After setting his eyes on the pitiful prince, Reiner Ashbourne, Lucian decided to follow him through the rest of the day. He intended to uncover the identity of the mysterious host Reiner was meeting—and the reason for it.
Fortunately, the academy's schedule made his pursuit simple. Students only attended one compulsory class each day; afterward, they were free to use the school's vast facilities and resources as they pleased. The system encouraged individuality—allowing each student to grow stronger in their own way.
After the lunch break, Lucian's quiet pursuit began. He kept his gaze fixed on Reiner, careful not to lose sight of him. The meeting could happen at any time, and patience was a luxury Lucian could afford.
Reiner entered one of the academy's physical training facilities—an immense structure lined with mirrored walls, rows of dummies, and racks of weapons humming faintly with aura. Lucian followed inside, selecting a sword at random. To blend in, he began to "practice," his motions precise yet purposefully unremarkable.
He didn't intend to approach Reiner, only to watch from a distance. But that plan was short-lived.
The Vaelmont name carried weight, and the label of Special Talent carried even more. Within minutes, curious students began drifting closer, whispering and exchanging eager glances. Then came the inevitable.
"Zion Vaelmont. Care for a spar?" one of them asked.
Another chimed in, "We just want to see how a Special Talent fights!"
Lucian inwardly sighed. What should have been quiet surveillance was now turning into a spectacle. Still… he saw an opportunity.
If he was going to build a believable identity, this was the perfect stage.
Lucian accepted the challenges one after another. Each bout became a carefully measured performance. He analyzed his opponents—their stances, their breathing, the flow of their aura—and decided, in a heartbeat, how each fight should end. Against the skilled, he fell short by a hair's breadth. Against the average, he fought evenly. And against the weak, he allowed himself small victories, just enough to appear competent yet forgettable.
Every strike was deliberate. Every "mistake" was planned.
By the time he sheathed his blade, sweat beaded on his forehead—not from exhaustion, but from effort spent maintaining mediocrity. His calm, unremarkable demeanor did the rest.
Within an hour, interest waned. The crowd dispersed, chattering among themselves. Lucian was left alone once more.
"Average," they would whisper later. "Kind of boring, actually."
Exactly as he wanted.
Two hours passed before Reiner finally moved on. But even then, the meeting Lucian expected did not occur.
Reiner left the training hall and wandered toward one of the campus courtyards—a quiet area centered around a marble fountain. There, he sat cross-legged, closing his eyes to meditate. The water reflected the pale sky above, its surface trembling faintly with aura flow.
Lucian didn't want to risk being seen again. With a thought, he slipped away and climbed onto a nearby rooftop. More than a hundred meters away, he settled down, newspaper in hand.
Malphas hovered lazily over his shoulder, his black mist never fully forming.
"What is that for?" the spirit asked, peering over Lucian's shoulder at the pages. His tone carried mild curiosity, though his expression didn't bother catching up.
"This is a newspaper detailing the affairs of that pitiful prince," Lucian replied smoothly. "I acquired it to learn more about him."
"So what does it say?" Malphas asked, voice interested but detached.
Lucian skimmed the front page, the faintest smirk curving his lips—habit, not humor. "It seems my new acquaintance, Ren, harbored no ill intent toward the prince. This article refers to him as the 'Cancer of Ashbourne' as well."
Malphas frowned. "And why is that?"
Lucian's eyes flickered with brief amusement before turning serious again. "Well… for one, his abilities fall short of the standard. But more troubling, he has somehow failed to awaken a Technique."
"What? An Ashbourne—descendant of dragons—hasn't awakened a Technique?"
"I find it difficult to believe as well."
"This could only be the work of the Human God."
"Now that you mention it…"
Lucian's gaze drifted toward Reiner, who remained motionless by the fountain. He began to probe deeper. He read the flow of aura through the boy's body, tracing its rhythm, density, and formation.
After a moment, he exhaled quietly. "His mastery of aura is no greater than that of a five-year-old. It seems the pitiful prince's fate was sealed from the very moment of his birth."
Malphas tilted his head. "So… are you going to…?"
Lucian's chuckle was low and deliberate. "Of course. A descendant of dragons would be invaluable to my ranks. All he needs do to attain his true potential is to renounce his current deity—and embrace another."
He turned another page, his gaze sharpening. "His older brother, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. According to this, he is a prodigy—even among the Ashbournes. Yet there is no mention of the nature of their relationship."
For the rest of Reiner's meditation, Lucian stayed where he was—silent, composed, and patient. The afternoon sun dimmed, the fountain's surface reflecting streaks of fading gold. By the time Reiner stirred again, school was nearly over.
Lucian adjusted his disguise before continuing the pursuit. His hair turned to brown, his eyes to green—ordinary colors to blend with the crowd.
He followed from a distance as Reiner moved through the bustling campus. The prince entered the library and remained there until dusk, lost among shelves of untouched knowledge. When he finally left, the sky was painted in dying light.
Lucian shadowed him across the quiet streets, his steps soundless.
