Damian was engrossed in his thoughts after a hard day of work.
“A day of hard work, day after day. Fucking annoying.”
Oops, his father had instructed him not to say such things. At the dinner table, he would receive a daily smack instead of a snack after Each Day Of Hard Work. The frustration was unbearable, but his father knew where to hit to hurt, so maybe the frustration was bearable after all?
“Shitty old man.”
And he was not the only one. In the morning, the first elder would give him a strenuous study session, then load him with a shitload of homework. Study, get beaten, sleep; study, get beaten, sleep; study, get beaten, sleep. What kind of shitty life is this!?!
“Young master, you did a great job! Keep it up!”
‘But where did it all start?’
Damian accidentally tore the scroll he was reading.
‘Yes, it was this sarcastic bitch.’
“Oh no! Uncle is going to get angry again! It was handwritten by him.”
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It had been more than nine months since Damian’s birth. He would do nothing but lie around throughout the whole day. The potential of the young was truly frightening, and as such, he had already memorized the language. But he wished he was deaf.
“One, two, I clean the mess~
Three, four, I scrub the floor~
Seven, six, I skip the five~
I am simply the best!”
Damian wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. This was the most uncreative, uninspiring, and unholy composition he had ever heard. The voice was off, the rhyme was off, the person herself was off! The worst part? He had to listen to this wench the whole day!
The young girl, ignorant of the baby’s daily struggles, continued her own daily struggle of clearing the damn floor. She shuffled around in her black dress and matching platform shoes, her shoulder-length chestnut hair waving with each frustrated sweep.
“Seriously, that swine! Can you imagine, Damian? All em’ bastards' pay increases. I look after his son, and this is all I get? I need to eat a lot, too, you know? But seriously, why am I still so small!? Elvan is even getting engaged next week! To that smooth-looking bastard at the culinary chamber at that! Speaking of which, they say he’s getting promoted. Tsk, lucky bitch. Oh, I am so…”
‘Stop! No more! Time out!’
“But jokes on you all! I am going to be the young master’s everything. You all think of the present, yet I am one, no, two steps ahead! Hahaha! I will sacrifice my youth for the future perspective!”
‘...’
“Oh, come to think of it, representatives from Star City will come to the palace tomorrow. Maybe a handsome and rich nobleman will fall in love with me, as in the fairy tale about Cinderella I told you about. Pfft! Just joking. I would never betray you. Don’t compare me to that traitor. Seriously, that guy was mine to begin with! How could she…”
Damian grumped and shook his little arms in a frenzy.
“Oi, you hungry? Want to pee?”
Yana Fatma ran toward Damian’s cradle and grabbed its handles while observing the baby’s expression. She soon pinched the baby’s cheek with an annoyed expression.
‘Go away! Don’t come closer! Piss off!’
“Bah, so you’ve wet yourself. Let me grab some silk.”
‘...’
“Pfft! So small.”
‘...’
The baby’s face reddened, both from anger and shame.
“Bihih.”
“Huh?”
Fatma was staggered. Did this baby try to say something?
“Bihuh.”
“Haha, he spoke, right? There is no mistaking it.”
“Bitch!”
“...”
Fatma gasped as her hands halted. She took a few steps back and accidentally fell to the floor. She felt terror. Damian, on the other hand, was in seventh heaven. His practice paid off. He could finally express all his pent-up frustrations.
“This is his first word… oh no.”
If the head knew of this, she would surely get severely punished. How did he speak so early? What mattered more was why that word specifically. She used a bunch of other words, too.
“Bahaha! Bitch!”
Damian’s cheerful words were met with tears flowing down her eyes. If she didn’t fix the issue before the nanny came, she would be doomed. At these times, she could only think of one person who could get her out of this perilous situation. It couldn’t be helped; she had to choose the lesser of two evils. She quickly ran out of the room.
“Miss Fatma, where are you heading to?”
“Bathroom...!”
She cried while running in the opposite direction. The guard was taken aback, but he thought it was probably that time of the month. Young girls nowadays know no shame.
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Inside the room, Damian finally felt at peace. He closed his eyes in an attempt to take a nap.
“Aghhhh!”
“Ghaaaghh!”
‘What’s that?’
Terrible noises came from outside the window, but who cares? Those are rather cute in comparison to Fatma’s solo performance. Damian easily fell asleep in the grotesque creatures’ lullaby.
When he woke up, he saw an unfamiliar old man above. Damian had never seen this man before, but judging from the elaborate robe, which was made from luxurious fabrics and adorned with jewels and gold thread, his standing would be high. Jackpot! Finally, that witch would get fired!
“Can you understand me?”
‘Yes, Sir!’
“Bitch!”
The baby happily and cutely cooed while the old man gently stroked his beard and glanced at Fatma. Fatma was shivering in her place, unable to utter a single word. What Damian didn’t know was that this old man had purposefully handpicked Fatma to look after him. And finally…
“So you can understand me! Hohoho, you must have been born a prodigy. We must report this matter to Mehmed.”
“Bitch?”
What kind of reaction is this? Report to father? Are you out of your mind, old man?
“You did a great job at parenting this kid, Fatma.”
“Huh?”
‘Huh?’
Both the baby and the girl had a similar reaction. But for Fatma, the anticipation was of a positive outcome, and for Damian, it was impending doom. How could Damian know that the geezer was Fatma’s uncle?
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“Goodnight, young master.”
“Yeah.”
The day may have been torturous, but at least at night, he could have time for some relaxation. Damian sat on a wide, soft cushion across a low-to-the-ground table. He poured himself a cup of black herbal tea from a samovar. Then, he added some milk and a scoop of high-quality honey to top it off.
