[ Six months ago ]

Imperius family training halls.

A boy with black hair and red eyes knelt on the hard stone floor, gasping for breath. His body was covered in bruises, his training uniform torn in several places soaked with blood. He clutched a wooden sword in trembling hands that could barely keep it from slipping.

It was Arthur.

Standing in front of him were two children who looked two or three years older than him. Both wore the emblem of an Imperius branch family on their chests.

They were Arthur’s cousins.

Chloe and Roman—brown-haired siblings from a renowned Imperius branch line.

Up in the spectator seats, Sylvia and Jessica sat side by side, watching the training match below. A short distance away sat a brown-haired man with calm brown eyes and a straight posture, and beside him, a woman with long blue hair and sharp features.

The brown-haired man was Norman Cleaver—Adrian Imperius’s cousin and head of the Cleaver family. The Cleavers were the Imperius family’s hidden blades, who quietly erased anyone the main family wanted gone.

The blue-haired woman at his side was his wife, Bianca Cleaver.

She watched the arena with a satisfied smile, clearly enjoying the sight of her children wiping the floor with a main-line Imperius who couldn’t even stand properly.

—

Chloe stepped forward and kicked Arthur in the chest.

He fell to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. Before he could get up, Roman stomped on his hand, making the wooden sword clatter away.

"Stay down," Roman sneered.

The two of them started kicking him together—ribs, back, legs. Each impact left a new bruise or deepened an old one. Arthur’s body curled in on itself, but he didn’t scream. Only ragged breaths escaped his lips.

Up in the stands, Sylvia watched the scene without saying a word, her expression unreadable.

Norman shifted uncomfortably.

"Sister Sylvia," he finally said, looking toward her, "don’t you think it’s too much?"

He glanced down at the small, battered figure on the floor.

"He is just a kid. Training like this won’t help him awaken his bloodline. It will break him instead."

Sylvia’s gaze slowly moved to him.

Norman flinched at the coldness in her eyes.

"It has been sixteen years," she said. "And he has still not awakened his bloodline. He isn’t even showing any signs of growth."

Her voice remained calm, but there was a hard edge to it.

"I have to take extreme measures. There is no place here for someone average who can only do this much. If things continue like this, he will be banished from the family. I am doing this for his own good."

Norman opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He knew how the main family thought—how they worshipped talent, bloodline, and strength above all else. Nothing he said would change their mindset.

He was one of the few people who genuinely pitied Arthur—for being born into such a monstrous family.

Down below, the referee finally couldn’t bear it anymore.

"Enough!" he shouted. "Healer! Lord Arthur has lost consciousness!"

Norman’s heart lurched.

He jumped from the stands without a second thought, landing on the ground and sprinting toward Arthur.

Chloe and Roman, seeing their father running toward them, grinned proudly. They thought he had come to praise them.

Instead, Norman shoved them aside with a sharp motion.

"Is this what I taught you?" he snapped. "To bully an innocent like this?"

Chloe and Roman froze, shocked.

But the shock quickly faded, replaced by something uglier. Instead of sympathy for Arthur, only hatred deepened in their eyes.

Roman clicked his tongue and looked at Arthur with open contempt.

"It’s his fault for being this weak," he muttered.

The two of them walked away with smug smiles, heading back toward their mother.

Norman watched them go, jaw tight.

"It’s all that woman’s fault," he thought bitterly, eyes flicking to Bianca. "She’s filling their heads with venom... She’ll destroy our own family at this rate."

He knelt and gently lifted Arthur into his arms, careful not to worsen his injuries.

"Hang in there, kid," he murmured.

Without wasting another second, Norman turned and ran toward the infirmary, Arthur’s limp body cradled against his chest as the training hall slowly emptied behind them.

While Norman ran to the infirmary, the stands remained occupied.

Sylvia and Jessica watched the arena without a shred of mercy in their eyes.

"He’s a lost cause," Jessica said flatly, arms crossed.

Sylvia’s fists clenched on the armrests, her knuckles turning white, but she said nothing.

Bianca, who had recovered her breath and composure, turned toward Sylvia with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Oh my, that was pretty disappointing to watch," she said. "The match was so one-sided. I had such high hopes of seeing the talent of a true Imperius bloodline."

