My mind raced, frantically searching for the right words, the right approach. The knights stared at me with suspicion and barely concealed hostility. The maid had tears streaming down her face, her hope crushed. And the lead knight's hand remained on his sword hilt, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.
'What do I say? How do I explain Abel's absence without condemning myself?'
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Every explanation I could think of sounded weak, suspicious, or outright damning. We got separated. I couldn't find him. He went one way and I went another.
All of it screamed guilt.
Then something occurred to me, cutting through the panic like a blade through silk.
'I'm not me. I'm Kaine Einsworth. And Kaine was an asshole.'
The original Kaine hadn't been the type to explain himself. Hadn't been the type to apologize or justify his actions to servants and knights. He'd been arrogant, dismissive, cruel when the mood struck him. Everyone expected that behavior from him.
If I suddenly became humble and apologetic, if I started trying to justify myself and plead my case, that would be suspicious. That would make them wonder what had changed. What I was hiding.
'So I need to be what they expect. I need to be Kaine.'
The thought made my stomach turn, but I didn't see another option. Survival demanded I play the role.
I let the fear drain from my expression, replacing it with cold indifference. Then I looked directly at the lead knight, meeting his gaze with a stare that I filled with every ounce of contempt I could muster.
The knight flinched.
"Do not forget your place," I said, my voice low and sharp as a knife's edge. "And do not forget who you are speaking to."
The words came out more naturally than I expected, as though some remnant of Kaine's personality was guiding my tongue. The knight's eyes widened, and I saw him take an involuntary step backward.
"The next time you address me with such disrespect," I continued, letting each word fall like a stone into still water, "I will personally separate your head from your shoulders. Am I understood?"
Silence fell over the group like a heavy blanket. The maid's sobbing stopped abruptly. The other knights exchanged nervous glances. And the lead knight's face went pale.
I felt something then, a pressure emanating from me that I hadn't consciously summoned. It wasn't mana. It was something else. Intent, maybe. The weight of the saber at my hip, the residual energy from the soul binding, the four beast cores I'd consumed vicariously through my weapon. All of it combined into an oppressive aura that made the air feel thick.
'They're all Novice rank.'
The realization came suddenly and clearly. I could sense it now, the same way I'd sensed the Crimson Maws' presence. Each knight radiated a pressure similar to what those beasts had possessed. Stronger than an Unranked human, but not by much.
They were trained warriors. They had experience I lacked. In a straight fight, any one of them could probably kill me.
But they didn't know that.
All they saw was the Einsworth Family Saber on my hip, the legendary weapon that had chosen me. All they felt was the oppressive weight of whatever aura I was unconsciously projecting. And all they knew was Kaine's reputation for volatility and violence.
The lead knight buckled under my stare. He dropped to one knee, his head bowed.
"Forgive me, Young Master Kaine," he said, his voice tight with something that might have been fear. "I spoke out of turn. It will not happen again."
Young Master Kaine. The proper form of address. Recognition of my status as the Duke's firstborn son.
I let the silence stretch for a few more seconds, maintaining the pressure, then spoke again.
"Where is Lord Abel?" the knight asked carefully, keeping his eyes down. "The Duke has been—"
"Are you deaf?" I interrupted, my tone cold enough to freeze water. "Or do you simply not hear well?"
The knight's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
"I do not owe you an explanation," I continued. "I do not owe any of you an explanation. My business is with my father, and my father alone."
I gestured dismissively at the group. "Look at me. Do you see any injuries? Any wounds that would suggest I couldn't handle myself in this forest?"
They did look. Their eyes traced over my torn and bloodstained clothes. But the blood was darker than it should have been, tinged with the acidic quality of Crimson Maw blood. And while my coat and shirt were shredded, the flesh beneath was healing, the wounds already closing.
To them, it looked like I'd been in a fight and won decisively.
"I need to see my father," I said, infusing my voice with authority I didn't feel. "Immediately. You will lead me back to the estate at once."
The lead knight rose to his feet, still not quite meeting my eyes. "Of course, Young Master. The carriage is this way."
Without another word, the group turned and began moving through the forest. The knights formed a loose perimeter around me, and the maid walked at the rear, still sniffling quietly.
None of them questioned me further.
As we walked, I felt the tension in my shoulders begin to ease slightly. The performance had worked. They'd bought it. Or at least, they were too intimidated to push back.
'But that won't work on Duke Eamon. He's not some Novice-ranked knight I can bully with attitude. He's a Grandmaster. One of the strongest people in the world.'
The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me, but I forced it down. One crisis at a time.
---
The carriage was waiting at the forest's edge, a practical vehicle designed for rough terrain rather than comfort. Two horses stood in harness, their ears swiveling nervously as I approached.
