Ascension Of The Villain

A week later.

"Are you absolutely, positively, without a doubt, 0% sure this is where Sir Jacques resides?" Vyan squinted skeptically at the quaint little cottage nestled in the middle of nowhere, a place where ev a magical tracker fears to tread.

Clyde glanced at the address scrawled on the crumpled paper in his hand. "Well, unless Sir Jacques has tak up a pchant for cave-dwelling suddly, this is it." He scratched his head, muttering, "Though, knowing your luck, we might have accidtally teleported to the wrong place instead."

Vyan spotted a weathered letterbox proudly displaying the name 'Theodore Jacques.'

"Looks like we are at the right address at least," he let out, pointing it out to Clyde. "Time to ring the doorbell and hope Sir Jacques is not too busy practicing his disappearing act."

Clyde frowned, peering into the letterbox. "If he saw my heartfelt letter, where is my reply? Not ev a 'please remove me from your mailing list' note? I am offded, honestly," he grumbled, giving the mailbox a suspicious once-over.

Undeterred, Vyan marched forward and rapped on the door.

According to Clyde's so-called reliable source, the commander of the Order of Phoix—basically the army his mother personally trained—was supposed to be living here alone.

Theodore Jacques was appartly as family-free as a hermit crab at a beach, so Vyan was hoping to rope him back into the knightly fold and get the defse squad back in action for House Ashstone.

"Is he inttionally ghosting us, my lord?" Clyde wondered aloud.

"I don't see why he would—" Vyan began, only to have the door swing op, revealing a sword aimed directly at his neck.

Vyan stared down the business d of the blade, his eyes meeting those of a ginger-haired, middle-aged man with a furious glare.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice dripping with a bld of irritation and pottial homicide.

Clyde looked like he was about to stage a heroic intervtion, but Vyan silced him with a swift hand gesture.

Unfazed by the sharp point inches from his Adam's apple, Vyan greeted the sword-wielding man with the kind of calm only a person who has read too many advturous stories could muster.

"Top of the morning to you, Sir Jacques. I am Vyan—"

Theodore's eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, you are that cheeky rascal pretding to be Lady Natalia's son?"

"That's my mother, alright." Vyan portrayed an amicable smile, despite the sword nicking his skin and playing connect-the-dots with his blood vessels.

"There is no way in the sev hells you are her kid," Theodore growled, applying a bit more pressure with the blade for emphasis.

Vyan could see how unbelievable it might be for him to accept that Vyan was Natalia Audrey Ashstone's son—the first woman in the history of Haynes to have achieved the ultimate divine skill of a knight: the Aura. So, Vyan was willing to deal with patice.

However, seeing the blood ooze out of Vyan's skin, Clyde wt into full offse mode and attempted to pull a classic ninja move, teleporting behind Theodore with all the grace of a startled pigeon.

Armed with a hammer conjured from the ether, he prepared to unleash some magical justice. But before he could ev swing the manifested weapon, Theodore pirouetted and took a swipe at him with his sword.

Clyde narrowly avoided a close shave that didn't involve a barber and stumbled back, mtally applauding Theodore's agility while internally cursing his own lack of foresight.

Gathering his wits and a few stray thoughts, Clyde called upon his trusty wind spirits, giving Theodore the kind of glare usually reserved for someone who took the last cookie without offering.

"Hold up, Sir Jacques! You cannot just go a swinging swords at My Lord!" Clyde protested, indignant, as Theodore was about to point the sword back at Vyan.

"You mean, your faux lord," Theodore corrected.

"He is not faux," Clyde retorted, his irritation brewing faster than a potion, but he still retained his calm, appearing cold and icy.

"Clyde, why the impromptu heroics? I was having a civilized conversation here," Vyan interjected, sounding exasperated like an old man.

"He was about to separate your head from your shoulder! How could I just stand by and watch?" Clyde shot back, his loyalty shining more frantically than the bright sun during the peak summer days.

Vyan sighed. "Look, Sir Jacques and I still need to—"

"Save your breath, fibber! I have nothing to talk to you about. Get out of my abode immediately!" Theodore declared, his voice thunderous like Vyan was his sev-lifetime archemy.

Meanwhile, Vyan's voice was a mixture of confusion and urgcy as he pressed Theodore for answers. "Please, I will leave if you want me to, but I need to understand why you believe I am not who I think I am."

