Callian had been hoping—no, counting—on the Grand Duke separating from them on their way back. The old man had told them to go first, promising to follow later.
It was the perfect excuse.
Without Damien at their side, Callian and Violet were nothing more than unwelcome outsiders in this noble estate. He had planned to stay three days, make it clear that they weren't interested in lingering, and then quietly leave. No unnecessary trouble. No noble politics. No obligations.
But now?
Now, Callian was forced to rethink everything.
The private inn room, originally meant for only him and Violet, now had two more occupants—Emilia, the elegant yet sharp-eyed daughter of the Grand Duke, and her young son, Vincent, who looked remarkably unfazed by the scolding he was receiving.
"You snuck out again," Emilia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Vincent, clearly bored, leaned against the armrest of the chair. "Yeah, yeah. My fault. I promise not to do it again." His tone was anything but remorseful.
Emilia let out a long, suffering sigh and sat back at the coffee table, rubbing her temples as if warding off a headache.
But if she thought the matter was over, she was mistaken.
Violet, wide-eyed and righteously offended, puffed out her cheeks like a small hamster. "That's not how you talk to an elder!"
The six-year-old crossed her arms, standing on her toes to appear taller as she scolded Vincent, who was at least two years older. "It's dangerous outside! What if you got lost? What if bad people found you? And you're being rude to your mother!"
Vincent stared at her, unimpressed. "You sound like my tutor."
"You need to listen to him, then!"
Callian barely contained his laugh as Violet huffed, her tiny hands balled into fists on her hips.
Emilia, on the other hand, simply leaned back, watching the exchange with mild amusement.
Her gaze shifted to Callian, who, as always, remained the picture of noble composure—calm, dignified, and exuding an effortless grace. He was dressed in simple yet well-maintained clothing, and though his attire lacked any noble crest, his bearing alone made him look more aristocratic than most lords.
Emilia had grown up around charming men, but she had never been drawn to the refined, princely types. She preferred soft-hearted men, the kind with warm smiles—like her husband, Count Riever.
So it was with complete certainty that she suddenly blurted out, "You're Julianna's fling, aren't you?"
Callian, who had been sipping his tea, nearly choked.
"Violet is Julianna's daughter."
"No." Callian set down his teacup firmly. "She's my daughter."
"Silver hair," Emilia countered, raising a brow. "An Ashville trait."
"No." Callian exhaled sharply. "She's an Evanthiel."
Emilia blinked. "Evanthiel?"
That was not an established noble house.
Commoners didn't have last names. And even if they did, Evanthiel wasn't one she had ever heard of.
"...Did you make that up?" she asked.
Callian merely shrugged. "Does it matter?"
Emilia narrowed her eyes. "You're raising her as a commoner?"
"I'm raising her as my daughter," he corrected. "Nothing more, nothing less."
A brief silence fell over the room.
Emilia, despite herself, glanced at Violet, who was still glaring at Vincent with an expression of exaggerated disapproval.
She didn't want to admit it.
But the child was… cute.
And more than that, she had a good father.
A commoner? Maybe. But one who clearly adored his daughter.
Still, she couldn't ignore the truth.
"Callian," she finally said, voice lowering. "Do you want to enter the manor?"
"No need."
That was fast.
Emilia studied him carefully. Most people—especially those with ties to nobility—would seize an opportunity like this. Even distant relatives of Ashville often sought financial or political benefits. Yet Callian looked almost relieved to be rejected.
Something clicked in her mind.
This man wasn't here by choice.
Her father had left for the capital under mysterious circumstances, supposedly meeting the Emperor. At the same time, a guest had been expected at the manor—yesterday.
That guest had never arrived.
Why?
Because the guards had denied them entry.
And that guest, it seemed, was standing in front of her now.
Violet, a child who clearly had Ashville blood. And Callian—who was not an ordinary person.
Emilia resisted the urge to sigh. She couldn't exactly turn them away now. If her father found out they had been denied entry twice, heads would roll.
"You should reconsider," she said carefully. "My father—"
"I said no need," Callian interrupted.
But then—
"I want to go," Violet piped up.
Callian immediately turned to her, looking betrayed. "Violet, why?"
"I want to see Grandpa's house!" she declared.
"It's not that interesting," he tried. "Big, cold, full of nobles—"
"I want to see!"
"You'll get bored."
"Papa, you always say it's good to see different places."
Callian hesitated. "Yes, but—"
"And if Mama is there, I don't care!" Violet added. "I have Papa!"
Emilia saw the moment Callian lost.
His face softened—just slightly—as he stared down at his daughter, who was now looking up at him with impossibly big, pleading eyes.
For all his strength, all his stubbornness, Callian had one true weakness.
His daughter.
He sighed in defeat, rubbing his forehead. "...Fine."
Violet beamed. "Really?!"
"Just for a visit."
"Yay!"
Emilia couldn't help but smirk as she watched the exchange. So this was how to handle Callian Evanthiel.
Not through negotiations.
Not through power.
But through his daughter's big, adorable eyes.
She almost pitied her father.
Almost.
*****
Callian stood stubbornly outside the carriage, refusing to take a step forward.
His arms were crossed. His feet were planted firmly on the ground. He was not moving.
But the little girl in his arms—his beloved daughter, Violet—had other plans.
"Papa, gooo!" she whined, small hands grabbing onto his long black hair and pulling with all the strength her tiny body could muster.
