“You want the next family head to be a little boy?”

It’s a laughable notion. To appoint a mere child as the head of the family would destroy our name —a disgraceful conclusion to Grandfather’s legacy.

He shrugs casually. “Of course, I admit he’s a little too young to take up the responsibilities. But I’ve already been running the territory for a while now. What’s another few years?”

My heart skips a beat as realization dawns upon me, and then a deep-seated rage erupts from within like a storm. With an explosive lunge, I reach across the desk and grab him by the collar, shrugging off his futile attempts to resist.

“You traitor!” I roar in his face. “You were just a common merchant. No money, no titles to your name! Before my father passed away, I remembers what he always said about you—do you know what he called you? A snake! And you—you—”

There is no fear in his gaze. He does not answer, but I can see his eyes glint with amusement, a hint of ridicule in his smirk. It’s the look of a man who’s gotten a taste for authority, and won’t let go unless he’s dragged away, kicking and screaming. I take a deep breath to reign in the storm of emotions and level a cold glare at him.

“I always thought you were pathetic,” I continue, “how you chased my aunt for years. I never liked you. But somehow, you beguiled her, and Grandfather kindly agreed to your marriage after she pestered him for it. You took advantage of his hospitality, but now my word is law, and I am not so magnanimous! Pack your bags and get out of my land!”

“You would throw me out?” he questions. “Your uncle and your cousin? How cold-hearted! Is this what you learned in Cinnabar? Is this what we paid countless Kor for that school of yours?”

“You should be thankful I don’t gut you like a fish! The boy can stay. But you? You were never a Wilbor. You have no place here.”

“Funny you should say that.” The fat man chuckles deeply, then raises a hand to snap his fingers.

As he talks, the door opens and two men enter the study from behind. I turn to see unfamiliar faces, both of them. One has a blade at his waist. I release my uncle’s collar and reach for my own blade, only to come up empty—the product of a night of drunken revelry. It’s a sloppy mistake.

“What’s the meaning of this, Uncle?”

The man smiles broadly, full of malice and ill intent. I can scarcely recognize him.

“I don’t think you quite understand the situation, nephew. You see, I wasn’t asking you for permission. While you’ve been fooling around down south, I’ve been in charge for years.”

“Years? But Grandfa—" My eyes widen and I stare daggers at him. Poor Grandfather must have been quite sickly in his final years, or he’d never have stood for this. In just a few short years, my uncle’s already become drunk with power.

“But let me introduce you to my new friends,” he says, gesturing to the two men standing behind me.

The one on my left taps his left shoulder with his right hand. It’s a dueler’s greeting, Cinnanbarn-style. I deliberately refuse to return the gesture, responding only with a sneer.

With a jubilant tone, my uncle announces, “This is a Gold swordsman that I’ve invited. He’s been a real help at convincing people to listen to me.”

A Gold swordsman? I turn to look at him, appraising his clothing, then shake my head. Impossible. “You think me a fool, Uncle? That I’d believe a Gold swordsman would travel all the way from Cinnabar to work for you? Ha!”

The swordsman clears his throat. “Have you heard of the Eight Leaf Style?”

At his words, I frown, attempting to jog my memory. “Just a second-rate Sword Style,” I dismiss. “But even so, if you’ve really reached Gold, there’s no reason for you to travel here.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He shrugs casually but reaches for his sword with a light grip. A flickering, pale, golden glow emanates from the blade before dimming. I stare in disbelief.

“How—”

My uncle chortles in amusement. “The look on your face, dear nephew. The answer to your question is Kor. Everybody has their price, after all. He might not be a renowned swordsman or a peerless duelist, and I’m sure that Something-Leaf Style isn’t as good as the one you’re learning, but we’re not exactly in Cinnabar, are we? Gold’s still gold, after all, and there’s no one else at that level here. Or do you want to take up the challenge? Maybe prove the rumors about your Aura wrong?”

I grit my teeth, looking at the other man in the room.

“And pray tell, dear Uncle, who is this? Another swordsman you’ve invited? Perhaps even Prince Damian himself, come to do your bidding, after you’ve emptied out the family coffers and sold off half our possessions?”

