The Begotten Fiend

Chapter 4: Sign Away Your Crown

For what felt like an eternity, Nash and the cloaked figure traversed through a long, narrow hallway.

Deep within the walls were painted grooves, acting as murals for any vast collection of stories indistinguishable to Nash. Painted figures, valiant blades, soaring skies, the views were many.

But to the man who’d called for him, it was mundane.

"You may enter," the cloaked figure announced, standing before a door. They glided their arm along the door’s height, gesturing for Nash’s entry.

Although it’d been for only a moment, Nash noticed how the arm was muscular--scarred. The person before him was experienced.

But there was one who could be named the most experienced of all.

Nash opened the door, making his way inside.

It was a nice, spacious office. The walls were a nice wood, holding up a shelf on the left and right, each, and any number of paintings.

At the end opposite to Nash was a large, towering taxidermy--pointed ears, gray skin, silver hair, and deep, purple buzzing along its edges, years after its death. It was an elf, and an almost certainly powerful one at that.

"Son," a voice proclaimed, coming from just underneath the slain elf. He was in his seat, turned opposite to Nash. Slowly, he turned around, resting his arms on a wide desk that separated the two.

He quickly adjusted his glasses, shifting his gaze forward. Not at Nash, but the person behind him. "You may leave. And close the door."

The cloaked figure nodded their head, then left the room, followed by a reserved slam.

After a moment’s silence, Nash looked to his side, taking note of a particular porcelain figure that rested on top of one of the shelves on the wall. "Is that new?" Nash asked.

"Yes. Carved in Dwarvon, it was a nice catch." The man smiled, looking directly into Nash’s eyes. "Is there something you want to get off your chest, son?"

Nash shook his head. Not at Duke Tristan--his father--but, instead, at the floor.

"Nash, I can tell when you’re lying, you know. Been able to do so your entire life. Truly, if there’s something you want to tell me, then don’t be so afraid to--"

"What is the reason that you called me here?" Nash interrupted, crossing his arms. "I mean, really. You hardly ever call me for an audience, let alone inquire as to how I feel. If there’s something that you want me to do, just tell me."

Tristan’s face went straight--too straight. His half-assed attempt at emotion was dispelled--replaced by a cool indifference. Instead, he raised just one eyebrow.

"Well, if you wish to get straight to the point, then we’ll do just that." Tristan’s arm lowered to beneath the table, likely to reach for one of the cabinets. After rifling through it, Tristan pulled out a stack of papers. "These are documents for you to sign."

"Ah, interesting. So this is what the delay was about," Nash remarked. "Wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything funny after I woke up, like run away without signing away my rights to the House, correct?"

Nothing came from Tristan. No response, nor even a change in facial expression. Just a simple order. "Sign it."

Tristan pushed down on the papers, pushing them in Nash’s direction.

Nash looked up at Tristan, down at the papers, then up at him again. "Sure, ’father.’"

Nash worked through the documents one by one, not bothering to read the fine print. He only took note of the bolded titles for each, one saying "resignation of power," another saying "fealty to the house."

’This is just so that I can’t challenge my brother for the house later. Typical stuff, but still kind of cold,’ he thought, finishing up the last one.

Nodding his head, Nash passed it back to his father. "All done. Is there anything else that you want from me?"

"Just one other thing," Tristan replied.

"Ah, more papers? Or maybe a handshake agreement?"

Tristan shook his head. "You’re invited to the transfer of house ceremony. I hope that you’ll attend," he said coldly.

Nash staggered--arms in the air. With his mouth wide open, the words got caught in his mouth. "A-and, why would that be? Don’t tell me that you actually care what I do."

"No, not very. It is simply for appearances. After all, how would it reflect on the house if one of only two sons weren’t present?"

Nash felt something in his chest go silent. Defeated, he nodded his head.

"If that’s all it is, I give you my word that I’ll attend." Nash got out of his seat, turning his back to Tristan. "But I can’t guarantee you that I’ll stick around afterwards to serve Illias."

"Oh? And what would you do? Become a merchant? Leverage the family name without actually possessing the talent?" Tristan mused, smiling.

With balled fists, Nash stepped forward. "Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I plan on becoming an adventurer."

There was a silence that filled the air. Tristan hung still, lost for words. But then his half-smile turned into a wide grin. "Hah... hahahahah! You? An adventurer? You can’t use magic, let alone wield a blade. What use would you have on the battlefield, save harvesting the scraps that real adventurers yield?" fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Nash slammed his fist into the table, eyes knit into an intense matrix of fury. "No, damn it! Maybe I’m not strong yet, but I’ll get strong, and you’ll see." ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"My, the magicless brat is going to get strong. I see, I see," Tristan joked, unbothered by Nash’s show of force. "And what would you do about this?"

A violent, blinding flash of light enshrouded the room, slamming against the walls and shoving right into Nash.

It was amethyst in color, but so abundant that in small flashes, fangs of white light mixed into the fro.

Nash’s muscles tightened. His chest went so stiff that even the banging of his heart grew silent.

His breath hitched, his limbs went limp. Without control, saliva trailed his chin, the incessant force from Tristan’s outburst instilling infinite fear into him.

But just as quickly as it’d come, it immediately dissipated from the air. The abruptness made the scene feel that much less real.

Tristan loosened his gaze, closing his eyes.

The thrashing of the walls had also calmed, yet Nash was still limp. His head was convulsing without end, his eyes wide like they’d been nailed open.

"Judging by that reaction, I’d say you’re a thousand years off from being an adventurer," Tristan said. "You may leave."

Shaking his head free from the fear, Nash didn’t say anything. He simply turned around, walking slowly towards the door.

"Ah, one more thing," Tristan said once more. "The ceremony is tonight."