Chapter : 623

The pride he felt was a physical thing, a pressure in his chest that was both exhilarating and humbling. The burden of the duchy, the constant weight of securing the future of his line, had been his alone for so long. He had carried it with grim determination, his love for his children manifesting as harsh discipline and relentless pressure. He had pushed Jothi to be a perfect warrior to compensate for Lloyd’s perceived weakness. He had pushed Lloyd into commerce to make him useful.

He had been a fool.

He had been trying to fit a dragon into the mold of a wolf.

The crushing weight on his shoulders felt… lighter. For the first time, he felt he was not alone in his vigil. He had a partner. An heir who was not just a successor, but a visionary. A son who was not just following in his footsteps, but blazing a new path into a future Roy could barely begin to imagine.

He let his hand fall from the map and turned, his gaze falling upon a small, framed portrait on a side table. It was a portrait of his own father, Malachi Ferrum, a hard man of iron and war who had taught him that power grew from the barrel of a spear and the edge of a sword.

“You were wrong, Father,” Roy murmured to the silent portrait, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “True power… true power grows from the mind. It is forged in silence and unleashed not with a roar, but with a whisper that changes the world.”

He felt a sense of peace settle over him, a deep and profound contentment. The anxieties that had gnawed at him for years—the threat of rival houses, the ambitions of the king, the future of his children—all seemed smaller now, more manageable. They were problems of the old world, problems of the game he had mastered.

His son was inventing a new one.

He returned to his desk and sat down, his movements deliberate and sure. He would support this venture. He would give Lloyd whatever resources he needed. He would use his own political power to shield Project Brine from the inevitable attacks of the dying Salt Guild. He would be the mountain that sheltered the growing volcano.

His role had changed. He was no longer just the Arch Duke, the ruler. He was the guardian of a revolution. The father of a genius. And in the quiet solitude of his study, Roy Ferrum smiled, a true, genuine smile of a man who had looked into the future and found it to be more magnificent than he had ever dared to hope.

The carriage ride to Bathelham Royal Academy was a study in contrasts. Outside, the lush, rolling hills of the Ferrum heartland sped by, a picturesque landscape of peace and prosperity. Inside, Lloyd’s mind was a whirlwind of logistics, chemistry, and military strategy. He was reviewing schematics for Borin’s water pumps, mentally cross-referencing them with market analysis from Mei Jing, while simultaneously running threat assessments on the political fallout from the Salt Guild’s eventual collapse. He was so deeply engrossed in his work that he barely registered when the carriage lurched to a sudden, violent halt.

The sharp screech of the wheels was followed by a heavy, resonant thud. The carriage tilted precariously. Outside, his guards shouted in alarm.

Lloyd’s head snapped up, the industrialist and strategist vanishing in an instant, replaced by the cold, immediate focus of Major General KM Evan. He was on his feet before the carriage had even settled, his hand already on the door.

“Stay inside, My Lord!” one of his guards yelled from without. “The road is blocked!”

Lloyd ignored the command. He pushed the door open and stepped out into a scene of calculated chaos. A massive oak tree, its base clearly cut with axes, had been felled across the narrow road, completely blocking their path. He scanned the dense woods on either side of the road. His supernaturally enhanced senses, a gift from his bond with Fang Fairy, picked up the telltale signs: the scent of unwashed bodies, the faint clink of cheap steel, the suppressed, predatory energy of men waiting in ambush.

It was amateurish. Pathetic, even. But it was also an inconvenience he had no time for.

Ken Park materialized at his side, a silent shadow in his impeccable butler’s uniform. His expression was, as always, one of serene disinterest, but Lloyd could feel the immense, contained power simmering just beneath the surface. “Shall I clear the path, Young Lord?” Ken asked, his voice a calm, polite murmur that suggested he was offering to take out the trash.

Chapter : 624

Lloyd held up a hand. “No, Ken. Stand down. And instruct the guards to secure the carriage and do not engage. This is… a training opportunity.”

Ken’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly, the only sign of his surprise. He simply bowed his head. “As you command.”

From the woods, the ambushers emerged. There were about fifteen of them, a motley collection of ragged, grim-faced men armed with rusty swords, axes, and a misplaced sense of confidence. They were career bandits, the dregs of society who preyed on merchant caravans. They had clearly mistaken the single, elegant ducal carriage for a soft, wealthy target.

Their leader, a hulking brute with a scarred face and a tangled, greasy beard, stepped forward, brandishing a massive, notched greatsword. “Well, well, what have we here?” he sneered, his eyes locking onto Lloyd’s fine, ducal attire. “A little lordling, lost and all alone. Hand over your coin, your jewels, and that fancy carriage, and we might just let you and your man live.”

Lloyd sighed. It was a sigh of profound, weary disappointment. He had empires to build, wars to plan. He did not have time for this mundane thuggery.

“I will give you one chance,” Lloyd said, his voice quiet but carrying with an unnatural clarity. “Leave now. Forget you ever saw this carriage. And you will be allowed to continue your miserable lives.”

The bandits roared with laughter. Their leader took a step forward, his sneer widening. “Brave words for a boy in silk. I think we’ll take our chances.” He raised his sword. “Kill the butler. Take the boy alive. He’ll fetch a fine ransom.”

Lloyd shook his head slowly. “A poor choice.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t draw a weapon. He simply spoke a name into the air, a name that resonated with the power of a coming storm. “Fang Fairy.”

The air shimmered beside him. Reality seemed to warp and bend for a heart-stopping second, and then she was there. A goddess woven from moonlight and lightning, her silver hair crackling with azure energy, her golden eyes burning with cold, celestial fury. The bandits froze, their crude laughter dying in their throats. Their swords suddenly felt very small and very useless. The raw, divine pressure that radiated from the spirit was a physical force, crushing their courage and turning their blood to ice.

“Eliminate them,” Lloyd commanded, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Be efficient.”

Fang Fairy inclined her head. And then she moved.

She was not a warrior; she was a natural disaster. A blur of silver and blue, she flowed through the bandits like a river of lightning. The first man she reached simply dissolved into ash as her Lightning Cloak flared. The next two were impaled by silent, impossibly fast Lightning Darts that materialized from her fingertips.

Lloyd contributed to the slaughter with a casual, almost bored, grace. As a bandit, his mind snapping from the supernatural terror, charged him with a wild swing, Lloyd simply raised a hand. A dozen whisper-thin steel chains, gleaming and deadly, erupted from the air around the man, binding him instantly, lifting him off his feet, and then tightening with a sickening crunch.

He saw another group of three trying to flank him. He met their charge with his gaze. His eyes shifted, the sclera turning to polished obsidian, the irises becoming luminous blue rings. A "Seal of Minor Disorientation" settled over the bandits. Their charge became a clumsy, stumbling farce as their sense of balance was instantly revoked. They tripped over their own feet, crashing into a heap on the ground, where Fang Fairy dispatched them with a contemptuous wave of her hand.

One bandit, seeing the one-sided massacre, tried to flee into the woods. Lloyd merely flicked his wrist. A small steel marble, which he had been holding in his palm, shot through the air with the silent, invisible force of his Void power. It struck the fleeing man in the back of the head with the impact of a cannonball. He dropped without a sound.

The entire brutal engagement lasted less than thirty seconds. The forest fell silent, the only sounds the crackling of Fang Fairy’s aura and the soft whisper of the wind. Fourteen bodies littered the road. Only the leader remained, standing frozen in the center of the carnage, his greatsword trembling in his grip, his face a mask of pure, abject terror. He was staring not at a lord, but at a monster.