The lights of the grand hall cast golden beams through the high windows, dancing over the stained glass and reflecting on the black marble floor streaked with silver veins. The Ravenhart crest hung on massive banners throughout the room, while the guests murmured to one another after the abrupt execution of young Gregory.
Clint, still with his sword sheathed, stood at the center of the hall. The decapitated body lay beside him, and blood trickled through the floor's crevices as if seeking sanctuary.
An uncomfortable silence lingered. Then, the heavy steps of a group approached, parting the nobles in their path.
— "Beheading a marquis during a banquet..." — the deep, measured voice echoed, cold as freshly forged steel — "...bold. Reminds me of your father in his youth."
Clint slowly turned.
There he was — King Caesar of Kamira.
He wore a long robe of dark fabric, embroidered with golden thread depicting Kamira's Lion in its most imposing form. His eyes were like cut stones — sharp and observant. The silence that followed him was as intense as his presence.
Clint didn't kneel, nor did he speak immediately. He held the king's gaze like a warrior staring at the blade that might take his head — not with fear, but with respect.
The king narrowed his eyes, analyzing every feature. From the control of Clint's breath to the subtle tension in his shoulders. He saw a lean young man, but with no hesitation. Gregory's blood still stained his left boot.
— "You smell like the battlefield. Not a noble hall." — Caesar commented, his tone calm.
Clint remained silent.
— "And it seems… you didn't inherit only your father's personality." — the king went on. — "Your talent must be in your blood too. Few at your age can control bloodlust like that."
The silence thickened.
— "Was it your father who trained you? Or perhaps Eduard?" — the King asked.
— "Actually… my master is Darius Thorne." — Clint answered firmly.
The atmosphere seemed to grow denser. For a second, the king's eyes widened with surprise — a slight, subtle movement... but real. No one around noticed. Only he, and perhaps Eduard, watching from the side of the hall.
Darius Thorne? — the king thought silently.
That man served no one. His name was more legend than fact among those who knew the extent of his strength. Disciples of Darius often became instruments of war... or monsters. Some of the most feared assassins and knights were once molded by him. For this boy to be accepted — and shaped in so little time — was, at the very least, alarming.
But the king showed none of this.
— "Hmm. Impressive." — he said, as if the name held no weight at all. — "I hope Darius has taught you more than how to raise a blade in a hall full of nobles."
Clint didn't respond.
The king stared for a few more seconds. Just enough to make several nobles sweat under their fine clothes.
— "I hope you become an excellent Duke in the future."
— the king declared, giving a brief nod before turning away, as if he had already gathered all the answers he needed.
---
Minutes later, another man approached. Formal clothing, deep-set eyes, and neatly trimmed gray hair.
— "Clint Havenhart."
Clint looked at him. He recognized the crest embroidered on the tunic: a silver serpent crossing a spear.
— "Marquis Damião Gregory."
The man gave a formal bow.
— "I deeply regret my son's recklessness. His actions do not represent my house, nor my values." — his voice was firm, but there was tension in his neck.
Clint gave no response.
The marquis kept his head bowed a moment longer, then continued:
— "I hope this incident won't affect the relationship between my family and House Ravenhart."
Eduard stepped forward, answering with a faint, cold smile.
— "That will depend on how your family chooses to atone for its mistakes, Marquis."
Damião took a deep breath, bowed again, and walked away in silence.
---
Clint remained in the hall, glancing around. Many eyes turned to him. Some with admiration, others with fear. Few with true acceptance.
But something had changed.
He was no longer a nobody. No longer just a bastard.
From that day on, he was the son of Duke Ravenhart who killed a marquis's heir in front of the king — and remained standing.
He was Clint Havenhart.
And now, everyone had heard his name.