"Ohh, you shouldn't have asked that."
Leon's chuckle was a low, scraping sound that seemed to pull the warmth right out of the air. The smirk on his face didn't reach his eyes; instead, his gaze grew incredibly distant, locking onto Claymond with a cold, piercing intensity. The entire ridge remained frozen under the suffocating weight of his presence, the ambient roars of the surrounding battlefield fading into a dull, white noise.
For Leon, the sound of the wind scraping against the ancient stone ruins didn't belong to the present. It dragged him backward, decades into the past, to a towering, pristine palace of white marble and gold—a place where his existence had begun as nothing more than an afterthought.
"Catch me, Leon! You have to be faster than that if you want to protect your queen!"
The laughter was bright, echoing through the sunlit, lavender-scented courtyard of the secondary estate. A woman with flowing black hair and a radiant smile darted between the marble pillars, her silk dress fluttering behind her as she playfully taunted her son.
A small boy, barely five or six years old, sprinted after her with chubby legs, his face flushed red with pure, innocent joy. "I've got you, Mother! I'm the fastest knight in the kingdom!" little Leon cried out, throwing his arms around her waist as she purposefully slowed down to let him catch her.
She knelt down, wrapping her warm arms around him, pulling him close to her chest. "Yes, you are. My brave little knight," she murmured, kissing his forehead.
But the playful moment was abruptly cut short. From the main courtyard gates far below their tower, the heavy, synchronized thud of marching boots and rolling carriages echoed.
Leon blinked, his large, dark eyes shifting away from his mother. Drawn by the noise, he pulled out of her embrace and ran toward the edge of the stone balcony, peering over the high railing that overlooked the path to the main imperial palace.
Down below, a massive, grand procession was entering the grounds. At the front walked a young man with brilliant, golden blonde hair that caught the afternoon sun like a crown. His posture was perfectly rigid, oozing an aura of absolute, untouchable authority. Beside him, walking with a strange, unnerving precision, was a tall, impeccably dressed man with the head of a white rabbit.
Leon's breath caught in his throat. He gasped, his small hands gripping the cold stone railing tightly, his cheeks flushing a bright, excited red. He had never seen anyone look so powerful, so utterly magnificent.
"Mother! Look!" Leon pointed eagerly, his voice trembling with childhood awe. "Who is that? He looks like a true king!"
His mother walked up behind him, but as her eyes fell upon the golden-haired youth, the warmth completely drained from her face. Her hands trembled as she gently placed them on Leon's shoulders, her voice turning heavy, laced with a complex grief.
"That... is Lysander," she whispered softly, her eyes tracking the blonde figure. "That is your older brother, Leon."
"My... brother?" Leon's eyes went wide, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was gasping, incredibly excited to meet him, his mind racing with a hundred questions. But the procession moved quickly, vanishing beneath the grand arches of the main palace. He didn't get the chance to step forward.
From that single moment, a fierce, burning desire ignited within his small chest. His entire world revolved around a singular goal: he wanted to be exactly like his big brother.
But Lysander was a distant figure. He only ever came to the secondary house three times a month, and every single time, he was accompanied by that strange, silent rabbit-headed man.
Desperate to close the gap between them, a young Leon began to mimic everything he associated with greatness. He noticed the older men in the main courtyard drank dark, bitter wine during strategy meetings, so Leon secretly sneaked into the estate cellars, forcing himself to gulp down the burning liquid at a remarkably young age. He even got completely drunk once, laying sick and dizzy on the floor for a whole day, stubbornly thinking it was a necessary rite of passage to become a true lord.
As the weeks passed, his obsession grew wilder. One afternoon, his mother walked into his bedchamber, carrying a tray of fruit. "Leon, sweetie, I brought you some—"
She froze, the tray slipping from her hands and clattering violently against the floor.
Sitting in the dim corner of the room, a pair of sharp shears lay at Leon's feet alongside thick, severed clumps of his own hair. Leon was holding a crude, dripping brush, frantically painting his remaining black hair with a cheap, blonde dye he had stolen from the servants' storage. The dye was messy, running down his forehead and staining his skin, but he looked up at her with wide, manic eyes.
"What are you doing?!" his mother screamed, throwing herself onto her knees and ripping the brush from his hands, her heart breaking into a million pieces. "Your long black hair... I loved it so much! Why would you do this to yourself, Leon?!"
"I want to look like him, Mother!" Leon cried out, tears mixing with the blonde paint on his face. "If I look like him, Maybe he will accept me!"
