The refreshing cold wind hit Tristan’s face like a punch.
He leaned back against the towering outer wall of the Verneuil estate, sliding down into the shadows of a stone gargoyle.
In the distance he could still hear the occasional muffled sound of shouting, clashing steel, and the piercing shrieks of the vein eater and mutant.
Tristan closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. The air smelled of pine and frost instead of the previous constant smell of blood and rotten meat.
’Ahhh finally some fresh air’
Now that he thought about it this was the first time he has gotten any fresh air since transmigrating.
"Glad I can finally enjoy the benefits of being transmigrated" said Tristan sarcastically.
He took a few minutes to let his heart rate slow down and to tightly re-wrap the blood-soaked bandages on his calf. He was exhausted, battered, and practically running on fumes, but he couldn’t afford to rest yet. He had to secure his position before the chaos at the gates was contained.
He pushed himself up and began limping through the sprawling, shadowed courtyards of the estate, heading directly toward the central keep. More specifically, he was heading for the grand meeting room.
This may sound entirely counterintuitive but there was a grand plan! Hopefully.
To any normal prisoner, running straight toward the man who had ordered them thrown into a literal dungeon was pure madness.
But, Tristan knew a small secret that no one else knew.
His father was Liam Verneuil, widely known across the continent as "Devil’s Bane." He was an Ascendant, a terrifyingly powerful figure standing near the absolute apex of human capability. To the rest of the world, Liam was a cold, ruthless killer.
But Flamecrest Legacy revealed the nuances under his steellike facade. Liam didn’t hate his children. In fact, he loved them fiercely, except it seemed that his ruthless lifestyle bled into how he shows his affection.
’Lucky me’
To Liam, coddling a child was the ultimate betrayal of a parent’s duty.
Now that Tristan thought about it all those years Tristan had spent dragging the family name through the mud with his terrible reputation, Liam hadn’t actually reprimanded him. He had just watched in silent, crushing disappointment.
Even his latest "whiskey incident", the drunken, highly public disaster that had finally forced Liam’s hand, hadn’t been a straightforward punishment.
The branch families had violently pushed for Tristan’s immediate exile. Stripping him of his name and casting him out into the wilderness as a mundane human would have been a guaranteed death. Instead, Liam had thrown him into Level Two of the family dungeon.
Honestly, still most likely a death sentence to most people but, maybe, just maybe, Liam expected Tristan to somehow come out of the experience stronger.
And stronger did he become.
He had Awakened his unique skill, survived and killed a Prowler, manipulated two Fallen-class horrors, and broken out of a secure facility. Surely by the brutal, blood-soaked metrics of the Verneuil clan, Tristan had just passed his final exam.
Still, he had to be incredibly careful.
If he ran into someone else at this point Tristan had truly no idea how to weasel out of it.
He slipped through a side servant’s entrance, the opulence of the manor interior jarring against his filthy, blood-stained prison rags. He stuck to the shadows, avoiding the main torch-lit corridors.
The Verneuil clan was a viper’s nest. It was strictly divided between the main family line and the side branches. While the main descendants were given the best resources, the clan’s core philosophy was absolute meritocracy. If a branch family member proved themselves stronger, smarter, or more capable, they could absolutely usurp positions of power from the main line.
His siblings didn’t have to worry about this. His eldest brother was a powerhouse currently leading a brutal military expedition in the Northern Frontier, completely secure in his position as heir. His older sister was a certified magical prodigy attending the prestigious Flamecrest Academy, her status undeniable.
They were totally fine, Tristan on the other hand...
He had plenty of ambitious, power-hungry cousins in the branch families who stood to gain everything by quietly removing him from the board. To them, Tristan wasn’t only a stain but also a way to level-up.
Tristan paused at the intersection of a grand hallway, the heavy oak doors of the meeting room just fifty feet away. The corridor was empty, save for the decorative suits of armor lining the velvet runner.
’Here goes nothing’
He took a step forward.
Tristan paused at the intersection of a grand hallway, the heavy oak doors of the meeting room just fifty feet away. The corridor was empty, save for the decorative suits of armor lining the velvet runner.
He took a step forward.
Stepping out from the alcove of a nearby window, bathed in the pale moonlight, was a young man dressed in an immaculately tailored midnight-blue doublet. His silver hair was perfectly swept back, and a mocking, arrogant smirk played across his sharp features. A masterfully crafted rapier rested on his hip.
Tristan’s eyes widened.
’Speaking of the devil’
It was Caelan, one of the most talented, and vicious, cousins from the second branch family.
Caelan looked Tristan up and down, taking in the bruised skin, the makeshift bandages, and the foul-smelling monster blood caked onto his rags. The cousin’s smirk widened into a shit eating grin.
"Oh poor cousin" mused Caelen, taking a slow measured step forward. "I thought some kind of rat or other kind of rodent chewed through the ward. Didn’t realize it was you! Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Tristan escaping prison is a capital offense, I thought you were aware of this. As a loyal servant of the clan, it is my sworn duty to execute fleeing criminals on sight."
Caelan slowly drew his rapier, the steel humming with volatile essence.
"And you see dear cousin, I am so very loyal."