"You must be joking."
The words slipped out almost inaudibly.
The Duke's eyes narrowed, and in that instant I felt as if he were looking straight into my soul.
A cold, relentless gaze.
As unbelievable as it was, he wasn't joking.
"Do I look like a man who jokes?" — his voice was dry, firm, like a verdict.
I swallowed hard.
"But that's not possible… I'm nobody. I don't know how to fight, I can't read… I don't even understand how I did that."
"Exactly why you're perfect."
Perfect?
The words made no sense. None of it did.
He took a step forward. My body shrank instinctively, like a cornered animal.
"You have no past, no surname, no connections. You're a ghost. A blank book… ready to be written."
A… book? This man was insane.
"You think I'm a book? Why would I accept something like that?" — my voice barely escaped, more a whisper than an answer.
He plunged his eyes into mine again.
"Why would you accept…?" — he mocked.
"The correct question would be: why wouldn't you accept?"
His gaze sharpened, crushing me with invisible pressure.
"Or do you want to return to filth? To the cold… to the hunger? Do you wish to go back to stealing scraps, running for your life every day, fleeing guards ready to gut you for a piece of bread?"
Each word was like a blade piercing my chest.
"Is that the freedom you desire? If it is… I will take you back this instant. So you can live free… until the last day of your miserable life."
My breathing grew heavy.
My chest tightened.
I couldn't form an answer.
Because I knew… he was right.
Tears began to fall, even though I tried to hold them back.
The Duke turned his back and walked to the door.
Before leaving, he gave one last order:
"Prepare the boy. I will present him to everyone in the household. From now on, his name is Clint Ravenhart. My sole heir."
The butler, Elias, who had remained silent, made a slight bow.
"As you wish, sir."
The Duke left.
Before I could even think, Elias called me and guided me to the chamber's bath. Two maidservants entered shortly after and, without ceremony, began undressing me as if I were a child.
The embarrassment burned my skin. They didn't care.
One scrubbed my skin hard, as if trying to peel away every layer of filth. The other worked through the tangles in my hair.
"Ow, that hurts!" I shouted.
"Be quiet." — the maid ordered, harsh. — "You have years of filth stuck to your body."
That torture lasted an eternity. When it finally ended, they dressed me in new clothes: a black shirt, a crimson coat identical to the Duke's, polished shoes and a pocket watch attached to my trousers.
When I saw myself in the mirror, I was shocked.
"Who is that boy…?" I said aloud, without noticing Elias had returned.
"That is young Master Ravenhart, heir of the most powerful ducal house in Kamira." — he said firmly.
I spun around, startled, I hadn't heard him approach.
"With that title comes privileges. But also a tremendous burden. From today, you must act accordingly. Never lower your head to anyone; not even the King would dare slight this family… pretend you don't care what they think."
I nodded silently.
"I understand."
"Follow me."
We walked down the second-floor corridor. The place reeked of wealth, though restrained and tasteful. Portraits adorned the walls, depicting generations. Ancestors wore the same black and crimson as the Duke. Their eyes followed me like shadows.
We arrived at an imposing door, guarded by two soldiers. They stepped aside without hesitation but eyed me with curiosity, as if wondering who the boy wearing House Ravenhart's colors might be.
The door opened.
Inside, a table occupied the center. Behind it, the Duke sat. In front of him, three soldiers kneeled, each exuding a suffocating presence. To the right, two women bowed.
One looked to be sixty, hair in a bun, posture rigid.
Behind her, a young woman with loose silver hair, wearing simple clothes. Her gray eyes burned like embers.
The silence was cutting.
Until the Duke spoke:
"Today I present to you… my new heir."
"Heir, sir?!" — one of the soldiers raised his head, his face lighting up with genuine joy.
The other narrowed his eyes and looked at me.
"Where did you find him, sir? I've never seen him among noble families. Is he perhaps a foreigner?"
"I found him in the streets of Kassel, fleeing for his life. I decided to adopt him." — the Duke said, as if making a casual remark.
The soldier laughed, incredulous.
"Excellent joke, sir."
No one laughed, and the Duke continued with a serious look.
"It's a joke… right?" the soldier persisted.
The Duke's look was answer enough.
"You've gone mad?! How can you bring a rat and call him heir?"
He raised his voice, forgetting who he faced.
The silence of the room broke only with the sound of a blade slicing the air. I didn't see Elias move. In an instant he was at my side, the next he was before the soldier.
The head rolled with a clean cut. Elias wiped his sword without expression.
My blood ran cold; I wanted to flee that place… but I couldn't.
"Anyone else have a problem with this?" — the Duke's voice boomed like thunder.
Everyone retreated in silence.
"I expected rejection. But such insolence… I will not forgive."
He turned to the elderly servant.
"Marta. I want one of the best personal attendants for the boy."
The woman bowed.
"If you allow me, sir, I would like to offer my daughter Emyle for that responsibility. I have taught her everything I know. She will not disappoint you."
"Very well then." — the Duke declared.
The young silver-haired woman stepped forward and bowed.
"I thank you for the opportunity, my lord. I will not fail."
The Duke then turned to one of the soldiers.
"Gareth. Introduce him to the others. Show him the training field. You will be responsible for teaching him basic fencing."
"As you wish, sir." — the man replied, his voice deep. Then he looked at me. — "Follow me, boy. I want to see the real reason you are here."
At the training field, Gareth gathered all the soldiers present.
"The Duke orders you to know: this boy is your new heir."
Then he pointed to a young man in simple armor, a wooden sword in hand.
"Step forward."
Without delay, Gareth handed me another wooden sword. No protection. No armor.
"Fight." — he said.
The youth took a combat stance. Not knowing what to do, I mimicked him. Poorly. Laughter echoed among the soldiers, but I ignored it.
The young man advanced quickly. His blow struck my stomach. Air fled my lungs. I fell, doubled over in pain.
"Get up!" — Gareth roared. — "Are you joking with me?!"
I staggered, but rose. Sword trembling in my hands.
"Again."
The youth advanced once more. The strike hammered into my abdomen.
"Again!"
I forced myself to stand.
On the third charge, something inside me reacted.
My hand moved on its own…