As Claude and Howard stepped out of the tavern, a massive and ostentatiously luxurious carriage awaited them outside.
The carriage was enormous, an almost comical contrast to the grime and decay of the outskirts. Its frame was crafted from gleaming white wood that looked like it had been kissed by sunlight and wiped with silk. Intricate silver detailing adorned its edges like royal embroidery. The driver's seat alone looked like a throne—plush, polished, and just begging to be judged by a commoner's eyes. Even the horses were unsettlingly pristine. Their coats shimmered like polished marble, and their eyes held more dignity than half the nobles Claude had ever seen. Honestly, they looked more human than most people he'd met in the last few years.
It was such a surreal sight that Claude forgot to move, mesmerized by the divine absurdity of it all.
"Elyas…? What are you doing, standing there? Hurry up and get in."
Claude snapped out of it, blinking as though waking from a dream.
"I-I am s-sorry, Father!"
Howard's face softened with concern. Of course, he assumed his son's hesitation was trauma-induced. Poor guy. Claude almost felt bad.
"It's okay, son. I know this is hard for you. Once we reach the estate, you'll be safe. I'll hire a knight to stay by your side at all times. You won't have to worry about a thing anymore."
His words were warm and reassuring. They were meant for Elyas, the child who was long gone—now reduced to nothing more than a borrowed name and a pretty, fragile face.
"T-thank you, F-father…"
With Howard's help, Claude climbed into the carriage. The plush cushions swallowed him in velvet luxury. It was—without exaggeration—the most comfortable thing he had ever sat on.
Claude almost cried.
'I... I love money. So much.'
Years of grime, hunger, and gutting rats just evaporated in that one moment of sitting. And this was just the start of a noble's life? No wonder these people acted like gods. He nearly jumped across the carriage to kiss the baron out of sheer gratitude.
Instead, he calmly adjusted his posture and leaned into the backrest like a delicate porcelain doll. He nearly summoned his Soul Mirror just to check if he was dreaming, but restrained himself. Howard wasn't some drunken bandit. He was an Aetheris user—a powerful one, judging by the ease with which he beheaded someone earlier. Claude had to be careful.
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Claude gazed out of the carriage window, his breath catching slightly. A sprawling garden stretched out before the approaching estate, blooming with flowers of all shapes and hues. Roses, lilies, nightshade—he didn't know half of them, but they looked expensive. Trees lined the path like noble sentinels, and at the end stood a massive, elegant mansion with white columns and stained-glass windows that sparkled in the sun.
Two neat rows of servants lined up on either side of the entrance, waiting for the carriage. Among them stood a mature woman with long blonde hair and eyes the same striking blue as Elyas'. Her posture was graceful, and her expression was one of fierce love and anxious relief. The moment she caught sight of Claude through the window—even before the carriage stopped—her face lit up with joy.
Claude blinked.
She hadn't even seen his face yet. How…?
Then it hit him. She sensed his Aether.
So, [Faceless] really did imitate Elyas completely, down to the soul. That confirmed it—Claude wasn't just wearing Elyas' face. He was Elyas in the truest sense… at least, according to everyone else.
What he couldn't wrap his head around was [Nothing, Forever]. The ability was cryptic. He had tried thinking it through countless times, but every attempt ended in confusion.
It seemed to conceal Claude's true body but not Elyas'. Was that what the phrase "never truly seen" meant? Did it only apply when he wasn't using [Faceless]? It was maddeningly vague. Still, now that he was free from the filthy corners of the outskirts, he might finally get to experiment with it.
His thoughts were cut off as the carriage stopped and the door burst open.
The elegant woman rushed in and practically yanked Claude into her arms.
"My poor baby…"
She clutched him tightly and looked him in the eyes.
"Elyas! What did they do to you?! How did they kidnap you?! Where did they take you?!…"
Her barrage of questions was cut short by Howard's firm voice.
"Matilda!"
She blinked, then nodded quickly, stepping back.
"Oh, how could I forget! I'm sorry, Elyas… I know it was hard on you. But you can rest now."
It was surreal. This woman was supposed to be his mother… yet Claude felt nothing. No warmth. No connection. Just… awkwardness. Then, suddenly, he felt a prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes.
