inconvenience.
Which meant something amiss.
Lenna stepped forward first and bowed.
Alfred followed, precise and respectful.
Arial hesitated—then bowed deeply, hands clasped, tail of her dress trembling slightly.
I… bowed in a way that probably wouldn't get me executed.
Progress.
Victoria stood off to the side, hands behind her back, posture straight.
Unusually so.
The Patriarch's gaze swept over us.
Paused on Lenna.
Then Alfred.
Then Arial.
Then—
Me.
His eyes lingered for half a second longer than comfortable.
Nova did nothing.
Which somehow made it worse.
"Report," Drust said.
Lenna spoke.
She didn't embellish.
Didn't dramatise.
Didn't downplay.
She laid out the dungeon in clean, efficient segments: formation performance, monster density, boss encounter, casualties avoided, and objectives completed.
Numbers.
Outcomes.
Results.
When she finished, silence followed.
Then Drust nodded once.
Drust's nod was small.
But it landed like a hammer.
"Well done," he said. "For a first dungeon."
High praise.
From him, that is.
Lady Mirage folded her hands together, eyes never leaving Lenna. "An F-rank anomaly escalating into a Stage One boss with coordinated packs is… unusual. Your team's survival chances were quite low."
Lenna inclined her head. "Agreed."
Mirage's gaze shifted—briefly—to Alfred, then Arial.
"And yet," Lady Mirage continued lightly, "you returned without loss."
Her eyes finally reached me.
"And with only one internally injured heir."
That surprised the others.
"Internally injured?" Lenna asked, eyes burning a hole into me.
"Don't worry! It looks like He just overdrew his mana & aura a little, which disrupted his energy pathways. He will be fine within a day or two," Drust reassured.
Well, that was unexpected lenna caring about me.
Okay, let's stop kidding myself, she is just worried about her résumé for the Inheritor candidacy.
At that moment.
Lady Mirage's fingers tapped lightly against the table.
Once.
A small sound.
But in a room like this, it might as well have been a bell.
"There is one point," she said smoothly, eyes returning to Lenna for half a breath before sliding back to me, "that does not align with the expected outcome."
I resisted the urge to straighten. That was usually a bad sign.
"The Gale Hound," she continued. "Stage One. High mobility. High coordination. Its final injury was… disproportionate."
Disproportionate.
That word landed uncomfortably well.
Drust's gaze returned to me.
Not sharp.
Not suspicious.
Just curious.
"According to the report," he said calmly, "the decisive blow came from you, Augustus."
Every elder in the room looked my way.
I sighed inwardly.
So much for flying under the radar.
"I didn't kill it," I said immediately. "Lenna and Alfred finished the fight."
Drust inclined his head slightly. "That is not in question."
Lady Mirage smiled faintly. "What is in question is how an Iron Warrior of your level managed to seriously injure a boss whose raw attributes exceeded yours by several orders of magnitude."
There it was.
The unspoken follow-up hung in the air.
Did you use something you shouldn't have?
Lenna didn't look at me.
That was worse.
I scratched the side of my face and chose my words carefully.
"It wasn't power," I said. "It was timing."
A few brows rose.
I continued before they could interrupt.
"The boss relied heavily on wind-based mobility and layered obscurity," I said. "Most of the time, attacking it head-on was pointless. But right as it re-engaged after breaking Alfred's array, its aura started fluctuating disorderly."
Drust's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Explain."
"I sensed it," I said. "Not visually. Not through mana. Pressure. Intent. The moment it committed to battle."
I paused.
"I used a skill I acquired during the dungeon. Spirit Intuition (S-Rank)."
That got their attention.
Lady Mirage tilted her head. "Spirit… Intuition?"
"It's an evolution of Survival Instinct," I explained. "Instead of reacting to danger after it manifests, it picks up disturbances and the flow earlier—hostile intent, spiritual pressure, that kind of thing."
Drust nodded slowly. "An instinct-based mutation."
"Yes," I said. "It let me instinctively reinforce my aura at the exact moment the Gale Hound's defence alignment shifted. Not stronger—denser. For an instant."
I held up a finger.
"One instant was enough."
Silence followed.
Not tense.
Evaluative.
Drust leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers resting against the violin case.
"No forbidden techniques?" he asked.
"No," I said honestly. "Just bad positioning, good timing, and desperation."
Lady Mirage watched me for a long moment.
Then smiled.
"Desperation," she mused. "A surprisingly effective catalyst."
Lenna finally turned to look at me.
Her expression was unreadable.
Drust let out a soft hum. "Aura compression under distress is not uncommon among frontline warriors."
He glanced at Lady Mirage. "What is uncommon is surviving the attempt."
I resisted the urge to point that out myself.
"So," Drust continued, "you did not forcibly strengthen yourself, but you elevated your output momentarily by Intuition."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded once.
That was it.
No accusations.
No lectures.
No ominous warnings.
Lady Mirage folded her hands again. "An interesting development. Intuition-based perception and control of aura tends to scale… unpredictably."
I smiled politely. Internally, I screamed.
Drust's gaze moved on.
"Your armour is destroyed," he said matter-of-factly. "You will be compensated."
I brightened immediately.
"Your energy pathways are strained," he added. "Be mindful."
Less bright.
"And," he finished, "you will apply for a family rank promotion after recovery."
There it is.
I nodded. "Understood."
Having two S-rank or above skills qualifies me for promotion.
Lenna relaxed by a fraction.
Which I chose to interpret generously.
Drust stood.
That was the meeting's real end.
"You performed adequately," he said. "All of you.
"Disperse."