As Jake ascended the grand staircase, he couldn’t shake an unsettling sensation, like a pair of eyes lingering on him from the shadows. He paused, turning his head slightly, but the corridor behind him was empty. The feeling wasn’t threatening—it felt almost protective. Shaking it off, he muttered, “I’ve got enough to deal with without phantom cheerleaders.” He continued upward.

  The staircase led to the Cadaverous Banquet Hall, a room so ostentatious it made even Jake’s usual indifference falter. The Sheth-marble dining table gleamed under the light of crystalline chandeliers, its surface laden with an extravagant feast. Black-Ivory chairs lined the table, their Dorisca Bull leather cushions promising unparalleled comfort.

  “Bet this place could give the Main Hall’s dining room a run for its money,” Jake mused aloud, running a hand along one of the chairs. A faint smile touched his lips as he added, "It’s funny—so much grandeur, yet I’m still the outsider here." A faint smile touched his lips. “Maybe I’ll treat myself to a meal here someday… once this madness is over.”

  He moved on, ascending another flight of stairs to the Bibliotheca Draconis Eburne. Rows upon rows of ancient tomes filled the grand library, their spines glinting with gold lettering. Jake’s expression hardened. This library, though vast, paled in comparison to the Main Family’s Bibliotheca Draconis Abyss—a collection he was forbidden to touch.

  “Noble education, my ass,” Jake muttered under his breath, the words laced with quiet bitterness. He’d spent years watching knowledge hoarded behind locked doors.

  Finally, he reached the topmost floor, where a dark-purple door loomed at the end of a corridor. The plaque above it read:

  “White Illusionary Way”

  “A reminder that not everything that shines is worth chasing,” Jake murmured. He pushed the door open and stepped into the Grand Hall.

  Inside, Jackson Mercer de Vermont, the eldest and heir presumptive, sat in a black Ozx wooden chair at the far end of the room. His posture was regal, his presence imposing. Around the Gonfer-wood table, the other siblings had already gathered.

  “Welcome, Brother,” Jackson greeted, his calm voice carrying a hint of condescension.

  Jake stepped forward, his boots echoing on the polished floor. Jane Savina de Vermont, the second-born, smirked as she twirled a pair of knives in her hands. Luxure, the Sinful Sword of Lust, glinted ominously.

  “Brother, take a seat,” Jane ordered, her tone as sharp as her weapons. When Jake hesitated, her smirk widened. “I won’t ask again.”

  “Yes, Sister,” Jake replied, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. He moved toward a vacant chair, but before he could sit, Johnathan Cres de Vermont, the fourth-born, barked, “Not there. Sit in the golden chair.”

  “That seat’s for the heir,” Jake countered, eyeing the ornate chair with skepticism.

  “Exactly. And you’re not the heir—yet,” Johnathan snapped, his tone dripping with venom.

  “Sit,” Jade Cres de Vermont, the third-born, added with a shrug. “Or are you afraid of the weight it carries?”

  “Fine.” Jake pulled the golden chair back and sat down. It felt colder than he expected, the chill seeping through his clothes like a quiet reminder of his precarious position. Was it the weight of expectation—or isolation—that made the cold feel almost alive?

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The door creaked open again, and all eyes turned to the newcomer. Jasper Amor de Vermont, the seventh-born, entered with effortless grace. His green hair and golden eyes seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

  “Hello, brothers and sisters,” Jasper greeted, his voice smooth and polite. “I trust I’m not late.”

  “Right on time,” Jade replied, motioning for him to take a seat.

  “Let’s get started,” Jackson announced, his commanding tone silencing the room. “Today’s agenda: the upcoming Tournament of Inheritance.”

  A murmur of agreement swept the table.

  “Who’s participating this year?” Jade asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “I am,” Johnathan declared immediately.

  “Me too,” Jade added. “Janice will as well.” The half-asleep fifth-born raised a hand in weak affirmation.

  “Count me in,” Jane said, grinning. “And Brother Jackson, this will be your last tournament, right?”

  Jackson nodded. “Yes. One final chance to prove my superiority.”

  Jasper’s voice cut through the room. “I’ll participate as well.”

  All eyes turned to Jake.

  “What about you, Brother?” Jasper asked, his tone encouraging but probing.

  Jake straightened. “I’ll participate.”

  The room fell silent for a moment before Jane’s laughter erupted, sharp and grating. “You? Competing? The cursed child? This will be a riot.”

  Jake’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. Inside, the words stung—a familiar echo of every slight he’d endured in the family. But he forced himself to meet her gaze, his voice steady as he replied, “You’ll see soon enough.”

  “Enough, Jane,” Jackson snapped, his authority cutting her off. “If Jake wants to compete, let him. We’ll see his worth on the battlefield.”

  Jake rose from his chair, his expression unreadable. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

  “Rest well, Brother,” Jasper said, his tone genuine.

  Jacob walked towards the gate, turning back one last time.

  “I hope you all rest well too.” as he exits the room.

  As the door closed behind him, he heard Jade sneer, “ ‘Rest well,’ he says. Is he still the timid weakling we remember?”

  “Leave him be, for now, at least. We’ll see who ‘rests well’ tomorrow,” Jackson replied, his tone briefly tinged with anger before he composed himself. The irritation in his voice betrayed a flicker of frustration—perhaps at Jake’s defiance, or at the shifting dynamics that threatened his authority. Yet, as quickly as it emerged, Jackson’s composure returned, the mask of control firmly back in place.

  Back in his quarters, Jake shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. His mind churned with lingering tension, replaying the scornful remarks and sharp gazes he had endured. A faint tremor ran through his hands as he clenched them into fists, willing himself to push past the doubt clawing at his resolve. “One step at a time,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, a fragile mantra to steel his frayed nerves.

  Inside the room, was Remvar, his elderly servant, stirred in a chair by the window.

  “Master Jake? Do you need anything?” Remvar asked, his voice thick with sleep.

  “No, Remvar. Just some time alone,” Jake replied gently.

  “As you wish,” Remvar said, shuffling out of the room. His gait was slow, and his hunched frame seemed to carry the weight of countless years, yet his eyes held a glimmer of quiet loyalty.

  “If you need anything, just shout ‘Remvar,’ and I’ll be right—

  “Yes, I will.”, Jacob responds as he shut the door behind him.

  Thump!

  "—there"

  "I think the Young Master might stressed about tomorrow's tournament."

  "I should make his favorite, Almond Peach Tea. He would love it."

  Remvar trotted, while thinking.

  Meanwhile in Jacob's Room,

  Turning around, he was startled to see a bizarre plaque-like structure floating in the air.

  [Status Screen]

  Name: Jacob Amor de Vermont

  Titles (1) : Cursed Child (Currently Active)

  Rank (Level): C (18)

  HP: 10,000 / 10,000 MP: 0 [???]

  STR: D- (35) AGI: E+ (26) INT: E+ (22)

  Blessings: [???] Rank: [??]  [Pure Mind] Rank: [??]   [??? Art of Absorption] Rank: [SSS+]

  Skills []

  [Status Report]   [Message (3)]    [Help? / Tutorial]

  As he was watching the plaque trying to understand what it was, another plaque appeared.

  [WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU]

  Chapter V will be given very soon