I started observing more, talking less. Analyzing every gesture, every word, every reaction. In the past, I treated the servants with coldness and arrogance - especially Benta. I demanded that everything be delivered by hand and scolded her with contempt whenever she was late or made the slightest mistake. But now... that embarrassed me.
I got better quickly. Faster than they expected.
My family noticed. It was as if the spoiled child from before had faded away, giving way to someone more restrained. More calculated. They couldn't say exactly when it happened, but they could see it - in my eyes, in my posture, in the way I listened quietly before speaking.
And maybe that's why, when I saw Benta standing waiting for me in the corridor, candelabra in hand, I couldn't keep quiet.
- I told you not to stand there waiting for me. - My voice came out firm but calm. - You're already a lady, and your legs were aching last night.
She smiled when she heard that, with a tenderness that disarmed me. The soft lines at the corner of her eyes became more visible in the flickering light of the flame. She was getting older... and I was only just beginning to realize it.
- Ah, young master... - she said, her voice full of affection. - This old woman here has gotten used to it. I'm glad to see the person you're becoming.
Those words touched a place inside me that few could reach. Benta never had a husband or children. And I... never had a mother. Not really. Over time, our bond grew without either of us realizing it. It was natural. Simple. Like a silent bridge between two voids.
Maybe that's why I held your hand at that moment.
It was an instinctive gesture. My thumb grazed her aged, rough skin with care. But she recoiled immediately, blushing.
- Young master, not here..." she whispered, lowering her gaze. - "This could lead to misunderstandings...
I sighed and nodded. She was right. The servants already envied her for the affection I showed. A misinterpreted gesture could turn into a rumor. And my father... he would believe whatever he wanted. And if he deemed it necessary, he would punish Benta without hesitation.
She took a deep breath and tried to recompose her expression before speaking, now with a more serious, almost worried tone.
- "Rillen has accepted your request to implement the Light of Life into your body," she said. - Are you sure you want this? It's a painful process... and a little dangerous.
- I'm sure. - I answered without hesitation.
I was old enough. And more than that - I was ready.
Reading the biographies of my ancestors taught me about what it took to be an heir. Even though I had never set foot outside the castle, the accounts and records I read opened my eyes. I knew the history of House Urik better than any tutor could have taught me. And if I wanted to secure my position, my authority and my rights... then I would have to go all the way.
No matter what I had to do to achieve that goal.
My family's territory, the Udrik, stretched to the edge of a vast ancient forest, shrouded in mist and forgotten legends, in the heart of the Twilight Province. Ever since I was a boy, I heard my father talk about expansion - his greatest wish was to see our lands multiply, absorbing three more domains and five neighboring cities. That wasn't just ambition, it was the destiny he believed was rightfully ours. And when he passed this burden on to me - no, this legacy - he made it clear that the future of the Udrik depended on me.
According to him, if I managed to bring about this expansion, we would have the recognition that had long been denied us. I could ascend to the title of viscount while I was still alive, elevating our house to a new level within the empire. And it was at that moment, with my mind still young and hungry for meaning, that a flame was lit inside me.
I was just a six-year-old child when I understood, more clearly than many adults, that I needed power. Not just for myself, but to protect the name I bore, to write a new chapter in Udrik history. It wasn't enough to keep what we had - I wanted more. I wanted to be remembered.
So I set two non-negotiable goals for my life. The first: to expand the inherited territory and earn the title of Viscount. The second: to surpass all the achievements of my ancestors and become a Master, someone no one would dare forget.
But in the Empire of the Dawn, where the walls of power creaked with each generation, ambition alone was not enough. The nobility was constantly at risk - even with all the gold and influence, we knew that our place could be taken at any moment. Instability was eating away at the pillars of the empire like an invisible plague. And in this chaos, only one truth remained: anyone who didn't hold true power was doomed.
In that world, power was not defined by blood or empty titles, but by one's personal strength. Being noble meant, above all, being a warrior. And a warrior, in the true sense of the word, was one who had awakened the light of life - the vital spark that separated the leaders from the servants, the victors from the forgotten.
To awaken this light required more than training or talent. It was necessary to forge the body with secret methods, to challenge limits, to face pain that would make any ordinary man beg for death. You had to create your own style, a signature in combat, something that said to the world: "I'm here, and I'm different from everyone else."
Those who didn't awaken to the light of life were doomed to servitude - peasants, serfs, foot soldiers - always under the domination of a stronger, better prepared, more dangerous elite. And I refused to be a weak link.
My ancestor, Udrik the First, was one of those rare ones. It is said that he awakened his light at the young age of 19, while working in the fields, wielding a hoe as if it were a sword. His local lord, fearing a possible rebellion, recruited him into the army. Within ten years, he had become a veteran warrior - and as a reward, he received our territory. He died at that same stage, already old, but still remembered as the founder of our noble lineage.
But I... I wanted to go beyond him.
I wanted more than to be remembered. I wanted to be feared. Respected. Revered.