Ascension Of The Villain

Without sparing a glance at the untouched breakfast on his tray, Vyan stormed out of his quarters right after manifesting some appropriate clothes on himself.

The gnawing worry in his chest left no room for appetite or desire to do his usual morning training. He moved swiftly, each step rushed in a way that sent servants scurrying out of his path.

His destination was clear: House Magnus.

Clyde had been dealing with family issues for a while now and that's why he often visited his home these days, so if anybody knew anything, it should be his father, Lincoln, and stepmother, Clara. And if they didn't, they were going to learn the hard way what it meant to cross Vyan.

The ride to the Magnus estate was too tense, Adam galloping as if he too felt the urgency in Vyan's command. By the time he arrived, the estate's gates were flung open hastily by startled guards who barely had time to salute.

Vyan's fiery eyes, simmering with suppressed anger, made it clear that pleasantries were not on the agenda.

He marched through the front doors without waiting for an escort, his presence alone enough to send the household staff into a flurry of bows and hurried retreats.

Lincoln and Clara were in the sitting room, their expressions freezing when Vyan strode in like a tempest.

"Your Grace," Lincoln began, attempting a polite bow, but Vyan's sharp voice cut through the air before he could continue.

"Where is Clyde?" Vyan demanded, his voice low but laced with fury. "I don't have time for your pleasantries. Tell me what you know—now."

Lincoln hesitated. Clara, seated beside him, wrung her hands nervously but said nothing.

"Nothing to say?" Vyan pressed, his tone rising slightly. "Clyde has been missing since last night, and you—his family—don't even know where he is?"

"Your Grace, we..." Lincoln stammered, but the words died in his throat as Vyan's gaze bore into him.

"You what?" Vyan snarled, taking a step closer. "You can't even confirm if your own son visited this house last night? Are you that incompetent or just that indifferent?"

The silence stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from behind.

"Clyde did come home," a voice drawled, dripping with nonchalance.

Vyan turned sharply to see a young man entering the room with an air of arrogance. Myke Magnus, Clyde's younger brother, strolled in as though the confrontation was of no concern to him. His posture was relaxed, his tone bordering on dismissive, and most notably, he didn't bow.

Vyan's jaw tightened at the sight of him. He hated Myke with a burning passion.

Ever since Lincoln had to vanquish his title as the Count a year ago due to an attempt to poison Vyan, Clyde's younger half-brother, Myke, who was supposed to be heir apparent refused to take on the role, claiming that he was too young. That's why, Clyde used to make some time to look after the important family business issues until now, also because he adored Myke a lot (although it was one-sided), but recently, Myke turned twenty and yet he kept claiming that he wasn't ready to be the official count yet.

This buffoon wanted Clyde to manage everything for five more years—to which Clyde finally opposed.

Clyde never minded not being the heir himself, rather it made things easier for him until now, letting him pursue his dreams and everything else, so it wasn't that he felt it was unjustified to help out his little brother. But the matter of fact, he was courting Althea—the future empress of Haynes—with marriage in mind.

He was going to even quit as Vyan's aide, so how in the world was he supposed to make time to handle his family business? Myke was twenty, and yet, he had no intention of being responsible at all.

Despite his akeen dislike for Myke, Vyan forced himself to focus on the information Myke might provide. "Explain," he said curtly, his patience hanging by a thread.

Myke shrugged, leaning against the doorway. "He came back last night, went straight to his study. He was in there for maybe some time, then left in a hurry. He didn't say where he was going. He didn't come back."

Vyan's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he fought to rein in his temper. "And you didn't think to ask where he was going? Or to check on him?"

Myke raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "He didn't tell me, and it's not my job to babysit him. Besides, he is the one who promised me to be handling all this count business, right? Maybe he finally decided to take responsibility."

The dismissive tone towards Clyde was the final straw.

Vyan took a step toward Myke, his voice dropping to a dangerously low register. "Listen to me carefully, Myke Magnus. Clyde is more responsible in his little finger than you will ever be in your entire life. And if you had even a shred of respect for that man, you would choose your next words very carefully."

Myke swallowed but held his ground, though his arrogance faltered under Vyan's piercing glare.

After this, Vyan wasted no time in demanding access to Clyde's study. With clenched fists and a fiery glare, he ordered the servants to unlock the door, his patience wearing thinner with every passing second.

When they finally stepped aside, he pushed through, the heavy oak door creaking ominously as it swung open.

The sight before him made his breath catch.

The study was in complete disarray. Papers were scattered across the floor, books torn from the shelves and left in chaotic piles. The desk drawers had been yanked open, some splintered from apparent force. A shattered ink bottle dripped black rivulets across the desk, smearing into the papers like a dark omen.

Vyan's eyes swept the room. This wasn't Clyde's work—Clyde was meticulous, almost annoyingly so. For his study to look like this, someone else must have been here. Someone desperate to find something.

His jaw tightened as he crouched near the desk, picking up a crumpled piece of parchment. It was torn, the words partially obscured by ink stains, but the visible fragments seemed unimportant—random estate documents, nothing Clyde would have been obsessing over.

Standing, Vyan scanned the room again, his fingers curling around the edge of the desk as his knuckles turned white.

It hit him then—a gut-deep certainty that made his heart pound. Clyde must have discovered the intruder and gone after them.

But he never came back.

"Damn it, Clyde," Vyan muttered, his voice tight. He turned on his heel, stalking to the doorway where Lincoln and Clara hovered anxiously. "You didn't notice any of this? You didn't hear anyone break into your own house?"

Lincoln paled, fumbling for words. "I—we—our quarters are on the other wing. We heard nothing last night, I swear—"

"Unbelievable," Vyan spat, cutting him off. His voice was sharp, but his worry seeped through in the way his fingers trembled slightly, still holding the crumpled parchment. He turned to the servants standing nearby, their heads bowed nervously. "Did anyone see or hear anything suspicious last night? Footsteps? Strangers?"

The servants exchanged uncertain glances before one finally stepped forward, her voice timid. "I—I thought I saw someone leaving through the garden gate late in the night. It was too dark to see clearly, but I thought it was Master Clyde... or someone wearing a cloak like his."

Vyan's stomach twisted. Clyde had gone after the intruder. He was strong, capable—far from someone who'd lose a confrontation. And yet...

The gnawing sense of dread he had felt all morning returned tenfold, clawing at his chest. For Clyde to be missing after chasing someone down... it didn't add up. It wasn't just strange—it was terrifying.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. Panic wouldn't help Clyde now.

Nevertheless, frustration gnawed at Vyan as he combed through Clyde's study for the third time, searching for any clue that might point to the identity of the intruder. He overturned stacks of papers, scrutinized the floor for footprints, even examined the windows for signs of forced entry. Yet, the room yielded nothing.

Whoever had been here had been careful—too careful.

The thought sent a wave of unease through him. If this wasn't a random break-in, if it was something more calculated, then Clyde might have been walking into a trap.

Vyan exhaled sharply, his fire-tinged magic sparking faintly at his fingertips. He was wasting time. He wasn't an investigator; he didn't have the patience or the skill to uncover hidden details in a scene like this.

There was only one person he could trust to handle this.

He pulled out his magical artifact, the glowing surface shimmering faintly as he traced the rune into it. The connection buzzed for a moment before her voice came through, warm and welcoming towards him as always.

"Hey, Vee. Did something happen?"

"I need your help, Iyana."