Reiner walked until the city noise faded, stopping near an abandoned clock tower. The area was forgotten—its cobblestones slick, its lamps flickering as though reluctant to burn. Even without rain, the air smelled of wet stone and rust.
Reiner hesitated behind the tower, glancing over his shoulder. For a moment, he stood utterly alone.
Lucian observed from a distant rooftop, more than three hundred meters away. Malphas lounged on his shoulder, expression steeped in boredom.
"How long is this supposed to take?" he muttered.
"My apologies, my friend. I know this may be tedious, but it is necessary."
"You know his problem and how to fix it. Befriend him, and get him to become a demon."
"Yes, that would suffice. However, the manner in which that girl delivered the note was far too cunning. This meeting is certain to yield valuable insight."
Malphas' mouth curved in faint disdain. His eyes, half-lidded, shimmered with the weariness of eternity.
Lucian's lips curved faintly. "Ah… at last, the mysterious host has graced us with their presence."
A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows and approached Reiner. When the hood came down, the resemblance was unmistakable—same golden eyes, same noble features, but hardened by cruelty.
Black hair. Cold expression.
The man simply stared at Reiner for several long seconds—an eternity of silence thick enough to suffocate.
Reiner swallowed hard. "Uh- uh- this note said I must meet you here."
The man's expression twisted into disgust. "So. You're still breathing. Didn't I tell you to die?"
"Uh—"
"Shut up!"
The kick came like thunder. Reiner's body folded, crashing into the wall behind him before collapsing to his knees.
"Cough—cough!"
"You're a stain on the family name," the man spat. "Every week, some paper comes out to mock Ashbourne."
"Brothe—"
Another kick silenced him, harder this time. Tears spilled freely down Reiner's face, mingling with dirt and pain.
"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME BROTHER!"
Lucian's gaze narrowed slightly. "So this is the first prince of Drakia—Axel Ashbourne."
Axel exhaled through his teeth, annoyed. "I thought it would take me longer to make my point, but seeing you pisses me off. So I'll cut it short."
He pulled a small glass vial from his coat—a green liquid swirling within—and tossed it at Reiner's feet. It rolled to a stop before the prince, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
"Maybe you haven't done it because you don't want to experience pain. Drink that. You won't feel a thing."
Axel turned away, pulling his hood back up.
"I should see an article about you on the first page of tomorrow's newspaper. A good one this time."
He left without looking back.
Reiner stared at the vial for a long time. His shoulders trembled. The tears returned—silent, bitter, endless.
"Sob… sob…"
Lucian leaned back slightly, eyes sharpening. "You see, Malphas… we might have squandered an extraordinary opportunity."
Malphas said nothing. Only his shimmering golden eyes turned toward Lucian—waiting.
***
Later that night, Reiner sat alone in his dorm room.
The fire crackled quietly, its glow barely holding back the dark. Shadows clung to the walls like ghosts. The silence was heavy—so heavy it almost rang.
He sat before the tall mirror, staring at the reflection that refused to look away. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips trembled. His hands shook atop his knees.
On the desk beside him sat the glass bottle from Axel. Its green liquid shimmered faintly in the firelight, like venom waiting to breathe.
"…I hate you," Reiner whispered.
The words came fragile, almost soundless. He didn't even know if they were meant for his brother—or himself.
"I hate you," he said again, louder, the crack in his voice betraying him. "You're a disgrace. Everyone knows it. You can't fight, you can't lead, you can't even look like a prince should."
He leaned closer to the mirror until his breath fogged the glass. "They all look at you and see failure. And they're right, aren't they? You are a failure."
Tears spilled down his face unchecked. "You ruined everything Father gave you. You ruined his name. He tried—he tried to make you something—but you just keep disappointing him." His voice broke completely. "Even your brother… he doesn't even want to look at you."
He struck the mirror with his fist. The glass rattled but didn't break.
"Why… why can't you be like them?" he cried, shoulders shaking. "Why can't you just be strong?"
His reflection blurred beneath tears. The boy staring back looked less like a prince and more like a ghost.
"You're not a prince," he whispered. "You're a burden… an embarrassment."
His gaze flicked to the bottle.
"You don't deserve this life."
The words hung in the still air, echoing softly.
He reached for the vial. The scent of its contents—sharp, chemical, wrong—burned his throat before he even opened it. His hand trembled as he uncorked it.
"No more whispers," he murmured. "No more pity."
He lifted it to his lips. The cold glass pressed against them, trembling with his shaking hands.
"I just… I just want it to stop…"
The words cracked into a sob.
And then—
***
(A few seconds earlier)
Lucian stood outside on the balcony of Reiner's dorm room, leaning casually against the glass door. The night breeze stirred his hair, the glow of the city flickering faintly below.
He had been listening the entire time.
A slow, deliberate smirk spread across his face. His crimson eyes gleamed like twin embers beneath the dark.
"It seems the stars themselves have aligned," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Very well, that shall be my cue."