Chapter 12: What Is Worth Keeping
Lucian Valemont stood by the desk, two sheets of paper resting in his hands.
From the outside, he appeared calm—almost idle. His posture was relaxed, shoulders straight without stiffness, fingers holding the papers loosely as though they carried no weight.
But the contents of those papers were already shaping lives.
The first sheet was handwritten.
Neat. Narrow margins. Clean strokes that betrayed the author's temperament more than her words ever could.
Aria's handwriting.
Lucian read it again, slowly.
Not skimming. Not memorizing.
Understanding.
The tests were brutal—not in execution, but in intent.
They were not meant to find who could win.
They were meant to reveal who could function.
Who could think while tired.
Who could obey without becoming a tool.
Who could disobey without becoming a liability.
Who could accept loss without resentment.
Lucian exhaled quietly.
"…You really don't leave room for sentiment," he murmured.
Aria stood near the window, dressed in simple black training attire—no ornamentation, no insignia. Her long hair was tied back tightly, not for appearance, but for efficiency. Her presence did not dominate the room, but it compressed it.
"Sentiment gets people killed," she replied flatly.
Lucian nodded and placed the first paper down.
Then he lifted the second.
This one was heavier.
Copied from official county reports, sealed and resealed, annotated in different hands. The crest at the top belonged to a regional authority.
House Aurelion.
A county-level noble house.
Lucian's eyes moved across the report.
A Spirit Dungeon had appeared within Aurelion County.
Not a minor one.
A powerful spirit-type dungeon—rare enough that even the Valemont family would take notice.
Instead of requesting external intervention, House Aurelion had acted alone.
The patriarch.
The family elder.
Their strongest internal forces.
They succeeded.
Publicly.
A celebration followed.
Wine flowed.
Guests praised their bravery.
Official statements declared minimal losses.
And then—
The gates closed.
Trade halted.
Visitors denied.
Internal guards doubled.
Spirit items "secured internally for assessment."
Lucian smiled faintly.
"…They're sorting it," he said softly.
Aria turned her head slightly.
"And selling what they shouldn't," she added.
"Or hiding what they can't sell yet."
Lucian folded the paper once and placed it beside the first.
"One builds my teeth," he said.
"The other builds my skeleton."
He straightened.
"Begin the tests."
---
The courtyard felt different today.
That was the first thing the trainees noticed.
There were more people.
More eyes.
More tension.
Nearly fifty individuals stood scattered across the wide stone courtyard, the early morning sun casting long shadows across worn flagstones. Some stood stiffly, dressed in worn leather armor or training uniforms faded from repeated washing. Others wore newer gear—carefully maintained, almost ostentatious.
And then there were those who didn't belong.
At least, that was how it felt.
A young woman stood near the center of the courtyard, dressed in fitted training clothes dyed a deep blue—fabric clearly expensive, tailored to her form. Her long hair was braided neatly, not in the style of a soldier, but of a noble lady attempting to look like one.
Her posture was perfect.
Too perfect.
She held herself with the unconscious confidence of someone raised to be observed, not tested.
Several trainees glanced at her.
Why is she here?
Another noble playing soldier?
She ignored them all.
Not out of arrogance—but because she had never learned to acknowledge people without status.
At the edge of the courtyard, others noticed different details.
A man with a jagged scar running from jaw to collarbone stood barefoot, arms crossed, gaze sharp and restless.
A pair of twins whispered quietly to each other, eyes darting.
A former guard adjusted his stance repeatedly, trying to look disciplined without looking submissive.
No one spoke loudly.
The air itself felt expectant.
Then footsteps echoed from above.
All eyes turned.
Lucian Valemont descended the stairs.
He wore simple clothes—dark, unadorned, neither noble nor common. His face was calm, almost disinterested, as though he were observing livestock rather than people.
Behind him walked Aria.
The difference was immediate.
Where Lucian's presence cooled the air, Aria's sharpened it.
She wore black training attire, fitted for movement, sleeves rolled back slightly. Her gaze swept the courtyard once—and several trainees instinctively straightened without knowing why.
She stopped in the center.
"You are not candidates," Aria said.
Her voice was not loud.
It didn't need to be.
"You are variables."
A ripple passed through the group.
Lucian remained silent, standing off to the side, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
From the trainees' perspective, that silence was worse.
The first test began without explanation.
Groups were assigned unevenly.
Some had six.
Some had three.
Some only two.
Crates were brought out—heavy, solid, unmarked.
"Move them," Aria said.
No destination given.
No method specified.
Confusion bloomed.
The noble-looking woman hesitated, clearly waiting for instruction. When none came, irritation flickered across her face before she masked it and began giving orders to her group.
They ignored her.
Across the courtyard, the scarred man lifted a crate alone and began moving without waiting for agreement.
Lucian activated the Eyes of Latent Worth.
The world layered itself.
Potential bloomed and collapsed like weak stars.
He watched.
A muscular trainee burned through his stamina trying to impress. His potential flared violently—and then dimmed.
Discarded.
Another, smaller man placed himself at the back of the group, stabilizing the pace, adjusting grip, speaking only when necessary.
Marked.
Lucian did not move.
The second test followed immediately.
They were ordered to stand still.
No explanation.
Minutes passed.
The sun rose higher.
Sweat formed.
The noble-looking woman shifted her weight, displeasure barely hidden.
Lucian watched her potential spike—and crack.
Impatience.
The third test broke several people.
Conflicting instructions.
Different assistants giving opposite orders.
Some obeyed rank automatically.
Some froze.
Some chose.
Lucian's eyes moved constantly.
By the time Aria raised her hand, exhaustion had stripped pretense away.
"Stop."
Lucian stepped forward.
"Twenty of you," he said calmly, "are unnecessary."
He began pointing.
Not angrily.
Not dramatically.
Just… deciding.
When he pointed at the noble-looking woman, her eyes widened.
"You misunderstand your value," Lucian said to her evenly. "Leave."
She opened her mouth—then closed it.
Her face burned as she turned and walked away.
Others followed.
Some silently.
Some with resentment.
By the end, only twelve remained.
They stood differently now.
No one smiled.
Lucian looked at them once.
"Selection is complete," he said.
That night, Lucian stood again by his desk.
The two papers waited.
The tests had done their work.
The squad existed.
He picked up the second paper—House Aurelion.
"…Now," he murmured, "let's see who needs saving."
Outside, in a distant county, a noble house sorted spirit treasures behind closed gates—unaware that someone had already decided the price of their silence.