...
Isabella stood poised in the western district of Wolfsteeth, her emerald eyes scanning the tumultuous streets. The clatter of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels echoed against the stone buildings as Alexander's subjects hurried away, casting anxious glances at the sigils on those carriages that crashed into each other. To her, they were an embarrassment to all Guard Households—bickering similar to unruly pups lost without their master.
A soft leather glove clenched between her teeth, Isabella felt its familiar weight—a symbol of challenge she was prepared to issue. The Count had forbidden such actions, but she couldn't stand by while they trashed the birthplace where her ideals would become reality.
Isabella arrived a week ago and had been wandering through Wolfsteeth's winding alleys, immersing herself in the city's unexpectedly vibrant energy. Despite the lingering shadows of past suffering, the city pulsed with newfound vitality, especially in once-dangerous and impoverished quarters. Vigorous market stalls lined the streets, their owners wearing genuine smiles as they shared tales of hardship and hope. Fresh produce and handcrafted goods showcased not just their wares but a rekindled passion for life.
Visiting suspicious taverns, she listened to the stories of their past, where misery was their friend until Alexander made his influence inside the Temple known, curing them. To show their devotion and thankfulness, most were back to battling monsters, not riches inside dungeons or for wealthy patrons, but in rural areas, for a warm meal, a safe bed, and the camaraderie of shared stories over a hearty drink.
Young people in immaculate uniforms—mostly orphans and the destitute—now moved with purpose. In front of everyone, they wielded magic with surprising ease, cleaning streets, aiding the sick and elderly, and offering assistance to those most needed. It was an honorary program inside Alexander's school that empowered the youth and led them to become better people.
Yet beneath the surface, something felt amiss. 'It's almost too perfect,' Isabella mused, a flicker of suspicion sparking. Driven by curiosity, she and her entourage entered the city's underbelly. There, she discovered the Underworld's influence waning. People had fewer reasons to engage in illicit activities, and smaller, unsavory groups were disappearing—much to the relief of more established factions, who seemed oddly grateful for this unexpected shift.
Whispers followed her—Alexander did this, and Alexander helped us, floating through the air like a harmonious chorus. Isabella's resolve solidified; she needed to support him in any way possible and wouldn't let them make him appear less competent in the subject's eyes by battling it out in the open. 'There will be no minor disruptions to his path!' She roared inwardly, eyes narrowing and muscles tensing, readying to teach them humility.
As the glove slowly slid off her hand, she caught a glimpse of her sigil intricately sewn on. It made her reflect on her parents' attempts to alleviate suffering through traditional means. But Alexander was different—he aimed to eradicate it. 'Calling his actions merely philanthropic is like calling the Emperor merely strong or the Count merely clever—it doesn't capture the depth of his devotion,' she mused, astounded by her parents' dismissiveness.
'I underestimated him,' she admitted, a warm flicker of admiration igniting her chest. The thought of anyone undermining his efforts sparked a fierce protectiveness within her. She cast a steely gaze at the group before her—Bjoern and Fyra, their muscles coiled like springs ready to unleash; the Heartfire triplets, their energy pulsating in sync, with Persephone stepping back, her voice poised to strike.
"You think you can win? I highly doubt that," Isabella declared, a confident smile curving her lips. Her energy surged outward, forming an invisible dome around her that slowly became denser by the moment, creating a scent of death and suffering.
She noticed Thomas and a few others preparing themselves from the corner of her eye. But she didn't need their assistance. 'I've reached Tier 3 before my legacy, and they think they can even touch me?' she thought, a hint of arrogance coloring her resolve. The memory of suffering under the curse of Nature's Break flickered—years spent pushing herself to the brink. Only after reaching the third Tier with nine did she force a halt, taking drastic measures to pause her progression. Yet she still earned the skill [Prodigy II], boosting all her attributes by 5% and granting her a [Mystic Skill] she desired.
Removing the glove, her voice steadied. "Prepare yourselves; this won't be pleasant." With a swift motion, she tossed the glove into the air and drew her rapier, the blade catching the sunlight in a dazzling flash.
