The Day of Triumph
While the capital's streets thrummed with jubilation, the earl's mansion lay cloaked in silence. No feasts, no revelry—not even a modest toast.
Departing the docks, Earl Raymond left his deputy to oversee the planned parade of a thousand fleet soldiers, hastening home instead, declining all visitors with a lofty excuse: a war-weary commander craved private solace with his neglected wife. Though it dashed the hopes of sycophants eager to curry favor with the empire's new hero, the pretext won universal assent.
Within the mansion's opulent halls, that hero now faced his son, eyes heavy with depth, melancholy, and complexity. Were it not for his unshakable faith in his wife's fidelity, his first thought upon seeing the boy would've been: Is this truly my seed?
The child bore little of his likeness. Rolin men were famed for their towering, rugged valor—broad chests, stout arms, square jaws, straight noses, the epitome of martial vigor. Raymond himself embodied this: a commanding figure, striking among the nobility, a paragon in his youth. Yet this waif before him—pale, frail, a shadow at three—was a stark betrayal of that legacy. A recent illness might explain his weakness, but for a clan renowned for birthing warriors, he was an anomaly.
Du Wei Rolin, the future earl at three, met his father's gaze with indifference. No robust wails like his peers, a lapse Raymond found irksome. Tradition held that a lusty cry bespoke vigor, yet this boy sat mute on his bed, hands on knees, staring—curious, perhaps appraising. The earl dismissed it as a trick of the mind. A three-year-old's eyes couldn't hold such depths.
While the earl stewed, Du Wei's own tumult churned deeper. The countess's tender acts a month prior had thawed his icy heart, but this "father" bursting onto the scene? Hmph, where'd he spring from?
"Does he… still not speak?" Raymond's tone was stern, softening only at his wife's tear-brimmed eyes. Three years at sea, absent when she'd needed him most, left him no room to fault her for their son's state. "Very well, my dear," he relented, "if he won't talk, we'll summon the empire's finest scholars. He'll speak in time. But this frailty—our Rolin name stands on martial glory. My heir must follow my path, a general of the empire. Such weakness won't do. He's three; it's time for a tutor. A few years' training will toughen him. What of Alpha? My loyal guard captain, skilled and steadfast—next month, he can start the boy on basic drills."
Tears welled in the countess's eyes at the thought of her fragile son training so young. "But… he's still so small."
"Precisely why we must begin!" Raymond's voice hardened, a soldier's resolve. "His frailty demands it. How else will he bear our martial honor?" With a wave, the decision was sealed.
The next day, he knelt before the emperor, receiving a third First-Class Valor Medal amid the victory ceremony. Augustine VI proclaimed him Deputy Commander of the Imperial High Command, second only to the military's apex. After a private word with His Majesty, Raymond relinquished his naval rank, ceding command. Shunning colleagues' congratulations and temple priests' invitations, he sped home.
The capital whispered of the earl's idiot son, a poorly kept secret. Even at the ceremony, his veiled melancholy stirred sympathy from allies and quiet glee from foes.
At home, he faced his son again, this time without the countess. Beside him stood Alpha, his guard captain of twenty years—a first-class swordsman, master of the "Flowing Flame Sword," among the capital's elite. Raymond couldn't pinpoint why this boy irked him. Those eyes—beyond mere blankness, hinting at rejection—unsettled him. A three-year-old, understanding nothing, he chided himself. I've been away since his birth, never held him. His distance is natural.
Alpha knelt before Du Wei's bed in formal salute, then lifted the boy, stripping his clothes to knead his frame with precision. Du Wei squirmed, uneasy under a man's touch, but Alpha's strength brooked no resistance.
"Whew…" Alpha's face grew grave. He sighed, set the heir down, saluted Raymond, and rose. "My lord, I…"
"Speak freely, Alpha. You're my most trusted man," Raymond urged, exhaling.
"Young Master Du Wei is frail, with… congenital flaws. His bones are delicate, his heartbeat erratic—worse than an average child's. Martial training…" Alpha gritted his teeth. "I fear he'll achieve little."
"And your counsel?"
"I'd suggest seeking talents elsewhere. The blade may not be his path."
Raymond's face darkened.