She tilted her head, pretending to be thoughtful.

"It makes me wonder if the rumors are true, Lady Sylvia. I mean, you must have heard them—the ones saying Arthur isn’t actually Lord Adrian’s real son—"

She didn’t get to finish.

A jolt of killing intent exploded from Sylvia.

It crashed down over the entire training ground like a torrential storm. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Several trainees and spectators dropped to their knees without knowing why.

Bianca collapsed, clutching at her throat, eyes wide as she struggled to breathe. Her body trembled violently.

Sylvia rose slowly from her seat, crimson eyes burning.

Jessica stood up as well and placed a hand on Sylvia’s shoulder.

"Mother," she said calmly, "please, calm down."

The killing intent vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

Bianca gasped, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air, sweat rolling down her temples.

Jessica moved in front of her in a blur. She grabbed Bianca by the neck and lifted her slightly, eyes cold.

"If you want to kill her," Jessica said to Sylvia, voice calm and deadly, "just give the order. I’ll send her head back to the Cleaver family for spreading—and believing—such horrendous rumors."

"Let her go," Sylvia said after a moment, her voice back to its usual controlled tone.

Jessica released her grip.

Bianca dropped to the floor with a dull thud, coughing, eyes burning with humiliation and hatred as she looked up at the two of them.

She received nothing in return—not even a glance.

Unable to bear it, Bianca staggered to her feet and ran toward the exit, her footsteps echoing in the suddenly quiet hall.

Sylvia turned and started to leave as well.

"Aren’t you going to see how Arthur is doing?" Jessica asked from behind. "He was injured pretty badly."

Sylvia paused for a heartbeat, then answered without turning around.

"I am not a healer," she said. "Me going there will not change anything."

She walked out through the exit without looking back.

Jessica watched the doorway close.

"Well, can’t blame her," she said indifferently. "There is no compassion for the weak here."

—

One day later.

Arthur lay on a bed in the Imperius infirmary, staring at the closed door.

The healers had done their work well. All of his broken bones had been repaired, the bruises faded. His body felt as good as new.

But his gaze never left the entrance.

He had waited the entire day, watching the door open and close as doctors and nurses came and went, checking his condition and adjusting his drips and bandages.

Not once had a member of his family stepped inside.

No cousins. No elders. Not even the personal maid assigned to look after him.

Not a single person.

Only professionals doing their job, then leaving.

Arthur exhaled slowly, eyes dim.

’Figures,’ he thought.

The door creaked open again.

Arthur’s eyes snapped to it, a faint spark of hope igniting despite himself.

This time, it wasn’t a doctor or a nurse.

It was Jessica Evan Imperius.

A big smile formed on Arthur’s face the moment he saw who had entered.

"Sister, I’m alri—"

Before he could finish, an envelope hit his chest and dropped into his lap.

Jessica stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at him.

"For losing that duel," she said, voice flat, "you are banned from stepping foot in the main palace for a month. It’s Father’s order."

Arthur’s fingers tightened around the envelope.

"A place will be arranged for you. Your maid will inform you soon."

With that, Jessica turned on her heel, already moving toward the door.

Arthur’s voice stopped her.

"Will Mother come?"

Jessica’s steps halted.

She turned back, her expression indifferent.

"And why would she?" she asked. "After the humiliation you put her through?"

Her gaze sharpened.

"Do you know that because of you, there are rumors going around about someone as esteemed and respected as our mother? That she had an affair in the past... and that you are the bastard child of the Imperius family."

The words dug in like knives.

"If you feel even a little bad for her," Jessica continued, "then just leave this damn family already. This is no place for you. You’ll only make your life—and hers—more miserable here."

Tears gathered in Arthur’s eyes before he could stop them, falling onto the envelope in his hands.

He lowered his head.

"Tell her that I’m sorry," he whispered, forcing the words out. "And to give me just one more chance."

His voice shook.

"Tell her that I’ll do better next time."

Jessica clicked her tongue and looked away.

She left the room without another word.

Arthur stared at the closed door, shoulders trembling.

