Chapter 34: A Glimpse of Power (Part 2)
The morning sun filtered through gothic-styled glass windows, casting crimson and silver light across the marble floors of House Glasya-Labolas's grand estate.
Though less formal than the previous night's ceremony, the gathering of young high-class Devils was no less significant.
This was the unspoken beginning.
An introduction not just of names and faces—but of ambition.
Volundr stepped into the grand hall with Seekvaira at his side, both dressed in understated elegance that matched their noble status.
He wore deep navy trimmed with silver—a reflection of restraint rather than ostentation. Eyes turned as they entered. Conversations paused.
Whispers resumed. His name already circulated, but now, the other heirs could finally assign a face to the legend forming around it.
The Devil Aristocracy on Display
The hall buzzed with energy that only youthful arrogance and inherited pride could generate. It wasn't just a social gathering. It was a silent competition of poise, power, and presence.
Volundr scanned the room, absorbing everything.
One corner buzzed with loud laughter—the aggressive upstarts. Their magic flared subconsciously as they boasted of future conquests and peerage plans.
To them, Evil Pieces were weapons—nothing more. Their pride was blinding.
Near the center stood a small cluster of political tacticians, their smiles polished and their eyes calculating. Words flowed like wine, and flattery hid daggers.
At the far end were silent watchers—those like Volundr. Aloof. Observing. Biding their time.
And in between? The products of arranged marriages and family rivalries—some weighed down by legacy, others fueled by rebellion.
Internal Analysis – Future Rivals and Allies
Volundr moved slowly through the room, pausing only to accept polite greetings and offer nods of acknowledgment. Inside, however, his thoughts were racing.
House Amon. That boy with the flame-enhanced aura… strong, but reactive. He lacks subtlety. Easy to bait. Dangerous only in direct confrontation.
House Naberius… that girl cloaked in illusion magic. Her control is refined. She watches more than she speaks. A potential wildcard—but she's cautious. Probably lacks support at home.
House Raum… the one with the rune-etched gloves. Curses and hexcraft. Cold, precise, unreadable. He's either a future enemy or a mirror of myself. Perhaps both.
Volundr noticed the patterns quickly—most of the heirs reflected their parents, either mimicking their ambition or rebelling in reverse. Very few carried a vision of their own. Most weren't builders. They were inheritors.
That makes them predictable.
Social Maneuvering
Volundr didn't avoid conversation, but he chose each interaction with purpose.
He greeted the illusionist from House Naberius, commenting not on her magic, but her restraint. She looked surprised—then intrigued.
He let the Amon heir boast to his face and simply nodded, giving no reaction. The boy walked away unsatisfied.
With the Raum scion, he exchanged only a glance—yet both understood something unspoken. A test was coming. Just not today.
Whispers of the mutated Rook swirled quietly through the air. Most didn't ask directly, but their curiosity clung to him like perfume.
He offered no confirmations. Only polite deflections and a gaze that promised more than he ever said.
Seekvaira played her part with charm and precision, introducing him to her circle with just enough warmth to draw interest, but enough misdirection to protect his mystique.
"Are you always this guarded, brother?" she whispered in his ear during a lull.
"Not always," he murmured back, smiling faintly. "Just when I know they're watching."
She giggled, but said nothing more.
Concluding Insight
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the open-air balconies, the event began to wind down.
Volundr stood alone at the edge of the estate's upper veranda, a soft breeze tugging at his hair.
He leaned against the balustrade, the mutated Rook piece resting in his palm. It pulsed faintly—only visible to his senses—resonating with his Aura as if aware of the attention it had drawn.
He thought back to the day's interactions. He had seen attempts to provoke him. Subtle flattery from opportunists. Silent rivalry from those who measured him with quiet intensity.
The battlefield of nobility isn't won with strength alone, he mused. It's won with awareness. With positioning. With patience.
His eyes closed briefly as he committed every detail to memory—every face, every glance, every hidden motive.
This was no longer a game of pieces.
It was the prelude to a kingdom.
He looked down at the Rook and whispered,
"One piece down. Fourteen to go… and a kingdom yet to rise."
The sun disappeared behind the distant peaks.
And in its fading light, a king's path continued forward—unseen, but inevitable.