Reincarnated as Duke’s Heir
Copyright© 2025 by TheSmartOne
Chapter 16: Discussion
A man with jet-black hair and eyes lay motionless on an ornate bed, his skin so pale it seemed as though all the blood had been drained from his body. The room was dark, yet shadows flickered unnaturally around him, moving with a life of their own.
“Cough ... cough ... Those Ignis bastards ... they can’t even die properly,” Veldran Noctis muttered, his voice laced with venomous hatred.
He was the Patriarch of the Noctis Duke Family, a Saint of the Shadow Domain—a being who had transcended normal power, leaving a permanent mark on reality itself. And yet, despite his strength, he now lay wounded, barely able to move.
A battle between Saints was never just a battle. It was a collision of forces that rewrote the very fabric of the world. A Saint’s power, once unleashed, was not so easily dispelled—it seeped into existence, into bodies, into souls, lingering like an inescapable curse.
Veldran had learned that truth the hard way.
Ester, the Saint of Purification, had perished at his hands. But before her death, her divine fire had burned through him, embedding itself deep within his body. His very existence—woven from shadow—was now in a state of endless contradiction. The holy flames purified him, while his monstrous regeneration tried to restore what was lost. The two forces clashed ceaselessly within him, an unrelenting agony that neither side could win.
It was torment.
“I should have killed that bitch more slowly.” His voice was hoarse with pain and fury.
As he was about to continue venting his frustration on a dead person. He abruptly stopped.
“Oh no, please, don’t let me stop you,” a playful voice interrupted from behind him.
Veldran’s eyes narrowed. How had he not sensed him sooner?
A man stood in the dimly lit chamber, his golden hair catching what little light remained. His lips curled into a smirk, but his golden eyes gleamed with amusement and something else—sharp calculation.
“It’s quite the sight, really,” said Asher Sylvaris, Crown Prince of the Empire. “The great Lord of Shadows, sulking like a spoiled child.”
Veldran did not reply. He simply gazed at the intruder with cold indifference.
Asher chuckled, stepping forward. “And seriously, how severe is your wound if it took you this long to notice me?” He tilted his head in mock concern, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his lack of sincerity.
Veldran exhaled slowly. He did not have the patience for this. “May I know why you’re here, Crown Prince?” His tone was devoid of warmth.
“Oh, come now,” Asher pouted dramatically. “After everything we’ve been through, must you be so distant? Aren’t we comrades? Friends, even?”
Veldran’s silence spoke louder than words.
Undeterred, Asher continued, his smirk widening. “That night ... What do they call it again? Ah—yes. ‘The Night of Purge.’ Quite the poetic name, don’t you think, Duke Noctis? At least we accomplished our goal. The Ignis bloodline is no more.”
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Veldran did not react—not visibly. He was already drowning in his own suffering. Engaging with Asher’s theatrics was a waste of what little strength he had left.
Seeing no response, Asher shrugged. “Well then, let’s get to the point. My father has sent me to you. We need your services again.”
Veldran’s gaze sharpened slightly. “For what?”
The amusement in Asher’s expression faded, replaced by a rare look of seriousness. “The Mindweavers. They’ve begun to move, and they aren’t even trying to be subtle anymore. Their hostility toward the royal family is clear to anyone with half a brain. The tension is reaching its peak—outright confrontation is inevitable.”
Veldran said nothing at first. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled.
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