SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 352: Cold Return

Three weeks had passed.

Not enough time for anything to truly settle, but more than enough for patterns to stop feeling coincidental. Trafalgar leaned back in his chair, boots resting on the edge of the desk as the flying ship cut through the frozen air. Outside the window, the world had turned white. Endless snowfields stretched beneath them, broken by mountain ranges that rose higher than Thousand Steps ever had, jagged and oppressive, like the spine of something ancient pushing through the surface of the world.

His seventeenth birthday was close now. Too close to pretend it wasn’t approaching, even if no one had mentioned it yet.

The war hadn’t slowed.

If anything, it had grown louder.

Reports arrived steadily. Routes taken. Territories contested. Clashes logged and archived with clinical precision. The Sylvanel were doing exactly what everyone expected of them. Pressure applied with discipline. Clean advances. No wasted movements. Elven warfare, efficient and relentless, like a tightening vice.

The Thal’zar, however, told a different story.

Trafalgar’s gaze narrowed slightly as he replayed the information in his head, stacking movements and decisions the way he’d learned to do over time. Instead of consolidating, they were spreading out. Dividing their forces across multiple regions. Border territories. Minor holdings. Places that, strategically, mattered very little in the long run.

On paper, it looked like panic.

In reality, it felt wrong.

’This isn’t how a Great Family collapses,’ he thought.

The Thal’zar had survived centuries of wars, alliances, betrayals. They didn’t flail when pressured. They didn’t defend everything at once. Families like that knew when to sacrifice ground and when to strike back.

And yet, they weren’t counterattacking.

They weren’t committing to a decisive clash.

They were retreating in stages, measured and controlled, giving ground just slowly enough to keep the Sylvanel advancing without ever overextending. Like a shoreline receding before a tide that never quite reached deep water.

’They’re letting themselves be pushed,’ Trafalgar realized.

The thought sat poorly with him.

Unbidden, Rhosyn’s words surfaced in his mind, spoken without drama, without warning, as if stating an unpleasant constant rather than a revelation.

They have a Void Creature.

Not the Thal’zar themselves. Trafalgar was certain of that. No Great Family would willingly align with the Void. Void Creatures were despised across every continent. Worse than monsters. Worse than forbidden magic. Each Rift they spawned poisoned land, mana, and fate alike.

Which meant they weren’t allies.

They were tools.

Someone else was using them.

’Icarus,’ Trafalgar thought, the name settling coldly. ’He’s using the war as cover.’

Noise. Movement. Justification. A conflict loud enough to drown out whatever was happening behind closed doors. Troop deployments masking transport routes. Territorial losses keeping every eye fixed on the front lines instead of what was being hidden beneath them.

Experiments.

Preparation.

Time.

Whatever Icarus was doing with that Void Creature, this war wasn’t the objective.

It was the distraction.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the steady hum of the ship grounded him. The pieces were already moving. They had been for weeks. The difference now was that he could see the shape forming beneath the surface.

’It’s misdirection.’ he concluded.

He shifted slightly, boots still propped against the edge of the desk, hands folded behind his head. The glass was cold against his shoulder, a sharp reminder that this wasn’t just a change of scenery. The air felt different here. Thinner. Harsher. Even inside the ship, the cold pressed in, seeping through metal and mana alike.

A return.

Not one he’d chosen.

’So we’re really going back,’ he thought.

Once, this place had barely registered to him. The castle. The family. The constant noise of titles and bloodlines and expectations he had never been allowed to claim. He’d learned early that the easiest way to survive among the Morgain was indifference. Let them talk. Let them sneer. Let them forget he existed unless they needed a target.

And for a long time, that had worked.

He’d ignored them, and they’d done the same in return.

But that version of things no longer existed.

His gaze hardened slightly as the ship continued its steady advance northward, the mountains slowly growing larger in the distance. Too much had changed. His engagement. His influence. Valttair’s attention. The war. His bloodline.

Him.

’They won’t let me be background noise anymore,’ Trafalgar realized.

Not now. Not when every move he made carried weight, whether he wanted it to or not. To the Morgain, strength was never neutral. Power was either claimed, controlled, or crushed before it could become inconvenient.

And he was inconvenient.

The cold outside mirrored something deeper, something coiled and waiting.

What had changed wasn’t subtle.

It wasn’t a single event or decision he could point to and name. It was accumulation. Pressure layered on top of pressure until indifference was no longer possible.

Aubrelle.

The engagement alone had shifted the board. Not because of affection—most of House Morgain couldn’t comprehend something as inconvenient as love—but because of optics. A political bond to another strong Family, sealed publicly, permanently. A crippled fiancée, they whispered. Blind. Weak. An embarrassment. And yet untouchable, because Valttair had allowed it.

Then there was Mayla.

Not a secret. Not anymore. The servants knew. The inner circle knew. A former maid elevated beyond her station, still standing at his side. Another point of quiet outrage, another thing they couldn’t openly challenge without challenging him directly.

And Euclid.

That was the one that truly mattered.

A city. A functioning Gate. Infrastructure. Trade. Authority. Real power, not ceremonial titles or future promises. Only two members of House Morgain possessed a city with a Gate of their own.

Him.

And Lysandra.

No other heir. Not Maeron. Not the younger ones who barked the loudest in halls they didn’t control. Euclid wasn’t symbolic. It was leverage. It meant resources, autonomy, and something far more dangerous in Morgain eyes—independence.

Once, he’d been none of that.

The bastard.

The good-for-nothing.

They’d ignored him because ignoring him was easy. Because he had nothing they wanted.

No future worth contesting. Let him exist in the margins, quiet and harmless, and eventually he’d disappear on his own.

That had been the logic.

It didn’t apply anymore.

Now he was visible.

Now Valttair watched him closely, not with affection, but with interest. Approval, even. The kind that made others uneasy. Favor was a currency in House Morgain, and Trafalgar had begun to accumulate too much of it too quickly.

Power followed him. Influence gathered around him whether he sought it or not. And worse—he didn’t play by their rules.

He didn’t beg. He didn’t posture. He didn’t scramble for approval.

He simply existed, and the world adjusted.

’That’s why they won’t tolerate me anymore,’ Trafalgar thought.

The summons came through official channels.

It coincided with his seventeenth birthday—but Trafalgar knew that wasn’t the reason. Not really. Everyone had been called back. Every heir. Every wife. Every branch that still mattered.

This wasn’t about him turning seventeen.

Trafalgar rubbed at his eyes briefly, then straightened and called out. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"Caelum."

The response came immediately.

"Yes, Young Master."

"Remind me," Trafalgar said, voice tired but steady, "why do I have to go back to the castle?"

Caelum stood straight, hands behind his back.

"Because House Morgain has entered the war," he said. "Officially."

Trafalgar turned his head slightly.

"Already?"

"Yes. The decision has been accepted by the Council of Sages."

Silence lingered for a moment.

"Morgain will align with Sylvanel," Caelum continued. "The Thal’zar will be weakened or eliminated. The details will be discussed once the houses convene."

Trafalgar frowned slightly.

"I thought we would enter only after I was attacked," he said. "When I was with Aubrelle." A pause. "Did Valttair use the other method?"