---
Lucian woke before dawn.
Old habits. Marcus Drake had spent too many years in warzones where sleeping past sunrise got you killed. His eyes opened to darkness, body already moving—sitting up, feet on cold stone floor, assessing threats.
Right. Not a military barracks. Duke's estate. Lucian's chambers.
He was still getting used to that.
*"Good morning, Master~"* Aria's voice was far too chipper for whatever ungodly hour this was. *"Ready to make someone regret their life choices?"*
"The guard," Lucian muttered, standing and stretching. His—Lucian's—body responded well. Foundation Realm 3 meant enhanced physiology. Less sleep needed. Faster recovery. He felt good. Rested.
*"Guard Captain Roth. Foundation Realm 3, Peak stage. Same as you. He's been mocking you for three years."* Aria's voice turned gleeful. *"He calls you 'half-blood bastard' when the Duke isn't around. Told the other guards your mother was a whore who seduced the Duke with magic."*
Lucian's jaw tightened. Lucian's memories provided context—every insult, every sneer, every time Roth had "accidentally" knocked him during training. Years of accumulated humiliation.
"Where does he train?"
*"Eastern courtyard. Every morning at dawn. Alone for the first hour before his squad arrives."* A pause. *"Perfect opportunity, don't you think?"*
Lucian dressed quickly. Black training clothes, flexible and practical. He strapped on his sword—a simple blade, nothing fancy. The Duke didn't waste money on his bastard's equipment.
That would change soon.
He checked his Status before leaving.
```
[STATUS]
Name: Lucian Ashveil (Marcus Drake)
Rank: Foundation Realm 3 (Peak) - 87% to Adept Realm 1
Strength: 42
Agility: 38
Endurance: 40
Mana: 180/180
Active Missions:
- "Breaking Through" (6 days, 23 hours remaining)
- "First Steps to Power" (No time limit)
Domination Points: 300
```
*"Nervous?"* Aria asked.
"No." Lucian moved toward the door. "Just calculating."
*"That's what I like about you. Cold. Efficient. You're going to hurt him badly, aren't you?"*
"If he's smart, he'll yield before it comes to that."
*"And if he's not smart?"*
Lucian's smile was predatory. "Then I'll teach him a lesson he'll remember for the rest of his short life."
---
The eastern courtyard was empty except for one man.
Guard Captain Roth was exactly as Lucian remembered. Mid-thirties, built like a bull, with a scarred face and the kind of arrogance that came from never losing a fight to someone weaker. He wore the Duke's colors—crimson and black—and was running through sword drills when Lucian approached.
The training yard was open-air, surrounded by stone walls. Weapon racks lined one side. Training dummies on the other. The sky was just starting to lighten—pre-dawn grey that turned everything colorless.
Roth noticed him. Stopped mid-swing. A nasty grin spread across his face.
"Well, well. The little half-blood is up early." His voice was rough, mocking. "What's wrong? Couldn't sleep knowing you're the Duke's biggest disappointment?"
Lucian walked into the center of the courtyard. Calm. Controlled. "I'm here to challenge you."
Roth blinked. Then laughed. Deep and genuine, like he'd just heard the funniest joke.
"Challenge me? YOU?" He wiped his eyes. "Oh shit. Did you hit your head, boy? I'm Foundation Realm 3, Peak stage. Same as you. But I've got twenty years of real combat experience. You've got... what? Three years of playing with wooden swords?"
"I've got enough." Lucian's hand went to his sword hilt. "Draw your blade."
The laughter died. Roth's expression hardened.
"You serious right now?"
"Dead serious."
For a moment, Roth just stared. Then he shook his head, grinning again. "Alright. Fine. I've wanted to put you in your place for years. The Duke won't even care—he'll probably thank me for teaching his bastard some humility."
He drew his sword. Standard imperial steel, well-maintained. A warrior's blade.
Lucian drew his own. The metal sang as it cleared the sheath.
*"Remember,"* Aria whispered in his mind. *"You have an advantage he doesn't. You've got me. And you've got Marcus Drake's tactical mind. Use both."*
Roth settled into a combat stance—textbook form, center of balance low, blade held in middle guard. Standard training. Predictable.
Lucian didn't take a stance. He just stood there, sword held loosely at his side, watching.