Theodore's expression softed for the first time, his eyes betraying a depth of sorrow. "Because," he began, his voice heavy, "the Young Lord Vyan we knew is no longer with us."

Shock rippled through Vyan and Clyde, their faces mirroring the disbelief of such a revelation.

"What do you mean?" Vyan's voice trembled, unable to fully comprehd Theodore's words.

Clyde's gaze bore into Theodore, searching for any sign of deception. "How can you be so certain?" he demanded, his tone edged with intsity.

Theodore met Vyan's gaze, his own filled with regret and pain.

"Wh I set out to find Young Lord Vyan after he wt missing, I uncovered a harrowing truth," he confessed, each word burded with the truth of his discovery. "He had be tak and sold in the black market. Tragically, the man who purchased him met his d in a carriage accidt. Among the wreckage, they discovered a child's body, and the description matched that of Young Lord Vyan impeccably."

A heavy silce fell over the room as Vyan's heart sank, the gravity of Theodore's words settling in his chest like lead.

As uncertainty bore down on him, Vyan's mind became a battleg of doubt and fear.

What if everything he believed about himself was nothing but a mirage? What if he wasn't the true son of the Grand Duke? The mere thought st shivers down his spine, threating to unravel the very fabric of his currt existce.

Stripped of his title, inheritance, and idtity, he would be left a hollow shell of his former self, cast adrift in a world that offered no solace to those branded as impostors. The very notion of losing the power to take revge on everyone he vowed to make suffer… It was downright terrifying.

Feeling the suffocating grip of fear tight a him, Vyan was grateful for Clyde's reassuring presce by his side.

With a gtle touch, Clyde offered a lifeline of certainty in the midst of Vyan's turmoil.

"You are real, my lord," Clyde's words were a beacon of hope in the darkness, pulling Vyan back from the brink of despair. "No matter what anybody may say, you are and always will be Vyan Blake Ashstone."

Theodore's derisive scoff only served to fuel Clyde's determination, his icy glare a silt rebuke to any who dared to question Vyan's idtity.

"You possess abilities that only a true Ashstone could wield," Clyde affirmed, his unwavering gaze locking onto Theodore's. "If you were truly an impostor, such magic would be beyond your reach."

Clyde's words washed over Vyan like a soothing balm.

Vyan had already prov himself time and again, casting aside any shadow of doubt that threated to consume him. He was no imposter—he was a testamt to the resilice of the Ashstone legacy.

"Yeah, you are right," Vyan murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability as he worked to steady his breathing.

At that momt, he realized the underlying cause of his panicked reaction.

Up until now, acceptance had come easily to him. With his unmistakable resemblance to his father, hardly anyone had questioned his idtity.

But suddly facing dial had dredged up deep-seated insecurities, stirring feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt that he had long struggled to suppress.

Clyde offered a comforting pat on his shoulder, putting Vyan's insecurities to sleep once again. "It's okay," he reassured him gtly, understanding Vyan's internal struggle. "It happs to the best of us."

Turning his atttion to Theodore, Clyde's tone took on a steely edge.

"And you," he addressed the former commander, his words carrying the consequce of the harsh words, "despite your past rank, you are now a commoner. You are well aware of the repercussions of brandishing a sword at nobility."

Theodore merely shrugged, unaffected by the implied threat. "Do as you wish," he responded nonchalantly. "If Lady Natalia's blood indeed courses through his veins, he is welcome to challge me anytime."

"I hereby challge you to a duel th," Vyan announced, his voice ringing out with the calmness of a seasoned swordmaster.

Clyde shot him a look that could scare away the scariest of ghosts, while Theodore's smirk wided into a grin, his interest piqued like a naughty cat spotting a particularly intriguing mouse.

"Are you out of your chocolate-loving mind, my lord?" Clyde exclaimed, his disbelief showing on his shot-up eyebrows. "You are the one who said you always trip over your own robes during sword combat! And don't you know this man could kill you for real?"

Clyde's cautionary words made Vyan hesitate a little.

But Theodore egged Vyan on with a gleam in his eye. "You are not going to back out because of that buffoon's words, are you?"

Vyan resolved himself further and met his challging eyes. "No, not at all."

"Ah, now that's the spirit!" Theodore chimed in, his words dripping with amusemt. "You do seem to have inherited Lady Natalia's fiery determination. I like it. Let's settle this like true knights—outside, in five minutes."