Reinhard was still gazing at the system window. His eyes were focused, but not tense. The lines of the profile seemed etched into his memory—every number, every line—everything mattered. He pondered the difference between talent and potential, how blind people could be when judging others by appearances. He knew that most mages and knights in the Empire could not even fathom such depth. He knew that only a rare few would understand how vital it was to sense how much one could contain—not just how much one could release.
At that moment, the silence of his thoughts was suddenly and violently shattered—the door burst open with a crash, and one of the maids entered the room with a tray of food, not realizing he had already awakened. The girl was young, fair-haired, with a blush on her cheeks, but the moment her gaze met Reinhard's cold, yet living eyes, her hands trembled, the tray fell with a dull clang, silver scattered across the floor, and the food—neat slices of roasted meat and bread—tumbled down. She gasped in fright:
— Y... Young Master Reinhard is awake!!
Without waiting for a reply, the maid fled the room, slamming the door behind her. Reinhard raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly.
— Why is she shouting?.. — he muttered under his breath, smirking.
The sound of movement nearby made him shift his gaze. Lenny still lay on his chest like a kitten curled in its master's arms. And beside them, on the edge of the bed, sat Renny, blinking sleepily and stretching. The boy froze in place, staring into his brother's face, and then, as if not believing what he saw, he whispered:
— B... brother?
— Broooother!! — they both cried out, and in the next instant, they threw themselves at him, hugging him with such force it was as if they wanted to make sure he wouldn't vanish again. Lenny clung to his chest, while Renny, despite all his efforts, couldn't hold back his tears. Hot, real drops streamed down his cheeks, soaked in fear for his brother... and relief.
Reinhard didn't push them away. Not because he felt pleased—no, it was simply that in their embrace, he saw value. They were tools, future powerful pieces in the grand game of his imperial schemes. And strangely enough, in their pure, selfless affection, there was a sliver of sincerity even he—the villain—could not entirely ignore.
But peace was short-lived. First the door swung open again—servants entered, then knights, and after them—nobles, relatives. A multitude of faces: some relieved, some anxious, some with insincere smiles on their lips. And then finally appeared the father, as majestic as ever, with a straight back and stern gaze. Behind him came Uncle Liam, grim and laconic.
The father stepped forward and said in a commanding yet calm tone:
— Enough... step away from your brother. He's only just awakened. He needs rest.
Liam crossed his arms and nodded:
— Yes, your brother sustained serious wounds. This is no time for celebration.
The father came closer, letting his gaze drift over his son—not with simple concern, but with assessment, as if trying to determine whether this young man could truly carry their house forward.
— However, — he said thoughtfully, — even though you defeated a sixth-rank knight... you look far too healthy.
Reinhard, his expression unchanged, replied:
— I'm glad you're all concerned for me. But I am, in truth, fine. If you don't mind... I would like to rest. Much has happened.
He looked his father directly in the eyes, not averting his gaze for even a second. The silence dragged on, but eventually, one by one, everyone began to leave the room. Only when the last footsteps faded down the corridor did Reinhard speak:
— Respected uncle, might I ask you to stay?
Liam stopped, turned, and with a faint glimmer of interest in his eyes, answered:
— Of course.
When the door finally closed and only the two of them remained in the room, Reinhard exhaled. His hand rose, and he spoke clearly, calmly, with knowledge and power not born of this world:
— O great wind... erase all sounds that dwell here... and grant me silence.
A soft silvery light enveloped his palm, and like the rustling of leaves in the wind, silence thickened in the air. Waves of mana, barely perceptible, wove into a sphere that sealed the room from all prying ears.
Liam recognized the spell instantly. His eyes narrowed. Though he was a knight, he knew enough about magic. This was 8th-rank wind magic, a rather complex spell requiring the subtlest control over wind and mana. Even many seventh-rank mages could not perform it without preparation. And now, his nephew—the boy he had deemed merely "talented"—was using it with ease... and full awareness.
A shadow of unease flickered in his eyes.
— Hm... — Liam muttered softly, — you truly have changed.
Reinhard turned to him slowly, his eyes devoid of fear or gratitude. Only calculation remained.
— We need to talk, uncle... without witnesses.
And in that room, cloaked in silence, the two men of House Deira—one with a sword, the other with a thirst for power—were finally left alone. And between them, in the still air, hung something heavy.