Chapter 12

The morning light had barely touched the Drake estate when the official messenger arrived, his crimson robes bearing the seal of the main family council. The sight of those colors sent a chill through every servant who witnessed his approach—crimson meant official business, and official business from the main family was rarely good news for the branch families.

Anthony received the sealed letter with trembling hands, though his face remained carefully composed until the messenger departed. The wax seal felt heavier than it should as he broke it, the weight of generations of family hierarchy pressing down on this single moment.

"Restructuring," Anthony read aloud, his voice hollow as Aurora moved to read over his shoulder. The formal language couldn't disguise the brutal reality beneath the polite phrasing.

"The family council has determined that... due to recent developments regarding the heir's cultivation prospects... immediate adjustments to branch family privileges and responsibilities are required."

Aurora's face went pale, her hand instinctively reaching for Anthony's arm. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It means they're cutting our allowances, reducing our access to family resources, and likely removing us from any meaningful decision-making roles," Anthony said grimly, his business experience allowing him to read between the diplomatic lines.

"We have three days to appear before the council for... reassignment."

The word hung in the air like a death sentence. Reassignment in the Drake family hierarchy meant demotion, disgrace, and quite possibly exile to some remote family property where they could be forgotten.

Before Aurora could respond, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Edrin burst through the door, his usual composure shattered, sweat beading on his forehead from running.

"Sir, there are men at the gates. They're from the Blackwood family. They're demanding immediate renegotiation of the grain contracts, claiming our family no longer has the authority to honor existing agreements."

Anthony felt his heart sink. The grain contracts were one of their most stable sources of income, negotiated years ago when their position was more secure.

"And?"

"That's not all, sir."

Edrin's voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "The Silverbane family sent a letter this morning withdrawing from the joint mining venture. They cite 'concerns about future leadership stability' as their reason."

He hesitated before delivering the final blow. "Sir, it's like they were all waiting for this moment. Three more families have sent similar notices. The Goldweave family is demanding immediate repayment of loans they previously said we could extend. The Stormwind family has canceled next month's joint training exercises."

Aurora sank into a chair, the weight of their rapidly crumbling position settling over her like a physical burden. The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in as decades of careful relationship building collapsed in a single morning.

"How did word spread so quickly?"

"The main family council doesn't exactly keep these things secret," Anthony said bitterly, pacing to the window where he could see the Blackwood family's representatives still waiting at their gates like vultures.

"They probably sent word to our rivals before they even sent us the summons. This isn't just administrative restructuring—it's a coordinated dismantling of everything we've built."

A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications sank in. Without the contracts, without the mining rights, without their allowances from the main family, their branch would be reduced to little more than a name on old family trees. They'd be lucky to maintain this modest estate, let alone provide Ethan with the resources he'd need for any kind of future.

"We need to make decisions," Aurora said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "About Ethan's future. If we can't provide for him through cultivation or family connections..."

"An arranged marriage," Anthony finished, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. It was the traditional fallback for children without cultivation talent—marry them into families that needed political connections more than they needed powerful heirs.

"The Millhouse family has that daughter," Aurora said reluctantly, each word clearly painful. "She's... not particularly talented either, but their merchant connections could provide stability. They've been trying to break into noble circles for years."

Anthony nodded slowly, his mind already calculating possibilities. "Margaret Millhouse. She's fifteen, plain but not unpleasant, and her father would probably pay us a substantial dowry for the connection to Drake blood." The practicality of the arrangement couldn't diminish how wrong it felt to discuss their son's future like a business transaction.

"I'll send inquiries," he continued, moving to his desk. "If we move quickly, we might be able to secure something before our position deteriorates further. Once word spreads about the council summons..."

"Everyone will know we're desperate," Aurora finished. "And desperate families don't negotiate good terms."

They sat in the growing morning light, two parents forced to plan their son's future around damage control rather than dreams. Outside, they could hear raised voices as the Blackwood representatives grew more demanding, their patience wearing thin.

"Should we tell Ethan?" Aurora asked softly.

Anthony considered this, watching his wife's face crumble at the thought of crushing their son's spirit further. "Not yet. Let us see what we can salvage first. No point in worrying him until we know exactly what we're dealing with."

Neither of them noticed the way the shadows in the corner seemed to shift slightly, or how the air grew momentarily still, as if someone—or something—had been listening and then departed.

...

Miles away, in the shadowed alleys of Skyvault City, Ethan's consciousness settled into his High Ascendant rank clone with the familiar sensation of stepping into a body made of compressed starlight and steel. The transition was seamless now, perfected through years of practice, and his clone's enhanced senses immediately expanded outward.