"What the hell are you doing?" Roth demanded.
"Observing." Lucian's voice was flat. "You favor your right leg. Old injury to the left knee—probably from a training accident five, six years ago. Your sword is weighted for power strikes, not speed. You're used to overwhelming opponents with strength."
Roth's grin faltered.
"Your breathing is steady but your mana circulation is sluggish. You hit Peak stage years ago and never pushed for Adept because you were comfortable here." Lucian tilted his head. "You're strong. Experienced. But you've been stagnant. Complacent."
"The fuck would you know—"
Lucian moved.
Not the flashy movement of a cultivator showing off. Marcus Drake's movement. Efficient. Brutal. Closing distance before the opponent could react.
*CLASH!*
Steel met steel. Lucian's blade came in low, forcing Roth to block downward. The guard captain's eyes widened in surprise—the kid was FAST—
Lucian's boot lashed out. Caught Roth's left knee. The old injury.
Roth's leg buckled. Just for a second. But a second was all Lucian needed.
He disengaged, circled right, and struck again. This time at Roth's sword arm. The guard captain barely got his blade up in time.
*CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!*
Three strikes in rapid succession. Each one precisely placed. Testing defenses. Finding weaknesses.
"You—" Roth staggered back. "You little shit—"
*"He's angry now,"* Aria observed. *"Angry fighters make mistakes. Press him."*
Lucian pressed.
He came in with a high strike—Roth raised his sword to block—then Lucian pivoted, went low instead, blade sweeping toward Roth's legs.
The guard captain jumped back. Barely avoided it. "Where the FUCK did you learn to fight like that?!"
"I had a good teacher." Lucian didn't elaborate.
Roth's face twisted with rage. "Enough playing around!"
His mana flared. Foundation Realm 3 cultivators could enhance their physical abilities with mana. Roth channeled power into his muscles—strength doubled, speed increased, his blade suddenly wreathed in crimson energy.
*[Mana Enhancement - Heavy Strike]*
He charged forward with a devastating overhead swing. The kind that would split a normal human in half.
*"Block it and your sword will break,"* Aria warned. *"Dodge left, then counter. He's overcommitted."*
Lucian trusted her.
He sidestepped left. The enhanced blade crashed into the ground where he'd been standing—*BOOM*—stone cracked, dust exploded upward.
Roth was wide open.
Lucian's sword came up in a rising arc. Caught Roth across the ribs. Not deep—just enough to draw blood through the training armor.
First blood.
Roth howled in pain and rage. He spun, trying to bring his sword around, but Lucian was already gone. Circling. Patient.
"Stand still, you fucking coward!"
"Why?" Lucian's voice was calm. Cold. "You're doing all the work for me."
And he was. Roth was strong but sloppy. Each strike was powerful but telegraphed. Each movement left openings. He fought like someone who'd won every battle through brute force and never learned finesse.
Marcus Drake had fought alongside special forces operators. Men and women who could kill you six different ways before you blinked. He'd learned from them. Absorbed their techniques. Made them his own.
Roth didn't stand a chance.
*"Want to end it?"* Aria asked. *"I can give you a boost. Spend 50 Domination Points for a temporary buff. Double your speed for thirty seconds."*
"Save the points," Lucian muttered. "I don't need them."
*"Ooh, confident. I like that~"*
Roth charged again. This time with a horizontal slash aimed at Lucian's midsection.
Lucian didn't dodge.
He stepped INSIDE the swing. Close enough to smell Roth's sweat. Too close for the blade to hit effectively. And then his elbow snapped up—*CRACK*—caught Roth square in the nose.
Blood exploded. Roth's head snapped back.
Lucian's knee came up. Slammed into Roth's solar plexus. The guard captain's breath left him in a *whoosh* of pain.
Sword clattered to the ground.
Roth stumbled back, clutching his face, gasping for air. Blood poured between his fingers.
Lucian stood over him. Blade pointed at his throat.
"Yield."
"Fuck... you..." Roth wheezed.
Lucian pressed the blade forward. Just enough to draw a thin line of blood on Roth's neck.
"I said yield."
Roth's eyes were wide. Bloodshot. Terrified. For the first time in this fight, he understood.
The boy wasn't playing. The bastard half-blood he'd mocked for years had just dismantled him like it was *nothing*.
