Chapter 6—Friction at the Border
Another three years passed, bringing major changes to Caelen von Vaelith's body and mind. Now fifteen years old, he was no longer the little boy who had to pretend to fall onto a fur rug.
He now stood taller than Sir Keith's shoulders. His unruly dark-blue hair had grown thicker, framing his handsome face and its sharp, cold jawline. His golden eyes gleamed like amber jewels in the night, radiating extraordinarily keen calculation.
For years, Caelen's name had been nothing more than a whispered myth among the corridors of the imperial capital. Outsiders knew only that House Vaelith possessed a single genius heir, but the Duke always kept him hidden, claiming that he was focused on secluded magic training.
Caelen's absence from high society sparked all manner of speculation. Many assumed that the heir was crippled, weak, or deliberately hidden because he lacked the actual ability to lead the harsh northern territory.
The peace of Caelen's training tower was disturbed when a diplomatic letter sealed with blood-red wax arrived at the main castle. It came from the western reaches of the northern border, sent by the Sterling family.
House Sterling was a rival noble faction that had long coveted House Vaelith's position as the empire's military pillar. They were using a minor border incident—a dispute over claims to an ancient iron-mining valley—as a deliberately engineered tool of political provocation, meant to draw a reaction from the Duke's family.
In the letter, Marquess Sterling provocatively demanded that House Vaelith's legitimate heir personally appear at the disputed site to sign a memorandum establishing a new territorial boundary.
Their plan was completely transparent to Caelen. They wanted to force the “hidden heir” out of his den, hoping to humiliate him in public and expose the weakness they had always assumed he possessed.
Inside the castle strategy room, Grand Duke Vaelith tossed the letter onto the wooden table with a neutral expression, though a cold flash of anger gleamed in his eyes.
“Marquess Sterling has sent his eldest son, Viscount Damian, to lead these negotiations,” Grand Duke Vaelith said in his deep voice. “They brought a battalion of border knights to pressure our guard post. This is a cheap political trap.”
The Duchess, seated beside him, looked anxious. “They deliberately attacked while my husband has to oversee the monsters' movements along the northern wall. If we send an ordinary diplomat, they will take it as a sign of weakness.”
Caelen, standing near the large window, slowly turned around. His black-and-blue cloak fluttered softly with the movement.
“Let me go, Father, Mother,” Caelen said, his voice perfectly calm yet filled with conviction. “The invitation from the Royal Academy of Magic will arrive in a few months. This is the perfect debut stage to dispel the doubts of outside factions before I set foot in the capital.”
Grand Duke Vaelith stared deeply at his son. He saw not the slightest trace of fear or doubt in Caelen's golden eyes. Pride once again surged in the Duke's chest.
“Very well,” Grand Duke Vaelith replied, giving him his full support. “Take Keith and twenty Shadow Knights. Show them how House Vaelith settles a dispute.”
“I will not disappoint our family name, Father,” Caelen replied with a respectful nod.
The journey to the Dragon's Tail border outpost took three days on horseback through a blizzard. The disputed mining valley lay within a massive rocky cleft separating the territories ruled by Vaelith and Sterling.
When Caelen's party arrived, the atmosphere at the negotiation site was already extremely tense. A large maroon military tent bearing House Sterling's golden eagle emblem stood in the middle of the valley, surrounded by dozens of fully armed soldiers who regarded their arrival with contempt.
Caelen dismounted with exquisite grace. He stepped into the negotiation tent accompanied by Sir Keith, who served as his personal guard.
Inside the tent, a young man in his early twenties sat at the end of a long table in excessively lavish noble clothing. The man was Viscount Damian von Sterling. His face was filled with unmistakable arrogance when he saw Caelen enter.
“Ah, so this is the legendary bird in a cage,” Viscount Damian said with obvious mockery, not bothering to rise from his chair to offer the proper greeting owed to a Duke's son.
Damian looked Caelen up and down, judging the fifteen-year-old far too young and inexperienced to withstand his political bluster.
“I expected Grand Duke Vaelith to send a veteran diplomat, not a boy who has not even tasted the atmosphere of the capital,” Damian continued, followed by the quiet laughter of his legal advisers behind him.
Caelen did not respond to the taunt with anger. His adult soul merely judged Damian's behavior to be the foolish act of an overconfident amateur. He walked over casually, pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table, and sat down with one leg crossed over the other, projecting a calm dominance.
