Chapter 15: Not Your Fault

He had spent four years in his past life handling infuriated enterprise clients who wanted to sue his company over broken database migrations.

He knew how to converse with a lunatic!

"Lord Valemont," Lucien began, his voice surprisingly steady, though faintly raspy from the lingering spiritual shock.

Cassian blinked, clearly startled by the formal, emotionally neutral tone.

"You speak of fault," Lucien continued, gesturing with a single, calm hand toward the sunstone plaza.

"You speak of arrogance, of ledgers, of debts. But you misunderstand the reality of what occurred in the catacombs."

Cassian’s brow furrowed, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Lucien’s face with razor-sharp intensity. "I... misunderstand?"

"Entirely," Lucien said smoothly, leaning slightly into the cadence of every melodramatic fantasy monologue he had ever read while sleep-deprived at three in the morning.

"In that chamber, two men were carrying out their fundamental duties. I saw my dear friend, Rowan Ashford, pinned beneath falling stone, and I chose to push him away. Not because I was ordered to, not because someone had demanded it, but because it was my personal responsibility to protect someone dear to me. I made that choice freely, knowing the risk."

Lucien took a half-step forward, meeting the Hero’s burning gaze with absolute, deadpan indifference.

"And you, Lord Valemont? You were the expedition’s Commander. You had fifty auxiliary students behind you, three breach points to manage, and an ancient sealing formation threatening to collapse the entire cavern system. You chose to secure the lower rune gate. Had you abandoned that gate to sprint for two students in a side corridor, the entire chamber would have imploded, burying every soul in that ruin beneath a million tons of stone."

A murmur rippled through the front ranks of the students.

Several upper-year military theory majors were already nodding in reluctant, grudging agreement.

"You chose to save forty-eight lives instead of two," Lucien said, his voice ringing with crisp, unyielding logic. "That was your responsibility, your burden as the commander. You did not abandon me; you remained true to the duty you were given. To blame you for fulfilling your duty would be the height of childish hypocrisy."

Cassian stared at him.

The protagonist’s mouth was slightly parted, his legendary, stoic composure unravelling as he processed the words.

For a man who had spent six hours preparing for hatred, screaming, or demands for blood restitution, this calm, philosophical logic was like a psychic flashbang to his moral core.

"Lord Lucien..." Cassian breathed, his voice trembling faintly.

"You... you truly believe this?"

"I know this," Lucien lied with the smooth, professional elegance of a veteran corporate PR representative. "Furthermore, as you can clearly observe with your own two eyes... I am not dead."

Lucien patted his own chest twice, producing a hollow, solid thump.

"My ribs have knitted. My heart beats. I am standing upon my own two feet, and I have a great deal of studying to catch up on. There is no debt, no blood on your ledger, only a completed expedition and merits await you."

’...And presumably, an unawakened noble who wishes to go to his dormitory and take a very long bath.’ Lucien thought in his mind.

Lucien offered a polite, shallow nod, the kind of nod one gives to an over-enthusiastic cashier before exiting a convenience store.

"Keep your sword, Lord Valemont. House Everhart requires no pledges. We simply require that you allow our carriage to pass so my brother can park his horses before he sets the cobblestones on fire."

Without waiting for his response, Lucien reached out with both hands.

With his left hand, he seized the collar of Caelan’s leather doublet.

With his right hand, he snagged the velvet hood of Elara’s traveling cloak.

With a burst of frantic, desperate adrenaline that completely contradicted his eight Vitality score, Lucien violently dragged both of his hyper-powered, stunned siblings backward toward the waiting carriage.

"Move," Lucien hissed under his breath, his eyes darting wildly. "Walk, you two. Do not make eye contact or challenge him to a duel. Just get inside the vehicle before he decides to give another speech."

"Lucien, wait—" Caelan sputtered, completely bewildered by his brother’s sudden philosophical ascendancy. "Did you just... did you just school the Valemont heir on military philosophy?!"

"Shut up and walk!"

"Lucien," Elara whispered, looking back over her shoulder with wide, sparkling eyes. "Whatever was happening just now... That was so chilling! You destroyed his emotional defenses. Can I freeze him now while he is confused?"

"NO! GET IN THE CARRIAGE!"

Lucien practically shoved both of his siblings through the door, scrambled up the brass steps behind them, and slammed the door shut with a triumphant, resounding BANG.

"EDWIN! DRIVE!" Lucien shrieked through the roof panel. "DRIVE LIKE THE HOUNDS OF THE UNDERWORLD ARE BITING YOUR ANKLES!"

Outside, the ancient coachman cracked his whip.

The four massive coursers reared up with a thunderous whinny, their hooves striking sparks against the sunstone pavers, and the heavy ironwood carriage surged forward, veering sharply around the frozen, motionless form of Cassian Valemont and rocketing toward the safety of the academy’s residential quadrant.

The students lining the colonnades watched in stunned silence as the Everhart carriage tore across the plaza at roughly forty miles an hour, leaving behind a trail of blue static, drifting snowflakes, and the faint, unmistakable fragrance of lavender and strawberry jam.

In the center of the sunstone plaza, Cassian Valemont remained standing precisely where Lucien had left him.

The Valemont heir’s arms hung loosely at his sides.

His midnight-blue hair blew softly across his forehead in the morning breeze.

He was staring at the empty patch of cobblestones where Lucien had stood, his dark blue eyes wide, glassy, and completely unreadable.

’He... bore no hatred.’

Cassian’s mind was chanting in a daze.

’A man with no mana... possessing a spirit so vast, yet devoid of petty resentment...’

"Well, well, well," a smooth, velvety, mocking voice purred from the shadows of the colonnade behind him. "Would you look at that?"