"I... yield," Roth choked out.
Lucian held the blade there for another heartbeat. Making the point. Then he withdrew it.
"Good."
He turned to walk away—
"This isn't over!" Roth snarled behind him. "You think you can humiliate me and just walk away?! I'll fucking KILL you—"
Lucian spun back around.
*CRACK!*
His fist caught Roth's jaw. Enhanced with just a thread of mana. Not enough to kill. Just enough to shatter teeth and send the guard captain sprawling unconscious onto the stone.
Silence.
Lucian looked down at Roth's limp form. Blood pooled around his face. He'd live. Probably have a bad concussion and need a healer. But he'd live.
"Should've stayed down," Lucian said quietly.
```
[MISSION COMPLETE: "First Steps to Power"]
Reward: 200 Domination Points, +2 Strength
[Skill Acquired: Intimidation Aura (Passive)]
New Ability: [Intimidation Aura]
- Enemies of lower or equal rank feel instinctive fear in your presence
- More effective after displays of dominance
- Can be toggled on/off
Total Domination Points: 500
Strength: 42 → 44
Aria: "Mmmm, that was DELICIOUS~ Did you see his face at the end?
Pure terror. You've got a gift for this, Master~"
```
Lucian wiped his blade clean and sheathed it. The sun was starting to rise properly now, painting the courtyard in shades of orange and red.
"You're enjoying this too much," he muttered to Aria.
*"Can you blame me? I've been dormant for who knows how long. Watching you dominate feels GOOD."* She practically purred. *"Besides, you enjoyed it too. Don't lie."*
She wasn't wrong. Marcus Drake had killed before. Out of necessity, in combat, following orders. But this? This was different. This was personal. Brutal. Satisfying in a way that should probably concern him.
But he'd deal with his moral crisis later. Right now, he had more immediate problems.
Like the crowd that had gathered.
Lucian looked up. A dozen guards stood at the courtyard entrance. They'd been drawn by the sounds of combat. All of them stared at Roth's unconscious, bleeding form. Then at Lucian.
Their expressions ranged from shock to fear to grudging respect.
"Anyone else want to question my bloodline?" Lucian asked calmly.
Silence.
"No? Good. Someone get him to a healer." He started walking toward them. The crowd parted automatically. "And tell the Duke that Guard Captain Roth challenged me to a duel. I won. Fair and square."
One of the guards—a younger man, Foundation Realm 2—swallowed hard. "Y-yes, Young Master Ashveil."
Young Master. Not bastard. Not half-blood.
Progress.
Lucian left the courtyard behind.
---
He made it halfway back to his chambers before he realized someone was following him.
His hand went to his sword hilt automatically. But then he caught the scent—lavender and steel. A distinctive combination.
"You can come out, Mother," he called without turning around.
A pause. Then Elira stepped out from behind a pillar. She was dressed in training clothes—practical pants and a fitted shirt that showed off her warrior's build. Her crimson hair was bound in its usual braid. The suppression collar glinted at her throat.
But her eyes—those golden amber eyes—were BURNING.
"That was..." She seemed to search for words. "When did you learn to fight like that?"
"I've always known how to fight. You taught me yourself."
"Not like THAT." Elira moved closer. "Lucian, what you did to Roth—that wasn't noble sword art. That was soldier's combat. Brutal. Efficient. Kill-or-be-killed technique."
Shit. She was too perceptive.
"I've been studying," Lucian said carefully. "Old military manuals. Strategy texts. I figured if I couldn't match the legitimate heirs in resources or training, I'd match them in knowledge."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Marcus Drake's military experience WAS knowledge. Just... from another world.
Elira studied him for a long moment. Those eyes saw too much.
"You've changed," she said finally. "I said it yesterday, but it's even more obvious now. You move differently. Think differently. It's like..." She shook her head. "Like you're someone else wearing my son's face."
Lucian's chest tightened. "Would that be so bad?"
"I don't know." Elira's voice was soft. "The son I raised was brave but reckless. Kind but naive. You..." She gestured at him. "You're cold. Calculating. You beat Roth without breaking a sweat, then knocked him unconscious like it was *nothing*. No hesitation. No remorse."
"He insulted you," Lucian said quietly. "Called you a whore. Said you used magic to seduce the Duke. He deserved worse than a broken jaw."