The atmosphere thickened, tension hanging heavy as everyone braced for the inevitable clash. The world seemed to hold its breath. But before the glove could touch the ground, it halted mid-air, suspended by an unseen force. Confused murmurs rippled through the group.
Isabella's eyes narrowed. She glanced at the Heartfire triplets and the Iron-Claw siblings; they looked just as bewildered. 'This feels eerily familiar,' she thought, a chill running down her spine.
A high-pitched voice sliced through the confusion. "Quite the gathering for such a blatant breach of conduct, isn't it, Bella?"
Spinning around, Isabella's gaze landed on a figure stepping out from the shadows. Her eyes widened as recognition set in. "You? They sent you?!"
...
In Moorgrel Manor's opulent dining hall, the rich aroma of roasted meats and exotic spices mingled with the scent of polished wood and aged wine. Golden chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their light casting a warm glow over the ancient oak table adorned with fine porcelain and crystal goblets, which shimmered like a tranquil lake at dawn.
At the head of the table sat Count Aurelian L. Moorgrel, a man of distinguished bearing. One of his eyes gleamed ruby red, the other sapphire blue—a hereditary trait that added to the charm of the Moorgrel lineage. His elongated ears, covered in soft blue fur and neatly braided behind him, subtly twitched as he savored a bite of seared salmon.
He delicately sliced into his seared salmon, every movement exuding elegance. "Alexander is quite the troublemaker, isn't he?" His voice was smooth but carried a rasp like velvet brushing against stone. "I suspect him to come after Valvos."
Across from him, Countess Seraphina P. Moorgrel swirled her wine thoughtfully, auburn waves cascading over a gown embroidered with silver threads. Her eyes danced with a mix of amusement and intrigue. "We have no solid proof of his actions, and Marisia was wise not to probe too deeply," she remarked a hint of relief in her tone. "At least she's not too law-abiding, so we do not need to take drastic measures."
Two elegant male peacock kin moved silently around the table, refilling glasses and clearing plates with practiced grace. The family dined amidst discussions of the most captivating topic of recent months—Alexander K. Leonandra. What began as a mere acknowledgment of his genius had evolved into strategic contemplation, as the Moorgrel Household found themselves needing contingency plans for the young upstart.
Aurelian chuckled softly, his furred ears twitching in amusement. "Advocating leniency, are we? Quite the bold stance for a Countess."
"Oh please," Seraphina waved a delicate and chubby hand dismissively. "Rules are meant to evolve, dear. Without adaptation, they become stagnant—like water left to rot. Don't you agree?"
"Naturally," he replied, patting his mouth with a silk napkin. Turning his gaze to their puppies seated at the table's sides, he posed a question. "So, who among you understands why your mother's perspective is so vital?"
Esmeralda S. Moorgrel was the first to speak. Her eyes, mirroring her parents' chromatic gaze, sparkled with confidence. "It's to expose the disloyal, Father," she stated. Her overgrown and plush tail, adorned with multicolored gems—another hallmark of their heritage—swayed gracefully behind her. "The spirit of the law holds more weight than its letter. By allowing minor breaches, we see who remains faithful to what we intended with the law."
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Her brother, Zafiro A. Moorgrel, interjected from across the table. "I beg to differ," he said, pushing a lock of dark hair away from his face. Though youthful in appearance, like everyone else, his eyes held the wisdom of someone far beyond his years. "As rulers, we must provide clear guidelines. If we introduce ambiguity, we erode trust and invite chaos. Our prosperity thrives on stability."
The grand fireplace crackled softly, flames casting dancing shadows on tapestries depicting their lineage. These debates were a daily ritual—mental sparring designed to sharpen their minds and deepen their understanding of governance and other numerous topics. Winning was unimportant, but they had to comprehend each time something new, the methodology of the other's thoughts, and reflect on their own.
Esmeralda scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "First of all, it was an agreement, not a law that Alex broke, and second, rigidity needs to be in place for such eccentric figures, who are trying to undermine it at any time, thinking their solutions or morals are superior to ours."
