Two more years passed in the frozen silence of the northern territories. Caelen was now twelve years old. His frame had grown proportional and commanding, radiating the natural authority of a high-born noble that was impossible to ignore.
Over those two years, Caelen's life had split into two entirely opposing worlds. By day, he was the crown son who trained relentlessly with the sword under Sir Keith's watchful eye, dazzling onlookers with his mastery of fire and wind magic.
But by night, deep in his secret underground chamber, he wrestled with the dense currents of dark magic. Grand Duke Vaelith supervised him personally, ensuring that the darkness-based power remained controlled and undetected by the empire's magic towers.
The tranquility of House Vaelith's main castle was suddenly disrupted by a major event held once every few years: the Clan's Grand Internal Banquet.
This was the occasion when every branch family and distant relative of House Vaelith gathered at the main castle. They came from the various minor territories scattered across the north to pay their respects and report on the management of their lands to the Grand Duke.
For Caelen, however, this banquet was no mere formal dinner. His adult soul immediately caught the scent of danger lurking beneath the surface.
For over a decade, Caelen had rarely been presented to the public or to distant relatives, under the pretext of focusing on his magical training. That prolonged absence had stirred both curiosity and suspicion among the greedier members of the clan's inner circle.
The banquet hall that evening was decorated with extraordinary opulence. Hundreds of aromatic candles illuminated the vast stone chamber. Long tables of carved oak groaned under roasted meats, fresh fruits, and bottles of fine wine.
Nobles from the Vaelith branch families filled the room. They exchanged pleasantries with warm smiles on their faces, yet their eyes moved restlessly, scanning every corner of the hall.
At the head of the long table, Grand Duke Vaelith and the Duchess sat in their high-backed chairs of state. To the Duke's right, Caelen sat with perfect composure. He wore formal black attire embroidered with silver wolves across the chest, projecting an aristocratic aura without flaw.
Among the assembled relatives, Caelen's attention settled on a heavyset middle-aged man in a conspicuous red velvet coat. The man was Count Roderick von Vaelith, head of the Vaelith branch family from the northwestern territories.
Roderick was well known as an ambitious man with considerable influence among the branch families. For years, he had harbored the hope that his own son might become the primary heir if the Grand Duke produced no children of his own.
Caelen's sudden declaration as a prodigious heir was, naturally, a massive obstacle to Roderick's schemes. From the moment the banquet began, the look Roderick directed at Caelen carried flashes of poorly concealed contempt hidden behind a false smile.
"What a tremendous honor it is to see Young Master Caelen grow so healthy and remarkable," Count Roderick announced abruptly, rising from his chair and lifting his golden chalice of red wine.
The entire hall fell silent at once. Every gaze turned toward the heavyset man and toward Caelen.
"Word of the Young Master's genius in mastering two magical attributes has spread throughout the north. We, your loyal kin, are eager to celebrate the bright future of House Vaelith," Roderick continued, his voice carefully warmed to its most genial pitch.
Roderick then glanced toward one of his personal attendants standing near the row of drinks. The attendant held a silver tray bearing a special golden chalice already filled with the finest wine.
"As the highest mark of respect from us, the branch families, allow me to present this golden chalice to Young Master Caelen. Let us raise a toast to your glorious future," said Roderick, signaling the attendant with a subtle gesture.
The attendant stepped forward toward Caelen's place at the table, head bowed low. The hands holding the silver tray trembled slightly—a small detail that an ordinary twelve-year-old would never have noticed.
Caelen, however, was no ordinary child.
His adult vigilance and logic engaged at full capacity. He watched the attendant's every movement. When the golden chalice was set before him, Caelen did not reach for it immediately. Instead, he studied the surface of the red wine inside.
Drawing on the advanced herbology he had read through in the castle library, Caelen detected something wrong. The red wine carried a sweetness that was far too concentrated—almost identical to the scent of withered winter blossoms.
That was the signature aroma of Frostbane root extract, a rare poison with no discernible taste, yet capable of permanently damaging a child's mana circulation if consumed. It was not immediately lethal, but within a few months it would leave the victim magically crippled, the damage appearing indistinguishable from a natural mana circulation failure.
Roderick's plan was devastatingly cunning. He intended to destroy Caelen's future as a mage without leaving any evidence of direct assassination. If Caelen were crippled, the position of primary heir would be thrown back into contention.
Caelen glanced toward the Grand Duke seated beside him. The Duke was staring at the chalice with narrowed eyes, apparently already sensing the strange mana fluctuation emanating from the drink.