Elira's breath caught. "You... you did that for me?"
"I told you yesterday. I'm tired of being powerless. Tired of watching people disrespect you." Lucian met her eyes. "Things are going to change, Mother. Starting now."
The intensity in his gaze made Elira take a step back. Not from fear. From something else. Something she didn't quite understand yet.
"Be careful," she whispered. "Roth has friends. The Duke's guards are loyal to each other. If you humiliate one..."
"Let them come." Lucian's voice was steel. "I'll beat them all. And then they'll learn the same lesson Roth did—I'm not the weak bastard they can push around anymore."
Elira looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Her son. But also... not quite.
"Just don't die," she said finally. "Please. I couldn't... I couldn't bear it."
The vulnerability in her voice hit harder than Lucian expected. He reached out, took her hand. The same gesture from yesterday. Warm skin, calloused palms, strength barely contained.
"I won't die," he promised. "I'm going to live. And I'm going to set you free."
Elira's eyes glistened. She squeezed his hand once, hard. Then pulled away and left without another word.
Lucian watched her go.
*"She's falling for you,"* Aria said smugly. *"Not romantically. Not yet. But emotionally? Absolutely. She's starting to depend on you. Trust you. See you as something more than just her son."*
"That's not what I was going for."
*"Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing."* Aria laughed. *"The strong protector. The man who fights for her honor. The son who promises impossible things and then delivers. Classic seduction, Master. Whether you admit it or not."*
Lucian didn't respond. Because she was probably right.
The line between protecting Elira and pursuing her was getting blurry. And the worst part? He didn't mind.
---
The rest of the morning was chaos.
Word spread fast. By breakfast, every servant in the estate knew that Lucian had beaten Guard Captain Roth in single combat. By lunch, the story had evolved—now Lucian had defeated Roth without even using his full power. By dinner, rumors claimed Lucian had broken through to Adept Rank.
That last one wasn't true. Yet.
But Lucian let the rumors spread. Reputation was a weapon. Fear was a tool. If people thought he was stronger than he actually was, they'd be less likely to test him.
He spent the afternoon in his chambers, cultivating.
The process was straightforward in theory. Sit. Meditate. Draw ambient mana from the environment. Circulate it through your Mana Core. Compress. Refine. Repeat until breakthrough.
In practice, it was like trying to breathe underwater while doing calculus.
Lucian sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, focusing on the energy flow inside his body. His Mana Core pulsed in his solar plexus—a sphere of crystallized energy about the size of a golf ball. Foundation Realm 3 meant it was well-formed but not yet transcendent.
To reach Adept Realm 1, he needed to expand it. Make it denser. Change its fundamental structure from solid to liquid. That's what the breakthrough was—a qualitative change in the mana itself.
*"You're trying too hard,"* Aria observed. *"Mana responds to intent, not force. Relax. Let it flow naturally."*
"Easy for you to say," Lucian muttered. "You're not the one trying to compress reality inside your chest."
*"True. But I can help."*
A warm sensation flooded through him. Not his mana—something else. The System's energy, guiding his circulation, smoothing out the rough edges.
*"There. Feel that? That's your natural rhythm. Follow it."*
Lucian did. And slowly, gradually, the mana responded. It flowed smoother. Faster. Each rotation through his core deposited a little more power. A little more density.
```
[Cultivation Progress]
Foundation Realm 3 → Adept Realm 1: 87% → 89%
Aria: "At this rate, you'll breakthrough in 3-4 days. Not bad for a beginner~"
```
Hours passed. The sun set. Lucian's body was still but his mind was active—monitoring the cultivation, adjusting the flow, pushing toward that critical threshold.
He was so focused he almost didn't hear the knock at his door.
"Young Master Ashveil?" A servant's voice. Female. Nervous. "The Duke requests your presence in the main hall."
Lucian's eyes opened. "When?"
"Immediately, Young Master."
Shit.
*"Uh oh,"* Aria sing-songed. *"Daddy's mad you beat up his guard. This should be fun~"*
Lucian stood, stretched, and grabbed his sword. If the Duke wanted a confrontation, fine. He'd been planning to avoid the man until he was stronger, but plans changed.
"Lead the way," he told the servant.
---
The main hall was exactly as intimidating as it was meant to be.
