The morning sun filtered weakly through the grime-covered window of my room, casting a pale, sickly light across the cold stone floor. My left ankle still throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, but thanks to Marie's herbal compress, the swelling had visibly subsided. I could at least put a fraction of my weight on it now without blinding pain shooting up my leg.
Marie arrived shortly after dawn, carrying a tray with a bowl of watery turnip soup and a thick slab of stale bread. As she busied herself tidying up the small space, I observed her every move. Every time the heavy boots of guards echoed in the distance, her shoulders tensed, and her hands trembled violently.
"Marie," I spoke softly, taking a slow sip of the bland broth. "Does Raymond come around the West Tower often?"
She nearly dropped the broom in her hand. Her head snapped toward me, her eyes wide with unadulterated fear. "Tuan... Tuan Muda Raymond?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "He... he frequents the training grounds near the base of this tower in the afternoons. Why do you ask, Young Master? Please, you must avoid him at all costs!"
"I'm just asking," I replied smoothly, keeping my face completely blank. "You don't need to be so terrified."
Once Marie finished her chores and left the room, locking the door behind her, I sat cross-legged on the narrow bed. The physical memory of Raymond's brutal assault still burned fresh in my mind. But running away forever wasn't an option. I needed to understand what this body was truly capable of.
Closing my eyes, I turned my awareness inward, searching for the flow of mana that everyone in this world talked about. They called Benedict a useless, powerless creature. But as I focused my breathing and probed deeper into my chest, I felt something strange.
It wasn't an emptiness.
Deep within my heart, a dense, ice-cold knot of energy was coiled like a sleeping serpent. However, surrounding this energy was a thick, dark haze—a subtle, invisible seal that blocked the energy from flowing through my veins. It was the distinct mark of a slow-acting, low-dose poison, administered over years to keep Benedict weak, sickly, and talentless.
So, someone intentionally sabotaged this body, I thought, a cold smile forming on my lips. Probably the Grand Lady or someone working for her.
Before I could investigate the hidden energy further, my senses heightened. The sharp, rhythmic sound of heavy, steel-shod boots echoed down the quiet corridor of the West Tower. The footsteps slowed down, deliberate and heavy, before finally coming to a dead stop right outside my wooden door.
There was no knock.
Instead, a low, arrogant laugh drifted through the cracks of the wood, followed by the spine-chilling sound of a metal blade scraping slowly along the stone wall outside. Screeech. It was a psychological game, a predator marking his territory to scare his helpless prey.
I didn't hide under the blanket. I didn't tremble.
I slowly stood up from the bed, transferring my weight onto my good leg, and stared at the iron door handle with eyes as cold and empty as an open grave. If Raymond wanted a fight, he was about to find out that the boy he broke in the snow was long gone.