Chapter 5

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Chapter 5: Family

Fenrir hadn’t considered such complexities. As a junior member of the Sais family, he remained merely a pawn for the current family head.

Yet Midi’s casual dismissal and disrespect ignited his rage. With a roar, Fenrir gripped his sword’s hilt.

But Midi moved faster. Before Fenrir’s blade cleared three inches from its sheath, a cold longsword pressed against his throat, forcing him upright onto his toes.

“Midi! How dare you—!” The blonde boy growled, fearlessly defiant like an angered lion.

As the Sais family’s guards—both visible and hidden—reacted to their master’s peril, a biting chill swept the training ground.

The red-haired girl finally acted. Her sudden movement froze everyone in place.

Her surging magic, sharp as blades within the icy wind, dissolved the tension, letting the strained atmosphere ease.

Killing Fenrir now might be wise. Staring at his helpless foe, memories of his past life’s tragedies—his family’s ruin, two decades of exile, humiliations, and despair—made Midi’s hand tremble.

“That trash isn’t worth staining your blade. If he mattered, I’d have killed him already,” came Fina’s familiar, soothing voice.

Her words snapped Midi back to clarity.

Yes. Killing Fenrir would trigger a noble war with the Sais family. Fina’s Hamilton clan would seize the chaos, plunging the Belmar Duchy into civil war—exactly what the watching Delos Empire wanted.

One satisfying strike could alter history, erase his rebirth’s advantages, and ruin future chances.

Midi exhaled slowly, sheathing his sword.

“You’re right, Fina. He’s beneath my anger,” Midi said, lowering his weapon.

Fenrir’s lips twitched, but no threats followed. He’d felt Midi’s true killing intent—a cold dread that silenced him.

Watching Fenrir retreat with venomous glances, Fina turned to the black-haired boy.

“Alright?” The Queen of Storms asked, uncharacteristically gentle.

The unexpected concern startled Midi. He smiled, steady and sure. “We’ll take first in the trial, Fina.”

“Obviously. Who do you think I am?” The red-haired girl shot back, unwavering.

At dawn, Midi rode toward the Asreks family’s territory. With only a week left, he should’ve been training—yet after clashing with the Sais, his father had urgently summoned him. Fina merely nodded approval, citing family duty.

Perhaps this was her way of agreeing.

Midi’s indulgent father rarely insisted on anything. This urgency meant Midi had pushed him too far.

Guilt pricked Midi at imagining his father’s distress—yet he regretted nothing.

“Young Master,” a gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. “Forgive my boldness, but the Count is truly angry. Please… don’t argue. Apologize properly.”

Across the carriage sat Lothran, the Asreks’ elderly steward. His crisp tailcoat and trimmed mustache gave him the air of a bygone era. He’d served three generations, quietly cleaning Midi’s messes, shielding the family’s honor from outrage.

Two years later, he’d die defending their lands against the Delos Empire—a loyal soldier to the end.

Yet in his youth, Midi had dismissed him as a nagging servant, never valuing his loyalty.

“I know. Thank you, Lothran.” Midi smiled, patting the steward’s shoulder. “Facing the Sais is daunting, but this wasn’t impulse. I’ll explain things to Father.”

Lothran blinked, braced for scorn but receiving earnestness instead.

Had the young master truly matured?

Warmth filled the old steward’s chest.

The day-long journey from Hertonmar passed swiftly. Cautious Lothran had mustered thirty Great Swordsmen as guards, refusing rest stops until Asreks Castle loomed at dusk.

Count Ingman awaited in his study. The elegant but weary lord confirmed their safe arrival with Lothran before fixing Midi with a disappointed glare.

“Midi.” His voice hardened. “I warned you—stay distant from the Sais family. Endure slights if needed! As our heir, you must think before acting!”

“I know.”

“You don’t! Drawing blades publicly, threatening their heir with the Hamiltons watching…!” The Count trailed off, already strategizing damage control.

Midi remembered this duality—his father’s stern lordly mask versus the doting parent compensating for a lost wife. This indulgence had spoiled Midi rotten.

Yet seeing the Count’s worried frown now warmed Midi’s heart.

But sentiment could wait.

“Father,” Midi cut in, “I severed ties with the Sais because I learned something critical at the academy.”

“What?” The Count’s brow twitched.

“Follow me.” Ignoring his father’s doubt, Midi strode deeper into the castle.