Reminiscing about the past was of no help. Years before, he often inquired himself whether he was Hellion or Damian. He would think of the devil and his past life. His memories were scattered and of no help. Now, he bore grudges no more. The revenge ends here. And neither did he care about his identity.
Of course, the past is a lesson for the future challenges. But forget about the past or the future.
“AHHhhhgwh~”
“GaGahhhhh!”
The birds’ ‘melody’ pierced through Damian’s eardrums, making him shiver. He slammed the cup at the table and spewed the tea. When would the migration season end? What did they do to make such noises? What did he do to deserve all this?
‘I will incinerate every single one of you - decimate your parents, drink your children’s blood, and burn your remains. And from the ashes…’
“WHAGhhhAahhh!”
“FUCK!”
Yeah, what matters is the present. This was the beginning of a new revenge. Whatever it takes, he would eradicate those flying pests from the face of this world. This was his ultimate goal.
While Damian was giving his all to get some shut-eye, the clan head was handling up-to-date matters in the castle's very top chamber.
His gaze, which resembled molten gold, was sharply focused on the papers before him, analyzing every detail with precision. His dark hair would at times fall in a disheveled manner, strands occasionally wandering into his field of vision, causing him to brush them away with an absent-minded flick of his fingers.
Behind him, the chamber’s colossal windows offered a panoramic view of the bustling city. The expanse of the ocean beyond them stretched to the horizon. No other place on Heart Isle could behold such a breathtaking sight.
Under him, historical carpets, handwoven from the finest silks and dyed in vibrant colors, covered the floor. Various statues, lavish gifts from allied clans, and even powerful relics were exhibited all around. There was a collection of vases made from the finest porcelain.
Above him, two types of small golden chandeliers hung. The first chandeliers imbued the room with a hint of oceanic glow, their light refracting through the azure-tinted runes. The latter set of chandeliers exuded a fiery intensity, casting the room in a crimson hue.
Before him, a low but grand polished table reflected the light from above. It was a gift from the first chief craftsman of the Quilin kind. At the very center of the centuries-old table was an engraving of the Yan clan symbol - a snowflake encircled by flames.
Surrounding the table were several cushioned stools. They offered a seating arrangement for guests and advisors who gathered to confer with Mehmed, who was settled into his seat at the head of the table. He was engrossed in the mountain of documents before him.
His everyday job was both the easiest and hardest. The underlings would come up with ideas, and he had to either approve or deny the requests. But every single decision reshaped the destinies of his people. It could kill one and give life to the other, elevate one, and drown the other.
Suddenly, someone basked in the room without any notice. It was none other than the first elder, Yan Murad. He was clad in a pristine white robe adorned with elegant patterns traced along his hem and sleeves, dazzling an eye with its radiance, contrary to Mehmed, who had a finely tailored yet simple robe of deep indigo.
“Your son is a genius!”
Mehmed didn’t greet the geezer. He had no respect for this blabbermouth. If it had not been for the decades of age gap, Mehmed would have long taught him some discipline. But surprisingly, he had been less annoying as of late.
“Others can barely speak at his age, yet he has already mastered the fourth language! But that’s just scratching the surface. He can perform advanced mathematical calculations and memorize any alchemical reaction after a single demonstration. I am getting out of things to teach him. His manners, on the other hand…”
“That’s a given. He’s a herald, after all.”
‘Haha! He takes after his father. Who are you to belittle him? Hmph!’
Despite his monotone response, Mehmed secretly felt a sense of pride. Usually, people lose their memories after death. But on some rare occasions, people with memories of their past lives are born - heralds.
“No! You keep saying that! Of course, there is a one-in-a-thousand chance of being born a herald. You would also have to have been a prominent figure in your past life. But most heralds barely carry any memories of their past before starting soul cultivation! So it must be raw talent!”
“Just what are you getting at?”
It was no secret that Mehmed treasured his son. Maryam always said that Mehmed was bad at hiding his emotions. Murad surely had a reason for flattering Damian this much. Did he mess up somewhere? Or did he want something?
“Next week is Damian’s birthday. Time sure flies quickly; he’s already turning four. What if we prepare a special gift for him? Your sister will be coming over after long years spent in the outside. What if she-”
Mehmed slammed at the table as overwhelming energy surged outside. Shivers ran through Murad’s body, but he didn’t back down.
“You are limiting his potential! Don’t measure Damian by average standards. Mehmed, you must believe me this time - no, not in me but in your son! He’s the hope of our clan.”
Awakening at four? What kind of nonsense is that? You have to have immense mental strength to bear it. But it was worse for heralds as they would regain the memories of their past lives. What if the memories would leave a deep scar on a child’s psyche?
“Get out!”
“This child has unbreakable fortitude! If we want to beat Bayar bastards-”
Suddenly, a dazzling spear of fire flew toward the elder. Murad barely managed to dodge it as it pierced through the wall. His more than sixty years of life flashed before his eyes. But looking at Mehmed’s expression made the leftover life he had flash before his eyes. So, he decided it was a perfect moment to make a flashy escape. This situation was not unfamiliar to Murad; he had to leave quickly when the time arose.
“Tsk, you are under too much stress. I think we can talk again later-”
But as he strode toward the door, it shut. Murad gulped. He had a bad premonition: He wouldn’t be able to leave this time.
“Mehmed! Are you so drunk on your authority that you can- Wait, don’t come closer. Haha, we can talk this out. The door, open the door!”
Indeed, this was the first day this senior was smote to death by a daring junior.