Jude stepped into the chamber, and the heavy doors closed behind him with a dull, distant sound. The space beyond felt different from the rest of the estate — not larger, not smaller, just… heavier. The air itself seemed to carry weight. His father, the Patriarch of House Avernus, was seated behind an immense wooden desk carved from black ironwood, its surface worn smooth by years of command and decision.
Armor ornaments and banners of House Avernus decorated the walls, each one a reminder of generations of warriors who lived and died by the sword. The crest of the family hung above the Patriarch's seat, silent yet overwhelming.
His presence filled the room entirely.
Jude could feel it pressing down on his chest, like invisible hands reminding him where he stood.
"Jude… I greet the Patriarch."
His voice came out calm.
The Patriarch raised his gaze slowly. His eyes carried no warmth, only authority.
"Youngest," he said, voice deep, "what have you come to say?"
Jude stepped forward, his posture straight but not forced.
"I simply wished to see you, Father, as I have never had the opportunity to do so before," he replied with an innocent tone. His words were simple, but they carried something deeper beneath them.
It was the truth.
Since his regression, he had only laid eyes on his father once, from afar, surrounded by power and distance. Now he was standing directly in front of him.
The Patriarch's lips curved slightly.
A smirk.
"Is that why you tried to kill your brother?"
The words were casual, yet they cut through the air like a blade.
Jude didn't flinch.
He answered innocently, his expression remaining unchanged.
I knew the head guardian would step in if anything ever went wrong, he answered, calmly.
The Patriarch observed him closely.
Most of his children couldn't even stand properly in front of him. Their knees shook, their breathing faltered, their words broke before leaving their mouths.
But the youngest…
He didn't even lower his eyes.
The Patriarch spoke again. This time, his presence changed.
The air thickened. The temperature dropped slightly. A heavy, invisible wave surged out from him and struck Jude directly.
He didn't move.
He didn't step back.
"I was told you managed to beat the twins in hand combat while using magic," the Patriarch said.
The head guardian noticed.
The words were simple, but their meaning carried weight.
Jude felt a tight pressure form in his throat, like an unseen hand pressing just enough to remind him of the Patriarch's power.
But he didn't show it.
The Patriarch leaned slightly back.
"So," he continued, voice calm yet heavy, "when were you going to mention that?"
Under the pressure, Jude spoke.
"And why is that wrong?"
His voice was not defensive. Not pleading. Just curious.The moment those words left his mouth, the pressure suddenly disappeared. Jude took a slow breath and steadied himself.
He looked directly at his father.
"Why is it wrong for a child of House Avernus to use magic?" he asked again, his tone filled with genuine curiosity rather than defiance.
Silence filled the chamber.
The Patriarch studied him.
Jude's gaze was firm and steady, showing no sign of cowardness, no hesitation, no cracks.
Then the Patriarch spoke.
"House Avernus has existed for hundreds of years, dedicated to only the sword, because it is the one and only way to be the strongest."
His voice carried weight, as if each word represented generations.
"Each member of House Avernus is born with a blessed body, designed for swordsmanship."
He raised his hand slowly.
Mana gathered, visible, controlled, dense.
A small fire spell activated above his palm. The flame burned steady, controlled, not wild — a perfect display of mastery.
Jude's jaw fell slightly.
Not from the fire itself…
But from the meaning behind it.
The Patriarch continued.
"The reason why no one in House Avernus uses magic is not because they cannot, but because none were talented in it. A law was made by the second Patriarch, banning the use of magic in House Avernus."
The flame hovered.
Steady.
Symbolic.
Jude stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the weight of what he was hearing.
His entire world view shifted just slightly.
Then he spoke.
"But why follow the will of the past?"
The words left his mouth slowly.
Not in anger.Not in rebellion.In honest challenge.With that statement alone, he had just challenged the belief of House Avernus itself.
The very foundation of its history.
He didn't stop there.
"Why follow the past will…" Jude continued, his eyes unwavering, "if House Avernus has never had a magic swordsman? Then I will be the first, strong enough to change the house's perspective."
The room fell silent again.
Even the flame above the Patriarch's palm seemed to pause.
His eyes locked onto Jude.
"And you think you have what it takes to change hundreds of years of tradition?" he asked.
Jude didn't hesitate.
"Even if the world stood against me, I will fight for my belief."
His voice echoed faintly off the stone walls.
The Patriarch was silent for a long moment.
Then…
He laughed.
A deep, resonating laugh that filled the chamber.
"Good," he said. "A man should show no fear against his belief."
He closed his hand, extinguishing the fire spell.
"I'll allow it. For now, prove to me you have what it takes."
A weight lifted from Jude's chest.
He hadn't realized how heavy it had been until it disappeared.
Relief washed through him quietly.
His father… was actually going to allow it.
For now.
Jude looked up slowly.
His expression changed, just slightly.
He hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Then he spoke again.
"Father… I have something else to tell you."
The Patriarch narrowed his eyes slightly but said nothing.
Jude extended his hand forward.
His palm open.
He closed his eyes.
The room grew colder.
The lights flickered faintly.
And then — the shadows in the room began to shift.
Not from the corners.
From everywhere.
They moved like smoke, like liquid darkness responding to his call.
They converged above his palm.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Until they formed a flame-shaped shadow, darker than the surrounding darkness itself.
A silent, unnatural fire.
Jude opened his eyes.
He looked at his father.
His expression didn't change.
And he asked, almost innocently:
"What does it mean… to be a God's contractor?"