Chapter 33: Sixth Successor’s Rage

Alyse frowned, her fine, arched eyebrows drawing together in a mix of suspicion and genuine confusion.

She searched Craig’s golden eyes, trying to decipher the unshakeable confidence radiating from him.

"And what exactly do you mean by that, Seventh Young Master?" Alyse asked, her voice dropping into a guarded murmur.

"You speak as if solving a deep-seated conspiracy within the Veraxes Duchy is a simple task for you."

Craig simply smiled, swirling the remaining wine in his crystal glass as the cool night wind ruffled his sleek crimson hair.

"You must remember, Lady Alyse," Craig replied smoothly, "I was just granted absolute authority by the Patriarch to establish my own independent military company.

I am the only candidate among all seven successors to receive such an unprecedented grace today, and I intend to leverage every single grain of that authority."

He took a slow step closer, his gaze softening into a relaxed, reassuring expression.

"For now, you can put your mind at ease. Since your father, the Golden Duke, has already caught wind of the threat against your life, the rats lurking in the shadows will be forced to lay low for a while.

They won’t risk moving recklessly while his guard is up. That gives us a window of a few years—plenty of time."

Craig’s smile turned razor-sharp. "During these few years, my military organization will quietly deploy covert operatives into the Veraxes Duchy.

We will root out every single traitor pulling the strings behind this plot. And once their identities are laid bare, I will personally go out to hunt them down and cut their throats."

Alyse lingered in quiet shock, studying the fifteen-year-old boy standing before her.

To talk so casually about infiltrating another Great Duchy and executing high-level conspirators was staggering, yet the sheer conviction in his voice made it impossible to dismiss as mere bravado.

"Why?" Alyse asked softly, her blue eyes searching his face. "Why go to such extreme lengths for someone you barely know? What do you stand to gain from saving my life?"

Craig shrugged nonchalantly, taking a quiet sip of wine. "Let’s just say it would be an absolute tragedy for a beauty such as yourself to perish so young. I am simply offering my assistance.

However... you must promise to keep this entire arrangement a absolute secret. Not a single soul can know of my company’s movements—not even your father, the Golden Duke."

Alyse looked at him for a long moment before slowly nodding her head. "Very well, Craig. You have my word. Thank you for your support."

Craig grinned, concealing the true depth of his calculations behind a charming facade.

In truth, he wasn’t doing this out of mere noble chivalry.

By tracing the schemers hiding within the Vraxen Duchy ruled by the Veraxes Ducal Family, he could trace the threads back to the traitors embedded deep inside the Rynchester Duchy.

He needed to uproot the entire web from the foundation.

More than anything, Craig needed to confirm a horrifying suspicion that burned in his mind.

Was the second coming of the Apocalypse truly a natural cosmic calamity, or was it a engineered nightmare brought forth through artificial means by human traitors?

If it was the latter, he would ensure that the tragedy of his past life was never repeated.

His private military company would serve as a supreme deterrence, but its true, shadow-spanning operations had to remain entirely hidden from the eyes and ears of the world until the right moment arrived.

***

SLAM!

The heavy oak doors of the Sixth Successor’s private quarters sprang open violently.

A young maiden was forcefully shoved across the threshold, stumbling onto the plush carpet as her body shivered in uncontrollable terror.

"She is here, Your Grace," Malcolm Tezor spoke, stepping inside and offering a crisp bow.

Malcolm had personally dragged Arya.

The personal maid he had planted as a spy within Craig’s inner circle five years ago—straight from the servant quarters to face judgment.

Standing at the far end of the lavish chamber was Aaron von Darkstar.

The Sixth Successor stood firmly before a broad glass window, his arms folded behind his back as he stared coldly down at the torch-lit capital city below.

Arya collapsed onto her knees, her forehead pressed flat against the carpet.

The moment Aaron felt her presence, a suffocating, violent wave of crimson mana burst from his body, flooding the entire room.

Arya gasped, her lungs seizing as the sheer weight of the aura pressed down on her spine.

In this world, whether one possessed extraordinary innate talent or not, those who had successfully awakened their mana cores stood at the absolute pinnacle of human power.

A simple Sword Apprentice possessed enough raw physical and spiritual dominance to slaughter a hundred mundane humans without breaking a sweat, let alone a Sword Runner or a peak Sword Sage like Aaron.

The fundamental difference between standard Superhumans and true Rankers lay in the presence of awakened talents.

Talents acted as a multiplier, elevating superhumans into a realm beyond ordinary imagination.

A Ranker at the Sword Apprentice class could easily crush two or three non-talented superhumans of the same rank.

Being exposed to the raw, unbridled mana of an eighteen-year-old Sword Sage Ranker caused Arya to choke on her own breath, her body quivering uncontrollably as tears spilled from her eyes.

"M-Mercy, Lord Aaron! Please, mercy!" she begged through shuddering sobs.

Even Malcolm flinched behind her.

As a Mana Master Ranker, the passive spiritual pressure radiating from Aaron made his blood run cold, but he managed to suppress his fear and maintain his composure.

Aaron slowly turned around, his dark golden eyes glaring down at the kneeling girl like a predator staring at a useless insect.

He stretched his right hand outward, his crimson mana condensing into a visible, physical tether.

SWOOSH!

The crimson mana wrapped brutally around Arya’s throat, yanking her off the floor and dragging her through the air directly into Aaron’s waiting grip.

Aaron squeezed her throat, lifting her high into the air.

Arya’s legs swung wildly as she clawed desperately at his iron wrist, gasping for air.

"Explain yourself, you worthless bitch," Aaron growled, his voice laced with pure venom.

"Why is the Seventh Young Master standing tall as the hero of the Duchy instead of rotting as a coreless cripple?!

Why did the poison show no effect when you swore to me three months ago that he had consumed it?!"

"Ghh... L-Lord Aaron...!" Arya choked out, her face turning pale blue. "I... I put the Null-Core poison into his tea... exactly as instructed... but... but I was forced to leave the room before he drank it...!"

"What did you say?!" Aaron’s brow furrowed in sudden, explosive anger.

BOOM!

With a furious wave of his arm, Aaron hurled Arya across the chamber.

She crashed violently against the stone wall, coughing up blood as she slithered down to the floor in a heap.

"You incompetent fool!" Aaron cursed, pacing across the room. "My entire plan failed because the brat didn’t even drink the tea?!"

He paused, spinning back toward her with sharp, suspicious eyes. "Did Craig notice the poison? Does he know you are my rat?!"

Arya desperately shook her head, clutching her bruised neck as she gasped for breath. "N-No! He doesn’t know! The Seventh Young Master still trusts me completely! He treats me just as he always has... if he knew the truth, he would have had my head severed on the spot! He has no idea!"

Hearing this, Aaron’s violent aura gradually subsided, returning the heavy atmosphere of the room to a manageable level.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long, dark sigh as he turned his gaze toward Malcolm.

"What should I do with this useless bitch, Malcolm?" Aaron asked coldly. "Should I feed her to my dragon?"

Malcolm stepped forward, looking down at the trembling maid before offering a cold, calculating smile.

"I advise against disposing of her just yet, Lord Aaron. She still possesses considerable strategic value.

Even though the Seventh Child has been certified as an official successor, there is still ample time before the Succession War officially commences."

Malcolm’s black eyes glinted with malicious intrigue.

"Since Craig remains foolishly oblivious and still trusts her blindly, we can use Arya to feed him false intelligence, poison his foundation from the shadows, and ruin him thoroughly before he ever gets the chance to build his army."