Chapter 4 Legitimate

"Hmmm… she should do just fine," James murmured, his voice soft but resolute, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he mentally reviewed the image of the woman he had chosen. 

She wasn't just any beauty—she was the beauty of Immortal Mountain City in the younger generation. 

Her elegance was matched only by her talent, and her cultivation had already reached the peak of the foundation establishment realm at such a young age of 18. 

Her lineage was noble, her spirit roots rare, and her appearance divine.

Of course, James wasn't planning to marry her tomorrow. 

But if he were going to begin this new chapter of his life, why not start with someone whose name alone commanded attention? 

After all, he wasn't just any man anymore. 

He was the strongest being in the world, even if no one knew it yet. 

And if that was the case, why not begin his journey with a woman who could match his ambition—someone who would one day stand proudly by his side when the heavens themselves bowed before him?

He reached into the folds of his robe and, with a flick of his wrist, conjured a folded letter sealed with the golden insignia of the Rake Clan. 

It gleamed faintly with spiritual energy, its contents radiating calm but unquestionable authority. 

He stared at it for a moment, lost in thought.

Then, without turning around, he spoke one word.

"Sydney."

The response was almost instantaneous.

A gentle gust stirred the courtyard. In the blink of an eye, a figure emerged from the shadows—graceful, composed, and swift. 

Sydney's long black hair fluttered behind her, and her brown robe, plain though it was, did little to hide the natural beauty of her form. 

She bowed low, her presence respectful yet unwavering.

"I'm here, Young Master," she said, her voice steady, though her heart had already quickened at the tone of his summons.

Sydney had always remained close to him, even if from a distance. 

She never hovered, never intruded. 

But wherever James was—whether in his chambers, the gardens, or the clan library—she was never far. 

Always listening. Always watching. 

A maidservant, yes, but one who had survived the harshness of the world through vigilance and quiet strength.

James turned and held out the letter. 

"Take this to my mother," he said, meeting her eyes with a rare seriousness.

Sydney blinked. For a moment, she simply stared at the letter as if it were something unfamiliar—something dangerous.

Her fingers hesitated before accepting it.

"…To your mother?" she repeated in a near whisper, her voice tinged with disbelief.

James raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

Sydney quickly shook her head, lowering her gaze. "No, Young Master. I… I'll deliver it at once."

But even as she spoke, her mind reeled.

This was the first time—the very first time—James had ever sent a letter to his parents. 

In all the years she had served him, she had never seen him write to them, nor speak of them unless summoned. 

And even then, he always returned pale-faced and silent, crushed beneath the weight of disappointment.

It was common knowledge within the Rake Clan that James had once been the pride of his lineage—until he failed to awaken a spiritual vein.

He was able to walk on the first day of his life, speak on the second, and read on the third.

The clan, desperate to reclaim their investment, had poured in priceless resources—heavenly treasures, body-forging elixirs, rare herbs from sacred lands—all for naught. 

James had been labeled a hopeless case. A disgrace. 

A pitiful young master who could neither cultivate nor compete, and who squandered more wealth than entire branch families could see in a lifetime.

In those days, James never lifted his head. 

He moved through the halls like a ghost, avoided public gatherings, and stared at the stars with a hollow look that made Sydney ache just to see it.

And now?

Now he handed her this letter with calm eyes and a steady tone, as if that heavy past no longer existed.

Sydney clutched the letter to her chest, uncertain if she should feel fear, awe, or admiration. 

One thing was certain—her young master was no longer the same man. 

Something had changed. Something fundamental.

Without another word, she bowed deeply and disappeared in a flash, her steps echoing once across the polished stone before fading into silence.

James watched her go, hands tucked behind his back, his expression unreadable.

***

An hour later, deep within the inner sanctum of the Rake Clan's ancestral palace, an extraordinarily beautiful woman sat in serene silence. 

She wore a flowing robe of crimson and white silk, embroidered with golden phoenix patterns that shimmered with every movement. 

Upon her brow rested a delicate golden crown, signifying her status not just as a matriarch, but as one of the most powerful women in the region.

In her slender hands, she held a letter—its seal already broken, its contents quietly stirring her heart. 

Her delicate brows furrowed ever so slightly as she read the familiar handwriting, a thoughtful expression forming on her flawless face.

This letter… was from her seventh child.

James.

Of all her seven children, he was the weakest. The most pitiful. 

The one whose fate seemed cursed from birth.

And yet… she loved him the most.

It wasn't out of guilt, nor pity, but something far deeper. 

A mother's instinct, perhaps—an unexplainable thread of affection that tethered her to the son who had fallen furthest behind. 

While others might have sneered at his failures or whispered of his disgrace behind closed doors, she had never once wavered in her care for him. 

If anything, her heart ached for him more than any of the others.

He had always tried. Even when others mocked him, even when his cultivation stagnated, even when he was shamed at public ceremonies—he endured. 

Quietly. Painfully. Alone.

Now, for the first time in years, he had reached out.

She took a long breath, then retrieved a slip of refined spirit paper and a black crystal pen from the storage ring on her finger. 

With graceful strokes, she wrote another letter—calm, elegant, and yet warm with quiet emotion. 

When finished, she folded the paper carefully, sealing it with a small crest of shimmering silver light.

Then she looked up and spoke a single word:

"Winter."

The air shifted.

Though it was high summer outside, a sudden chill swept through the chamber. 

Frost bloomed across the floor, and in the next instant, a blur of white descended silently like falling snow. 

A woman appeared at the edge of the room—beautiful, cold, and deathly still. 

Her skin was porcelain-pale, her long white hair cascading down like a silken waterfall. 

She wore pristine white robes that fluttered as if caught in a breeze no one else could feel.

But more than her beauty, it was her presence that stood out—an aura of absolute cold, an oppressive silence that seemed to freeze the air itself.

"Please command your slave, Mistress," Winter said, her voice like a quiet wind over ice, emotionless yet deeply respectful.

The matriarch handed her the sealed letter. "Deliver this to the academy. Place it in the hands of the headmaster personally."

Winter nodded without a word, accepting the letter as if it were sacred.

And just as suddenly as she appeared, she vanished—melting into the air, leaving only a few drifting snowflakes behind. 

As she left, the temperature in the chamber slowly returned to normal, the frost retreating into nothingness.

The matriarch sat alone once more, gazing into the distance.

James… you've taken your first step. Let us see how far you'll go this time.