"Sorry," he muttered to the empty room, voice breaking. "Sorry for being born like this..."

Only the sound of muffled sobs filled the infirmary.

—

The next day, Arthur returned to the training grounds.

He wrapped his fingers around the wooden sword and lifted it.

Arthur swung the sword from morning till night, like a madman.

From the first pale light of dawn, when the training grounds were still empty and mist clung to the earth, he raised his wooden sword and brought it down again and again. At first his movements were rough and uneven, his arms still stiff from the injuries he had just recovered from.

He did not stop.

As the sun climbed higher, trainees came and went. Some laughed when they saw him, some pointed, some whispered, but Arthur’s gaze never left the invisible target in front of him. He only tightened his grip and continued to swing.

When his muscles burned and his shoulders screamed in pain, he did not rest.

When his stomach growled from hunger, he ignored it.

He paused only long enough to gulp down water, then lifted the sword again.

By noon, sweat soaked through his clothes, dripping from his chin and fingertips, darkening the ground beneath him. His hands blistered, skin tearing under the constant friction, but even when blood mixed with sweat on the hilt, he refused to loosen his grip.

Afternoon bled into evening.

Clouds gathered, thick and heavy, and the first drops of rain began to fall.

Arthur did not stop.

The drizzle turned into a downpour, washing his sweat and blood away in thin red trails. His uniform clung to his body, hair plastered to his forehead, but his arms continued their relentless motion.

Up.

Down.

Again.

The sky grew darker, the training grounds emptied, lamps lit one by one along the walls. Yet in the middle of the field, one lone figure moved without pause, swinging his sword as if it were the only thing tethering him to the world.

By the time night fully fell, Arthur was the only person left outside.

It was then that Jessica arrived to inspect the new batch of weapons—and saw him.

From a distance, she frowned.

"Who’s crazy enough to be training like that in this rain?" she thought.

When she realized who it was, her eyes widened.

"Does he want to die or something?"

She ran toward him.

"Arthur!" she called.

He didn’t react.

He just kept swinging.

"Arthur!"

Still nothing. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on a point only he could see.

Jessica stepped in front of him and grabbed the wooden sword.

He resisted for a heartbeat, then she tore it from his hands.

Arthur’s head snapped up.

For a brief moment, Jessica saw his eyes clearly—filled with raw hatred, aimed directly at her.

The sight made her chest tighten.

Then his legs gave out.

He collapsed to the ground and started coughing violently, blood splattering against the wet stone.

His vision blurred, the world tilting.

"I’ll show you," he rasped between gasps. "All of you... Mother, Father... everyone..."

He tried to push himself up, arms shaking too much to hold his weight.

"I’m not useless," he choked out. "I didn’t ask to be born like this... in this family... with this trash talent..."

The rain hammered down around them.

Jessica stood there, silent, watching him break.

"I’ll show you all," Arthur gasped. "I don’t know if I have the Imperius blood or not... but I still have this damn body... I’ll break myself, but I’ll never... never give up... if that’s what you want..."

His words dissolved into hoarse whispers as his consciousness finally slipped away.

He lay motionless on the soaked ground.

For the first time, a clear question formed in Jessica’s mind.

’Did we go too far?’

Had she herself poured this much hatred into her own brother’s heart?

She remembered the look he had given her just moments ago—the look of pure indifference and loathing, tinged with faint killing intent.

It was the same boy who had always looked at her with love and admiration, hoping for just a few words of praise. Just a few words from anyone that might give him hope—that he was worth something in this cursed family.

Jessica felt something twist painfully inside her chest.

She finally understood what disappointment felt like—disappointment in herself.

She looked down at his fallen body.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

"I’ll try to be better... the next time we meet."

She picked him up and carried him toward the infirmary.

—

The next day, Arthur woke up to the familiar white ceiling of the infirmary.

He sat up slowly.

His body had been healed again—no pain, no weakness, just the lingering heaviness of exhaustion.

On the bedside wall , a big screen played quietly, tuned to a news channel.

Arthur turned his head.

On the screen, a headline scrolled across: "Jessica Evan Imperius heads into the Null Realm to conquer the Land of Titans."

He stared at her image for a long moment, as he changed the channel.