Let the meeting begin

Few days later, the grand main hall of the Ravenhart estate was packed with tension. Barons, royal guards, and court officials lined the polished marble floors, their whispers filling the high-ceilinged chamber like an unsettling hum. The scent of aged wood and cold metal lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp undertone of sweat and strained nerves.

At the center of it all sat Lord Greyrat—a rotund man draped in excessive gold jewelry. Rings, thick and studded with rare gems, squeezed his swollen fingers as they gripped the armrests of his ornate chair. His face was a blotchy mix of pale and red, sweat glistening under the hall's dim lighting. His expression twisted between sorrow and rage, his beady eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds as if he expected answers to materialize from thin air.

Though the Greyrat family lacked true noble lineage, their wealth was undeniable. Gold could not buy titles—but it could buy influence, and the Greyrat family had invested heavily. Their close ties to several influential houses—and the royal family itself—made this investigation more than just a formality.

The court officials sat in a neat row at the front of the hall, their faces impassive beneath their ceremonial hoods. The royal guards stood motionless behind them, hands resting on the pommels of their swords. The tension was palpable, the silence oppressive.

Lord Greyrat's thick lips twisted downward as his bloodshot eyes swept across the hall. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. His son's death was not just a personal loss—it was an insult to his power.

And soon, someone would pay.

Suddenly, the massive doors of the hall creaked open.

All noise ceased.

The heavy sound of the doors reverberated through the grand chamber as every head turned toward the entrance.

Zed stepped inside.

He wore a sleek black and royal blue noble coat, embroidered with silver linings that traced intricate, ancient sigils. The fitted vest beneath hugged his frame, giving him a sharp, refined look. His once-messy long hair was now neatly trimmed and styled, parted slightly to the side, revealing the sharp intensity in his blue eyes. His gaze was cold, calculating—a stark contrast to his youthful face. He radiated an aura of quiet dominance that made it hard for anyone to believe he was just a nine-year-old boy.

Beside him, Aurora walked with the poise of a queen. Her elegant midnight-blue gown shimmered beneath the dim light, silver embroidery forming constellations that seemed to move with her steps. Her once-soft features had hardened, now framed by her black hair, which was braided into a sophisticated crown. Loose strands framed her pale face, accentuating her piercing blue eyes. Her expression was calm—eerily calm. The flustered girl from before was gone, replaced by quiet strength.

Trailing behind them was Sir Jaeger, the head swordmaster of the Ravenhart family. His black coat, embroidered with gold at the cuffs and shoulders, trailed behind him like a shadow. His every step sent an invisible ripple of pressure through the room—a sharp reminder of his strength. Even the court officials stiffened under the weight of his presence.

The hall remained deathly silent.

Some nobles couldn't help but steal glances at Aurora's breathtaking beauty, their eyes lingering a moment too long. Others felt their throats tighten beneath Jaeger's oppressive aura, the sheer force of his presence making them feel small in comparison.

At the center of it all sat Greyrat's father—a bloated man drowning in gold jewelry. His beady eyes narrowed as Zed approached the grand seat at the head of the room. His thick fingers tightened around the armrests of his chair, his expression twisting between rage and barely restrained grief.

Zed didn't stop until he reached the seat meant for the lord of the estate. Without hesitation, he sat down, crossing his legs with the composed arrogance of a ruler. His gaze remained cold and impassive, like a king overlooking his court.

Aurora took her seat beside him, her expression unshaken, as though the outcome of this meeting was already determined.

Jaeger stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered nobles and officials. His deep voice echoed through the hall, cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

"Let the meeting begin."

A heavy pressure settled over the room.

No one dared to breathe.

At his command, the gathered nobles, guards, and officials straightened in their seats. A few exchanged uncertain glances, their initial assumptions now shaken. They had believed the court's presence was due to Greyrat's family seeking justice—but now, a chilling realization settled over them.

This meeting had been called by the Ravenhart family.

A murmur spread through the crowd, rising and falling like a tide of unease. But it quickly died down as Habil, will Greyrat's father, stepped forward.

His large frame, adorned with enough gold jewelry to put a king to shame, shimmered under the soft glow of the crystal chandelier. Rings of varying size and value clinked together as his thick fingers curled into fists. Though his plump face held a carefully crafted smile, the rage in his bloodshot eyes betrayed him.

With a dramatic bow, he introduced himself.

"I am Habil, father of Greyrat."

His voice, thick with barely contained fury, rang through the hall. Straightening his back, he met Zed's cold gaze, his lips twitching as he forced a pleasant tone.

"Why was my son killed?"

