The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master

The door closed behind Vencian as he entered the mansion. Though smaller than Moonfrost Keep of the Vareth estate, the house provided all that was required. Its chambers could accommodate guests, and its halls could host gatherings—adequate for his needs.

The servants had kept it in good order. The floors were polished, the curtains replaced and the air left free of dust. They had worked without their master present but that was their role and they had not failed.

He stopped at the center of the main hall, his boots echoing on the marble floor as he let his gaze drift across the place. "Any issues while I was gone?"

The head maid, Valin, stepped forward. Her hands folded together, her expression hesitant. "Nothing serious, though one incident occurred."

Vencian arched a brow. "And that is?" He already knew, but asking was necessary.

She shifted her stance, her voice catching slightly. "When the old lord was arrested under charges of treason… the public threw stones. The windows were broken. But be assured, my lord, they have already been replaced."

Vencian lifted his eyes to the chandelier above. Its light reflected off crystal edges.

"Were they punished?" His tone flat.

The maid blinked at him. "Pardon?"

"The ones who threw the stones," he repeated, lowering his gaze from the chandelier to her. "Did anyone track them down? Was anyone held responsible?"

Her chin dipped, shoulders stiffening. "No, my lord."

Vencian clicked his tongue. This family's name had been buried before trial had even taken place. His father branded a traitor, half the realm condemning him in public squares. And when the stain had at last been washed away, when he should have been cleared, he had already been assassinated.

Vencian had suffered his share of unfairness in his own life as Luke Marlowe, and now, in this body, he felt a bitter connection to Caesor. Sympathy appeared without being called.

Yet sympathy was not enough. Something about the incident with the stones felt forced. Citizens throwing rocks at a traitor's estate could be explained, yes. But Vicorra's are high noble. Few commoners would risk such boldness alone. This had not been some act of random anger.

"I want their names," Vencian said. His voice was calm, but there was weight in it. "No more than that."

Someone had riled the mob. He was certain of it. Montaro's influence could reach the streets easily, and the timing aligned too cleanly with the protests spreading across the capital and other cities. It had Montaro's mark all over it.

He considered the servants and how quickly the violence might have been directed at them. As their master, it was his responsibility to ensure it did not happen again. He doubted the attackers would ever be discovered, but the investigation alone might unsettle them.

Could've been easy if this world had CCTV's and all …

The head maid bowed. "Understood."

Vencian dismissed her with a small flick of his hand and walked toward his chambers.

The room inside was just as he had left it. The desk stood dusted and the bed was made with fresh sheets. The curtains were drawn back to admit the evening light. Everything stayed orderly and clean.

He shrugged off his coat and laid it across the chair. His valet, Revik, entered silently, setting a case by the desk before waiting. Vencian gave him a nod, and the valet withdrew without a word.

Once alone, Vencian dropped onto the bed, his controlled posture finally breaking the moment he sank into the mattress.

The door shut, and Quenya slipped inside silently. She circled once by the curtains before perching on the desk's corner, one leg crossed over the other. "Tired?"

Vencian lifted his head slightly, meeting her with a dry look. "Nonsense. I've endured far worse days."

Quenya tilted her head, voice carrying that graceful lilt.

"...The journey from Moonfrost to Ralan was long. You hardly stopped before visiting the academy, then meeting your cousin. It's no weakness to admit fatigue. With me, at least… I've seen when you've had worse."

He sighed, unwilling to grant her the satisfaction but unable to deny her either. Travel always drained him and today had been no exception.

Rolling onto his back, he muttered, "Fine... if you insist, let us call it a touch of fatigue."

Her lips curved faintly. "See? Not so impossible to admit."

"Spare me your smugness," he muttered, turning away from her on the bed. But his words have no bite in them.

Quenya only hummed in response. The room fell into silence.

Vencian laid an arm across his face to block the light seeping through the curtains, but kept his eyes open. His mind drifted through the day's moments one at a time. The questions asked, the choices made and the unease waiting at the edges. Tomorrow's plans were already pressing into him.

His training had been interrupted, and he intended to resume it during his stay here. He had already decided on the instructor he wanted. The question was whether that man would agree. Vencian intended to push until he did.

The academy would begin tomorrow. His guard could not lower, not for a moment.

His eyes shut. Thoughts broke into fragments. The last lingered long enough to leave a faint, dry curl at his lips. There is no peace here.

— — —

The next morning, daylight slid in through the window. It was brighter than the day before, yet still pale. He had slept through the night.

Vencian opened his eyes to the thin light. He rose without delay.

The bath had been drawn, steam curling faintly from the surface. He lowered himself in and stayed until the warmth cleared his mind. His movements were brisk as he stepped out within minutes, toweling down before his valet entered to lay out fresh clothes.

Vencian dressed without comment. The coat settled neatly over his shoulders, and he adjusted the cuffs with care.

Quenya drifted in from the corner, studying him. Her smile faint but knowing.

"You look more alive than last night..."

"Alive is enough," he replied, fastening the last button.

He made his way to the side hall, where the table had been set. He had almost missed dinner the night before, and to do the same this morning would invite attention. He would not be surprised if his mother had a pair of eyes hidden in this house, waiting to report on whether he ate or neglected himself. Better not to give them cause.

The bread was warm, the tea still steaming. He ate quickly, then rose once more.

Outside the carriage waited. The driver bowed with reins in hand. Vencian stepped inside and the door closed behind him. The horses moved and the wheels turned, carrying him back toward the academy.

He settled against the seat, gaze fixed on the window as the mansion receded from view.

Let's see how far under the ice I can go.