The transition from the lightless damp of the dungeon to the gilded hallways of the Ironwood Estate was a shift in more than just atmosphere. It was a movement from the gut of a beast to its polished, deceptive skin.
Valerian walked with a slow, rhythmic gait. His bare feet left faint, tacky prints of drying blood on the expensive rugs of the servant's corridor. He didn't avoid the light. He didn't creep through the shadows like a thief. He walked with the posture of a man who owned the air he breathed, despite the fact that his clothes were rags and his face was a portrait of slaughter.
He passed a young maid carrying a tray of late-night refreshments. She stopped, her eyes going wide as she took in the sight of the "cursed" second son dripping with gore. The tray slipped from her fingers, the porcelain shattering against the floor with a sound like a gunshot.
Valerian didn't stop. He didn't even look at her. He simply kept walking, his eyes fixed forward.
"Nano. Give me the floor plan for the second level. Highlight the Baron's study."
"Mapping… Data retrieved from host's subconscious memory bank. Second floor, eastern wing. Two guards stationed at the door. Current internal temperature of the study: 24°C. One occupant detected."
"Good."
Valerian reached the main staircase. He looked up at the portraits of his ancestors—men with the same golden hair as Gilbert, looking down with haughty disdain. He felt nothing for them. They were dead data. Their legacy was a sequence of chemical reactions and social constructs that held no weight in his world.
As he reached the landing of the second floor, the two guards at the Baron's study stepped forward, crossing their halberds.
"Halt! You—" one began, but the words died in his throat.
Valerian stopped three paces away. He didn't reach for his dagger. He simply stood there, his blue-flickering eyes boring into the guard's soul. The air around him seemed to vibrate with a low, oppressive hum—a side effect of the Nano Machines forcing his mana gates to remain open at peak efficiency.
"Gilbert is dead," Valerian said, his voice flat. "Tell the Baron his investment has been liquidated. His replacement is here."
The guards looked at each other, paralyzed by a mix of duty and pure, instinctual dread. Before they could decide whether to arrest him or flee, the heavy oak doors of the study creaked open.
"Let him in."
The voice was like a grindstone—heavy, dry, and utterly without warmth.
Valerian stepped into the study. It was a room that smelled of old parchment, expensive tobacco, and the subtle, metallic tang of magic. Behind a massive mahogany desk sat Baron Archibald Ironwood. He was a man in his late forties, his hair silvering at the temples, his face a landscape of hard lines and calculated apathy.
He didn't look shocked to see his son covered in blood. He didn't look grieved to hear of Gilbert's death. He merely watched Valerian with the same intensity a jeweler might use to inspect a flawed diamond.
"Hance arrived minutes ago with a frantic tale of assassins," the Baron said, leaning back in his chair. He didn't offer Valerian a seat. "He spoke of a shadow in the dark. A professional. He said you drove it off."
"Hance is a coward," Valerian replied, walking to the center of the room. "He tells the stories that keep him alive. I tell the stories that reflect reality."
"And what is the reality, Valerian?"
"The reality is that Gilbert was weak. He was a resource that consumed more than he produced. He died because he lacked the basic computational ability to recognize a superior threat." Valerian took the iron dagger from his belt and placed it on the Baron's desk. The blade was still stained with the combined blood of the guards and his brother. "I am the superior threat."
The Baron's eyes narrowed. He looked at the dagger, then back at Valerian.
"You killed them," the Baron stated. It wasn't a question. "You killed Garek. You killed the guards. You killed your brother."
"I optimized the line of succession," Valerian corrected. "If you want a son who can host parties and drain your coffers while smiling for the King, Gilbert was your man. If you want a weapon that can dismantle the Asuran underworld and ensure the Ironwood name is feared rather than merely tolerated… I am the only choice."
Archibald stood up. He was a tall man, and the mana he radiated was thick—Rank: Advanced. He exerted his pressure, a wave of magical intent designed to crush the will of anyone beneath him.
Valerian felt the pressure. It felt like a heavy weight pressing against his chest, trying to force his knees to buckle.
"Nano. Counter-pulse. Synchronize internal mana flow to neutralize external pressure."
"Acknowledged. Creating a resonant field. Neutralizing 85% of incoming magical interference."
Valerian didn't move. He didn't even blink. He met his father's gaze with a void-like emptiness that made the Baron's own coldness seem like a summer breeze.
For a long minute, neither spoke. The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace.
Then, the Baron laughed. It wasn't a joyful sound; it was the bark of a predator recognizing another of its kind.
"For fourteen years, I thought you were a defect," Archibald said, the magical pressure vanishing as he sat back down. "A quiet, sniveling mistake of a night spent with a commoner. It seems I was wrong. You weren't a mistake. You were a sleeper."
"I am awake now," Valerian said.
"Gilbert's death will be a problem. The King's investigators will come. The 'assassin' story must hold."
"It will. Hance is sufficiently terrified. The bodies have been prepared. The wounds are inconsistent with my physical strength or the weapons I possess. It will be recorded as a tragedy of the highest order."
The Baron tapped his fingers on the desk. "And what do you want, Valerian? If you've come to kill me, you've failed. You are talented, but you are still a child in the eyes of the sword and magic."
"I don't want your life," Valerian said. "Your life is currently useful to me. I want resources. I want access to the family's library of forbidden chants. I want a seat at the political table. And I want the authority to 'cleanse' the estate of anyone else who might be… inefficient."
Archibald leaned forward, a grim smile touching his lips. "You are a monster, Valerian. Truly. A cold-blooded, calculating little monster."
"I take that as a compliment."
"Then we have an understanding. You will be my 'shadow.' You will remain the illegitimate mongrel in the eyes of the public, but in the dark of this house, your word is mine. Prove your worth in the coming months, and I might just find a way to make your 'stain' disappear."
"I don't need the name, Father," Valerian said, turning toward the door. "Names are for people who care about how they are remembered. I only care about the result."
As he walked out of the room, the Nano Machine's voice whispered in his mind.
"Objective: Infiltration of the Ironwood hierarchy—complete. Current battery: 12% and rising. Mana gate throughput has increased by 14% due to high-stress calibration. Suggestion: Begin analysis of the 'Advanced' mana signatures detected in the Baron's presence."
Valerian stepped out into the hallway. The maid was still there, scrubbing the blood from the rug. He walked past her, his mind already calculating the next phase.
The world of Mushoku Tensei was a world of fate, destiny, and the whims of gods. But as Valerian looked out the window at the moonlit kingdom of Asura, he saw only a vast, messy equation.
And he was the one who would solve it.
---
Author's Note
Welcome to the start of The Sovereign Algorithm: Zero Empathy.
This chapter was designed to establish the radical departure from the "kind" protagonist trope. Valerian is not Rudeus. He has no "previous life" regrets to fuel a redemption arc. He is a predator who has been given the perfect tool to dissect a world built on magic. We've seen the first glimpse of how Nano interacts with the MT magic system—treating mana as a raw resource rather than a mystical force.
The relationship with the Baron will be a central pillar of the first arc. Expect a lot of Game of Thrones–style maneuvering mixed with the brutal efficiency of the Nano Machine manhwa.
Thank you for reading the first 5,000+ word installment!