Wait—was he actually about to cry?
'R-right! I'm pretending to cry! Totally just acting. That's what Elyas would do!'
He wrapped his arms around her and started to sob quietly. It felt natural… a little too natural.
"Here, Elyas, let's go inside. You need to rest."
Claude's soul nearly left his body when Matilda effortlessly lifted him like a dainty pillow and carried him indoors.
Before the door closed, Claude caught sight of Howard tapping something that looked suspiciously like the Soul Mirror.
His heart skipped.
'H-huh…? How can I see it…?'
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Matilda eventually put Claude down—gently, like setting down fine porcelain—inside what could only be described as the most unnecessary display of wealth he had ever seen. The bedroom was grand. Gold-trimmed curtains framed tall windows. The ceiling was painted with some mural that probably cost enough to feed a village. Silk sheets, carved furniture, and more throw pillows than any mortal should ever need.
Claude winced.
'W-why did they spend so much on a single room? These maniacs are wasting a precious, divine resource… called money…'
But as soon as he slipped into the steaming hot bath drawn for him, all criticism vanished from his mind. He was floating. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually… even physically, thanks to the water.
Matilda oversaw everything while a servant scrubbed him clean. Claude didn't even flinch. He was too busy mentally writing a love letter to this bath.
'If I can stay like this forever… I might just become Elyas permanently.'
Unfortunately, bliss had a time limit. The servant gently informed him it was time to get out.
Claude wanted to fight her on it. Maybe fake a fainting spell. But he obeyed.
After being dried and dressed in cotton-soft pyjamas that felt like clouds stitched into cloth, he stepped out. Matilda carried him to bed and tucked him in with more care than any parent he could remember.
Claude was in paradise.
Just as he was about to drift off into luxurious slumber, Howard entered.
He whispered something to Matilda and the servants before turning to Claude.
"Son, I'm relieved to see you safe in your quarters. But as your father, I won't let anyone harm you again."
Another man followed Howard into the room. He had jet-black hair, striking brown eyes, and wore an elegant black suit. His posture was rigid, his aura serious.
"This is Sleepless Roy. He'll be with you from now on."
Roy bowed low.
"I'm here to protect and assist the young master. Please accept me as your guard."
Claude sighed internally.
'Great. A watchdog. Goodbye, privacy. Hello, constant supervision.'
It was going to make testing his powers a nightmare. Still… maybe he could learn something from this stoic scarecrow.
"T-thank you, Father."
Then he turned to Roy.
"R-raise y-your head… Mr. Roy. P-please protect me… to your full capabilities."
Claude nearly gagged on the words.
'Ugh. I sound like a helpless flower. Which is fitting… given these pyjamas.'
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Later that night, Claude was left alone.
Well… not alone. Roy stood nearby like a statue with judgment in his eyes.
Claude could feel it—this man was dangerous. Probably had some ability that detected lies, souls, or treachery. Maybe all three.
It meant testing his own powers was going to be damn near impossible.
Still, that didn't stop him from pulling up the Soul Mirror again and staring at the vague, cryptic nonsense that passed for ability descriptions.
From what Elyas had told him, most Soul Mirrors offered practical explanations for Aetheris abilities. But not his. His felt like they were written by a cryptic god with a sense of humor.
One thing was clear: [Faceless] wasn't meant for direct combat. It was more about subterfuge—about wearing skins and slipping between identities. Claude guessed it required absorbing a person's soul and body to function properly. Not that it bothered him. Morals were for people who didn't grow up clawing their way through blood and rats.
As for [Nothing, Forever]—it seemed almost tailored for stealth. If no one was actively thinking of him, he could disappear in plain sight. A ghost in the crowd. A whisper lost in the wind.
Still, both powers were maddeningly vague.
'Maybe I'm just really forgettable… and [Nothing, Forever] literally does nothing. Forever. Great branding, really.'
With a frustrated groan muffled by the silken pillow, Claude gave up.
At least the bed was soft. And massive. And divine. If he was going to be haunted by mysterious abilities and sleepless guards, at least he could do it in style.
He let his body sink into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as luxury swallowed him whole.