A silver looking carriage raced onward, its wheels rumbling against the rocky terrain beneath its passengers, as they sped off into the horizon. The carriage hurried through the large alleys of Cauldrontrunk, clopping quickly as it was pulled by a team of two energetic horses; the pedestrians on the sides of the streets either backed away or pulled their children with them as they gazed at the badge cross of the Averille house.

The inhabitants of Cauldrontrunk were well-accustomed to the presence of nobility, yet they could not help but marvel at the grandeur of the Averille family crest emblazoned on the side of this noble carriage. The driver of the carriage wore the same insignia, and the horses, lathered in sweat and laboring under the pressure of their riders, had to press onward with great haste.

Two youngsters and one middle-aged man sat inside, all deep in thought; the trio looked quite alike, clearly part of the same family. They appeared to be on some important mission, their grave faces betraying the sense of urgency they were feeling. The two young men both sat beside each other and in front of their father, wearing luxurious clothing unbefitting of that of a rising household.

The carriage creaked and swayed on its journey, the sound of horses' hooves beating in the air making a drumbeat rhythm as it moved swiftly along the cobbled street.

Beside the coachman, a burly man with a calm countenance and a glowing sword sat regally.

After a while, the horses slowly came to a halt as the driver willed them to stop after he saw the sign above his head showcasing the two words--"south distrect".

The middle-aged man stepped out of the carriage, the look of gravity still on his face. The two young men followed their father out, their clothing trailing behind them as they stepped onto the pavement. Meanwhile, the burly man who had been seated beside the coachman hopped down and followed suit.

"Cough, sire, your noble daughter is lying here," a suspicious-looking fat woman emerged from the nursing home in front of them, strangely hunched forward and rubbing her hands together; most people would think she felt cold and sympathize, but the middle-aged man simply smiled and walked forward, placing a sliver coin in the woman's hands.

"Many thanks for delivering her safely, I shall always be grateful for your assistance." The woman inclined her head in acknowledgement and moved back, giving way to the four men to enter the structure.

Harold didn't ignore the reception or the greetings of the people, as he smiled back in acknowledgement before they made their way to the wards, the man took out a small pouch from his pocket and handed it to a woman standing outside the door of a room, "just take care of her, if there's anything you require, send word." The woman smiled and nodded in gratitude, clasping the small pouch tightly in her hands.

Without further hemming and hawing, they walked into the room.

The insides were quite clean, as was the whole structure; after all, it was a branch of the monastery of light that was originally located in the Pery Firth capital, in the Kingdom of Tver, the capital itself being hundreds of miles away from Cauldrontrunk, which was only a small city on the outskirts of the kingdom.

However, they also had a branch of the holy monastery of light, which only showcased how important the city itself was to the kingdom.

A quick glance around revealed that the room was well-furnished; it had a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe, all made of fine wood, and in the large bed lay his only daughter, whom he had nurtured with all his efforts since she was a child.

The beautiful young girl had lovely black hair like her father's and siblings', and even though she looked quite pale and appeared to be unconscious, her innate beauty could still be observed. She wore a white dress, as was common for patients, and her hands lay limply by her side.

He turned to the burly man and softly requested, "Waller, close the door and guard outside, please." Taking a deep breath, he slowly approached his daughter's bed and carefully looked at her frail form.

"Damned nobles!" he screamed as he clutched the bed's frame with his hand. He took a deep breath to calm himself before he looked back at his two sons.

"The plan now is already forgone" the boys looked worried at their sister but they were also feeling grave inside afraid from their father's wrath

"We were so close, but we were too close for our own good" he breathed and exhaled out, then took a closer look at his daughter, "The cleric will arrive soon, but it will cost us a fortune. In order to avoid problems, we must not only pay the avaricious man but also make contributions to the monastery. Unfortunately, this means that our already thin resources are going to be stretched to their limits"

He gazed deeply at his children; they were both tall, handsome and strong just like him; his eldest son was about 22 years old and dressed nicely. His long sleeved, animal skin jacket covered him to just below his groin and was half buttoned up at the bottom left side. His jacket's sleeves were narrow and reached well above his wrists; they were decorated with a single thread lining at the sleeve ends.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

His youngest child appeared to be 14 to 15 years old, and he, too, had dark eyes and dark hair, like most members of the Averille family, he was shorter than his brother, but he was not the least bit less handsome, as he donned an almost identical jacket to his brother's, although the collar was less wide and the sleeves reached to just below his wrists, with no thread lining. The jacket had a narrow, rectangular neckline, which revealed part of the fancy shirt worn below it and was worn with a small leather belt, which was held together by an intricate knot. The leather belt was purely a functional addition.

"father, i..." His eldest son wanted to speak, but was cut off by a knocking sound as their guard waller's voice rang out. "A maid has arrived, sir; should I let her in?" His father sighed and agreed, and the guard slowly opened the door, ushering in a young girl who carried a large, extravagant teapot, saucers, and a wooden box in her hands.

The tea had a pleasant aroma, and the good looking maid poured the saucers and then opened the wooden box, revealing an array of exquisite desserts. She slowly put everything on the desk before them and wished for the noble's daughter wellbeing before she bowed down and left.

"First, let's sit down and talk." The eldest son of Harold Averille inclined his head in agreement to his father's suggestion. With measured steps, he strode across the chamber and settled into a seat. Suddenly, a flicker of confusion crossed his features as he gazed upon his younger brother who seemed lost in a trance. After a few heartbeats, Harold himself took notice and cleared his throat, bidding, "Asrar, do join us at the table." The youngest, jolted out of his reverie, finally looked up and, with a start, took his place at the gathering.

They sat in silence for a few moments before the baron, with his eyes, mentioned for his eldest son to speak.

The latter gathered his thoughts and spoke up.