Even the animals could sense something had changed.
The lead knight opened the door for me, and I climbed inside without acknowledging him. The interior was sparse, just padded benches and a small window on each side. I took a seat facing forward and leaned back, closing my eyes as though exhausted.
In truth, I was. The fight with the Crimson Maws, the soul binding, the constant tension of maintaining Kaine's persona. All of it was taking its toll.
The carriage lurched into motion, and through the window, I watched the Saber Garden slowly recede into the distance.
'I survived. I actually survived that place.'
But survival was only the first step. The real challenge waited at the estate.
---
The journey took perhaps an hour, the carriage rattling along a maintained road that wound through farmland and small villages. I kept my eyes closed for most of it, feigning rest while my mind worked through scenarios and responses.
What would I tell Duke Eamon? How would I explain Abel's absence?
'The truth is impossible. A modified truth is my only option.'
We were attacked. Separated. I searched but couldn't find him. In my desperation, I found the saber's location, and it chose me.
It was close enough to the truth to be believable, but vague enough to avoid incriminating details.
'Will he believe it? Will he care?'
The carriage began to slow, and I opened my eyes. Through the window, I could see the Einsworth estate coming into view.
It was massive. A sprawling complex of buildings constructed from pale stone and dark wood, surrounded by high walls and manicured grounds. The main manor itself was three stories tall with dozens of windows that gleamed in the late afternoon sun.
Kaine's memories supplied the details. Training yards to the east. Servant quarters to the west. Gardens and greenhouses to the south. And at the center of it all, the main building where Duke Eamon conducted his affairs.
The carriage passed through the main gate, and I saw servants and guards stopping to stare. Word of my return was spreading already.
'By tonight, everyone will know. Kaine returned alive. Abel didn't.'
The carriage stopped in the central courtyard, and the lead knight opened the door. I stepped out, my boots crunching on gravel, and looked around.
More servants had gathered, their faces a mixture of curiosity and concern. I saw a few of them whispering to each other, their eyes fixed on the saber at my hip.
"The Duke is in his study," the lead knight said quietly. "Third floor, east wing. Shall I announce you?"
"No," I said flatly. "I'll announce myself."
I walked toward the manor's main entrance, my pace deliberately unhurried. The servants parted before me like water around a stone, and I felt their stares following me with each step.
The interior of the manor was just as impressive as the exterior. High ceilings. Marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Tapestries depicting battles and victories hanging on the walls. Everything spoke of old money and older power.
I climbed the grand staircase to the second floor, then took a narrower set of stairs to the third. The east wing was quieter, with fewer servants moving about. This was where the family's private quarters were located.
Duke Eamon's study was at the end of a long hallway, its doors made of dark wood reinforced with metal bands. There were no guards posted outside.
'A Grandmaster doesn't need guards.'
I stopped in front of the doors, my hand hovering over the handle. This was it. The moment of truth.
I felt it then, even through the thick wood. A presence so overwhelming it made the air itself feel heavy.
Killing intent.
Not directed at anything specific. Just... existing. Like standing next to a sleeping dragon that could wake at any moment and incinerate everything around it.
'He knows I'm here. Of course he knows. A Grandmaster would sense my approach the moment I entered the manor.'
I took a breath, steadied myself, and pushed the doors open.
The study was spacious but not ostentatious. Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with texts on warfare, strategy, and history. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with maps and documents. And behind that desk, standing with his back to the door, was Duke Eamon Einsworth.
He was exactly as Kaine's memories depicted. Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair streaked with silver. He wore simple clothes, a fitted shirt and trousers, but there was nothing simple about the way he carried himself. Every movement spoke of controlled power, of a warrior who'd spent decades perfecting his craft.
He didn't turn when I entered. Didn't acknowledge my presence at all. He just continued staring out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.
Then he spoke, and his voice was like thunder rolling across a battlefield.
"You have returned."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact delivered with the weight of absolute authority.
I stepped fully into the room, letting the doors swing shut behind me. The click of the latch echoed in the silence.
"Where is your brother?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. Not shouted. Not screamed. Just spoken in that same thunderous tone that somehow made them more terrifying than any display of emotion could have been.
The killing intent in the room intensified. I felt it pressing against my skin, seeping into my bones, making every survival instinct I had scream at me to run.
But I couldn't run. There was nowhere to run to.
Duke Eamon finally turned to face me.
His eyes were the same color as Abel's had been. Golden and piercing, capable of seeing through any lie, any deception. They fixed on me with an intensity that made my earlier intimidation of the knights seem like child's play.
"Where," he repeated, each word measured and deliberate, "is your brother?"