Lord of Caldera - Chapter 63

Chapter 63: Chapter 63
His father had a knack for finding the best in people and shaping the narrative around them, guiding everyone’s perception in a positive direction. And because it was never forced, those who received his praise were always left feeling genuinely touched. His sincerity was disarming, causing people to pledge their loyalty wholeheartedly.

‘And on the other hand, Toby’s stubbornness in resisting Father’s warmth shows just how strong-willed he is,’ Sylas thought, amused by the contrast.

Whether it was because of the curse or simply Toby’s unruly nature, he had resisted the count’s warmth for a long time.

“Now, enough with the formalities!” the count declared. “This is a day to celebrate the return of heroes!”

After the duel, the estate was a flurry of activity as servants scrambled to prepare for the impromptu feast. Ulrich wore a smile, but he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching in frustration.

‘Damn it, I took a hit this time, little brother.’

Ulrich’s eyes, narrowed into thin slits, gazed coldly at Sylas across the room.

While Toby and Ray were the stars of the duel, their lords, Ulrich and Sylas, were the center of attention at the feast. However, Ulrich chose not to attend. He excused himself, claiming fatigue from the journey, but the truth was he had no desire to celebrate.

“To think it would turn out like this,” Ulrich muttered through gritted teeth, clenching his fists in anger. His strategist, Oscar, cautiously stepped forward.

“Still, you didn’t lose entirely, my lord. You’ve left a strong impression on the people, and Ray fought on par with the strongest knight in the house. It’s not a bad outcome…”

“Only losers think like that!” Ulrich snapped, his sharp retort causing Oscar to flinch and step back. After a moment of seething in silence, Ulrich sighed and reclined in his chair.

“If things had gone according to plan, Ray would have been crowned the strongest knight. Imagine it—at just nineteen, a young female knight declared the strongest.”

In that scenario, Ray would have become a singular hero, a reincarnation of legend, a figure so grand that it would have catapulted Ulrich’s status alongside her. But instead, Ray’s loss had complicated everything.

“Now, there are two knights, and she’s the weaker of the two. No matter how much people talk about her youth, her potential—it’s all just excuses.”

In the end, everyone would remember Toby as the strongest, and Toby was Sylas’s knight, not his. When people thought of the strongest knight, they would think of Sylas, not him.

“And that half-brother of mine has grown even more confident. This was supposed to be my moment to crush his rise, but instead, I’ve only fanned the flames,” Ulrich growled, slamming his fist on the desk. He couldn’t get Sylas’s face out of his mind—the way Sylas had praised him for having a great knight, but with an underlying tone that said, “But mine is still the best.”

“Damn it, it’s been a long time since I’ve been this frustrated.”

“Is it time for me to step in?” a raspy voice echoed from the corner of the room. Ulrich paused and glanced toward the shadowy figure of a hunchbacked old man.

“Do you have a plan?” Ulrich asked.

“For an assassin, there’s always one plan. The methods, of course, vary.”

“Enough. Using you now would be the worst of all decisions. I’d risk everything I’ve built falling apart,” Ulrich said, cutting the old man off immediately.

“As you wish,” the hunchback receded back into the shadows, leaving Ulrich to sigh again. Even so, knowing he had a last resort gave him some peace of mind. Having a final option, even if unused, provided comfort.

“Still, I need to find a way to stop Sylas’s rise,” Ulrich mused.

“In that case, perhaps a gift would be a good idea,” Oscar suggested.

“A gift?” Ulrich turned to his strategist, who wore a faint smile—the kind he usually wore when he had a clever plan in mind.

“You have that sword from the dungeon, my lord,” Oscar reminded him.

“The cursed sword?” Ulrich frowned. The sword had immense power, but no one could wield it. It had been sitting in a box ever since he found it.

“It’s almost time for the coming-of-age ceremony,” Oscar continued.

“Yes, the new year is almost upon us,” Ulrich agreed.

“And as is tradition, it would be proper to give your family a gift. That cursed sword would make the perfect gift, wouldn’t you say?”

Ulrich’s eyes lit up as he grasped the meaning behind Oscar’s words.

“Ah, I see!”

“It’s common knowledge that anyone who cannot wield the sword’s power will find it to be nothing more than a piece of iron.”

“Yes.”

“But those with the ability to tap into its power often face dangerous backlash,” Oscar said with a sly smile.

“Yes, it almost burned my hand to ashes when I tried,” Ulrich recalled.

“Exactly. But you, as a descendant of the dragon-blooded Corleone family, have the qualifications to handle it.”

Oscar’s smile widened. “Your half-brother, though a bastard, also has the blood of dragons in his veins.”

“He should be qualified to unlock the sword’s power,” Ulrich said thoughtfully.

“And he will be thrilled to receive such a powerful weapon. A gift of unimaginable strength.”

“Hahaha, excellent! This is a brilliant idea!” Ulrich laughed heartily. He was already thinking about the steps to prepare for the gift—how to present it in such a way that it would ruin Sylas’s growing reputation.

‘If you’re not willing to lose something, the backlash will always come, little brother. Let this be a lesson to you.’

Ulrich’s smile turned cold as he imagined how this plan would cut Sylas down to size.

Later that night, back in his quarters after the feast, Sylas was quietly calculating the dates.

“Let’s see, the new year is just around the corner, isn’t it?”

“Not many days left now,” Toby replied.

“That’s right, my coming-of-age ceremony is soon,” Sylas said, mostly to himself.

In this world, coming-of-age ceremonies were held when a person turned sixteen in the new year, and it was tradition for families to give gifts to celebrate. Nobles and commoners alike observed this custom.

“Good timing. I could use a new sword,” Sylas mused aloud.

“A sword? Did someone tell you they were giving you one?” Toby asked, surprised. It wasn’t customary to ask for specific gifts—it was up to the family to choose.

“No, but I just know. My dear brother is going to gift me a very special sword,” Sylas said with a smirk.

“Ulrich? He said he’d give you a sword?”

“No, I just have my ways of knowing,” Sylas replied with a cryptic smile.

“…?”