Before the Grand Duke could act or refuse the toast—a move that could trigger a diplomatic incident within the clan—Caelen had already made his tactical decision. He could not shout or accuse Roderick directly in front of hundreds of watching eyes.
Accusing a senior relative without immediately visible physical evidence would only make House Vaelith appear unstable and paranoid to outside factions. The Grand Lie had to be protected through clean, precise action.
Caelen slowly extended his small hand and lifted the golden chalice with a movement of practiced elegance. He rose from his chair, a guileless, childlike smile spreading across his face.
"Thank you for your extraordinary generosity, Uncle Roderick," Caelen said, his clear, soft voice carrying through the entire hall.
Count Roderick smiled broadly as Caelen raised the chalice. In his heart, he was already celebrating his victory over the naivety of the substitute boy.
But Roderick's smile froze the moment Caelen did not bring the chalice to his lips. Instead, Caelen stepped around the long table and walked toward Count Roderick's seat with a pace that was entirely unhurried yet laden with psychological pressure.
"As an heir, my father has taught me to always show respect to my elders," Caelen said, coming to stand directly beside Count Roderick's chair.
Caelen extended his hand, holding the poison-filled golden chalice out directly before Roderick's face, which had begun to drain of color.
"This fine wine is far too precious for me to enjoy alone. I would like to offer the first sip to Uncle Roderick, as a symbol of the unbreakable bond of loyalty between us," Caelen said, his voice perfectly sweet—yet his golden eyes locked onto Roderick's with a cold that cut to the bone.
Sheer terror seized Count Roderick's chest. The heavyset man stared at the golden chalice before him as his body began to tremble. He knew exactly what was inside it. If he drank, it would be his own mana circulation that shattered beyond repair.
The atmosphere in the banquet hall shifted into something suffocating. The other nobles began murmuring to one another, bewildered by Count Roderick's reaction—a grown man visibly terrified at being offered a drink by a small child.
"What is it, Uncle? Are you refusing a gift from the rightful heir of House Vaelith?" Caelen asked again, this time dropping his voice just low enough that only Roderick and the few people nearest to them could hear.
Roderick broke into a cold sweat. He glanced toward Grand Duke Vaelith, who was now watching him with eyes filled with a killing intent so dense it was almost tangible. The Duke had clearly read every move of the political game his son was playing.
Realizing his plan had collapsed entirely and that his life now hung by a thread, Roderick had no option left to save himself from public suspicion except the most cowardly one available to him.
The golden chalice struck the marble floor with a sharp crack.
Roderick had deliberately knocked Caelen's arm aside, sending the chalice flying. The poisoned red wine spilled across the stone, and where it touched the marble surface, a faint hiss rose—barely perceptible, but unmistakable.
"Ah! Please forgive my clumsiness, Young Master!" Roderick cried out, his voice pitched to its most panicked register as he dropped to his knees on the floor. "My hand cramped suddenly from the excitement—I truly did not mean to spill this noble offering!"
Caelen stood motionless, staring down at the spilled wine at his feet. The innocent childlike smile had vanished from his face entirely, replaced by an expression of flat, absolute coldness.
He bent slightly at the waist, bringing his face close to Roderick's ear as the man remained prostrate on the floor.
"This is your first and last warning," Caelen whispered, his voice barely above a breath, as cold as a northern blizzard. "If I find another poison brought into this castle, I will personally ensure that every last member of your bloodline disappears from the northern lands. Remember that well."
Hearing a threat so ruthless and so utterly authoritative from a twelve-year-old boy, Roderick's body shook violently. He understood with profound horror that Caelen von Vaelith was no ordinary child he could manipulate. The boy standing before him was a genuine political monster.
Caelen straightened up and turned to face the assembled guests in the hall, the warm, pleasant smile settling back onto his face as though it had never left.
"What a shame the finest wine had to go to waste. Attendant, please clean the floor and bring a fresh round of drinks," Caelen said in a casual tone, as though nothing alarming had just occurred.
Grand Duke Vaelith, who had watched the entire performance from his chair, exhaled a long, deeply satisfied breath. His son had neutralized this internal threat with surgical precision—without damaging the clan's reputation before the assembled guests, yet delivering a deterrent so lethal that no would-be traitor could ignore it.
The Grand Banquet resumed, but everyone in the hall now understood one thing with absolute certainty. The new heir of House Vaelith was no weak figure to be underestimated. Caelen had locked in his absolute dominance within the family with an intelligence that left no room for challenge.