Vaulted ceilings. Stone pillars. Tapestries depicting the Duke's victories in battle. And at the far end, on a throne-like chair that shouldn't technically be called a throne because only the Emperor had those, sat Duke Theron Ashveil.
Lucian's father.
The man was in his early fifties but looked younger. Grandmaster Realm 2 cultivation did that—slowed aging, kept you in prime physical condition. He had black hair streaked with grey, a sharp beard, and eyes like chips of ice. He wore expensive robes in the family colors, and everything about him screamed power and authority.
Two of Lucian's legitimate half-brothers stood beside the throne. Damien and Marcus—wait, no. Damien and ROYCE. Lucian's memories corrected themselves. Both were in their early twenties. Both Adept Rank cultivators. Both looking at Lucian with barely concealed contempt.
And standing off to the side, still bloody and bandaged, was Guard Captain Roth. He glared at Lucian with murder in his eyes.
The Duke studied Lucian as he approached. Those cold eyes took in everything—posture, bearing, the sword at his hip, the confidence that hadn't been there a week ago.
"Lucian," the Duke said. His voice was deep, commanding. "Captain Roth tells me you attacked him unprovoked this morning."
Of course he did.
"That's not what happened," Lucian said calmly. "I challenged him to a duel. He accepted. I won. He yielded."
"He says you beat him unconscious AFTER he yielded."
"He threatened to kill me after yielding. I neutralized the threat."
The Duke's expression didn't change. "You broke his jaw. Gave him a concussion. Cost me one of my best guards for at least a week."
"Then perhaps he should have been better."
Damien—the eldest legitimate son, twenty-four years old, smug face—laughed. "Listen to the bastard. Acting like he's actually worth something."
Lucian didn't even look at him. His eyes stayed on the Duke.
Theron leaned forward slightly. "You've changed, Lucian. Your mother mentioned it. The guards are talking. You defeated a Foundation Realm 3 warrior with twenty years of experience. You, who have barely fought anyone outside training dummies."
"I learned quickly."
"Apparently." The Duke stood. At full height, he was imposing. Six-four, broad-shouldered, radiating power. "Let me be clear. I tolerate your existence because your mother... holds sentimental value. But you are still a bastard. Still an embarrassment. If you cause problems—if you disrupt my estate or my guards—I will have you removed. Permanently. Do you understand?"
The threat was clear. Step out of line, and the Duke would kill him. Or have him killed. Either way, Lucian would be dead.
Marcus Drake had faced warlords and terrorists who'd made similar threats. They were all dead now.
"I understand," Lucian said. "But I have a question."
The Duke's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"If I'm such an embarrassment, why not just kill me? Why keep me around at all?"
Silence. Damien and Royce exchanged uncomfortable glances. Even Roth looked surprised at Lucian's audacity.
The Duke's expression darkened. "You dare—"
"I'm genuinely asking." Lucian kept his voice level. "You don't want me here. My brothers hate me. The guards mock me. Elira is miserable. Why maintain this charade? Why not just end it?"
Theron moved. Fast. Grandmaster Realm 2 speed. One moment he was at his throne, the next he was inches from Lucian's face, hand gripping Lucian's throat, lifting him off the ground.
The pressure was immense. Crushing. Lucian couldn't breathe—
*"DO NOT ACTIVATE SKILLS,"* Aria shouted in his mind. *"If you fight back, he'll kill you. Just endure. ENDURE."*
Lucian's hands went to the Duke's wrist. Not to attack. Just to stabilize himself. His vision started to blur. Black spots appeared.
"You exist," the Duke hissed, "because I allow it. You breathe because I permit it. You want to know why I keep you alive?" He leaned closer. "Because your mother begged. She said if I killed you, she'd find a way to kill herself. And I still have uses for her."
He threw Lucian backward. Lucian hit the stone floor hard, gasping for air.
"You want to prove you're not an embarrassment?" Theron loomed over him. "Go to Sovereign Academy. Don't fail the entrance exam like your pathetic cultivation suggests you will. Actually accomplish something. Then maybe—MAYBE—I'll acknowledge you as more than a mistake."
Lucian struggled to his knees. His throat was on fire. But he forced the words out:
"I'll do more than pass the exam. I'll surpass your legitimate heirs."
