Chapter 6: Breakfast With Wolves
The Valemont dining hall had always been an uncomfortable place.
It wasn't because of the size. In fact, it was spacious enough to host dozens of nobles without feeling crowded. Tall marble pillars lined the walls, their surfaces polished until they reflected the morning light streaming through stained-glass windows. The long dining table at the center was crafted from dark oak, its surface smooth and immaculate.
Everything about the room spoke of order.
Hierarchy.
Control.
That was why it had never felt like a place for family.
I stepped inside at an unhurried pace.
The change was immediate.
Conversations thinned. Utensils paused mid-motion. Servants along the walls straightened instinctively, their gazes lowering just a fraction too late.
They were watching me.
Not openly, not rudely—but carefully, like people observing an object that had shifted from where it was supposed to be.
I ignored them and continued forward.
Aria followed one step behind me.
She did not announce herself. She did not release any pressure deliberately. Still, anyone with decent perception would feel it—something restrained, dense, and entirely out of place behind a "personal maid."
I reached my seat and sat down.
No greetings. No pleasantries.
Aria stopped behind me, hands folded neatly, posture perfect.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then my father's voice cut through the quiet.
"You're late."
The Marquis Valemont sat at the head of the table, spine straight, expression neutral. He looked exactly as he always did—composed, authoritative, unyielding. The faint pressure he radiated was constant, like gravity.
Spirit Link Stage.
Low tier, but still enough to dominate most people in this room.
"I was stabilizing my cultivation," I replied.
The words settled over the table.
Someone's spoon slipped from their fingers and struck porcelain with a soft clink. An elder two seats away stiffened before quickly masking it. A servant near the wall lowered their head even further.
The Marquis's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Cultivation?" he repeated.
"Yes."
I met his gaze directly.
I didn't raise my chin. I didn't avert my eyes.
Across the table, reactions varied.
Cassius Valemont, the eldest legitimate son, leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers interlaced. His expression remained mild, but his eyes sharpened, studying me with renewed interest.
Marcus frowned openly, irritation flashing across his face without restraint.
The youngest, Adrian, blinked in confusion before his expression slowly turned wary.
The Marquis studied me in silence for a long moment.
"You avoided cultivation your entire life," he said at last. "You refused tutors. You rejected resources. You avoided assessments."
"That is accurate," I replied.
"And now," he continued, "you decide to cultivate."
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question was simple.
The answer was layered.
Because fate had already written my death.
Because this family would erase me without hesitation.
Because remaining weak was no longer an option.
None of that would serve me here.
"I misjudged my position," I said instead.
A quiet murmur spread across the table.
Cassius smiled faintly.
"A realization," he said. "Those tend to arrive late for people in your situation."
"Better late than irrelevant," I replied.
His smile did not fade, but his eyes lingered on me a second longer.
"You've reached the Awakening Stage," he said casually. "Peak tier, if I'm not mistaken."
That drew a reaction.
Several elders shifted in their seats. Someone inhaled sharply before controlling themselves.
Peak-tier Awakening at my age was rare.
From someone who had never cultivated before?
Suspicious.
"Yes," I confirmed.
Marcus scoffed, unable to hide it. "That's absurd. Even with preparation, such progress—"
"Is possible," I interrupted calmly, "if one stops wasting time."
The room went quiet again.
The Marquis's gaze shifted, not toward me, but toward Aria.
"And who is this?" he asked.
"My personal maid," I replied. "Her name is Aria."
Cassius glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You never kept a personal maid," he observed.
"I never had a reason to."
"And now?"
"I do."
Aria did not react.
That, too, was noted.
The Marquis leaned back slightly.
"Lucian," he said, voice steady, "do you understand what this implies?"
"I do."
"You have returned yourself to consideration."
That was the core of it.
By cultivating, I had made myself relevant again.
Marcus spoke sharply, impatience breaking through. "Are you planning to participate in the heir selection?"
I turned my gaze to him.
"I never withdrew," I said.
The atmosphere changed.
Marcus's jaw tightened.
Cassius chuckled softly.
"You should be careful with statements like that," he said lightly. "They invite misunderstandings."
"I don't mind misunderstandings," I replied. "I mind being dismissed."
Silence followed.
The Marquis tapped a finger against the table once.
"The heir duel remains unchanged," he said. "Any son may contend."
Of course it did.
His gaze returned to me.
"But do not expect leniency."
"I wouldn't," I replied. "That would be inconvenient."
For the briefest moment, something like interest flickered in his eyes.
"Eat," he said. "We will speak later."
Servants resumed their duties. Dishes were placed, drinks poured. Conversation restarted, though more carefully than before.
Cassius leaned slightly toward me.
"You've changed," he murmured.
"I adapted," I replied.
"Predators notice adaptation," he said.
"So do those being hunted," I answered.
His smile widened, though his eyes remained sharp.
Breakfast ended without incident.
That, in itself, was noteworthy.
As chairs scraped back and people began to rise, I stood.
"Aria," I said.
"Yes, my lord."
We turned to leave.
As we walked away, I felt it.
Attention.
Not hostility. Not yet.
Calculation.
They would investigate. They would test. They would wait.
In the corridor outside the hall, Aria spoke quietly.
"You have drawn attention."
"That was inevitable," I replied.
"They will act."
"Yes."
She paused.
"Soon."
"I know."
That night, I returned to my room and sat down to cultivate.
As mana circulated through my body, the familiar blue interface appeared—not as an alarm, not as a warning, but as a ledger.
[Narrative Deviation Detected.]
[Key Character Behavior Altered: Marquis Valemont.]
[Story Flow Disturbance: Minor.]
I glanced at the text without stopping my breathing cycle.
"…So this is how it tracks things."
The system did not care whether I lived or died.
It cared whether the story changed.
Another line appeared.
[Observation: Multiple characters have begun reassessing the host's role.]
[Potential Branch Points Increased.]
That made sense.
By cultivating openly, I had stepped back into the narrative.
Whether I liked it or not.
[Story Points: +12,000]
A modest amount.
That meant this chapter of events was still considered "early."
Good.
That gave me room.
I closed the interface and continued cultivating.
Somewhere in the mansion, discussions were happening behind closed doors. Calculations were being made. Possibilities weighed.
They would decide whether I was worth removing now—
Or worth watching longer.
Either way, the story had begun moving again.
And this time, I intended to stay ahead of it.