“Let us skip this useless small talk, Viscount Damian,” Caelen said, his low voice echoing through the tent with emphasis. “Let us discuss the claim document you brought.”
Damian snorted and tossed an ancient parchment onto the table. “Based on a new topographical survey of the western region, this iron-mining valley falls under House Sterling's jurisdiction. We demand the full transfer of management rights and compensation for the losses incurred over the past five years.”
Caelen picked up the parchment, glanced over it with his golden eyes, then set it back down with a measured tap of his finger.
“What a laughable resurvey,” Caelen said calmly, staring straight into Damian's eyes. “Under the Imperial Territorial Boundary Decree of Year 412, ratified by the Seventh Emperor, the entire area fed by the underground rivers of Dragon's Tail is the absolute right of the northern ruler.”
Caelen paused, leaning slightly forward over the table. “The document you brought uses a map from Year 380, which was declared obsolete and invalid under imperial law half a century ago. Attempting to seize military territory with an expired document... is House Sterling attempting to commit an act of defiance against the Emperor's decree?”
Hearing such precise legal reasoning and such a devastating political counterattack from a fifteen-year-old, Viscount Damian's face suddenly turned beet red. The legal advisers behind him immediately began whispering in panic, realizing they had underestimated the heir's tactical intelligence.
“You... insolent brat!” Damian shouted, slamming his fist onto the table so hard that the cups atop it trembled. “Do not try to intimidate me with the law! At this border, military strength is the real law!”
The moment those words left his mouth, the three hired mages standing behind Damian struck their staffs against the floor. Dense mana pressure began to fill the tent, attempting to physically intimidate Caelen into surrendering beneath the pressure of magical energy.
Sir Keith, standing behind Caelen, immediately placed his hand on his sword hilt, ready to move, but Caelen raised one hand, signaling the knight to remain still.
Caelen slowly rose from his chair. His adult logic told him that diplomacy through words was over, and now was the right moment to display the magical alibi he had prepared all this time. He would not touch his Dark Magic at all. His public attributes were more than enough to level this place.
Caelen exhaled his own mana. In an instant, an extraordinarily powerful vortex of Wind Magic exploded from beneath his feet, tearing the tent's dividing curtains apart into shreds. The raging wind spun rapidly, immediately pressing back against the mana pressure of Sterling's three mages until they staggered backward with pale faces.
But that was only the beginning.
Caelen raised his right hand into the air. Right in the center of the howling wind vortex, a point of blood-red light appeared, exploding within seconds into an enormous blaze of pure flame.
Caelen combined the two attributes with extraordinarily precise control. His Wind Magic acted as fuel, amplifying the destructive power of his Fire Magic and creating a gigantic firestorm that spun around the entire mining valley.
The thunderous roar of flames scorching the air echoed across the night, illuminating the entire dark border sky in blazing red. The freezing cold in the valley evaporated in an instant, replaced by intensely searing heat.
Amazingly, although the firestorm radiated terrifying heat and trapped all the Sterling soldiers where they stood, not a single spark touched or injured their skin. Caelen's mana control was at an absolute level utterly inconceivable for someone his age.
Viscount Damian fell back into his chair, staring at the firestorm surrounding him, his body trembling violently with overwhelming fear. The arrogance on his face had been replaced by the despair of prey standing before an apex predator. The three mages behind him had even dropped their staffs, not daring to cast protective spells because they knew it would be futile.
Caelen slowly approached Damian, who sat on the snowy ground that had now melted. The firestorm around them gradually dimmed, shrinking back into Caelen's palm until it vanished without a trace, leaving the border hall in oppressive silence.
“Return west, Viscount Damian,” Caelen said in an utterly flat tone, yet every word sounded like a death sentence in the man's ears. “Deliver this message to Marquess Sterling. If I see even one Sterling soldier cross this valley's boundary again, I will personally ensure that these flames burn down your entire estate.”
Damian could not answer. He could only nod rapidly, his body still trembling. Without wasting another moment, the Marquess's son hurriedly rose and ordered his entire force to retreat, leaving the mining valley in humiliating defeat.
Sir Keith, who had witnessed the entire display of dominance, approached Caelen and bowed his head deeply, his respect now at its highest.
“An absolutely perfect debut, Young Master Caelen,” Sir Keith said with genuine awe. “News of what happened today will spread to the capital within days. No rival noble faction will dare doubt your abilities again.”
Caelen merely stared straight toward the border, now cleared of enemies. The night wind began to blow again, lifting his dark-blue hair. His first debut had ended in absolute success.