CHAPTER 48: MASTER IV

Ramano simply nodded and resumed his task in silence, kneading her shoulders with practiced, mechanical care. The quiet was oppressive—held together only by the faint clink of fine porcelain as Valmiera lifted her teacup once more.

The stillness shattered with the soft hiss of the ornate doors sliding open.

Mavis entered.

She did not stroll in like a cat this time. There was no trace of the usual smirk, no swagger or teasing air. Her steps were silent, posture straight, expression devoid of her trademark mischief.

She walked forward until she stood before Valmiera, then lowered herself to one knee and bowed deeply.

"...Mother," she said, voice quiet but steady.

Valmiera slowly set her teacup down, her eyes never once blinking.

There was no joy on her face. No affection. Not even a flicker of motherly instinct. Just cold appraisal.

"You dare show your face here..." she said icily, "after disgracing me before the Imperial Court?"

Mavis said nothing.

She remained kneeling, head bowed, hands resting on her thighs in silent submission.

Valmiera rose from her seat and stepped toward her daughter, her bare feet gliding across the marble floor like the approach of judgment itself.

"I should have let them imprison you, kept you in captivity" Valmiera said softly. "The only reason I didn’t was because I still see use in you."

Her voice, though calm, struck harder than any blade.

"But do not mistake utility for forgiveness."

Mavis remained motionless.

She did not beg. She did not speak. She simply endured—face hidden, shoulders rigid beneath the weight of her mother’s cold fury.

Ramano, meanwhile, didn’t stop massaging. His hands moved on autopilot, as if knowing that to stop would be more dangerous than to continue.

Valmiera tilted her head, watching Mavis for a moment longer.

"...So? What you have to say now? Speak."

Mavis inhaled slowly.

Even now, kneeling before the woman who had raised her more like a weapon than a daughter, she kept her voice level. Steady. Controlled.

"I’ve chosen him," she said.

Valmiera’s eyes narrowed. "Him?"

"Third Prince Fenric. He survived. The poison is gone."

A sharp pause followed her words.

Ramano’s hands halted for the first time.

Valmiera’s gaze turned razor-sharp, the room seeming to drop in temperature.

"Explain."

Mavis finally looked up. "The curse didn’t kill him. Somehow, he purged it. Not even I—or you—could do that without a proper antidote. And yet... he did. His constitution has recovered, and his mana sea—"

She paused for half a beat, as if debating whether to say more.

"...His mana sea is vast. Beyond natural."

Valmiera’s lips twitched at the corners, but it wasn’t a smile—it was a flash of recognition. Or was it calculation?

"I remember," she said quietly. "The Dark Empress herself prescribed the poison the moment he was born. A subtle rot, one that even our own alchemists couldn’t detect."

Her expression turned thoughtful, yet still devoid of empathy.

"Perhaps she saw something in him that even we missed."

Mavis clenched her fists in her lap. "Then you admit it. You knew."

"I knew it," Valmiera said coolly, waving a hand in dismissal. "But I couldn’t intervene. Not without risking the balance. You know our laws. If we had openly shielded him, the other factions would have smelled weakness. His death was simply... a necessary possibility."

Mavis gritted her teeth at such heartless law. "And if he had died?"

"Then it would have been fate. The Empire must not bend to sentiment, Mavis. You know this."

Her voice was like ice scraping glass.

Ramano spoke then, softly. "He didn’t die. He lived. And now...?"

Mavis stood, her eyes glowing faintly.

"...Now he’s mine. I’ve taken him as my disciple."

Valmiera blinked—the first true sign of surprise flickering in her gaze.

"You?" she said slowly. "You’ve never trained anyone."

"I’m making an exception," Mavis replied, her tone hardening. "His potential is... dangerous. And valuable."

Valmiera stared at her daughter for a long moment, then turned away and walked back to her chair.

"If you’re lying to me, Mavis... I will rip the truth from your soul myself."

"I’m not," Mavis said. "And I’ll prove it. I’ll shape him into a Great Emperor. Like you once did."

It was almost a sacred tradition in the Belfrost family—one that had begun with Valmiera’s great-grandfather. As Emperor’s Teacher, he started a custom: each generation of Belfrost heirs would choose a prince or princess to personally groom as the next ruler of the Empire.

And after all this time, Mavis had never chosen anyone.

Until now.

Valmiera sank into her chair once more, gesturing lazily for Ramano to resume.

