Shadow of the Abyss

The Dining Hall of House Nier was rowdy with the clanking of tankards filled with Svancan Ale. Men joked while the women laughed in their husband's arms, singing along to the music. Those who hadn't had the honor of marriage occasionally danced, finding partners for whoever caught their eye.

At the head table, where the heads of each noble family resided, Young Master Nox sat beside his Mother and Grandfather. His palatine smile was both inviting and uninviting. The young maidens who had approached him had already left soon after with downcast expressions, elated by his charm.

"Young Master, I must say you are even more popular amongst the ladies than you ever were," Count Fremar Kinvar said. "Did you achieve some enlightenment while unconscious?"Nôv(el)B\\jnn

'You can say that," Altair admitted. He tapped his temple. "Ever since I awoke, I've never felt more in such control of my body. My Mana has been refining my body in response to my inner will."

Looks of surprise found Altair.

"I've never heard of such a thing," Viscount Kilmar Foris remarked. "Well, perhaps it has something to do with becoming a Transcendent at such an early age."

'Or the fact that he's fucking a devil,' thought Elgar darkly. "Whatever the reason, one cannot deny he has become quite the lady killer."

Countess Darna Mado tipped an eye towards the young Master and stifled her gulp lest she embarrass herself. Nox had not been like the other young masters she'd known, who often left home to the colonies to claim women as a Sea Bitch, raping those that dared to resist. He had been known for his noble bearing, abstaining from such degeneracy amongst high society. Nox was the epidemy of nobility.

More so now than he ever was a thousand years ago.

There simply wasn't a single woman who wasn't gawking at the young lord.

'You flatter me, grandfather," Altair said.

"Might we ask what your mana attribute is?" Viscount Areon Vadica asked. It was a rude notion to inquire about one's ability, especially at one's gathering, but what choice did he have? Everything about the young master nox seemed so foreign to what he knew or heard.

Dutchess Corsant frowned, gracefully lowering the tankard of ale from her lips. "Would you like to repeat that, Viscount Areon?" her voice as cold as an iron bade.

'It's alright, Mother," Altair said. "It's not like I've anything to hide. It's exactly four hundred. The apparent limit of a Fourth Circle."

Silence dwarfed the table, leaving many shaken. No one had ever reached the limit set by the system. Even those who fell from grace in cultivation, reaching the realm of transcendence, only to fall to an injury had never once reached the limit. Even the disciples of ancient heroes had never done so.

Altair smiled. "As I said, ever since I woke up, something has been different. I'm rather grateful. Now I'm on a path to achieve something even greater."

"But won't cultivation be harder!" The Viscount asked. "The purity of one's mana is—"

"Irrelevant before my family's wealth and my talents." the young Master interrupted. "Wouldn't you say, Viscount Vadica?" A lesser noble would have never dared to cut off a Transcendent, yet Altair's smile seemed to challenge that ruling.

"Indeed," said Areon Vadica, flushed.

Darna shot a warning look at the Viscount. It had seemed he'd forgotten his place at the table. "My Lord,' she said to Altair. "It's a few days too late, but I must congratulate you for awakening. We have all been worried."

"Quite right," the other lords chimed in, paying their due respect, one after the other, raising their tankards.

The dining hall erupted in elated cheers, resounding through the manor.

"Will you be heading to the colonies to recover, young master?" Marquis Killian Tovakin asked, swirling his ale in his cup. Out of everyone present, he held the highest authority just beneath the dutchess herself. He looked bored, though that wasn't surprising. Everyone knew Marquis Killian cared little for social gatherings, choosing to seclude himself in his manor with his beloved.

His apparent presence was not so much out of love towards the Duke but obligation.

"Only boys and rapers seek to travel to the colony's sea, Marques," Altair remarked. "I am neither.No. I'll be heading towards the Temple of Sepith to pay respects to the Saintess for aiding in my recovery. She is expecting me."

Cold, piercing eyes watched Altair beneath sword-like brows. "The Saintess was here?" The Viscount asked, perhaps too sharply, hushing the voice from all around.

Altair gestured to the orchestra to resume their movement, speaking only when the mood lightened.

"Why does that surprise you?" Altair replied. "Was it assumed that our family had no connection or that I didn't?"

Again, silence punctuated the air before Viscount Areon broke it, "It was just surprising."

"It would seem that my family has fallen in this absence of mine," Altair announced, his tone no longer gentle, carrying a sliver of ice that seemed to strike the marrow. His presence lashed at the hall, fainting a dozen in a single breath. "Why is it a surprise, Areon? What is surprising is that there are traitors in the midst of your court seeking my death that you have no idea about."

