CHAPTER 93: THE UNFORGIVING COUNTDOWN

The heavy weight of Patriarch Vane’s declaration hung in the quiet cavern, but Caius’s expression remained cool and analytical. He looked down at his calloused hands, then back to the dark elf leader.

"I have one year and three months left," Caius said softly, his voice cutting cleanly through the damp air. "I feel it is not yet enough."

Patriarch Vane’s violet eyes narrowed slightly.

"What if they prepare someone?" Caius continued, his pale eyes searching the Patriarch's face. "Despite everything I have learned now, compared to a true monster of the high clans... will I succeed? And after the trial, if I win, the Great Hunt begins instantly. Every clan that holds a grudge and blood feud against my late father will hunt me. I will only truly be free once I cross the southern border."

He paused, looking between Vane, Old Bones, and Orven.

"Do you think my skills will be enough?"

The question settled heavily over the training yard.

Patriarch Vane stood completely still. For several long seconds, the grand leader of House Vel'drin looked at the fourteen-year-old human before him—not as a tool, a ward, or a political pawn, but as a young man carrying the crushing weight of an entire realm's hatred on his shoulders.

A faint shadow of shame crossed Vane’s stern face. He thought of Sereth bound in chains within the Moon Palace, and realized how single-mindedly he had focused on his own bloodline's salvation.

Vane let out a long, quiet breath.

"Caius... I am sorry," Vane said, his voice dropping into a rare, deeply solemn tone. "I was thinking only of my son."

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The Patriarch turned his gaze toward Orven, the violet glow in his eyes blazing with absolute, unyielding authority.

"Teach him more," Vane commanded firmly. "I do not care if it takes every hour of the remaining fifteen months. I do not care if you must break protocol, nor do I care if you must teach him your most secret techniques—the hidden arts reserved only for the inner sanctum of our house."

Orven flinched, his jaw dropping slightly in shock. "My Lord... the inner sanctum arts? Those are forbidden to outsiders by decree of—"

"I am the Patriarch of House Vel'drin," Vane interrupted, his tone as cold and hard as dark crystal. "And Caius Macrae will not just enter that arena to survive. He will enter it as an absolute disaster for anyone who stands against him."

Old Bones let out a raspy, satisfied laugh from the shadows. "Now you're speaking like a leader, Vane. The boy's core can take it. Stop holding back."

Vane looked back at Caius, holding the young man's unblinking gaze. "You will cross that southern border, Caius. I will ensure you have the strength to tear down anything that gets in your way."

As they left the lower grounds and stepped back into the quiet, crystal-lit corridors of the upper sanctum, Old Bones slowed his pace, walking beside the Patriarch.

"Three months until his fifteenth year," Old Bones murmured, scratching his chin as his dark eyes glinted with a strange, unreadable thought.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, looking up at the high dark-crystal vaults. This was the man who had served for decades as the former Principal Teacher of the Shadowblades—the lethal executioner arm of the Moon Palace—and the revered master who had personally forged Vane's son, Sereth, into a living weapon.

"Patriarch, I'll excuse myself for three months. I want to find a gift for Caius."

Patriarch Vane paused, turning his head slightly to look at the old man. A rare flicker of amusement crossed the dark elf leader's stern face. The legendary, cold-hearted assassin of the realm—a master who had trained the sharpest blades of the Moon Palace and shaped Vane's own heir—spontaneously leaving to go hunt down a birthday gift for a human ward?

"A gift?" Vane asked smoothly, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

"The boy is taking on an entire realm in fifteen months," Old Bones grumbled softly, folding his withered hands back into his threadbare sleeves. "He'll need more than just spells."

Vane chuckled quietly, waving a hand in dismissal. "You may."

Old Bones nodded once. The shadow beneath his boots suddenly stretched outward, and without making a sound or leaving a single mana ripple in the air, the legendary master vanished into the dark.