"Very well," she murmured. "But remember—if he becomes a threat to the Empire, I won’t hesitate to end him."

Mavis bowed once more. "Understood."

Then, without another word, she turned and left the chamber, her heels clicking like war drums against the polished floor.

Valmiera sipped her tea again, the porcelain barely trembling in her grasp.

"...Interesting," she whispered.

"So the fate says... that he lives," Valmiera murmured, her voice drifting like smoke from cooling embers. Then, with a dry twist of her lips, she added, "It seems Vareldis’s blood still runs strong, after all. The boy didn’t need your care."

Ramano didn’t look up from her shoulders. His fingers moved with practiced precision, but his silence spoke volumes. A deep ache lingered behind his eyes—one that even centuries of hardened logic hadn’t buried.

"I tried," he said softly, almost to himself. "In my own way."

Valmiera’s gaze didn’t shift. "Trying isn’t enough in the Empire. He survived not because of us... but in spite of us."

She set her teacup down with a delicate clink, then leaned back into Ramano’s touch like a monarch seated upon a throne of regrets.

"A boy cast aside by birthright. Poisoned by decree. Forgotten by the blood that should have guarded him." Her tone was clinical, dissecting each fact like a surgeon. "And yet, he thrives."

Ramano finally spoke, voice heavier this time. "That’s why Mavis chose him. She sees it too."

Valmiera closed her eyes for a moment, thoughtful.

"She’s staking everything on him. That pride of hers... it’s not trivial. She’s not just choosing a disciple—she’s choosing a future."

"And if she fails?" Ramano asked, though his hands never stopped.

"Then we bury them both," Valmiera replied coldly. "And find the next child of fate."

Silence lingered. Then she added, voice like velvet-wrapped steel:

"But if she succeeds..."

Valmiera’s eyes opened—glowing faintly, steeped in ancient, dangerous power.

"Then our Empire shall have its next Emperor," she declared.

Ramano merely nodded.

"You may leave now," she said, voice cool and final.

He bowed in silence and turned away. As he stepped out of the chamber, he was greeted by the sight of Mavis standing just outside, her arms folded and her expression a mix of quiet fury and restrained dignity.

"This is why I’ve never belonged in this Empire," she muttered, not looking at him. "Where else would they curse a newborn child just to test if he’s worthy of living?"

Ramano exhaled softly, his gaze distant. "It’s the law, Mavis. The same one that’s ruled this Empire for a million years."

They began walking together through the long marble hallway, the chill of the palace stone echoing underfoot.

"And you know," Mavis said bitterly, "to rise to the throne... one must overcome every hidden monster buried beneath it. The ones sleeping in their tombs, waiting to awaken at the slightest whiff of danger to the Empire."

Ramano nodded slowly, his voice calm. "Are you certain? You’ve chosen Fenric... but can he even walk without the artifact I gave him?"

Mavis shook her head, her tone firm. "He’s wearing it, yes. But as an disguise, Its just an show to make others believe he is still poisoned."

Ramano gave a small, approving smile.

"Then I suppose," he said with quiet pride, "he truly is a prince of the Vareldis Empire. The Strongest Empire of Humankind."

Mavis said nothing—but her eyes, for once, held a flicker of hope.

"Well then," Ramano said, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Best of luck. You’ll need it."

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the marbled halls behind them.

Mavis didn’t respond aloud. She merely nodded, her face calm—but inwardly, she understood the weight she had just accepted. Taking a prince as a disciple wasn’t just a personal decision.

It was a declaration.

She had stepped onto the battlefield named the Imperial Court.

And now, every move she made would be scrutinized. Every action judged.

If Fenric rose... she would rise with him.

But if he fell, she would fall alongside him—or worse, be left alive at the mercy of the victors. That was the Ironclad Law of the Empire.

A law older than dynasties, carved into blood and history.

In this Empire, strength was not a virtue—it was the currency of survival. Power ruled. Weakness was culled. And defeat... was death.

The deeper she walked into the heart of the imperial wing, the more the silence around her thickened. These were the forgotten halls. The ones older than the current throne. Here, faded banners whispered of past wars, of heirs who never made it, of emperors who burned out like stars.

Mavis walked alone, but her shadow seemed heavier.

She had claimed him. That part was over.

Now came the true trial.

She was going to train a prince who had been cursed from birth to die unloved, unknown, and unremembered.

She was going to raise a boy the world had already discarded.

She was going to forge the next Emperor.