Callian winced. "Violet, let go—"
Pull.
"Ow—"
Pull.
"—Violet—"
Pull.
"—that hurts—"
Pull.
Finally, Callian sighed in defeat. "…Fine."
Violet let go immediately, clapping her hands. "Yay!"
But just as Callian stepped forward—
[SYSTEM ALERT]
A glowing screen flashed before his eyes.
His body tensed. His breath caught.
[You are the Representative of Humanity.]
[Take care of your persona, manners, and etiquette. You are a ruler.]
[Nobility Charisma upgraded!]
[Monarch Aura - Level Max]
Callian's entire mind came to a halt.
…What?
His eyes flickered over the words again. The system? Here?
This world wasn't like his past life. There were no dungeons, no gates, no monsters crawling out of hell itself. He was no longer an S-rank hunter fighting off alien gods.
So why—why—was the system responding now?
Representative of Humanity? That title belonged to him in his past life, when he was nothing but a pawn in the war against the gods. When he stood at the frontlines, not as a king, but as a disposable weapon.
What the hell was it doing here?
"Papa?" Violet tilted her head in confusion, her silver hair shimmering under the sunlight. "Why are you frozen?"
Callian snapped out of it, forcing a reassuring smile. "Nothing, princess. Let's go."
He took a step forward—
And immediately, the atmosphere changed.
The moment his foot touched the polished marble of the manor entrance, a chilling, weighty presence filled the air. It was subtle yet overwhelming, pressing down on everyone like an invisible storm.
The servants—those who had been standing idly, waiting to greet them—flinched.
Even Emilia, who had been watching casually from the side, stiffened.
…What is this? she thought, eyes widening.
This wasn't the Callian she had met before. The calm, teasing, slightly exasperated father who let his daughter climb all over him.
This—this was someone else entirely.
The way he walked—each step smooth, precise, controlled—was reminiscent of a king descending upon his court. His long black coat fluttered behind him, moving almost unnaturally, as if caught in a slow-motion breeze like some warrior in an old legend.
He didn't look at anyone directly, yet his mere presence commanded attention.
No, more than that—
It made people want to kneel.
And the worst part?
Callian had no idea.
What is this filter? Why do I sound like some kind of ruler?
He wanted to ask, Can I go now?
But instead, what came out was—
"I presume this will not take long."
…Oh god.
Even his voice sounded deeper, colder—like he was addressing subjects, not speaking normally.
He didn't need to turn his head to feel the stunned silence in the air.
Violet, sitting comfortably in his arms, didn't seem to notice anything unusual. She was busy looking around, wide-eyed and fascinated by the grand halls of the manor.
But everyone else?
They definitely noticed.
The butler—an older, well-trained man—stepped forward, attempting to maintain composure. But as he met Callian's golden gaze, his foot caught on the polished floor—
And he tripped.
Callian instinctively reached out, but before he could react, another figure entered the room.
The head butler.
Unlike his unfortunate subordinate, this man had decades of experience serving the Ashville family. He was composed, disciplined, and—most importantly—unshaken.
At least, that was the case until he got a proper look at Callian.
Golden eyes.
Silver-haired child.
Powerful, commanding aura.
And the distinct lack of nobility symbols.
…So this is him.
The Grand Duke had left on a secret journey. Then, out of nowhere, he had written to the manor, saying he had a guest.
No one knew who this guest was.
Until now.
The butler bowed, his movements crisp and practiced. "Lord Evanthiel."
Callian barely stopped himself from flinching. Lord?
Oh no.
The filter was working on the staff, too.
The butler's gaze flickered to Violet, who was now examining a nearby vase with interest. The silver-haired child Lady Julianna abandoned.
And her father—this man—was no ordinary commoner.
A lesser man would have hesitated, would have stammered before such overwhelming pressure.
But the head butler had served for over forty years. He did not stutter.
Instead, he simply smiled politely. "The Grand Duke has left the letter before continuing his journey for the capital, and we have been expecting your arrival. Please, wait in the drawing room until the three elders arrive."
Callian gave a slow nod, pretending to be completely unaffected.
"…Very well."
Why did that sound so regal?
The butler gestured for them to follow, leading them through the long hallways of the manor.
Callian sighed internally, already regretting his decision to step inside this place.
But beside him, Violet was still smiling, completely oblivious to the tension in the air.
As they entered the drawing room, she tugged on his sleeve.
"Papa," she whispered excitedly.
"Yes, princess?"
"This place is really big!"
Callian chuckled, ruffling her silver hair. "Do you like it?"
She nodded eagerly. "It's fun! But…" She tilted her head. "Why is everyone acting so weird?"
Callian paused.
"…What do you mean?"
"They keep staring at you like they saw a ghost."
Callian exhaled. I wish I knew.
But before he could respond, the butler cleared his throat. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. The elders will arrive shortly."
Callian nodded. "Thank you."
…And again, it came out way too formal.
He watched as the butler left, shutting the door behind him.
Finally, alone, Callian sighed.
He sat down on the couch, pulling Violet into his lap. "Princess."
"Yes, Papa?"
"Next time I hesitate to enter somewhere, just let me be."
Violet blinked. "But if I didn't pull your hair, you wouldn't have come inside!"
"…That was the point."
She giggled, hugging his arm. "But it's fun!"
Callian groaned.
He had a feeling this visit was going to be way more trouble than it was worth.