"Father, I humbly implore you to reconsider our original strategy," the son said, his voice breaking. "Earline will eventually stir from her slumber and wake up, and that noble scion is already deeply infatuated with her." The young man's nerves were rattling as he met his father's stern gaze, he took a sip of tea to calm his tumultuous emotions. He spoke hesitantly, not wishing to challenge his father's decision, but feeling compelled to voice out his concerns.

With a heavy sigh, the middle-aged man cast his gaze upon his daughter's form, bedridden and frail. "It is not that I am unwilling," he spoke, "but can you not comprehend the warning this foretell? I can discern the taint of dark magic within her, and none of their apprentices have ever dabbled in such foul arts." He breathed deeply, attempting to soothe his mounting fury. "These rumors of defeat are mere nonsense. Earline is not so easily bested, she was ambushed, I say!" he exclaimed, slamming his hands against the desk with a force that echoed through the room.

His eldest looked again and could clearly verify that his father's words were indeed right, and his mouth opened wide in shock.

Now that he pondered it, his sister was truly one of the most accomplished and gifted students at the Tvar Wizards' Academy. Though she may not always emerge victorious in duels, she was always safe and had never before fell into such a state. Rumors of the occurrence had reached his ears through his fellow students, and though he had initially believed them, after reflecting and gaining composure, he could see how foolish that assumption was.

His mind raced as he tried to process the situation.

"The Earl of Blackwoode actually made a move?" he asked.

Shaking his head, the middle aged man slowly explained, "Highly unlikely, not only was he not the earl's eldest son." At those words, he paused and looked at his youngest, only for him to see that the latter held his head down looking at the tea and desserts, not much interested in the topic. He was a bit disappointed but continued onward, "The guy also doesn't stand out much, hence he was a good target, alas."

The baron, Averille Harold, was an ambitious man who was always looking for opportunities to get ahead, but as a newly minted noble, he lacked wealth, connections, and land. For the first few years, he amassed money through illegal tax evasion and had the help of merchants to buy and sell out of the city's jurisdiction. He exerted his authority, and of course, as a noble, the officers turned a blind eye.

Of course, if he crossed the line, he would regret it, but he always exercised caution and....bribey.

Most nobles were wealthy for a reason.

His fiefdom included Cauldrontrunk town and the surrounding farms and villages, but he also had his sights set on a plot of land within the earl's fief.

It was clear that under ordinary circumstances, the Earl of Blackwoode would never agree. Yet, if they were to be bound as ‘family’, matters would prove much simpler. The Earl knew that to enlarge his land, he must delve deeper than mere caution and resort to more cunning means.

And he was keen to utilize the Earl of Blackwoode as a means of gaining more power and influence.

And because they were neighbors, he could gain a powerful ally as well as a new plot of land in one move.

His yearning for the land was rooted in a hidden secrey known only to him, fueling his unyielding determination to claim it, even at the cost of his daughter's well-being. He was aware of the risk he was taking, and yet his ambition could not be quelled.

"Our moments together are fleeting, thus why we gather here to speak," he spoke, his gaze moving from his daughter to both of his sons. "Soon, you shall return to your academies, to hone your respective crafts. I am aware of the dangers I may face, and the ramifications that may ensue, which is why I bade you each to study in different paths: Algar in the art of the sword and chivalry, Earline in the mastery of magic and sorcery, and Asrar... " He glanced at his youngest child, his thoughts turning to the darker arts of poison and assassination.

The Tvar kingdom was named after its first founder and king, Yona Tver; he himself was the one who founded the so called "iron legion" and "wizarding" academies, so he could ensure the kingdom's future with its most talented youths, who would be trained to protect the kingdom and its citizens from any internal or external threats.

Of course, his goal wasn't so noble either; he just wanted more power, and the academies he built were largely populated by noble children, and he knew it. He also wanted to gain control over the kingdom by instilling loyalty in the noble families and using their children as pawns to do his bidding.

The general societal elites were certainly aware of this, but they, in their turn, had a larger purpose in mind. That is, to become a member of the royal family. Since princes and princesses of the royal family do also attend these academies every year.

Everyone was greedy!

However, nobody knew who built that school of treachery and shadows; it was so mysterious that only a select few would have heard of it, let alone boarded it, yet it still managed to pass down its knowledge and teachings to its students, like whispers in the dark.

Most nobles who were aware of it, though, did not send their children to study in this academy, simply because there was no general benefit; if you wanted strength, go for the iron legion academy, and if you wanted knowledge, go for the wizarding academy.

But everything has its purpose...

And Harold Averille recognized the need for a member of his family, steeped in the arts of poison, murder, and deceit. Thus, he dispatched his youngest son to fill this role, though he was not as intellectually gifted as his two elder siblings. To keep him in check, Harold assigned a trusted subordinate to keep watch over the young man from time to time.

Argal, the barony's eldest son and future heir apparent, couldn't stop his thoughts from racing; he was angry for his sister, but he also wanted to prove himself. He saw himself as more than just his father's son, but as a man who could help their family thrive; he knew that vengeance on his sister was a bad idea because whoever attacked her was close to the earl and his family, or may even be the earl himself!

And his father definitely didn't relinquish the ambition of owning that land. Both he and the entire family fully understood just how much he coveted it; after all, years of planning, accumulating wealth, and deceit had gone into acquiring it.

Yet Argal was determined to get justice for his sister, only he had to be careful

Along with all those thoughts, he slowly calmed down, and as he unconsciously stretched out his hand to grab a piece of custard, suddenly a smaller hand stopped him.

"The desserts appear to be poisoned." A calm but young voice echoed out in the small room, Argal turned to the source of the voice and saw his younger brother, Asrar, clutching his hand before slowly releasing it.