The Marquis gestured for Sebastian to continue.
"Since it is now confirmed that young master Kyle was the target, and the news has spread far and wide, it may be time to reveal that he is alive and well. If our enemies believe their attempt failed, if we present him publicly, unscathed, it may force them to act rashly, or hesitate altogether."
The Marquis' eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation, but he didn't interrupt. His silence was a sign for the butler to continue.
"Even better," Sebastian added, his tone sharpening with insight, "Young master Kyle's sixteenth birthday draws near, does it not? The official coming-of-age ceremony for reaching adulthood. It would be the perfect opportunity. We could host a grand celebration. Invite the nobility in the region. Including Duke Von Gaussian... and his family."
A small glint of interest flickered behind the Marquess's cold eyes.
"Force them into the light," he murmured.
"Exactly, my Lord. Observe their reactions. Their behavior. Any slip, any shadow of displeasure or tension, and we will know. And all under the guise of a noble affair. No accusations. No war. Just... watch and plan initially."
The Marquess slowly leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"It is bold," he muttered.
"It is calculated, my Lord," Sebastian corrected with a rare smile.
There was a brief pause. Then, the butler straightened and bowed again.
"My Lord, if I may ask something else… Forgive me if I speak out of turn."
The Marquess raised an eyebrow.
"Have you informed the Ancestor of the assassination attempt?"
The room fell still.
A heavy silence stretched between them.
The Marquess closed his eyes briefly, pressing two fingers against his temple as if warding off a headache.
"No," he admitted. "I haven't. I don't want to trouble him. He's done enough for this family. He should not be burdened with our failures."
Sebastian nodded slowly, as if expecting the answer.
"Of course, my Lord. Forgive me for asking."
The butler stepped back, offered one last deep bow, then turned and quietly exited the tent, his footsteps fading into the night.
The Marquess remained seated in his study, the lamp flickering across his stern face.
Alone now, he let out a long, tired sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his burden pressing down harder than before.
His gaze drifted to a painting on the far wall, Kyle, at ten years old, holding a wooden sword with a bright, gap-toothed smile.
"If only…" he whispered bitterly.
The regrets were overwhelming; they clouded his mind.
If only Kyle could cultivate.
If only he, himself, were stronger.
If only his son had inherited the family's talent, the strength of the bloodline. He would have had more allies, more leverage.
There would be no need for these shadow games, these compromises, these humiliations.
But fate… fate had dealt him a cruel hand.
A son who could not cultivate.
A world surrounded by enemies. People who served their own interests and shamelessly devoured the weak.
And he himself, too weak to change it.
He covered his eyes with one hand and let the silence consume him. Regret twisted like a knife in his chest.
"If only…"
He knew. He knew why this had happened to his son, and it was all linked to his old friend, Count Azure, all because of a promise made years ago.
A promise to join their house together through marriage, if only he knew that his so-called friend was nothing but an opportunistic bastard.
"I should have expected this, though, in a world as cruel as this, there will always be wolves in sheep's clothing. But you have crossed a line you were never meant to cross, you bastards."
A malevolent glint flashed in Cassian's eyes now. His influence might not be on the same level as Duke Gaussian's, but he'd be damned if he sat idly by while his son fought for his life.
.....
Morning light streamed in through the silk curtains of Kyle's room, spilling golden rays across the floor.
The constant fragrance of rose incense still lingered faintly in the air. Nuna never missed the cue to swap out the incense stick for Kyle.
If anything, she was very dedicated to her duties as Kyle's caretaker. That in itself warmed his heart.
Kyle Ravenshade sat upright in the massive bed, legs crossed, fingers pressed lightly to his temple.
It was the morning after he woke up in this world, and after having a good night's sleep, he was feeling refreshed.
The pain had subsided, but his mind still spun with the weight of the foreign memories in his mind. So many thoughts. So many names, events, faces, and dates…
Because they were not originally his memories, skimming through them felt like walking through a library, a catalogue, or a collection of some sort.
"Let's see..." he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and beginning to sift through the flood.
His predecessor, the original Kyle Ravenshade, had been no cultivator. His meridians were damaged at birth and considered irreparable, even with the resources available to this world.
Treasures capable of curing him were extremely rare.
Not even the Marquis's wealth and status could find a cure. Yet despite the label of 'cripple', Kyle had not been idle.
Because even in a world where strength ruled supreme, and being powerful was a requirement to living a comfortable life, it was not the only way.
Because, scrolling through the memories, Kyle's plan was to cede his right as an heir to his sister and become a merchant or specialize in a secondary profession, and support his family in some way.
As such, he was widely read, intelligent, and very cautious.
Kael blinked, impressed as he scanned the echoes of his host's life.
"Damn… he was smart."
Even as a child, Kyle had devoured every scroll, book, and record he could get his hands on. He devoured tomes like a maggot.
From political theory to battlefield tactics, cultivation theory to court gossip, if it could be learned, Kyle had learned it.
With nothing but time and an unshakeable will to be useful, he had transformed himself into a walking archive of knowledge.
Kael chuckled. "What a damn shame. A brain like that, and not a shred of Qi in his body."
He sighed, leaning back against the headboard.
The silk cushions were soft, but the knowledge that he was stuck in a cultivation world without cultivation settled like lead in his stomach.
"Things aren't looking good for me are they?"