A few days later, hearing that Lysander had arrived at the estate, a young Leon broke free from his room and sprinted down the grand corridor, desperate to finally introduce himself. But before he could even reach the main hall, his mother intercepted him, grabbing his arm tightly and pulling him into an alcove.
"No, Leon, stop!" she pleaded, her face pale with fear as she held him back. "You mustn't go out there. He does not want to see us. Please, stay in the house where it is safe!" Leon struggled against her grip, his red, painted hair serving as a painful reminder of a bridge he couldn't cross.
The turning point came when Leon was thirteen years old.
His mother lay on her deathbed, her breath rattling painfully in her chest as an uncurable magical illness withered her away. Leon knelt by her side, clutching her cold, frail hand, weeping bitterly.
The heavy oak doors clicked open. Lysander stepped into the dim room, his golden hair gleaming, his expression entirely blank. Jeeves stood silently behind him like a shadow.
Leon looked up, a desperate glint of hope in his eyes. "Brother... please. Help her!"
Lysander walked to the edge of the bed, looking down at the dying woman. He didn't show a single flicker of sadness. Instead, he raised his chin, delivering a cold, structured speech. "She served our father adequately in the past, and after his passing, we kept her sheltered within these walls. But look at her. She won't make it. A true lord does not waste resources on a broken tool. We will give her an easy death. She will be freed from her suffering."
"No! Stop!" Leon screamed, lunging forward.
But Jeeves was faster, with a shot forward instantly from his fingertips, piercing her chest. The rattling breath stopped. Her eyes went completely glassy.
Leon stood frozen, his mind fracturing into a million pieces. Absolute horror and devastation suffocated him. He stared at his mother's lifeless body, then spun around to confront the monster. He threw himself forward, crying out, "What did you do to her?! What did you do to Mother?!"
Desperate for any shred of humanity, Leon collapsed to his knees, reaching out to tightly hug Lysander's legs, sobbing uncontrollably into his fine robes. "Why... why did you do that?! Brother, please!"
Lysander didn't even look down at the boy clinging to his knees. He merely tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes filled with a deep, crushing detachment as he asked the silent rabbit butler, "Who is this child?"
Before Jeeves could answer, Lysander turned away, his voice dripping with cold pragmatism. "Well, we will keep her child alive. Who knows... maybe he will become a good dog for our Calhound family."
Leon gritted his teeth so hard they nearly cracked, the humiliation burning straight into his soul. On that very day, at thirteen years old, he vowed absolute, unyielding revenge on Lysander for killing his mother.
Years passed, and the burning hatred consumed him. Leon spent his nights in the estate's restricted library, frantically scrambling through ancient books. He wasn't even reading them properly, his mind too chaotic and self-absorbed to focus. He violently slammed a book shut, tossing it over his shoulder.
"This library is complete trash!" Leon spat, his overly selfish nature flaring up as he looked around the room in disgust. Nothing was fast enough. Nothing gave him the immediate power he deserved.
He reached for a bottle of expensive wine, swigging it directly from the neck before slamming it onto the desk. "That bastard... if it wasn't for him, I... I would have become the head of the Calhounds! Everything should belong to me!"
The heavy silence of the library was suddenly broken by the soft, rhythmic click of boots on the marble floor.
"You know, the archivists always complain about the dust in this wing," a smooth, chillingly familiar voice remarked.
Leon snapped his head up, his heart violently hammering against his ribs. Lysander was casually walking down the aisle of bookshelves, his brilliant golden hair gleaming under the faint candlelight. He looked completely at ease, as if he were simply taking a stroll through a garden. Jeeves stood a few paces behind him, his rabbit head tilted in silent observation.
Lysander stopped at the edge of the desk, idly running a gloved finger along the spine of a massive, leather-bound tome. "I used to come down here when I was younger. The history section is particularly thorough, though I always found the binding on these older volumes to be rather fragile." He turned his cold, golden eyes directly onto Leon, noting the chaotic mess of restricted texts spread across the table. "Are you finding what you're looking for, little brother? You seem to be working exceptionally hard lately."
Leon sat paralyzed, his hands trembling beneath the desk. He couldn't speak. The sheer pressure radiating from a Lord was suffocating.
Lysander let out a short, hollow sigh, the casual warmth completely vanishing from his face. His expression went entirely blank as he leaned in slightly.
"Traitors are never forgiven," Lysander said quietly, before turning on his heel and leaving the room as silently as he had arrived.
Leon scoffed loudly at the threat, his eyes burning with malice as he stared at the empty doorway. "Once I become the head... you will be the one kneeling before me, Lysander!"
