The Invincible Young Master

A heavy silence settled over the room as Princess Elize's gaze swept over each of her siblings once more.

"But I don't think city-wide bounty will be enough," she continued. "We'll need backup forces from the Emperor Academy."

Her words sparked a low wave of murmurs. The Emperor Academy housed some of the most powerful ascendants, skilled in ways that few could match.

If they could bring in even a few of the Academy's elite members, they'd have a far better chance of rooting out the attackers quickly.

But the Academy's help wasn't easily secured; their power came at a high price, one that would require significant rewards.

"If only the Holy Scion were here," Elize mused, almost to herself. "With his strength, this entire mess would be over in a heartbeat."

The murmurs grew louder, but they were soon interrupted by Alex's voice. "Actually, I know of someone who could reach the Holy Scion."

All eyes turned to Alex, narrowing with a mix of surprise and suspicion. Elize watched him intently, an eyebrow raised.

"And who might that be?" she asked.

Alex shrugged, barely containing a smirk. "I know from an informant that Scion's sister is currently here in the capital."

"Scion's sister!"

The mention of the Holy Scion's sister sent an unspoken tension through the room.

The siblings exchanged glances, each of them suddenly finding other things to focus on, the gilded walls, the grand chandelier, anywhere but each other's eyes. It was as if they all shared a silent agreement to avoid this subject.

Elize, however, didn't flinch. Her expression brightened with a hint of hope.

"Perfect! She might be able to help us get word to him." She looked directly at Alex.

"Unfortunately, I have other pressing matters to handle, so…" She gave him a pointed look. "Why don't you go and speak with her? Maybe she'll listen to you."

Alex waved a dismissive hand, sidestepping quickly. "I'd love to, really, but I'm committed to an important gathering this evening."

Elize's patience was clearly wearing thin, but another sibling piped up hastily, "I'm tied up too, I just started advanced training sessions."

Someone else coughed and mumbled, "I think I'm sick…"

The excuse sounded feeble; given their strength and constitution, illness was almost unheard of among them.

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One by one, they piled on excuses, each more transparent than the last. It became painfully obvious that none of them had any intention of approaching the Scion's sister. The reasons behind their reluctance lingered unspoken.

Finally, Elize's gaze landed on the last sibling standing, the one who hadn't spoken yet, Gilbert.

Her eyes narrowed, and her lips curved into a small smile.

"Gilbert," she said, her tone deceptively light. "You'll take care of this for us."

Gilbert opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a raised hand. "Enough. You've been holed up in the palace too long, Gilbert. Get outside; it'll do you some good."

She turned away, making it clear that her decision was final.

Behind him, he could almost feel his siblings' quiet relief, their eyes flashing with smug satisfaction that they'd escaped the chore.

Trapped with no way out, he gave a slight nod, his voice barely above a whisper. "Very well… I'll go."

The room's tension loosened a little as Elize resumed her commanding stance, detailing the city's defensive plans to the rest of the siblings.

Meanwhile, Gilbert stood to the side with a mixture of frustration and quiet resignation.

He glanced back at his siblings, each wearing mask of concern, but he could sense the hints of mockery beneath their exteriors.

It was typical; they saw him as expendable, the one who could handle the inconvenient tasks.

Leaving the chamber with his head slightly low, Gilbert felt the cold eyes of his siblings boring into his back, their smirks and sneers like invisible daggers.

He kept his expression neutral, forcing his face to remain unreadable as he slipped away through the grand doors and into the palace corridors.

His footsteps echoed in the silence, a steady rhythm that felt oddly soothing amidst his swirling emotions.

But within his mind, a voice slithered up, winding around his thoughts like a dark shadow.

'Are you envious of her success? Don't you wish she were gone?'

Gilbert clenched his jaw, refusing to respond, though a spark of anger flashed in his eyes. He could still feel the weight of his siblings' scorn, the sharpness of their mocking glances etched clearly in his memory.

Each look, each insult they hurled behind closed doors only fueled the fire smoldering inside him.

Soon, he muttered under his breath, voice barely a whisper. 'Once everything falls into place...'

