Chapter 284: Patriarch’s Order

The interior of Morgain Castle was colder than the mountain air outside—its stone halls carved from blackrock, its torches burning with pale blue mana-flame. Trafalgar walked beside Lysandra in silence, boots echoing against the polished floor.She didn’t look at him at first... but she stayed close enough that he knew she was escorting him, not simply guiding him.

"Father is in his office," she said finally, voice firm but not unkind. "He’s been waiting since dawn."

Trafalgar raised a brow.

"Impatient as always."

Lysandra’s lips twitched—half amusement, half warning.

"Be careful calling him that out loud. I’m only letting you say it because I know you."

He smirked.

’Yeah... that’s more like her. Strict, but not hostile.’

They reached a circular platform embedded into the floor—an elevator with no rails, no walls, nothing to hold except trust in Morgain engineering.

Lysandra stepped onto it first.

"Come on."

Trafalgar joined her.

A pulse of mana surged beneath their feet. The platform lifted silently, rising through an open shaft carved straight up the castle’s spine. No ropes, no gears—just pure mana pressure pushing them upward.

Wind brushed against Trafalgar’s coat as floors blurred past.

From below, he heard faint voices echoing from corridors, the clatter of weapons, the murmurs of staff. As the lift ascended, all sound faded until only the distant roar of the mountain wind remained.

Lysandra watched him from the corner of her eye.

"You seem calm," she said. "Most people get nervous when Father calls them."

Trafalgar shrugged lightly.

"Nervous about what? Getting scolded? Getting killed?"

Lysandra gave him a pointed look.

"Don’t joke about that. Father doesn’t kill us. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t call you—he’d have already done it."

Trafalgar snorted.

"Comforting."

She sighed, a soft one—rare coming from her.

"...Just be careful, Trafalgar." Her voice softened, barely perceptible. "He’s in a serious mood today. And Caelum is with him."

Trafalgar’s brow moved only slightly—not surprise, just acknowledgment.

"Caelum, huh."

Lysandra nodded once. "Yes. It means the discussion won’t be simple."

Trafalgar didn’t comment further, but his mind shifted quietly.

’She doesn’t know the connection I have with Caelum? ...Well, it’s not the time to explain it. If it ever becomes relevant, I’ll tell her.’

The platform slowed.

They reached the uppermost floor—a vast hallway illuminated by cold blue chandeliers. Two imposing doors of obsidian stood at the end, carved with the sigil of House Morgain: two crossed swords beneath a wolf’s eye.

Lysandra stopped and rested a hand briefly on his arm—just one second, fleeting but sincere.

"Good luck, little brother."

Then she stepped aside.

Trafalgar walked toward the doors and pushed them open.

The obsidian doors closed behind Trafalgar with a muted, echoing thud.

Valttair’s war chamber—normally austere and stripped of unnecessary furnishings—looked different today. A massive blackstone table dominated the center of the room, and above it hovered a single large mana-constructed map, its faint glow casting shifting reflections across the polished floor.

But the most striking feature remained untouched. The enormous window behind Valttair’s seat, spanning from floor to ceiling, flooding the chamber with cold natural light. Beyond it, only a blanket of clouds was visible—no ground, no horizon, just a world swallowed by white.

Valttair sat with that endless void behind him.

His platinum-blond hair draped freely over his shoulders, catching the morning light like strands of metal. His grey eyes—cut sharp, almost metallic—fixed immediately on Trafalgar. The ropaje negro he wore clung to a frame that was unmistakably powerful, every line of muscle carved and disciplined. His expression was the same as always.

To his right stood Caelum.

Short pale-grey hair, neatly combed. Black uniform perfectly pressed. Gloves pristine. He looked like he himself was carved from order and silence.

Trafalgar, pale skin and dark navy eyes, his black hair tied back in a low ponytail, looked like an entirely different species standing in front of them—yet the bloodline connection was unmistakable in their presence, not their features.

Valttair said nothing for several long seconds.

He merely studied Trafalgar, as if calculating something.

Then—

"Sit."

Trafalgar obeyed, lowering himself into the chair before the floating map. No warmth. No welcome. Just duty hanging in the air.

Caelum inclined his head slightly.

"Young master."

Trafalgar returned a minimal nod before Valttair’s voice cut through the silence.

"Do you know why you were summoned?"

"Lysandra said you’d explain."

Valttair gave a single approving nod.

"Good. Then listen."

He flicked two fingers.

The floating map expanded, showing borders, shifting mana signatures, and several glowing points of interest. This map was new—its presence alone signaled that something unusual was happening. Valttair rarely needed visual aids.

"As you know, the war has been ongoing for three months."

The map shifted, showing border regions glowing faintly with mana signatures.

"Soon, there will be a battle. Not officially declared, but every piece of intel points toward it."

Trafalgar’s brow creased.