In his anger, Leon violently swept his arm across the desk, knocking a heavy, dusty book onto the floor. He didn't even try to pick it up, turning to leave. But as his foot carelessly brushed against the fallen text, he noticed a yellowed, torn note hanging out from between the damaged pages.
Curiosity overcoming his anger, Leon pulled the note out. His eyes widened as he recognized the handwriting of the late Lord, his father. He read the contents aloud in the dim light:
*"I have spent my entire life searching for this. And I don't know if I will be able to claim it, but you, my son, Lysander, must find it. Seize its power and rule this continent. Find the labyrinth. And conquer it."*
Leon read the note and scoffed in deep disgust, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Such love for your eldest... but you didn't even leave a single dime for me. Pathetic old man."
"My, my. Why is the young master badmouthing the late Lord like that?"
Leon flinched, spinning around in pure shock. Jeeves was standing right behind him, his rabbit head tilted with a sinister, mocking curiosity.
"None of your business!" Leon snapped, quickly trying to hide the note. "Shouldn't you be following my brother like a dog's tail? Get going now, or you will lose him!"
Jeeves just smiled, his long ears twitching. "Don't try to fool me, my Lord. My ears aren't just this long for show. I heard everything." The butler leaned in, his tone dropping into a dangerous purr. "Now... you wouldn't want this little secret to be revealed to Lord Lysander now, would you?"
Leon's posture went rigid, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. He was completely sketched out; Jeeves held the power to ruin his entire plan right here and now.
But Jeeves merely chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Too bad for him. I'm not obligated to follow any of this out... if you take me with you."
Leon blinked, caught completely off guard. "What...?"
"I am but a humble servant of the Calhoun family, young master, bound by a slave contract myself." Jeeves explained, showing Leon a bracelet aroind his hand, a large ruby like stone attached to it, bowing deeply, though his voice carried a thick, unmistakable layer of sarcasm. "And a humble servant will follow his master to the very end of the continent."
Leon stared at the rabbit-headed butler, entirely unconvinced by his sudden loyalty. But he knew he was backed into a corner. He had no choice but to gamble.
Turning back to the parchment, Leon read the rest of the note, which detailed the exact geographical markers pointing to a set of ancient, uncharted ruins far out in the fringes of the world. A dark, ambitious smirk slowly spread across Leon's face.
"Okay, bunny," Leon said, his voice hardening into the tone of a true tyrant. "This is the plan. We go in, we conquer the labyrinth, and we get the Calhoun crown."
Jeeves bowed again, his devious smile widening in absolute agreement.
"He's a bastard," Leon muttered to himself, his grip tightening on the map as his eyes flared with unyielding greed. "This is a very risky mission, but I am more than willing to put my life on the line to get what I want. Get ready, Jeeves. I will eat everything that belongs to that bastard."
The memories faded away, snapping Leon right back to the present battlefield.
Leon looked at Claymond, his eyes fully refocusing as his dark aura suddenly exploded outward, cracking the stone ridge beneath his boots in a spectacular display of absolute dominance.
But my Lord," Jeeves interjected smoothly, tilting his rabbit head as his long ears twitched slightly. "Don't you think there is something missing from your grand plan?"
Leon snapped his head up, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "I don't need any advice from a slave," he spat coldly, before pausing as he stared at the butler's unbothered expression. He gritted his teeth. "What do you mean?"
Jeeves merely offered another polite, mocking bow. "Would you be so kind as to follow me for a second?"
Turning on his heel, the rabbit butler led Leon deep into the hidden, lower recesses of the restricted archives. He pressed a concealed lever against the stone wall, causing a heavy masonry slab to grind open with a low groan.
They stepped into a vast, ancient secret chamber. Old cobwebs hung like thick curtains from the ceiling, draping over colossal stacks upon stacks of decaying old paper and piles of forgotten gold that lined the massive room. Leon looked around in awe, but Jeeves didn't stop until he reached the very center of the space.
Leon looked forward. There was nothing out here in the center but a massive, open floor anchored by a single, colossal stone pillar supporting the weight of the entire castle above them.
Jeeves suddenly opened his arms wide, his eyes gleaming with a manic, unhinged ambition as he exclaimed, "This! This is the strength of a lord! The true seed of power... a territory core!"
The memories faded away, snapping Leon right back to the present battlefield.
Leon looked at Claymond, his eyes fully refocusing as his dark aura suddenly exploded outward, cracking the stone ridge beneath his boots in a spectacular display of absolute dominance.
"Finally..." Leon murmured, his voice echoing across the clearing like a death knell as he raised his hand toward the sky. "It's time... to show the might of a true lord!"
To be continued...