Ascension of the Forsaken Genius

The night after the banquet was heavy with silence.

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Within the grand estate of House Aldreth, a single candle flickered in one of the upper chambers. The room was vast yet devoid of unnecessary luxuries—a place of function, not comfort.

Seated at the center, Sylas Aldreth flipped through a scroll, his mind far from rest.

The king's words from the banquet echoed in his thoughts.

"A preliminary challenge will be held in one week."

It changed everything.

Not for him—his father had made it clear that he was forbidden from competing.

But for the others…

The Ducal heirs, the Marquises’ sons, the Counts’ prodigies, and even the few wandering cultivators who had gained favor in the capital—they would be thrown into battle sooner than expected.

Sylas's eyes narrowed. One week is not enough to prepare for the unknown.

But he did not need to prepare for the battle.

He needed to prepare for what came after.

A soft knock at his door.

Sylas did not look up. “Enter.”

The door creaked open, and Elias, one of the trusted attendants of House Aldreth, stepped in. His wrinkled features carried an air of quiet authority, despite his role as a mere servant.

“Your father has summoned you,” Elias said, his voice calm. “Now.”

Sylas exhaled slowly, setting down the scroll. He had expected this.

Without a word, he rose and followed Elias through the dimly lit corridors.

The estate was silent, save for the distant sound of guards patrolling outside.

The study was a fortress of books and strategy.

Large tomes lined the walls, their spines worn from use. Maps of the empire and its borders were scattered across a long, oak table. In the center of it all stood Duke Varian Aldreth.

His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as though he had spent the night in deep contemplation.

The moment Sylas stepped inside, his father spoke.

“You will not involve yourself in the upcoming trials.”

A statement. Not a discussion.

Sylas met his father’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “I understand.”

Duke Varian studied him for a moment before turning away. “The Grand Selection is a battlefield of ambition. Even within the noble houses, alliances shift like sand. You do not yet understand what you would be stepping into.”

Sylas did not answer.

Because he did understand.

He had spent years watching. Listening. Memorizing the silent war that played out in every interaction.

But his father did not believe he was ready.

“Your brothers will compete,” Duke Varian continued. “And so will your peers. They will carve their names into history.” He turned, his golden eyes narrowing. "You are not one of them."

A cold statement. One meant to wound.

Sylas remained impassive.

“House Aldreth’s strength lies in its warriors,” his father said. “Not in fragile ambitions. You lack the foundation necessary to stand among them. And if you attempt to enter, you will only humiliate yourself.”

Sylas inclined his head. “I see.”

Duke Varian studied him once more, waiting for a reaction. When he found none, he sighed.

“You may leave.”

Sylas turned without another word and stepped out of the study.

As he walked through the halls of House Aldreth, Sylas allowed himself a small, fleeting smirk.

His father thought he was preventing him from stepping into the game.

What he did not realize was that Sylas had already begun playing.