Chapter Sixteen: A View from Above
Rain stood quietly on the edge of the interior balcony on the second floor of the palace, overlooking the ballroom below, bathed in twinkling lights and swirling with luxurious fabrics moving to an enchanting rhythm.
From above, the ball looked like a meticulously directed play—a moving painting of colors, noble faces, and insincere smiles. The sound of violins rose and fell, mingling with the chatter of aristocrats beneath their glittering masks.
His eyes scanned the hall in silence, searching for the faces he recognized from the original novel.
(These are… the great nobles of the West.)
In his memory, the names of the families were recalled one by one, like an ancient well of knowledge slowly being stirred.
🛡️ The Five Marquess Families – Western Region:
❖ The Flamentra Family
The face of Mariana, Galen's wife , came to his mind—fiery hair and sharp features.
"Masters of fire magic. Their full allegiance lies with House Kraimora. They know how to burn their enemies—politically before physically."
❖ The Dravnik Family
He couldn't quite recall their features, but their reputation was carved in stone.
"Neutral to the bone. They side with no one. If they get involved… know that the earth itself will crack."
❖ The Valrios Family
"Loyal servants of the Empire—literally. Human machines powered by metal magic and arcane mechanics. Their loyalty cannot be bought… because it was manufactured."
❖ The Iserna Family
"Lords of ice and frost, followers of Lumira. If they smile… someone will die in silence that night."
❖ The Noxlor Family
"Shadows that move without a sound, Aldritch's claws in the West. If you breathe near one of them… rest assured, your name has been written somewhere."
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his silent analysis. He turned slightly without changing his posture.
A young man with short red hair and sharp features—Valrios' youngest son—approached with forced elegance and a face full of petty aggression.
He came closer and muttered loudly with fake apology:
"Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to!"
And suddenly, the glass of juice in his hand "slipped," aiming directly at Rain's chest.
But Rain, without even blinking, moved half a step to the side. The glass passed in front of him and crashed beside the railing. Not a single drop stained his clothes.
Rain slowly turned his head toward him.
One look.
A gaze that froze the boy in place—piercing through his skin, reaching the depths of his soul, as if Death itself had touched his heart.
Rain stepped forward, slowly.
His voice came out low… not angry, just cold and devoid of mercy:
"That hand of yours… the one you tried to shame me with."
He extended his finger and touched the boy's hand.
And then… hell began.
The boy's skin changed—cracked, dried, and started to peel away before everyone's eyes. His veins shrank. The bones beneath began to decay.
Within moments… the entire hand had turned to ash and fell to the floor like dust.
The boy screamed—a scream that choked the music, halted the dancing, and turned every head in the room.
The noise drew the boy's father, Marquess Valrios, who stormed through the crowd in fury. A towering man radiating explosive body magic, his presence screamed power.
"You insolent child… have you lost your mind?!" he roared, drawing a flaming sword.
But Rain didn't flinch.
He simply gave a small smile, like mocking a child waving a stick.
"You… You're Rain Aldritch?" the marquess asked, stunned, as he noticed the fear in the eyes around him. The sword began to lower slowly.
Rain responded coldly, his voice cutting through the hall:
"Will you kill the heir of House Aldritch in front of everyone?"
The words hit the marquess like a slap. He trembled, as if the floor had disappeared beneath him. He stepped back, then muttered through gritted teeth:
"My son… didn't know who you were…"
Rain chuckled softly:
"Then let him learn."
Amid the tension, Elara Lumiora rushed forward and knelt beside the boy, her hands glowing with sacred light.
But… nothing.
She looked up at the marquess, eyes wide with shock:
"His tissue is completely dead… I can't… reconstruct the cells."
A wave of astonished whispers spread through the hall.
Then, a presence heavier than all others arrived.
Luna Lumiora, Lady of Light, Elara's mother, and head of House Lumiora, emerged from the crowd like a sacred apparition.
She approached in silence, lifted her hand, and a serene emerald light emanated from her palm.
In seconds, a new hand began to form for the boy—starting with bones, followed by muscles, veins, nerves, and finally, skin.
She looked at Rain and said quietly:
"Mercy is not weakness… but you chose otherwise. As expected from Malphos' son."
Rain replied with a calm smile:
"I simply taught them the lesson they refused to learn."
The hall fell silent again, but the faces no longer held the same expressions.
The noble boy who believed himself a lion… was reduced to a scorched mouse.
And the child said to be just seven years old… became a nightmare to the marquesses