Zafiro rolled his eyes. "Semantics. The point remains—" He took a sip of wine, continuing, "—we should consider relaxing some of our policies, especially since Alexander has shown he's not following his grandmother's... volatile footsteps."
She arched an eyebrow. "Is that your stellar argument? Care to offer something less simplistic? How do you justify opening borders to the southeast solely for Alexander's conquests? The council won't remain silent, especially those who feel slighted by Barth's actions—" her mouth turned ever so slightly up, remembering that he still had soldiers in those territories to recoup his losses, "—and still are."
His eyebrows mimicked hers, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Feeling competitive today, sister?" Setting down his silverware, he leaned forward. "We are out of the council and shouldn't care anymore what a bunch of traitors think. Other than that, who dares to go against us? We can always threaten to open more war theaters like in the North, where the Nightmare is still carving out land piece by piece."
Esmeralda met his gaze unflinchingly. "Are you truly advocating for Alexander? Or is there another reason for your eagerness?" She smirked, a teasing glint in her eye. "Still harboring that fondness for young men being in charge, brother? I always thought you preferred being the one in control."
While insulting and teasing each other wasn't productive, it was undoubtedly part of their debates, trying to stay calm and ignore it or even answer accordingly.
A brief flicker of annoyance crossed Zafiro's face, deciding to ignore the slight. "If you're so intent on hindering his progress, perhaps you should see Wolfsteeth for yourself. Witness how this so-called 'rule breaker' is transforming it into Moorgrel's new capital." His expression turned serious. "I'm earnest when I say we shouldn't stifle him. His drive is propelling our territory forward. Impede him, and we risk pushing him toward a path resembling his family's more... infamous members."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily—a fun debate turning into a decisive discussion. Even though his proposal seemed far from their reputation—cold pragmatism and vindictive brutality—within their inner circle, they were visionaries committed to advancing their domain.
Esmeralda glanced between her brother and their parents, realization dawning. "So you propose we bend the rules for him? That's a dangerous precedent. Others may exploit it."
"You misunderstand," Zafiro replied coolly, settling back into his seat. "I've studied his speeches. His vision is inspiring, but I am not blind toward his idealistic nature—we must remain pragmatic."
"Pragmatic?" Esmeralda echoed. "If we were pragmatic, we would already emulate Alex, copying his success—" she groaned, annoyance spreading over her face as she leaned back. "—I thought at least Feather-Paw would help him, but no."
He sighed. "Emulating him is premature. We need to observe and understand the method of his apparent madness—" he took another sip, clearing the glass. "—He is so sure, but how can we be? He is like Merlin in his younger days, truly."
Her eyes gleamed with challenge. "You're referring to Alexander's belief that commoners are equal to nobles?"
He shrugged. "To some extent, I agree."
"Only to some extent?" she pressed.
"The System is omnipotent," he clarified. "Legacies, while controllable, are influenced by bloodlines."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Which can be cultivated over generations."
"Precisely. But that takes time—centuries, perhaps millennia."
She leaned back, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "In a rush, are we?"
He chuckled softly. "Not at all. But history warns us that abrupt revolutions often end in catastrophe. The gradual change ensures lasting progress."
She tilted her head, considering his words. "Perhaps you're right. But clinging too tightly to caution can also hinder growth."
"Agreed," he conceded. "Which is why we must find a balance."
Aurelian tapped his glass lightly, drawing their attention. "Your debate is enlightening—" he chuckled heartily, "—even the sudden change in positions, but we must address Alexander's actions carefully. We don't want to discourage him, but we can't allow unchecked overreach. Any repercussions should be minor if he steps out of line again—a gentle reminder, not a harsh punishment."
Nobody in the Count's Household saw Alexander's philanthropic ideals as an eyesore, but how to control the boy and his actions was a problem—even when he overstepped any boundaries. All knew too well that when it comes to progress, such things would happen more often than not, as laws and customs didn't dictate the world but the other way around.
They were sure that he would continue, which they also aimed for, but they wanted him to slow down, not create an intense change over a short period. Such things usually didn't play out well for anyone, wrecking progress or morphing it into something less desirable. As such, they had to do it in a manner that did not make the boy stop his efforts—a balancing act that they had already discussed for weeks, if not months.
