Chapter 14: Cease!

Outside, Caelan was turning an alarming shade of crimson, looking back and forth between the bowed Valemont heir and his own sword. "You think you can insult House Everhart with a theatrical farce, Valemont?! You think a bow wipes away the blood on the catacomb floor?!"

Elara took a step forward, her hands glowing with pale, crackling frost. "Brother speaks the truth. An apology from a bowed neck is meaningless. If you wish to atone, allow me to freeze your lungs. You will survive, but even breathing a little will be an educational experience."

"Hold! Cease! Disperse! By the spirits, everybody stop moving!"

Lucien finally scrambled out of the carriage door, tumbling down the brass steps and nearly twisting his ankle on the sunstone pavers.

His charcoal-wool coat flared wildly; his jet-black hair was disheveled from his brief attempt to hide under the luggage; and his face was pale, drawn, and carrying the unmistakable, manic energy of a retail worker five minutes before store closing on Black Friday.

The moment Lucien appeared, the crowd gasped again.

"It’s him! Lucien Everhart!"

"He’s alive! He doesn’t even look scarred!"

"He looks pale... so frail, so tragic..."

"Why is he holding a jar of strawberry jam?"

Lucien hastily shoved the small glass jar into his coat pocket, silently cursing Edwin’s pastry provisions, before lunging forward and physically grabbing Caelan’s sword belt, violently yanking his muscle-bound older brother two paces backward.

"Caelan, put the damn butter knife away!" Lucien hissed through gritted teeth.

"But Lucien! He let you get skewered!" Caelan roared, though he obediently lowered the blade by several inches. "And now he’s mocking us!"

"He’s not mocking us, he’s just socially incompetent!" Lucien snapped, before spinning toward his younger sister, who was currently weaving an intricate circle of floating ice needles in the palm of her hand.

"And you, Elara! Drop the idea of using the spell of winter storm! If you freeze the Valemont heir’s lungs, Duke Valemont will invade our vineyards with seven legions of light cavalry! Do you know how much paperwork that would create?! Put the needles away right now!"

Elara blinked, her luminescent eyes dimming slightly.

She stared at Lucien, then down at her ice needles, before letting them dissolve into a harmless puff of snowy mist with an irritated pout. "You are terribly boring when you are alive, Lucien."

"Thank you, I pride myself on it," Lucien panted.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, smoothed down the lapels of his charcoal coat, and finally turned to face the monolithic, ninety-degree angle of noble contrition standing five paces away.

The moment Lucien looked at Cassian, his vision faintly rippled.

DING!

The sound was like an ice pick driving directly into his temporal lobe.

[ FATE DIVERGENCE ]

[Entity Encountered: Cassian Valemont (The Astral Sovereign / Nexus)

Original Canon Status: Entity never interacted with Lucien Everhart post- expedition due to [Target: Deceased].

Current Narrative Trajectory: SEVERELY DISTORTED.

Fate Entanglement Index: 14.8% (CRITICAL SPIKE)

Class Awakening Resonance: Stimulated by Proximity to Divine Catalyst.

System Warning: ??? Core is stirring...]

Lucien’s left eye began to twitch with such ferocity that he was reasonably certain the muscle was about to detonate.

’A fourteen percent entanglement spike?!’

He screamed internally, his soul practically vibrating with terror. ’

Just from standing near him?! And what do you mean the ??? core is stirring?! Go back to sleep! Play dead! You are an administrative core! You love barley tariffs!’

He forced the floating interface out of his vision with sheer willpower, clenching his fists in his coat pockets to stop them from shaking.

Cassian slowly, deliberately rose from his bow.

Up close, the protagonist was even more terrifyingly handsome than he had been from forty yards away.

His deep-set, dark blue eyes carried a weight that no twenty-year-old human being had any right to possess, and the crushing gravity of someone who shouldered the sins of the entire empire on his own shoulders.

He looked at Lucien not with arrogance or condescension, but with an intense, painful sincerity that made Lucien’s skin prickle with hives.

"Lucien Everhart," Cassian said, his voice dropping into a quiet, solemn cadence that carried effortlessly across the silent plaza.

"You took the blow meant for Rowan Ashford, stood in the breach when my party failed to secure the lower chamber. The fault of that disaster lies entirely upon my ledger. I was the commanding leader of the party. I prioritized the sealing array over securing the perimeter. Because of my error, you crossed the threshold of the dead."

Cassian took a step forward, his fist resting solemnly over his heart, the ancient, sacred salute of the Valemont Guardian Knights.

"I offer you neither excuses nor platitudes," the protagonist declared, staring directly into Lucien’s eyes with enough burning intensity to ignite dry tinder.

"I offer only my contrition, and my pledge. Should you ever require the steel of House Valemont, should your life ever stand in peril, you need only speak my name. I will answer."

The crowd of spectating students let out another breathless sigh.

Several noble girls looked as though they were about to faint into the ornamental rose bushes.

’He’s pledging a life-debt,’

Lucien realized, his brain screaming in high-frequency static.

’He’s literally offering a protagonist favor! Do you know what happens to people who accept favors from progression fantasy protagonists?! They get kidnapped by cults! Their estates get burned down to motivate the Hero! They become tragic plot devices in Chapter 150 to show that the villain means business!’

’I need to kill this flag. I need to murder this plot thread, chop it into pieces, burn it with holy fire, and scatter the ashes across four different dimensions before the plot gets to me!’

’This time, I decided to live the life of a luxurious noble son! Nothing can stand in my dream of living a sweet honey life!’

Lucien drew himself up to his full height.

He took a slow, measured breath, schooling his features into an expression of detached, almost painfully polite serenity.