?Chapter 8: Silk Masks and the Weight of Primogeniture

  ?Weeks after Ren celebrated his sixth birthday, the tranquility of the Valerius Manor was buried under a mountain of gala preparations. Marquess Arthur, in a strategic maneuver that blended visionary foresight with sheer political audacity, had summoned the nobility for a grand ball. The objective was both noble and ambitious: to secure backing for his new infrastructure projects. Arthur’s blueprints included paved roads reinforced with low-maintenance runic stones and bridges at crucial logistical nodes to integrate isolated villages into the kingdom's commercial veins.

  ?The cost was staggering—enough to make the treasuries of most duchies tremble—but the projected return in tax revenue and logistical efficiency was quadruple the initial investment. The problem, as Ren quickly realized while observing the stream of ornate carriages through the window, was that most nobles had the long-term vision of a bat at high noon. They didn't care about "mutual prosperity" ten years down the line; they wanted gold in their pockets today and blood-alliances that guaranteed their continued relevance. For many there, Arthur’s progress was merely a shark tank of an opportunity to try and trap House Valerius in arranged marriage contracts, specifically targeting the young heir, Leon.

  ?In Ren's room, however, the real battle was being waged against his wardrobe.

  ?"Master Ren, please, stop trying to stand at 'attention.' This outfit was tailored for elegance and magnetism, not for a barracks inspection," Elisa scolded, surrounded by a mountain of velvet, silk, and expensive brocades.

  ?“God, what a load of high-maintenance nonsense... my blue cloak is more than enough. If they let me, I’d go naked; what matters is combat mobility. Try pulling off a spinning hook kick in these satin trousers and see if you don’t rip your very soul apart,” Ren grumbled in his internal monologue, while Elisa manipulated him like a porcelain doll.

  ?"Elisa, why so much effort on this specific combination? It’s just a party full of people smelling like expensive perfume and cheap falsehoods," Ren asked, watching her choose between three nearly identical shades of silver.

  ?Elisa paused for a moment, an old, distant dream flickering in her hazel eyes. "My dream was to be a master tailor, Master Ren. A creator of trends. But life... well, it had other plans."

  ?Ren arched an eyebrow, his tactical curiosity piqued. "And why didn't you pursue it? You clearly have the talent."

  ?"Because courage was stripped away from me along with everything else I owned," she confessed with a somber calm. "My village was raided by slavers twelve years ago. I was the only survivor, waiting to be sold in an iron cage, until Lady Iris appeared like a hurricane on an extermination mission. I was only four years old. Having nowhere to go, she brought me here."

  ?She gave a faint smile, finishing the knot on Ren’s silk tie. "Lady Iris turned me into a sharp observer. She says information is a noble’s most important garment... though she also says I’m still far too easily manipulated by cute children. I realized recently, for instance, that I’ve been subtly manipulated by you into reading half the history and politics section of the library over the last four years, all under the pretext of 'bedtime stories.'"

  ?Ren felt a drop of cold sweat slide down his spine. “Opa... her radar caught me. Abort mission, Ren! Play dumb!” He tried to summon a look of pure, unadulterated innocence, but Elisa only laughed, giving his shoulder a light pat.

  ?In the main hall, the crystal ceiling reflected the light of thousands of candles. Ren and Elisa moved through the crowd like a tactical unit; him in front, her right behind, whispering detailed dossiers on each of the seventeen most influential nobles present.

  ?"That one with the pointed beard is the Count of Sterling; he invests in mines but owes money to three different loan sharks. The woman with the red fan is Baroness Beaufort; she controls the court’s information flow through her network of ladies-in-waiting," Elisa whispered with surgical precision.

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  ?“Man... what an unbalanced level of intel. What I brought from my time in the army is nothing compared to this woman's organic espionage network,” Ren thought, genuinely impressed.