Valttair continued, voice cutting clean through the silence:

"Many Great Families are sending heirs—or trusted agents—to observe the situation."

Caelum added. "They are forbidden from entering the battlefield, but they will gather near neutral cities governed by the Council of Velkaris and independent parties."

The map zoomed outward, highlighting pockets of neutral territory.

Valttair leaned back slightly.

"You will travel to one of these cities. There, you will investigate. Observe. Report." A pause. "Alfred will take you."

Trafalgar exhaled sharply through his nose.

"So that’s the mission? Investigate? You pulled me out of the academy just for that?"

The temperature in the room dropped.

Caelum didn’t move. Valttair’s eyes narrowed—slowly.

"You’ve grown bold, speaking so freely." His voice was quiet. Dangerous. "Mind your tongue, Trafalgar."

Trafalgar met his father’s eyes, unflinching.

"Apologies... but you’re the reason I had a miserable childhood."

Silence.

Not a flicker of guilt in Valttair’s face.

Because Trafalgar knew.

Valttair didn’t regret what happened. He only regretted not discovering Trafalgar’s talent early enough to weaponize it.

"Very well." A slow exhale. "We will address that matter as well."

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, arms crossed.

"So you finally discovered it was that bitch, huh?"

Caelum’s eyes flicked sharply toward him, but Valttair did not react—not outwardly.

A single brow rose.

"Bitch, you say? Then it seems you already knew who it was."

Trafalgar scoffed.

"Only one person in this entire damned family has tried to kill me more than once. Your first wife. Seraphine." His jaw clenched. "She made sure my life was miserable from the moment I could breathe. And she succeeded for most of it. So I expect punishment that fits."

Silence tightened between them.

Valttair stared at him—grey eyes cold, calculating.

He said nothing... but Trafalgar saw the truth in his gaze.

He was right.

It was Seraphine.

Valttair had connected the dots instantly when they uncovered the curse three months ago. It had never been a question of who, only a question of when to deal with it.

But Seraphine was his first wife.

And Trafalgar...

Trafalgar didn’t know the full truth of their relationship.

Only Valttair and Seraphine knew. Not even Caelum had heard a whisper of it.

And Valttair had no intention of telling Trafalgar now.

Trafalgar leaned forward.

"So? I assume you’ll punish her. Execution works. She attempted to kill your son—your son. And as far as I can tell... you value me more now than ever."

Caelum visibly tensed.

Valttair didn’t blink.

"Her fate does not concern you, Trafalgar."

Trafalgar’s eyes narrowed.

Valttair’s tone sharpened like a blade.

"You will complete your mission. I will handle Seraphine. Something will be done... but you will not concern yourself with it."

Trafalgar inhaled through his nose, annoyed but unsurprised.

He knew exactly how this was going to go.

’Huff... well, nothing to do right now. It’s not like I can fight my way through everyone here. At least Valttair knows the truth. That’s something.’

Trafalgar straightened in his seat.

"Fine. I trust you’ll do whatever you think is most just. Then—when will Alfred take me?"

Valttair did not hesitate. "Immediately."

Trafalgar blinked.

Valttair’s voice lowered, final and absolute. "You leave in one hour. Alfred is already preparing the ship."

Trafalgar exhaled slowly. "So soon?"

Valttair gave him a look that said don’t waste my time.

"Your mission is not something to delay. The longer you wait, the more pieces move without you witnessing them."

Caelum stepped forward, producing a small stack of neatly sealed documents.

"These are your briefing copies," Caelum said. "Survey data, recent movement reports, and the names of key individuals you may encounter in the neutral zones."

He placed them gently on the table before Trafalgar.

"I’ll send an additional encrypted copy ahead to our contact. They will be informed of your arrival."

Trafalgar picked them up, feeling the cold weight of responsibility in his hands.

"And the contact...?"

Caelum remained perfectly still.

"Me."

Trafalgar blinked once. Of course. That made sense.

In a volatile area full of high-level heirs, assassins, and political snakes, sending Trafalgar alone would be suicide. Caelum—calm, lethal, unshakably loyal—was the only logical choice.

’Why the hell did he have to tell me about contact if it’s Caelum himself?’

He stepped beside Trafalgar, posture firm.

"I will accompany you and oversee external threats. You can focus entirely on the mission."

Trafalgar gave a small nod.

"Alright. That works."

Valttair’s gaze sharpened.

"Your identity will not be hidden. Everyone in that region will know Trafalgar du Morgain will be present, same as other heirs."

Trafalgar exhaled. "I assumed as much."

"Good."

Valttair rose slowly from his chair, the light from the massive window outlining him in a harsh, white glow.

"Observe everything. Interfere with nothing unless forced. Do not let your emotions control your judgment."

Trafalgar let out a quiet breath.

"And Seraphine?" Trafalgar tried again.

Valttair’s eyes hardened.

"Her punishment is not your concern." A pause. "Your mission takes precedence above all else."