The spiritual perception washed over the city like invisible waves, revealing the urban landscape in layers of power that ordinary cultivators could never perceive. Thousands of tiny sparks represented ordinary citizens going about their daily lives—merchants, craftsmen, servants, and laborers whose spiritual energy barely registered above background levels. Brighter flames marked cultivators of various ranks, from Initiate level academy students to Adept rank guards maintaining order in the streets.

Scattered throughout the city like beacons were the occasional blazing signatures that indicated someone of true strength—Elder rank family scions, Ascendant rank enforcers, and the rare individual whose power burned bright enough to command respect in this world where strength determined everything.

Ethan began his methodical hunt, his clone moving through the streets like a phantom whose presence remained undetectable even to those with considerable spiritual awareness.

His enhanced senses swept through the merchant district first, cataloging every significant aura he encountered. Each potential target was evaluated with cold precision. Vanguard rank—too weak to matter... Elder rank but clearly connected to the Goldweave family based on that distinctive earth-attribute signature... Peak Elder rank but the spiritual fluctuations suggest an unstable mental state...

Candidate after candidate was dismissed as Ethan moved through the crowded streets. His requirements were specific and non-negotiable. He needed someone at the peak of Ascendant rank—powerful enough that their sudden support of a minor branch family would carry real weight in political circles, but not so obviously connected to major powers that their change of allegiance would immediately raise suspicions.

The noble quarter yielded more promising signatures, powerful cultivators whose spiritual pressure made ordinary citizens unconsciously step aside as they passed. But each came with their own complications that made them unsuitable for Ethan's purposes.

Peak Ascendant rank, but that's clearly a marriage bond aura linking him to the Stormwind family... Another peak rank, but the way his spiritual energy moves suggests he's bound by cultivation oaths to Elder Cassius... This one has the right power level but owns half the city's pleasure districts—too much public attention if he suddenly changes allegiances...

Ethan's criteria were specific and unforgiving. Beyond the power requirements, he needed someone with a vulnerability he could exploit. Someone desperate enough to accept help, proud enough to want revenge, or isolated enough that joining his cause would seem like salvation rather than coercion.

As he moved into the outer districts where fallen nobles and exiled cultivators often found refuge, his senses detected something that made him pause. The spiritual signature was... damaged. Fractured in a way that spoke of recent trauma to the cultivator's very essence.

Following the trail like a bloodhound, Ethan's enhanced perception gradually revealed the full picture of what he was sensing.

The aura belonged to someone who had once possessed an intermediate advanced rank spirit core—a level of talent that would have marked them as future family leadership material in any major lineage. The spiritual signature still carried traces of that noble heritage, the refined quality that came from generations of selective breeding and cultivation resources.

But something had happened. Something catastrophic. The core was damaged now, its energy patterns irregular and diminished, reduced to what felt like high advanced rank capabilities. Yet despite this spiritual crippling, the cultivator's actual power level remained at peak Ascendant rank—a testament to years of accumulated strength and battle experience that couldn't be taken away by mere injury.

Perfect, Ethan thought, his analytical mind already piecing together the implications. Main lineage breeding, which explains the original talent level and refined spiritual quality. But the damaged core means they've likely been cast aside, possibly exiled or stripped of position. That kind of fall from grace creates exactly the vulnerability and resentment I can work with.

Moving through increasingly run-down neighborhoods, Ethan tracked the signature with predatory patience. The buildings here were older, shabbier, the kind of place where questions weren't asked and nobility could disappear into anonymity. Perfect territory for someone trying to escape their past—or someone whose past had violently rejected them.

The trail led him to a district where even the city guard rarely patrolled, where shadows seemed to pool deeper than they should and the very air felt thick with desperation and broken dreams. Here, in a tavern that had seen better decades, he finally found his target.

The man sat alone at a corner table, nursing a bottle of wine that probably cost more than most of the other patrons made in a month. Despite his surroundings, his bearing was unmistakably noble—the kind of ingrained posture and refined features that marked generations of privileged breeding.

His clothes were well-made but worn, expensive but outdated, telling the story of someone clinging to the remnants of former luxury.

But it was his eyes that sealed the deal for Ethan. There was something broken there, a hollowness that spoke of losses that went far beyond mere material setbacks. This was a man who had lost not just wealth or position, but identity itself.

Ethan smiled coldly as he observed from the shadows, his clone's form perfectly camouflaged against the darkened alley. A former main lineage member with a damaged spirit core, drinking alone in the worst part of the city. The story practically wrote itself—a fall from grace so complete that even approaching such a person would seem like an act of charity rather than calculated recruitment.

Time to make contact.

Ethan stepped out of the shadows and began walking toward the tavern, his clone's appearance carefully crafted to suggest mysterious power without obvious family connections. The perfect predator approaching the perfect prey.

The hunt was about to become a capture.