“Ha!” he barks in laughter. “Nothing so exquisite. Just a Silver warrior to train more of our men. Things have changed while you were away, Rory. Now my word is law here.”

“This is a mistake,” I warn. “The nobles don’t look kindly on usurpers—tradition and heritage are sacrosanct to them. Even if you’ve taken the name, you’ll never be a Wilbor—”

“No, but my son will be—,” he interrupts, but I continue on, “This charade of yours won’t hold up outside of our lands.”

“Unlike you,” he explains, “I have little interest in the affairs of distant lands. I’m content to stay here and enjoy a comfortable life.”

“This is a stupid move,” I scorn. “There’s no chance you’ll succeed.”

“I already have,” he boasts. “Look around. Where are your allies? Even old Bernard’s left, too embarrassed to serve a failure like you.”

That’s a lie. He’s been taking care of me since I was born. He was the first person to hold me, even before my father. And when my parents passed, he taught me in their stead. I know that he would never leave me … right?

“That’s impossible. Bern has served our family for generations.”

“Our family,” he repeats. “Not you. But don’t worry. It doesn’t need to be this way—I think there’s room for us to reconcile. A way for you to be part of the family. I can’t help but think of poor Boris. He’d be sad to hear that his son-in-law and his grandson weren’t getting along, after all.”

“Don’t you dare speak of Grandfather that way!”

“You’ll be guaranteed a comfortable life,” he carries on, “we’ll take good care of you. You can even go back to Cinnabar and play around. I don’t mind. All you need to do is say a few words of support for your cousin.”

I consider drawing my blade and running the man through. The lack of weapon on my waist, however, presents a major obstacle. The Gold swordsman is another. Even if I still had my Aura …

Seeing my lack of agreement, he leans over to pat my cheek with a thick, meaty palm. I resist the temptation to grab those fingers and break them.

“Now, nephew. There’s no need to be angry. We’re still family, aren’t we? Tell you what, maybe this will help convince you.”

He reaches over to open a drawer and takes out a pouch of coins. From the opening of the pouch, I can see that it’s packed full of Korsan long-silvers. “Five thousand Kor,” he announces. “And more to come later.”

I stare at the coins in disbelief, then lash out with a hand, sweeping the pouch off the desk. A small waterfall of coins ensues, scattering them across the floor. One rolls towards me, then collides with my shoe and stops. His face darkens, and he stands abruptly, chair toppling to the ground.

“This was a generous offer, nephew, and you threw it back in my face. Seems like losing your Aura hasn’t humbled you! The next time you come crawling back, don’t expect such a good offer.”

“You’ll regret this, Uncle. This is my birthright, my homeland! The people here—they’ll never accept you! When I come back, I’ll bring an army and have you thrown out!”

He staggers back, clutching his chest and collapsing into his chair. For a moment, I believe that my words have instilled fear in his heart.

And then he bursts out in laughter, fat chin wobbling as he wheezes for breath. As if on cue, the two men quickly follow suit with awkward, half-hearted laughter.

“Look at you! The way you talk! The way you dress! You haven’t set foot in Wilbor lands for a decade, and you think this is your homeland? Rory, the people here don’t even know you!”

My uncle rests a hand on his belly and leans back to relax. “The truth is that you’ve got no money, no titles to your name! Even if you run back to Cinnabar, who’s going to follow you? I’d like to see what kind of ‘army’ you can raise!”

He waves his hand dismissively in my direction. “Show my nephew out. Oh, and make sure he doesn’t steal anything.”

I turn on the spot, walking out of the study without a response. The two men escort me out without affording me the opportunity to retrieve any of my belongings. Any attempts at small talk go unheeded; it seems my uncle has paid them well.

It takes less than a day to travel near the end of our lands, where there is nothing but endless wasteland in a barren and desolate landscape.

Penniless and exiled, I continue to walk south.

Today, I have lost everything. My grandfather. My Aura. And now, my birthright.

But one day, I will return—with blade in hand and an army at my back—to take back what is rightfully mine.