Malrik looked at his sister wide-eyed.
"Stop looking at me like that. It's not like what I'm saying is false," Isolde said.
Valdis watched his brother and sister interact and smiled. He knew Isolde changed the topic to ease the tension in the air. But hearing what she said reminded him of something.
"Wait, aren't you also one of the four flowers?" Valdis suddenly asked.
As Malrik heard his question, he burst into a fit of laughter. Isolde, on the other hand, looked like she had just been reminded of her worst nightmare.
"The snow lotus, Isolde Ebonhart," Malrik said in an amusingly dramatic fashion.
Isolde's face darkened upon hearing that title. She didn't care much for the title itself but the problems that came with it.
The Flowers of Blackspire were titles given to the most talented and beautiful girls in the kingdom within a certain generation.
Isolde hated the title because of the people who flocked around her—she had beauty, talent, and an immensely powerful background.
The last two flowers were the little princess of the kingdom, Nyxara Mortivar, and the war goddess Iskaria Vask of the Golden Order.
Except for the little princess, the rest made names for themselves on the battlefield, showcasing strength that placed them at the top of their generation.
"That reminds me, you are about the same age as the princess, which means both of you will be classmates when you join the academy," Malrik said.
Hearing this, Isolde's face eased, and a cheeky smile appeared. She leaned toward Valdis and said,
"You are going to have a beauty as a classmate. You can try wooing her, and who knows? You might end up winning her heart."
Both Valdis and Malrik were left dumbfounded, Malrik even more so.
"For someone who despises all her admirers, you're quick to make your little brother one," Malrik said.
Isolde's face froze for a moment before she regained her composure, turned to Malrik, and said, "All my admirers are too weak for my taste. I've already said that if any of them can last a couple of rounds against you, I'll consider their proposal."
Valdis burst into laughter at this, while Malrik's eyelids twitched. He remembered the fools who challenged him once and couldn't help but think they were all brainless fools blinded by his sister's beauty.
Valdis shared the same thought.
Malrik was recognized as the most talented person whose strength overshadowed all.
The crown prince barely survived a few rounds against him, let alone other nobles in the kingdom with worse foundations.
He also knew that over time, this requirement became even harder—borderline impossible—as Malrik grew stronger, widening the already vast gap between him and everyone else in their generation.
Right now, Malrik was as strong as some of the previous generation.
He is the true definition of a monstrous genius, and dreaming of defeating him was foolish.
As they continued walking, the Reward Hall came into view.
The building rose beyond the blackwood trees like a dark monument of discipline and ambition, carved from polished obsidian stone veined with faint crimson.
Tall spires crowned its roof, each etched with ancient sigils that shimmered softly in the daylight. The Ebonhart crest—a black obsidian heart pierced by a descending blade—hung above the grand entrance, forged in blacksteel and trimmed in silver.
The path widened as they approached, the gravel turning into smooth, dark marble.
Members of the house moved steadily toward and away from the hall—trainees in fitted black uniforms, armored enforcers returning from patrols, cloaked operatives whose expressions betrayed nothing.
Some walked with pride.
Others with quiet frustration.
The Reward Hall was not just a place of celebration.
It was a place that rewarded results, not effort.
Malrik slowed slightly as they neared the towering double doors.
Valdis watched the flow of people carefully.
Ahead of them, two young trainees exited, whispering excitedly while clutching small velvet cases. A scarred man in his thirties entered with steady steps but left moments later, shoulders heavy and empty-handed.
Malrik pushed open the doors without breaking stride.
Inside, the hall was vast and circular, with a high domed ceiling letting in natural light onto the polished black floors.
Intricate crimson lines ran through the marble like veins, converging at the center where a raised circular platform stood.
Behind the platform stretched a curved wall lined with counters—each marked with silver inscriptions.
Different clerks stood behind each.
The leftmost counter read: Mission Rewards. Next: Special Achievements. Further down: External Acquisitions & Treasures. And at the far end: Merit Conversion & Contribution Points.
Each operated independently yet seamlessly.