The voice responded with a soft, sinister chuckle, as if savoring his simmering rage. Yet beneath his defiant words, a flicker of doubt crept into his thoughts.

Gilbert's steps slowed, and he glanced around the empty corridor, as if afraid his very thoughts could be overheard.

"But... the Emperor's Academy," he murmured, reluctant but cautious. "If Elize truly calls upon them, won't that be a problem for us, master?"

The voice seemed amused, almost dismissive. The Academy will have its hands full. They won't interfere in matters beyond their gates.

Gilbert pressed his lips into a tight line, letting the words sink in. He wanted to believe them, but another thought lingered, pushing him to ask a question he'd been dreading. "And... the Holy Scion?"

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation from the voice, as though it were choosing its words carefully.

Then it replied, its tone filled with scorn. The Holy Scion may be powerful, but he's still human. Even if he is powerful as rumoured he could only be at the Ethereal Manifestation Stage, he's bound by mortal limits. When the time comes, even he will fall like the rest.

A faint smile tugged at Gilbert's lips. The words soothed the turbulent emotions inside him, letting a sense of calm spread through his chest.

Yes, he thought, in the end, they were all just mortals, nothing more. No amount of talent or power could truly shield them from what was coming.

Let them laugh now, he thought to himself, the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

Soon enough, they'll see who truly holds the power.

.

.

.

Standing before the grand entrance of the Imperial State Bank, Zarak squinted up at the polished plaque above the doors, the golden letters catching and reflecting the light.

Beside him, the old man shuffled awkwardly, his worn and dusty robes a sharp contrast to the wealth surrounding them.

Dressed in rich fabrics and adorned with fine jewelry, other patrons breezed in and out of the bank, casting curious, sometimes disapproving, glances at the old man.

Zarak noticed their looks but merely straightened his posture, unfazed, ready to step forward.

The old man scratched his head, glancing around skeptically.

"So, are you sure your master keeps an account here?" he asked.

Zarak gave a firm nod. "Yes. I'm sure of it."

With that, they moved toward the entrance, only to be stopped by a guard at the doorway.

The guard, tall and stern, gave them a once-over, his eyes lingering suspiciously on their modest appearance.

"What's your business here?" he asked, his tone both direct and cold. It was clear not everyone received this level of scrutiny.

"We're here for a withdrawal," Zarak replied.

The guard's eyes narrowed, and he extended his hand, silently demanding proof.

With a slight sigh, Zarak reached into his robe and pulled out an old, plain wooden slate, holding it out for inspection. It looked simple, almost unimpressive, but it bore a unique symbol, a mark known only to the bank's elite clients.

The guard's eyes shifted, his expression changing from suspicion to quiet recognition. With a respectful nod, he stepped aside, allowing them to pass.

Inside, the bank was even more magnificent. Tall, fancy columns lined the walls, reaching up to an intricately carved ceiling.

Gleaming marble counters stretched across the room, where finely dressed attendants worked with wealthy patrons, their voices blending in a low hum of laughter and polite conversation.

An assistant quickly approached them, his manner surprisingly courteous, contrast to the guard outside.

After a brief nod, he guided them to an open counter and introduced them to the teller with a warm smile.

The teller, a man with silver-framed glasses, gave Zarak an appraising look as he took the wooden slate.

Adjusting his glasses, he studied the mark on it, his gaze flicking back to Zarak. "This account… it's rather old, isn't it?"

Zarak inclined his head respectfully. "Yes. It belongs to my master."

The teller gave a short nod, curiosity flashing in his eyes. "Would you like to verify the balance first?"

"Yes, please," Zarak replied, then the teller pulled out a thick, dusty ledger from behind the counter and flipped it open.

With careful fingers, he turned page after pages.

According to his master's words, this account had been opened nearly two hundred years ago.

His master had spoken of it as a reliable source of support for Zarak's travels through the mortal world, describing it as ample enough to sustain him for years.

After a moment, the teller paused, his face showing a flicker of surprise. He glanced up, his tone hesitant. "Well…"

Zarak's brow creased slightly. "Is there a problem?"

The teller shook his head, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. "No… it's just that the balance is..."

"What about it?" Zarak asked.

"It holds only 100 silver coins and a few bronze ones."