He paused, his eyes flicking toward the gathered nobles and officials, gauging their reactions. His gaze lingered on a few prominent court members, calculating the weight of his next words. Then, tilting his head slightly, his lips curled into a thin smile.

"And more importantly… why was the court summoned by you, Lord Zed, rather than by us?"

A wave of shock rippled through the crowd.

The nobles and officials had arrived under the assumption that Habil had demanded an inquiry into his son's murder. But instead, it was Zed himself who had summoned them.

The room grew tense.

The air itself seemed heavier as all eyes turned toward Zed.

He sat comfortably on the grand chair, one leg crossed over the other, his hand lightly tapping the armrest. His blue eyes, sharp and piercing, regarded Habil with a chilling calm. The cold glow of the chandelier reflected off his dark pupils, making them appear almost metallic.

To the nobles watching, it was unsettling—this composed boy sitting in the lord's seat with the confidence of a ruler. Zed's gaze didn't waver. His expression remained impassive, as though Habil's outburst was nothing more than a merchant haggling over a lost coin.

The hall fell silent as a court official, an older man in a finely tailored robe with the royal insignia, stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he opened a thick leather-bound book and turned to a specific page. His voice rang with quiet authority as he read aloud:

"Well, Mister Habil, after collecting and reviewing all evidence… it has been concluded that your son was not killed by the Ravenhert family."

The entire hall went deathly quiet.

Habil's eyes widened. His mouth parted slightly as disbelief settled in.

"He was killed by his very own brother—Larry Greyrat."

A wave of tension surged through the hall. Gasps rippled across the nobles, and the quiet whispers turned into frantic murmurs.

Habil's face twisted with rage. His plump cheeks flushed red as he shot up from his chair.

"That's bullshit!" he roared, his voice echoing off the marble walls. "How can Larry kill his own brother? This is a made-up lie!"

His trembling finger shot toward Sir Jaeger.

"It's all a lie! I know what happened! That man! That butcher—he's the one who murdered my son!"

Jaeger remained still, his gaze cold and unreadable. His presence alone was enough to make most men flinch—but not Habil, who was now completely consumed by rage.

The court official, however, did not flinch. He calmly closed the leather-bound book and met Habil's furious glare with an impassive stare.

"Mister Habil," the official said coolly, "my statement is not yet finished."

The murmurs in the hall ceased immediately.

The official's tone sharpened, now carrying the weight of finality.

"Your son was not an innocent victim."

A chilling pause followed.

"On the night of his death, while heavily intoxicated, he murdered two Ravenhert estate guards, beheaded his own servant, and then attempted to violate a maid of the Ravenhert family. When the maid pushed him away and tried to escape, Greyrat drew his dagger and attempted to stab her—an act that would have resulted in her death. Fortunately, Larry arrived and intervened. Greyrat, in his drunken madness, did not recognize his own brother. When he continued his assault… Larry was left with no choice but to defend himself."

"In doing so, he killed his brother."

A heavy silence descended upon the hall.

Habil's face contorted in fury and disbelief. His chest heaved as his mind raced, scrambling to grasp the situation.

"This is bullshit!" he finally roared. "We all know this is a cooked-up story!"

He drew in a sharp breath, trying to steady himself. Then, narrowing his eyes, a glint of calculation crept into his expression. His lips curled into a smirk.

"Even if what you said is true…" he sneered, "where is the proof? Where is the evidence that this was self-defense?"

The court official adjusted his robe. His gaze remained calm, sharp.

"I'm glad you asked, Mister Habil." He gestured toward the grand doors. "We do have proof. And you know him very well."

The heavy doors creaked open.

Two royal guards entered, flanking a familiar figure.

Larry.

At first, Habil's face lit up with relief upon seeing his surviving son. But that relief quickly twisted into confusion and unease.

Larry walked with sluggish steps, his head hanging low. His face was pale, his cheeks sunken. His eyes—once sharp with life—were now hollow and dull, like a man who had seen too much. His shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested on them.

He looked… broken.

The court official gestured toward him.

"Larry Greyrat, tell us what you saw that night."

Larry's head remained down. His gaze never lifted from the floor. His voice was low, barely more than a whisper.

"My brother… he got drunk. He killed the guards. He tried to have his way with the maid of the esteemed Ravenhert family. When she pushed him away and tried to run… he kill her."

Larry's hands trembled. His breath hitched—but he forced himself to continue.

"I… tried to stop him from doing even more damage. He attacked me."

A shudder ran through his body. His lifeless gaze drifted toward the floor.

"…And he paid the price for it. His hand and head was taken by my hand—in self-defense."

The hall fell into a suffocating silence.