Reborn as the Last van Ambrose-Chapter 75: What a Joke

Julius watched Grim disappear down the corridor with the Archmage. Only when they were out of sight did he turn to Lord Draykar, who was still flushed with indignation.

"Control yourself," Julius said quietly. "Such obvious displays of emotion are unbecoming."

Draykar drew himself up, straightening his expensive robes. "That insolent whelp should be taught his place. Lapdog.... My house has been a respected pillar of society for three generations!"

"Three generations," Julius repeated with the barest hint of amusement. "Practically ancient history."

Lord Draykar missed the subtle mockery, too consumed with his wounded pride. "We should lodge a formal complaint with the tournament committee. His behavior outside the arena...."

"Is irrelevant," Julius cut him off. "We have more effective ways to address the Ambrose problem."

He gestured for Draykar to follow him into a small antechamber off the main corridor.

"What concerns me," Julius continued, "is not the boy’s rudeness but his unexpected acquisition of resources."

Draykar’s brow furrowed. "Resources? The Ambrose accounts remain largely frozen. The restoration of his title granted him only nominal access to..." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

"Not financial resources," Julius interrupted, impatience edging his tone. "His appearance at the palace today is significant. He’s seeking something specific."

"The old Ambrose vault," Draykar said, understanding dawning. "But that’s impossible. The vault requires..."

"A key," Julius finished. "Which he has apparently obtained."

Draykar paled slightly. "How?"

"I do not know."

"What do you propose?"

Julius’s lips curved in a cold smile. "The tournament provides us with unique opportunities. The quarterfinals begin soon. We have contacts among the committee responsible for match assignments."

"You want to manipulate his matchups?" Draykar asked, lowering his voice despite the privacy ward. "That’s... risky. The Empress watches these matches personally."

"Not manipulate," Julius corrected smoothly. "Merely ensure appropriate challenges. Before his bout."

Draykar nodded slowly, his earlier outrage dissipating.

"And if that fails?" Draykar asked.

Julius’s expression grew distant, his focus turning inward. "The tournament has rules that must be observed. Outside the arena, however..." He let the thought hang unfinished.

"The estate is remote," Draykar noted. "Isolated."

"Indeed," Julius agreed. "And undermanned, despite recent improvements to its facade. A determined group of... visitors... might find access relatively simple."

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing specific, old friend. Merely observations about the vulnerability of isolated properties."

Draykar’s expression shifted. "You’re talking about...."

"I’m talking about nothing," Julius interrupted sharply. "And you would be wise to follow my example."

"Let us return to more pleasant topics. I believe the preliminary listings for the quarterfinal matchups will be posted tomorrow ’

"Of course," Draykar agreed, falling into step beside Julius as they exited the antechamber.

Neither man noticed the shadowed alcove near the corridor’s end, nor the slender figure pressed against the wall within it.

Liona remained perfectly still until the echo of their footsteps faded completely. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, the implications of what she’d overheard washing over her in cold waves.

"Damn it, Grim," she whispered to the empty corridor. "Why couldn’t you just stay hidden?"

The weight of her decision pressed down on her. She’d put the key in Grim’s hand, believing it was his birthright. Never considering it might also lead to his death.

"You’ll be okay," she murmured, more to reassure herself than anything.

But even as she said it, doubt crept in. Grim’s position was precarious. His house was still more name than substance. His allies were few, his enemies powerful and positioned throughout the empire’s highest circles.

And now she was promised to one of those enemies, bound by political necessity to the son of the man who had helped destroy everything Grim held dear.

There was nothing to be done at this moment. But she could watch, listen, and prepare.

For now, though, Grim was on his own. As he had been for twelve long years.

------------------------------------------------------------------

For a moment, he stood motionless, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Grim moved forward, his footsteps echoing against the stone.

Sunfire and Luna. The legendary blades of House Ambrose, wielded by Caius.

[There they are,] the voice whispered.

Something on the ground, black, almost like ash was on the stone floor, nearly invisible in the dim light. Grim paused, frowning down at it.

[Focus on the chest,] the voice urged. [What we seek is inside.]

Grim hesitated, but then nodded. Whatever it was could wait.

Grim placed his palm flat against the lid, feeling the wood warm beneath his touch. A faint tingling sensation spread up his arm.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a series of clicks sounded from within the chest, and the lid rose a fraction of an inch, releasing a breath of air.

Grim lifted the lid fully, looking down at the chest’s contents with growing confusion.

"What the fuck is this?!" he exclaimed, his voice bouncing off the ancient walls in a startled echo.

The voice remained silent, offering no explanation for what lay before him—something that made no sense at all.....

Grim stood frozen, staring down at the chest’s contents, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. His hands trembled with a mixture of shock and mounting rage.

"This can’t be right," he whispered, then louder, "This can’t be fucking right!"

Still the voice said nothing, its silence more damning than any words could have been.

The rage built inside him like a physical force, a storm of mana that crackled along his skin in visible blue arcs. With a roar that tore from his throat. Grim kicked the chest with all his strength, sending it flying into the wall with a thunderous crash.

"All this time!" he shouted at the empty chamber. "All this fucking time!"

He drew Echo, the sword humming. His mana flowed into the blade, transforming it from solid to something more ethereal, a weapon of pure energy.

"Celestial Mist: Seven Sword Strike!"

The technique manifested as seven simultaneous attacks, each trailing ghostly blue energy as Grim unleashed his fury on the fallen chest. The sound of the impacts echoed throughout the vault like thunder, but when the mist cleared, the chest remained intact. Not scratched or even dented.

Its contents had spilled across the stone floor, however, scattered by the violence of his attack.

Grim stood panting, Echo still gripped in his hand, the initial explosion of rage giving way to a colder, more focused anger.

[I know how to fix this,] the voice finally said, breaking its silence.

"Fix what?" Grim snarled. "Fix this fucking joke?"

[I know what you need to do. But it will cost you.]

Grim lowered Echo slowly, his knuckles white around the hilt. "What’s the cost?"

[You’ll have to throw the tournament.]

"What...?" The request was so unexpected that it momentarily cut through Grim’s anger.

[The information I can give you is more valuable than anything the Empress can offer for winning. It’s better that you don’t make an enemy out of everyone. Trust me.]

Grim laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Trust you? How can I trust someone who can’t even give me their name?"