Damien and Royce both started forward, angry, but the Duke raised a hand. Stopped them.
Theron stared down at Lucian. For a long moment, there was silence.
Then, impossibly, the Duke smiled. It was a cold, cruel expression.
"We'll see. The entrance exam is in three weeks. If you fail, I'm sending you to the border wars. You'll die within a month." He turned away. "Get out of my sight."
Lucian stood. His legs were shaky, but he managed. He bowed—not deeply, just enough to satisfy protocol—and left.
He made it to the hallway before his knees gave out.
---
*"That... was close,"* Aria said quietly. *"Too close. Grandmaster Realm 2 is no joke. He could have killed you with a thought."*
"I know." Lucian's voice was hoarse. His throat would bruise badly. "But I needed to understand where I stood."
*"And where's that?"*
"Tolerated. Barely. As long as I don't cause problems." Lucian pushed himself up. "But he's given me a deadline. Three weeks. Pass the academy exam or get sent to die in a war."
*"Can you do it? Pass the exam?"*
"I'll have to." Lucian started walking back toward his chambers. "Which means I need to breakthrough to Adept Rank. Soon. And I need to prepare."
*"The exam tests combat ability, mana control, and theoretical knowledge. You've got combat down. Your mana control is decent. But your theoretical knowledge—Lucian's memories only have basic education."*
"Then I study. I have three weeks."
*"Ambitious. I like it."* Aria's voice turned teasing again. *"But Master? Maybe rest first? You got choked out by your father. That's traumatic."*
"I've had worse."
*"In a warzone, sure. But this is different. This is personal."*
She was right. Being nearly killed by your own father—even if it wasn't technically his father—hit different than combat.
Lucian reached his chambers. Locked the door. Sat on the bed.
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From rage. Pure, incandescent fury.
The Duke had choked him. Threatened him. Used Elira as leverage. Treated him like garbage.
And Lucian couldn't do a damn thing about it because Theron was Grandmaster Realm 2. He could kill Lucian as easily as breathing.
Not yet.
But someday. Someday soon. Lucian would be strong enough. And when that day came, Duke Theron Ashveil would pay for every insult. Every threat. Every time he'd hurt Elira.
```
[NEW MISSION UNLOCKED]
REVENGE MISSION: "The Duke's Reckoning"
Objective: Become strong enough to defeat Duke Theron Ashveil
Reward: 50,000 Domination Points, Unique Title, [Duke's Estate] Territory,
Elira's freedom, massive stat bonuses
Failure: Death
Time Limit: None (But he's not getting younger)
Difficulty: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ [EXTREME]
Aria: "This is endgame stuff, Master. But I added it because I know you.
You won't stop until he's dead. So let's make it official~"
```
Lucian stared at the mission notification. 50,000 points. That was insane. More than he'd earn from a hundred normal missions.
But he didn't care about the points.
He cared about the Duke being dead.
"Three weeks," Lucian said aloud. "I pass the exam. Get into the academy. Gain power. Resources. Allies. And then..."
*"Then you come back and burn this place to the ground,"* Aria finished. *"I love it. Very dramatic. Very satisfying. But Master?"*
"What?"
*"Don't forget to enjoy yourself along the way. Build your harem. Have some fun. Dominate some beautiful women. Revenge is a great motivator, but pleasure is a great reward~"*
Despite everything, Lucian smiled. "You're insatiable."
*"I'm practical. You need a stress outlet. Might as well be gorgeous women who want to fuck you."*
Fair point.
Lucian checked his Status one more time before sleeping.
```
[STATUS UPDATE]
Rank: Foundation Realm 3 (89% to Adept Realm 1)
Strength: 44
Domination Points: 500
Active Missions: 3
Harem Members: 0 (Elira at 15% affection)
Next Milestone: Breakthrough to Adept Realm 1 (3-4 days)
Primary Goal: Pass Sovereign Academy entrance exam (20 days)
Ultimate Goal: Kill Duke Theron Ashveil
```
Three weeks to change his fate.
Survive Chapter 67.
Build an empire.
Free Elira.
Become strong enough that no one—not the Duke, not the Emperor, not even the gods themselves—could threaten him again.
"Let's fucking go," Lucian whispered into the darkness.
And somewhere in his mind, Aria laughed with delight.
---