The Khaïbet-Nefertoum... a legendary relic, once wielded by our ancestor Nefertoum Indivar during the Great Hundred Years War, lay deep within the Riverdale Forest, not far from the River Estate. The fact that it was there remained unknown.
"It's not far from here... barely two kilometers from the castle."
I absentmindedly scratched my smooth chin while examining an old rolled-up map on the table. This dungeon... it had fueled the rivalry between the River and Indivar estates for five years now.
Why? Because an S-rank dungeon, born from a spatial rupture caused by the power unleashed during the Hundred Years War, created a separate spacetime pocket—an entirely different ecosystem with its own inhabitants.
It's more than just a challenge: it's an invaluable treasure trove. A source of magical crystals, rare materials, and sometimes, lost relics like this one. For me, a pathetic weakling who couldn't even beat a starving goblin, it might have been madness. But I had something many didn't: a filthy rich family. And sometimes, money can be a better shield than steel.
I left my room with determination, slowly closing the door behind me. The hallway, bathed in the golden light of twilight filtering through the stained-glass windows, was deserted. On my way, I crossed paths with my bodyguard, a serious-faced young man of about twenty. He wore light metallic blue armor, accented with a white cape embroidered with golden threads. His name was Erwan, a commoner raised to knighthood through sheer skill. His brown hair tied in a ponytail, his cerulean eyes sharp and wary, he exuded an annoying sense of righteousness. But he was reliable.
"Fetch the butler for me," I ordered. "And tell him to meet me in the Archduchess's office."
"At once, young lord."
He nodded and disappeared.
I continued on my way. Ten minutes later, after navigating the corridors and climbing a spiral staircase lined with purple tapestry, I knocked on a massive door adorned with relief carvings.
"I'm busy!" a voice both gentle and authoritative called out.
"It's me, Grandmother."
A silence, then a soft laugh.
"Oh, it's you, Daemon! Why are you still knocking? Come in!"
I entered. And there, as always, Yulda Indivar, the archduchess of our house, greeted me with her eternal enigmatic smile. She sat in her large black velvet armchair, a cloud of smoke swirling around her long amber pipe.
Despite her advanced age, Yulda looked like a woman in her thirties. Her figure was voluptuous, her alabaster skin without a wrinkle, her eyes a deep, almost bloody red, sparkling with mischief. Her long silver hair was braided and fell down her back, a crown of black pearls resting on her forehead—likely an artifact. She wore a noble's gown, trimmed with white fur, and an aura both maternal and predatory emanated from her. A fatal beauty... both a powerful mage, strategist, and archduchess.
She offered me a crystal cigarette holder.
I didn't know if Daemon smoked, but considering his demeanor, it wouldn't be out of place. Refusing might raise suspicion.
I accepted, cautiously inhaled, and exhaled the smoke. It had a bittersweet taste.
"It's good," I said, shrugging.
She chuckled lightly before sinking deeper into her armchair.
"So, ready for your return to the Academy?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Always ready," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.
The conversation shifted to my mother... her death. And my father's despicable reactions.
"You know, I don't care," I said, looking away. "I don't feel anything anymore. But what I refuse... is for our family to continue being humiliated."
Yulda sat up immediately, interest gleaming in her red eyes.
"Oh? When you take that tone, you're plotting something."
In the game, she was always the one pulling the strings, crafting the plans. Even now, she was my most reliable ally—even if sending her to Hell to make a pact with Baal hadn't been my best idea...
I leaned forward, adopting a solemn tone to sound more credible.
"Grandmother... I need money. You trust me, right?"
She raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise.
"Of course I trust you. So tell me... what are you planning? A pact with an archdemon?"
I flinched slightly. She spoke of heresy in a theocratic empire with terrifying nonchalance. Was she going to send us to the stake or what?
She added:
"For that, you'd need more than human sacrifices... Maybe even... offering your fiancée. I had actually thought that—"
"No, Grandmother. Even if I'm weak, I'm not there yet. Making a pact would be my last resort. I'm going to bet on my awakening. Even if it fails... at least no one will be able to despise me anymore."
Knock knock
The butler's deep voice rose.
"Please excuse the interruption. I thought I heard that the young master required my services."
It was Adlar, our butler for twenty years. Always impeccable, dressed in a black tailcoat with silver trim, his white hair tied in a low bun, he bowed deeply.
"Enter, Adlar," Yulda said, blowing a smoke ring.
The door opened slowly.
"My greetings, Archduchess... I am at your service, young Master Indivar."
I nodded.
"As I asked you, Grandmother. I need about ten gold pieces. The purchases will be... substantial."
She raised an eyebrow, feigning shock.
"Ten? Come now, Daemon. We're not a family of beggars. I'll give you fifty. Now, tell me: what do you plan to use them for?"
I looked her straight in the eye.
"Thank you for your generosity. I intend to clear the S-rank dungeon... the Ice Ogre Cave."
A heavy silence fell in the room.
"What!?"