"Young Master!" the Viscount snapped.

"What? Is it my tone that isn't to your liking?" Altair scuffed. "Are these so-called traitors the same ones who felled Baron Vadica's Father?"

The Dutchess glanced at the old Duke, back to the Viscount. "Answer my son, Viscount."

'She's letting the boy lead,' Marquis Killian thought. 'I was under the impression she hated Nox. Has something happened I'm not aware of?'

Beneath the eyes of the Head Houses, the Viscount did not back down. He raised his head, wielding his arrogance like a banner. "We are no traitors."

"I didn't say you were. Only incompetent." Altair expressed, his presence shifting into a blade that seemed to echo from the very abyss as it clashed against the force of a Transcendent.

Altair might have coughed up a mouthful of blood if not for his Ashen Blood. He held his gaze, cold as the depths of the Eight Layer of Hell. No one bothered to reach out to defend the young Master. And why should they? To sit at the Head Table meant staking one's life. Enjoy new stories from empire

"You speak to taint, my honor."

"Your incompetence or otherwise betrayal tainted your honor. Not me," Altair retorted. "And who are these so-called traitors in which you speak?"

"Do you speak for your Dukedom?" The Viscount demanded.

"Are you worth that much?' Altair asked, stunning the table. "To assume your worth is near the level of respect in which you speak amuses me. Twice, your house has offended mine. So I ask you, Areon Vadica. Do you speak for your house, or is there someone else I should be talking to?"

It didn't matter what level of discipline the Viscount held. He flushed like a balling newborn. He shuddered, but before he could speak, the doors to the halls shot open with a bang! Nearly snapping off the hinges, Tasha sauntered in carrying with her Baron Vadica.

Collared like a dog, she dragged him before her Master. With a cruel smile, she glanced at Areon and asked," My Master doesn't like repeating himself. So, in his stead, I shall ask, do you speak for your House?"

It was only then that Areon Vadica seemed to understand that Altair wasn't looking for an excuse. He never needed one. His intention wasn't to oppress his house like he originally thought. He wanted to exterminate them.

Tapping a finger against the oak, Altair leaned back into his chair, the color of his pupils taking a on scarlet radiance.

"I—" Areon opened his lips to speak but the young Master raised his hand, cutting him off.

"Who is that?" he pointed towards a young man.

The table of heads turned towards the target of Altair's intent fifteen meters away, startling the young man in question; every instinct screamed in him as surprise flashed across his pupils.

"A transcendent…" Marquis said in alarm. He turned to Altair, suddenly shaken by the level of awareness the boy held.

"My Lord, that's a member of my party." The Viscount said. "He—"

"Is armed. Why?" he glanced at the knights on standby. "All weapons, including all the members of the heads, were checked. Why does he have one?"

Almost immediately, weapons were drawn, and seven Ninth Circle members encircled the young man. Whispers echoed from the noblemen and women as children hurried to their parents.

"Three times, Lord Areon," Altair said politely. "Three times your family has insulted me."

Countess Darna's inverted eyes narrowed. "He doesn't have your scent. So, he's not related. What is his relationship to you, Viscount?"

Areon was equally surprised, losing feeling in his tongue for a good while. "I-I-I Don't know. He's a guard."

"A guard that is a Transcendent?" The Dutchess scuffed. "If you must lie, at least make it sound practical."

"I swear it—"

"It doesn't matter," Altair said. "Take the assas— I mean the guard away." he smiled, snickering to himself at the intentional slip of the tongue. "Take off his armor and have him whipped for disobeying our Duketom."

"Shouldn't we question him first?" The Countess asked.

"Would a transcendent speak?" The Young Master shook his head. "One offense at a time. Such a distraction will only serve to delay the Viscount's claim." he glanced at Nia in the back, who nodded, following after the guards escorting the Transcendent away.

"Now then, shall we get back to the matter at hand? Baron. Can you make a Vow to the Heavens that you'll speak the truth, no matter how obscene the question I ask might be?"

"Of course," The Baron said without hesitation, pitching a glance at Tasha, who had some of her people take away his Lona.

"Young Master, that isn't necessary," The Viscount said, losing his decorum. He shouted. "I've personally given the traitors! So—"

"Please. You are embarrassing yourself, Viscount. You'll have your chance to speak. I'm only—"

"Presenting, The Imperial Tutor, Lord Adrum Faytal, Lord of Dragon Stone," The Heralds shouted, alerting many towards the kind smile of the young man walking in. He paused. He caught a glance at Tasha, but it was only for half a beat before he stopped at the table of Lords.

There was only one who did not rise, smiling at the rat caught in his web.