The first attempt did not come with a blade.
It came with milk.
Warm.
Sweet-smelling.
Served in a porcelain cup painted with gold trim.
A servant knelt beside Lucien's bed, hands steady, posture perfect.
"Drink, Young Master," she said softly.
Lucien stared at the cup.
The Conquest System did not scream.
It did not flash red.
It only whispered.
[Warning: Foreign Substance Detected]
Threat Level: Low
Lethality: Delayed
Time to Effect: 3–6 Hours
So subtle.
So patient.
So smart.
Lucien lifted the cup with both hands.
The servant smiled.
Her name was Lysa.
Twenty-three.
Born in Valemont.
Father died guarding the eastern road.
Mother worked in the laundry wing.
She had fed him dozens of times before.
Which made this worse.
Isekai worlds loved dramatic assassins.
Daggers in the dark.
Poison needles.
Fireballs through windows.
This world?
This world used trust.
Lucien brought the cup close to his lips—
Then sneezed.
The milk spilled across the sheets.
"Oh!" Lysa gasped. "I— I'm so sorry!"
She reached forward instinctively.
Lucien cried.
Loud.
Shrill.
Sudden.
The sound echoed down the corridor.
Footsteps thundered closer.
Guards.
A knight burst in.
"What happened?"
"He spilled his milk," Lysa said quickly, eyes wide. "I'll get another cup—"
"No," Lucien sobbed, pointing shakily. "That one… smells bad…"
The knight frowned.
"Bad?"
Lysa froze.
Just for half a second.
But that was enough.
The knight took the cup.
Sniffed it.
Then his expression hardened.
"Get the physician," he ordered. "Now."
Lysa stepped back.
Her face drained of color.
"I—I didn't—"
She never finished the sentence.
Guards restrained her gently.
Firmly.
Professionally.
Lucien's crying slowed as he watched.
The system pulsed.
[Assassination Attempt Prevented]
Method: Delayed Poison
Perpetrator: Indirect Agent
Loyalty Level: Compromised
Reward: +1 Authority
Survival Probability: 23%
Only one percent?
That's it?
I almost died and I get one percent?
This system is stingy.
Hours later, Duke Alaric stood beside Lucien's bed.
The physician bowed deeply.
"The poison was mild," he said. "Enough to weaken the child. Fever. Organ strain. In a body this small… it could have been fatal by morning."
The Duke said nothing.
His hands clenched slowly behind his back.
"And the servant?" he asked.
"She claims she was given the vial," the physician continued carefully. "Told it was medicine. Payment promised upon completion."
"By whom?"
"She doesn't know. A man in armor. No insignia."
Silence filled the chamber.
Lucien watched his father's face.
The anger there wasn't explosive.
It was controlled.
Compressed.
The most dangerous kind.
"Double the guard rotations," the Duke said finally.
"Seal the servant corridors."
"No public executions."
The physician hesitated. "My lord?"
"We want whoever is pulling the strings to think they succeeded partially," Alaric said coldly. "Fear makes people hide. Confidence makes them act."
He turned to Lucien.
Kneeled.
Placed a hand gently on his son's small shoulder.
"They tried to kill you."
Lucien met his gaze.
"I know," he said quietly.
The Duke's eyes widened.
Just slightly.
"…Did you understand what was happening?"
Lucien nodded once.
"Milk doesn't need oil," he said simply.
The Duke stared at him.
Long.
Then he stood abruptly.
"Leave us," he ordered.
The guards obeyed.
When the room was empty, Duke Alaric exhaled slowly.
"You should not have survived," he said, not cruelly. Not softly either.
Just truth.
Lucien looked down at his hands.
"I don't want to die," he replied.
That was all.
No bravado.
No genius speech.
Just honesty.
Something in the Duke's expression shifted.
Resolve hardened.
Then—something else.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For the future.
That night, the Duke wrote letters.
To old allies.
To enemies pretending to be friends.
To people who owed him favors.
And one letter, sealed with black wax, sent north.
Meanwhile, Lucien lay awake.
The system hovered.
[New Passive Unlocked]
Title: Marked Heir
Effect: Assassination attempts increase, but enemy mistakes are more frequent.
That's not comforting.
At all.
But Lucien understood now.
This wasn't about proving intelligence.
Or winning arguments.
This was survival chess.
Every move cost lives.
And the board was much larger than Valemont.
Outside his chamber window, torches flickered along the walls.
Guards walked in tighter patterns.
Snow fell silently.
And somewhere far beyond the territory—
A man received a report.
"The poison failed."
A pause.
Then a low chuckle.
"…So the child is dangerous."
Lucien Valemont closed his eyes.
Tomorrow would come.
And for the first time—
He wasn't waiting for it.