Chapter 3: The Weight of Expectations 2

The silence that followed Alastor's failed awakening was suffocating. Even as he walked through the grand halls of the Von estate, he could still hear the murmurs of the nobles, the laughter of those who found amusement in his humiliation. He had been declared talentless, an anomaly among the noble class, and the weight of that label pressed heavily upon him.

His parents had remained quiet during the carriage ride back. His mother's delicate hands were clasped together in her lap, her knuckles pale from how tightly she held them. His father, always a man of great composure, had simply stared out the window, his jaw clenched in a rare display of emotion. Neither of them spoke a word to him.

When they arrived at the estate, his father strode ahead without a glance in his direction, while his mother lingered for a moment before placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Rest for now, Son. We will discuss this later."

He nodded, but the ache in his chest only deepened as she walked away.

That night, Alastor found himself seated in the study, the glow of candlelight casting shadows across the towering bookshelves. Books had always been a refuge, a source of knowledge and certainty, but tonight, even they offered no solace. He stared at the flickering flame before him, lost in thought.

What did it mean to be without power? Could he truly call himself a Von if he had no abilities to prove his worth?

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He straightened as the heavy doors creaked open, revealing his father's imposing figure. Duke Reinhardt stepped inside, his gaze unreadable.

"Alastor."

"Father."

The duke studied him for a long moment before speaking. "Do you understand what this means?"

Alastor swallowed hard. "That I am… powerless."

Reinhardt's expression remained impassive. "Power is the foundation of nobility. A Von without power is unheard of."

Alastor's hands curled into fists. He had known this, had anticipated this reaction, yet hearing it from his father's own lips stung deeper than he expected.

"I trained you not just to wield a sword but to lead," Reinhardt continued. "You are my son, Alastor, and that does not change. However…" He hesitated, something rare for the steadfast duke. "You will need to be stronger in ways beyond magic."

Alastor looked up, searching for the hidden meaning in his father's words. "What do you mean?"

Reinhardt let out a slow breath, his gaze shifting to the candlelight. "You must prove yourself through other means. Your wit, your strategy, your ability to command. Power is not limited to magic alone."

Alastor's chest tightened. It was not a reassurance but rather a challenge. A test of his worth in a society that valued strength above all else.

"Tomorrow, you will continue your training," Reinhardt stated firmly. "If you cannot wield magic, you must wield something greater."

He turned to leave, but before exiting, he paused at the doorway. "You are still my son, Alastor. That will not change."

The words should have been comforting, but they only deepened the storm raging within him.

The next day, the whispers had already begun to spread throughout the city. The son of Duke Von, the noble without power. The humiliation of the Von name. Some were even calling for his removal as heir.

Despite this, training resumed as scheduled. Alastor stood in the courtyard, sword in hand, facing his father's knight captain, Sir Gregor. The man was a veteran warrior, his strength and skill unmatched among the Von household guards.

"Come," Gregor beckoned, his tone unreadable. "Show me your resolve."

Alastor exhaled and charged forward. The clash of steel rang through the yard, but no matter how many times he struck, Gregor deflected each blow with ease. The weight of his failure sat heavy on his shoulders, yet he refused to fall. He fought not just against Gregor but against the expectations suffocating him.

Still, in the end, his lack of strength showed. Gregor disarmed him effortlessly, sending his sword clattering to the ground.

Alastor panted, hands trembling.

"You rely too much on force," Gregor remarked. "But there is something to be said about your persistence."

Alastor gritted his teeth. Persistence wasn't enough.

The training continued for hours, each failure a stark reminder of his lacking abilities. When the session ended, his body ached, his mind weary. Yet, even as he stood battered and bruised, he clenched his fists.

He would not be cast aside. He would find a way to prove his worth—even if he had to carve it out with his own hands.