  ?The Duke of Vancort, a man whose arrogance was proportional to the decay of his northern lands, was the night's biggest nuisance. His territory was in shambles due to rampant corruption, and he saw House Valerius as his final lifebuoy, attempting to force an engagement between his daughter and Leon. Arthur, however, solemnly ignored Vancort’s advances. The Duke simmered with a silent, poisonous hatred, unaware that the King had already dispatched royal supervisors to depose him. Politically, Vancort was already a corpse; he just hadn't fallen over yet.

  ?While Arthur began his speech, Ren sought out Leon and found him on the balcony, isolated under the cold moonlight.

  ?"Piles of paper, Ren... bureaucracy and hollow arguments," Leon sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I fear I won’t be able to lead like Father. I envy Kael’s mind; I wish I had his ease in understanding these fields without feeling like my head is going to explode. I’m terrified of failing the legacy."

  ?Ren approached and rested his hand on the marble railing. Though he was in the body of a child, the memories of his time in the service—from age 18 to 20—gave him a strange authority.

  ?"Leon, on the battlefield, no one wins alone. What’s the point of having brothers if not to cover your blind spots? Kael would love to be your advisor. What you don't know, he teaches. What he can't fight, you defend. We are a unit, brother."

  ?Ren’s words seemed to lift a physical weight off his brother’s shoulders. Renewed, Leon raised his chin and returned to the hall with the posture of a true heir. Elisa, watching from afar, commented: "Your humility and that instinct to protect others... you truly carry Lady Iris’s blood, little master."

  ?But the real entertainment was Maya Valerius. She attracted the sons of nobles like flies, only to use them for verbal target practice. A young heir of House Sterling approached with the swagger of a storybook hero.

  ?"Lady Maya, your beauty tonight makes the stars look like dying embers. Surely, destiny has brought us together this evening."

  ?Maya didn't even look up from her dessert. "Your future is about as bright as a windowless basement, Lord Sterling. And destiny didn't bring us together; it just placed me here to test my patience. Please, go shine somewhere else—preferably somewhere with no oxygen to feed your ego."

  ?Another young man, the son of a southern Baron, tried his luck: "Lady Maya, I’d love for you to show me some of your magic tricks... perhaps on a private walk through the gardens?"

  ?Maya snapped her fan shut with a sharp clack. "I don’t do 'tricks,' little Baron. I do magic. And if I took you to the gardens, the only trick I’d show you is making you disappear permanently under the roots of an oak tree. Go find a conversation with an IQ higher than stale bread."

  ?The rejections were Oscar-worthy. Ren felt a swell of pride; his sister was a force of nature.

  ?The night concluded with the arrival of a royal messenger bearing the crest of the Prime Minister, Valerius de Alencastro. It was an invitation to the Kingdom’s 250th-anniversary festival in the Capital. Royal suitors awaited Maya, and a princess Ren’s age was already curious about the "prodigy" of House Valerius.

  ?The party ended, but the political chessboard had simply moved to a new table. The next day, as the now-former Duke of Vancort left the city with gritted teeth, he sought out the aid of a massive group of mercenaries. The band’s leader was organizing inventory on a wooden crate. What caught Vancort’s eye were the vials of vibrant green liquid.

  ?"High-level Healing Potions?" Vancort growled. "How did a bunch of cutthroats like you get these?"

  ?The mercenary grinned, recalling the central plaza weeks ago. He was the man who had been struggling with the mana challenge until a little boy taught him about aerodynamics and torque.

  ?"Let's just say a little genius helped me win a challenge that should’ve been impossible. With these, my men don’t die. They can take a deep gash, chug a vial, and keep swinging. It’s the perfect life insurance."

  ?Vancort looked at the vials with dark satisfaction. "They leave for the capital soon," the Duke said, pointing to the trade route map. "Kill anyone who resists, but bring the children back alive. They’re worth a fortune on the slave market, and the Marquess will learn the price of humiliating me."

  ?Ren stood on his balcony that evening, sensing a shift in the wind. The gala silks were put away, but the smell of cold steel was already beginning to drift.

  ?Phase 2 is over, Ren thought, his eyes narrowing as he watched the distant treeline. It’s time. The snake is finally going to smoke.