Surviving the Magic Academy With Just Intelligence Stats-Chapter 47: How Much?

A/N - Lets give Adelaide some screen time.

The afternoon sun filtered through the study’s tall windows, casting long shadows across the ornate furniture within. Three days had passed since the infamous dungeon test at Crono Academy, and now Maximilian Brightwell found himself facing an unexpected confrontation in his own sanctuary.

"What did you just say?" Maximilian’s palm struck his mahogany desk with enough force to rattle the expensive tea service, his face contorted with a mixture of shock and anger as he stared up at his daughter.

Adelaide sat across from him, the picture of composure as she delicately raised her teacup. "I said I’ll be renaming my company to ’RAT Co.’ and separating from the Golden Compass Trading Company, effective immediately." She took a measured sip, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to her father’s agitation.

Studying her father’s angry expression, Adelaide understood his reaction perfectly. Maximilian had always despised noble sycophants, having built his commercial empire from nothing but street smarts and determination. Rumors even suggested he’d rejected a noble title, wanting nothing to do with their world of privilege and pretense. Now here sat his daughter – the one child he’d thought shared his values – announcing her allegiance to the very class he despised.

"How much?" Maximilian’s voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"Huh?" Adelaide’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"I mean how much – how much did they offer you?" The words came through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that..." A small smile played across her lips. "Nothing. It was my choice."

Maximilian recoiled as if struck. He knew his daughter – or at least, he’d thought he did. Adelaide was supposed to be like him: calculating, practical, driven by results and profit margins. When he’d first heard whispers of her pledging herself to some noble, he’d assumed there must have been substantial compensation involved. But nothing? By choice?

A horrifying thought struck him. Could his practical, business-minded daughter have fallen victim to some nobleman’s empty promises? Had she bought into those ridiculous fairy tales about love crossing class boundaries?

"Who is it?" The question came out strained, dreading the answer.

"Ambrose Rothschild."

The name hit Maximilian like a physical blow. His mind scrambled desperately, searching for any other Rothschild family in the kingdom, any possibility that this wasn’t what he feared. His hands trembled as he tried to speak, but Adelaide cut him off.

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"Yes, it’s that same Rothschild."

Maximilian collapsed back into his chair, wondering what sins from a past life had earned him this karma. Through his extensive network of connections, he knew about the recent battle at the academy – how the infamous Mad Star had single-handedly defeated the heads of the ten great noble houses, ready to end the world itself over her missing son. And now his daughter had somehow entangled herself with this very same child? Years of careful business building would crumble to dust if the Rothschilds took it as his daughter seducing their heir.

Seeing the panic in her father’s eyes, Adelaide quickly waved her hand. "It’s not what you think," she said, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I’m just a subordinate. I simply swore loyalty to Ambrose." She turned her head slightly, her voice dropping to barely a whisper, "In exchange for protection."

"Protection from what?" Maximilian’s question hung heavy in the air.

Instead of answering, Adelaide rose from her seat. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. You can tell your sons that I’m not interested in the inheritance anymore. They can kill each other for it for all I care. I’ll get going now." She strode from the room before he could respond, leaving only the echo of her footsteps and the weight of her words behind.

Maximilian remained motionless in his chair, the implications of her words sinking in like poison. His mind drifted back to his own youth, back then, he had no siblings to compete with for inheritance – not that there had been anything to inherit. He’d sworn then that his own children would never know such poverty, that they would enjoy the wealth he’d create.

But somewhere along the way, he’d lost sight of what truly mattered. While he’d provided money in abundance, he’d never truly been there for his children. His pursuit of ever-greater wealth had consumed him, leaving his family to fend for themselves. He’d dismissed the tensions between his children as normal sibling rivalry, refusing to see the darker currents beneath the surface.

Now, hearing Adelaide speak of needing protection – from her own brothers, no less – Maximilian felt the full weight of his failures crash down upon him. When had it all gone so wrong? When had his dream of providing for his family twisted into this nightmare of greed and betrayal?

He reached for the crystal decanter on his desk, pouring himself a generous measure of amber liquid as the afternoon sun continued its relentless march across the sky, casting longer and darker shadows with each passing moment.

…

In a vast, opulent hall adorned with gilded decorations and expensive artwork, Sebastian Brightwell lounged on what could only be described as a makeshift throne - an ornate chair that spoke more of pretension than true nobility. The eldest son of Maximilian Brightwell sat there, bare chested with only shorts on, a crystal wine glass dangling carelessly from his fingers as attendants catered to his every whim.

Women surrounded him, some massaging his shoulders while others offered carefully peeled fruits. Scattered across the marble floor lay more women, their vacant expressions and unnatural movements suggesting they’d been drugged or enchanted. The scene resembled a twisted parody of noble luxury, revealing Sebastian’s desperate attempts to mimic the lifestyle he coveted.

A satisfied smirk played across his features as he accepted a grape, his thoughts turning to his perceived status. What nobles? Who needs a title when they’re practically begging to give their daughters to me? Once I become the heir...

His expression suddenly soured, pleasure giving way to rage as his mind turned to recent events. That sister of his, Adelaide, had somehow slipped through his carefully laid trap. Reports indicated she’d been seen disembarking from a Rothschild carriage, of all things. Somehow, she’d discovered his ambush and managed to secure protection from the kingdom’s most powerful family.

Fury overtook him, and the wine glass shattered in his grip. Red liquid dripped down his hand like blood, matching the dangerous gleam in his eyes. Not only had his sister escaped making him lose the money he’d used to pay the assassins, but now the assassins’ guild was demanding additional compensation for their failed operation. The whole scheme had backfired spectacularly, costing him both money and face.

Sebastian’s rage quickly transformed into something more sinister as he gazed at one of the incapacitated women on the floor. He pressed his foot against her shoulder, commanding her to clean the spilled wine. The woman moved with unnatural sluggishness, her actions mechanical and void of will.

As he watched her degradation with cruel amusement, his thoughts turned back to Adelaide. Always acting so superior, father’s precious daughter. Just you wait, when I capture you, you’ll be the one kneeling here. His laughter echoed through the hall, a sound devoid of any real mirth, reflecting only the darkness in his soul.