Silence settled over the room until Esmeralda broke it. "Perhaps we offer forgiveness while inviting him to become our retainer and maybe groom him to become my new husband." Her eyes gleamed with cunning and greed, slightly blushing. "We could persuade Marisia and the esteemed Druid with the right incentives. Allow Sarah to join me as a second wife, a goodwill gesture. Under our guidance, he can pursue his dreams, and we might overlook some of his... indiscretions."
Zafiro shook his head slowly. "He's too—what's the word?—free-spirited. His successes stem from the liberties the Leonadras afford him. Binding him too tightly could stifle his creativity or worse."
The Countess raised a curious eyebrow. "So, what do you propose?"
Zafiro leaned back thoughtfully. "We feign indignation, perhaps even hint at reasonable consequences. But we offer subtle hints of what we desire and what would appease us. He should align with our interests, and since he tries to garner favors with other Guard Households, we may act forgiving and listen to them, only staging a minor retribution trial—a slap on the wrist, so to say, nothing more while collecting favors and goodwill from them who supported the boy."
Aurelian nodded thoughtfully. "I like the idea, and since the last Redemption Trials were mostly one-sided, nobody knows what it means to support someone; take the chaos of Scarlet's massacres and the Mad Doctor's plagues—everybody wanted them punished." He agreed, looking proudly at his son, "Your approach has merit, but we must tread carefully. The last thing we want is for Alexander to seek refuge elsewhere—especially with the Emperor."
"Understood, Father," Zafiro replied solemnly.
Turning to Esmeralda, Aurelian added, "You'll act as his support. Take someone trustworthy with you, and keep your identity concealed while your brother takes the lead. Perhaps his retainers will reveal valuable insights once you've gained their trust."
She smiled gracefully. "I won't disappoint you, Father."
A weird dynamic unfolded, but one that they tried to establish through all noble households in their realm—unification and cooperation. Every household should follow a goal, something they desire, and don't squabble for positions. But greed wasn't always controllable, which resulted in two Count positions, one for the South, an unofficial one, and one for the rest of their domain.
The South, in general, was peaceful and regarded as an economic powerhouse. There, all the noble offspring who didn't become heirs but still wanted to rule went. This system was created to provide stability and rivalry without overwhelming jealousy.
Countess Seraphina beamed. "I'm proud of both of you. This is an opportunity to witness true innovation. Remember, we need individuals like Alexander—not to suppress them, but to guide them."
A servant approached silently, refilling their glasses. As he departed, Zafiro glanced at his sister. "Seems we'll be collaborating after all."
She grinned mischievously. With a flourish, her form began to shimmer. Her petite frame elongated, slowly turning from carbuncle kin to a mix of various canine kin races. Her height increased from 1.45m (~4.76ft), an average height for their family, to 1.8m (~6ft). After a moment, the shimmer turned even her clothing, from delicate silk to finely crafted armor and sword strapped confidently at his side. "For fortune an' blood, you ol' fool, am I rite?" Everyone stared at her as she tried to sound like a lowly commoner, only to laugh at her lousy dialect.
The family burst into laughter at her theatrical display. Zafiro wiped a tear from his eye. "Always the dramatist, aren't you?"
She winked, her eyes twinkling. "Only when the role demands it."
He sighed, heaving the glass into the air for a toast, "I am excited to see him directly and not just from reports."
She copied that, her posture and expression betraying the form she took, "Shall tha' soul' burn or something something! Guhahaha!"
As both siblings joked around, unable to finish the toast, Countess Seraphina clapped her hands softly, interrupting them and heaving her glass. "Wonderful. With both of you on this, I am confident we'll navigate these waters smoothly."
Aurelian was the last one, "For Moorgrel!" Knowing too well that he didn't need to add anything.
Outside, the moon cast a silvery glow over Moorgrel Manor, its light reflecting off the gemstone-studded spires. The stage was set, and as the night unfolded, so too did the intricate web of destiny that bound them all.