The newfound power thrumming in my veins was intoxicating, a symphony of cold, dark potential. But the System's crimson reminder—[Time Until Knight Arrival: 8 Hours, 47 Minutes]—was a sobering metronome counting down my potential demise. Power was useless without control, and control required practice.
I focused inward, on the [Mana Manipulation] trait. In my novel, I'd described it as the ability to shape and direct mana with precision, the foundation of all spellcasting. For Arsene, it was as natural as breathing. For me, it was like trying to write with my non-dominant hand.
Holding out my palm, I concentrated on the pool of darkness within me. I visualized a simple shape: a sphere. A trickle of cold energy responded, sluggishly flowing down my arm. A wisp of shadow smoke curled above my palm, flickered, and died.
"Damn it," I hissed, the curse sounding foreign in Adel's refined, if unused, voice. The theoretical knowledge was there, but the practical application was a wall I had to scale. Fast.
I tried again. And again. Each failure was a drain on my mana and my patience. [Mana: 340/350]. I was wasting it.
Think like him, I commanded myself. You created him. Be cunning. Be efficient.
I stopped trying to force the mana out. Instead, I listened to it. I focused on the [Darkness Affinity] trait. Darkness wasn't just absence of light; it was potential, secrecy, and cold patience. I didn't command the shadows; I invited them.
This time, the energy responded differently. It didn't feel like a forced leak, but a gentle convergence. The shadows in the room seemed to lean in, eager to participate. A sphere of perfect, light-absorbing black formed effortlessly above my hand, cool and stable.
[Proficiency in [Mana Manipulation] has increased.] [Proficiency in [Darkness Affinity] has increased.] [New Skill Unlocked: [Shadow Tendril] - Basic]
A thrill of victory, sharp and sweet, shot through me. This was it. This was the feeling I'd wanted to convey in my novel. I willed the sphere to elongate, and it stretched into a whip-like tendril of solid darkness. I snapped it at a dusty vase on a mantle. The tendril connected with a faint thwip, and the vase shuddered but didn't break. My control was still crude, but it was a start.
The sound, however, was enough.
The door to the chamber creaked open. A maid—Elara, her name came to me from Adel's memories—peeked in, her face a mask of poorly concealed contempt. She was one of the servants who enjoyed bringing me stale bread and whispering insults just loud enough to hear.
"Young Master?" she said, her tone dripping with false concern. "I heard a noise. Are you... well? Perhaps you finally decided to stop hiding and do something useful? Like air out your own room?"
In the original story, Adel would have ignored her, his pride and bitterness warring with his need to remain unnoticed. But I wasn't just Adel. I was the author who knew that fear is a more potent tool than anger.
I didn't look at her. I kept my gaze on the shadow tendril, which I willed to slither back into the palm of my hand like a docile pet.
"Elara," I said, my voice quiet, devoid of emotion. "You have a brother in the city guard. A loyal man, though his gambling debts to a certain underworld figure are becoming... problematic."
The smug look on her face vanished, replaced by utter shock and dawning fear. This was knowledge Adel had overheard but never used. I was using it.
"How... how do you know that?" she whispered, her bravado gone.
The shadows around my feet deepened, stretching toward her despite the light from the hallway. I slowly turned my fox-like eyes on her, letting her see the cold, ancient cunning in them—the look of a predator assessing its prey.
"I know many things," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to be carried by the shadows themselves. "I know you steal silverware and sell it. I know you report my movements to a certain merchant who pays you coin. I know you think I am weak and powerless."
I took a single step forward. She flinched back as if struck.
"But you are mistaken," I continued, a faint, chilling smile touching my lips. "I am the last son of the House of Arsene. This dust you see is the ashes of a legacy that could burn this empire to the ground. And you are a gnat buzzing in its halls."
I released a tiny fraction of my [Killing Intent], not enough to harm, but enough to make the air grow cold and heavy, enough to make her feel a primal, gut-wrenching fear.
She gasped, her face pale, her hands trembling. She fell to her knees. "Young Master! For-forgive me! I meant no disrespect!"
"The disrespect is already given," I said, my tone icy. "But it can be forgotten. Your loyalty, however, must be earned. From now on, you are my eyes and ears in this manor. You will report everything you see and hear to me, and to me alone. You will ensure my meals are hot and my chambers are clean. And in return, I will ensure your brother's debts disappear and his prospects improve. Do you understand?"
I was laying it on thick, weaving a web of threat and promise just like the villains I admired. I needed allies, even coerced ones. A harem didn't just spring from nowhere; it was built on foundations of loyalty, saved lives, and yes, a healthy dose of intimidating charm.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide with a new emotion: not just fear, but a flicker of awe. The useless, reclusive young master was gone, replaced by something dangerous and compelling.
"Yes, Young Master! I understand! Thank you, Young Master!" she stammered, bowing her head deeply.
"Leave me," I commanded. "And remember, my generosity is as vast as my wrath."
She scrambled backward out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The act was exhausting but effective. [Life Signature: Stable] the System confirmed. I hadn't lost points from the exertion.
I looked at the System screen. It had updated subtly.
[Subordinate Gained: Elara (Loyalty: 35% - Fear/Awe)] [Trait Proficiency: [Killing Intent] - Basic] [Trait Proficiency: [Manipulation] - Basic]
It was a start. A tiny, fragile foundation. But a fox doesn't build a den in a day.
I turned back to the window, looking out at the setting sun. The knights would come under cover of darkness. They expected to hunt a rabbit.
They would find a fox, waiting in the shadows, already learning to bite.
The game was indeed on. And I intended to play it better than anyone.