Suddenly, something began to shift.
Sensing the looming danger, faint, rough, dark scales started to surface across Modret's small hand. His soft skin rapidly hardened, and a deadly, oppressive aura burst forth from his body.
The air itself seemed to ripple around him, as though space was resisting the presence of whatever force had awakened within.
Modret was frozen, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He could not comprehend what was unfolding. Then, as though moving on pure instinct, his hand snapped forward and slapped at the snake lunging toward him.
The snake, which had been poised to strike, halted midair. Its beady eyes locked onto Modret's, filled with a primal fear. As if it had sensed a force too ancient and terrifying to contend with, it tried to retreat. But it was too late.
Modret's chubby hand, now covered in menacing scales, struck the serpent with an explosive impact.
The creature exploded into a gruesome mess of flesh and blood, its remains splattering violently across the bed and nearby walls. The scent of iron instantly filled the room. Crimson droplets stained the white linen, and the silence that followed was thick with tension.
The sight was overwhelming.
As the danger dissipated, the sinister aura that had engulfed Modret began to retreat into his body. Slowly, the scales that had appeared on his skin faded, vanishing without a trace. The room quieted, yet the lingering presence of violence still hung heavily in the air.
Modret remained still, stunned by the sheer power that had just surged through him. His breathing was shallow, and his eyelids began to droop. The sudden surge had drained him entirely. A wave of exhaustion swept over his body, and he began to drift into unconsciousness.
However, just before he lost consciousness, his eyes flew open in alarm.
A mechanical chime echoed faintly within his mind.
[Gained 10 shadow fragments.]
'Shadow fragments… so this is how to obtain shadow fragments?' he thought hazily, before darkness consumed him.
…
Time crawled forward.
But the Axarel branch manor was anything but calm. An hour later, Anna entered Modret's room to check on her son. What she saw made her heart drop.
His small hands were bloodied. The walls and bed were splattered with gore. Her breath caught in her throat, and her mind raced with panic. For a brief, heart-wrenching moment, she thought she had lost him.
Fortunately, he was still breathing.
Even so, she quickly realized the gravity of the situation. Someone had tried to assassinate Modret. But rather than perish, her young son had somehow killed the creature with his bare hands.
Terrified and furious, she rushed to find her husband. When Donald heard the full story, he was stunned.
"You are saying someone tried to kill Modret, but he managed to destroy the creature alone and remain unharmed?" he asked, needing confirmation.
Anna nodded, revealing the clues she had gathered. Blood on his hands, the shattered remains of the snake, and the strange, black scale she now held in her palm.
Donald found it difficult to believe, but the evidence could not be denied. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His strong frame trembled faintly as the truth began to sink in.
"Could it be that our son awakened subconsciously?" he asked, voice laced with wonder. In this world, there had been rare cases where children awakened early, but none as young as Modret. Still, such a possibility could not be dismissed.
"I think so. But we cannot be certain until we consult the priest from the main household. And doing that would mean dragging our son into the power struggles of the royal family," Anna replied, worry etched deeply across her face.
Donald gently wrapped his arms around her.
"Do not worry, my love. I want our son to grow up peacefully and have a joyful childhood. We will keep this matter a secret for now. There is no need to involve the main household," he said, reassuring her.
As he comforted her, a glint of resolve flickered in his eyes. A cold aura began to radiate from his body. He turned his gaze toward the horizon and spoke in a voice as cold as ice.
"But we must focus on the real issue. Someone dared to target my son. Me, Donald, the King of Ten Thousand Swords. How dare they?"
His voice reverberated through the entire manor, shaking the walls and awakening everyone.
Maids, guards, and servants immediately sensed something was wrong. One by one, they hurried in the direction of Donald's residence.
Donald stepped out with calm strides, but his demeanor sent chills through the gathered crowd. His composed exterior only amplified the tension. The servants exchanged nervous glances, uncertain of what had happened but fully aware that something serious was unfolding.
"Oracle," Donald called softly.
A slender figure stepped forward from the crowd. In every branch of the royal family, there was an oracle capable of detecting lies, a safeguard against spies and betrayal. This oracle, a woman with pale green hair that cascaded over her face, emerged slowly.
She raised her eyes and glanced at Donald. Her expression shifted faintly as she caught sight of his face.
"Please state your question, Your Highness," she said, turning her attention to the gathered servants. Trained since childhood, they stood in perfectly arranged rows, respectful and silent.
Donald's deep voice echoed across the courtyard.
"Which of you attempted to assassinate my son?"
The words struck like lightning.
Gasps followed. Disbelief rippled through the ranks of servants. Someone had dared to try and kill the young master? It seemed unthinkable. What kind of fool would even attempt such a thing?
Donald frowned, clearly unimpressed by their expressions. He was not here for shock. He was here for answers.
"Answer me!" he shouted, his voice rumbling through their minds like thunder.
A faint hum followed. The vibration of swords filled the air. Some servants, having heard the legends of Donald's might, broke into a cold sweat.
They responded immediately.
"Master, it was not me."
"I would never do such a thing."
"Please believe me, Master."
Donald listened carefully, observing each face and committing every voice to memory.
When all had spoken, he turned to the oracle.
Her green-glowing eyes shimmered under the moonlight as she scanned the crowd. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Several servants were visibly trembling.
At last, she turned to Donald and slowly shook her head.
"It was not any of them," she said softly. Her voice was weary. Using her B-grade ability on so many people had drained her mana significantly.
Donald's expression darkened into a deep frown.
"Then who is targeting my son?"
.
.
To be continued.
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