Clerks in fitted black-and-silver attire handled documents, assessed tokens, examined proofs of kills, and verified mission seals.
Crystals embedded in the counters pulsed faintly when contribution badges were placed upon them.
The system was precise and efficient.
Lines formed orderly, and no one spoke loudly—respect for the space was instinctual.
As Malrik entered, the atmosphere shifted subtly.
Conversations lowered.
A path opened.
Even the clerks straightened almost imperceptibly.
Valdis noticed immediately.
He leaned toward Isolde. "It's like the building itself acknowledges him."
"It actually does," she replied calmly. "High contributors are recorded in the hall's core formation. It registers their presence, and Malrik's is the highest, so naturally, the core treats him like a prince."
Malrik ignored the attention and headed toward the Special Achievements counter.
The clerk there—a middle-aged man with silver-threaded hair and sharp eyes—bowed deeply.
"Young Master Malrik, Young Lady Isolde, Young Master Valdis."
His gaze lingered slightly longer on Valdis.
He looked at Malrik and said, "The hall has been expecting you."
Malrik smirked faintly. "Of course it has."
The clerk then regarded Isolde and asked, "Would you like me to process your mission while you're here?"
Hearing this, Isolde nodded.
The clerk retrieved a dark ledger, its pages thick and edged in red. He placed his palm on a crystal slab embedded in the counter, which glowed, projecting faint lines of text into the air.
"Mission: Southern Rift Suppression. Status: Completed. Casualties: Zero."
A faint murmur rippled from those nearby.
"Reward authorized: Tier-Four artifact selection and contribution points allocation."
Behind the counter, a concealed compartment slid open silently, revealing several items resting on velvet cushions—rings, daggers, talismans radiating restrained power.
Valdis watched closely.
This was how strength was consolidated within the house.
How the house fed its own.
Malrik stood beside, watching the process with slight boredom. He had been through this many times.
Isolde claimed a thin crystalline pendant. The clerk recorded her choice with precise ink strokes.
"Your card, please."
Isolde extended her hand, and a thin golden card appeared.
He took the card and pressed a small black token against it. It glowed briefly before returning to normal.
Those tokens were contribution seals used to transfer contribution points, each engraved with the Ebonhart crest.
Then, the clerk turned to Valdis.
"Due to your recent awakening and the heavenly anomaly, the elders have issued a provisional grant along with the original rewards after your awakening."
Another compartment opened.
Inside was a simple black bracelet etched with faint runes.
"This bracelet has defensive runes engraved in it. Its power increases with bloodline strength."
Valdis accepted it, feeling the faint pulse beneath his fingers.
He then reached into a box and took out a sac, passing it to Valdis.
"That sac contains ten blood law crystals."
The clerk's tone lowered slightly. "Your contribution score starts today."
He then handed Valdis a card similar to Isolde's, but his was white.
"Drip a drop of your blood on the card, and it will be bound to you. It helps store your contribution points, which you can later use to purchase items from the reward hall.
If you lose it, a new one will be issued as a replacement. But note, the first replacement is free; subsequent ones cost two hundred contribution points. So, keep it safe."
Valdis nodded in understanding, and the clerk saw this, saying no more.
Afterward, they turned and exited the hall.
Around them, the flow of members continued—some stepping forward with sealed envelopes, others presenting beast cores, and some quietly arguing over evaluation results.
Malrik adjusted a ring on his finger and glanced at his siblings. "The clerks are as efficient as ever."
Isolde looked around the chamber again and said, "Valdis, remember this: this place holds resources that decide who rises and who gets left behind. As long as you work hard, you will be rewarded."
Valdis looked at the crest above the central platform.
This was not charity.
It was structure.
A machine designed to keep the Ebonhart name respected.
As they reached the exit, the doors reopened, sunlight flooding in and casting long shadows on the marble floor.
Behind them, the hall kept its rhythm—calculating, recording, rewarding.
Ahead of them lay whatever missions would shape its next entries.
And, for the first time, Valdis felt the weight of fully stepping into that system.
The doors closed.
And the path awaited.