The next day.
Kael, who had spent the entire night studying the game panel, was still buried under his blanket come noon.
He still couldn't believe it—
The system panel of Eclipse of Aetherion was still here!
And judging by the information he'd extracted, the arrival of those chaotic, cabbage-chopping players wasn't far off.
What he wasn't sure about yet… was whether their absurd power-scaling methods remained unchanged.
Still, the panel's evaluation of the original Kael's condition had been blunt—way too blunt.
In short, the body's previous death could be summarized as:
> "Didn't want to share with others. Tried to enjoy solo.
Overdid it. Died from over-enjoyment."
Now it all made sense.
No wonder this body was in such a fragile state.
During the rapid evolution phase of a succubus's bloodline awakening, the most critical factor is the intake of high-quality external essence to fuel the transformation.
But the original Kael had stubbornly refused to draw from others, choosing to self-sustain instead.
The backlash from stunted bloodline progression had nearly torn him apart.
So of course he was left physically ruined.
When he finally went downstairs, Wystan had already asked the kitchen to prepare lunch.
Kael had just begun to enjoy the quiet, decadent comfort of noble life when a familiar, ear-splitting screech rang out outside.
"A griffin," Wystan said with narrowed eyes. He turned to Kael. "Young master, please stay in the parlor. I'll go check."
With that, the old butler swiftly exited the room.
Kael blinked.
Why did that sound like I'm the fragile heir being tucked away while the adults handle business?
Barely two minutes later, Wystan returned, opening the door quietly. "It's Lord Vaux of the Bronze Cross. He requests an audience. Master, please prepare and change into formal attire."
Kael raised an eyebrow in surprise.
The Lionheart Regiment rarely showed up outside of ceremonial occasions like the Day of Sanctuary or the Harvest Festival.
The Lionheart Warband had long been split into distinct orders based on function:
The Bronze Cross, responsible for guarding the principality's city-states.
The Iron Cross, deployed for foreign warfare—his father's unit.
The Gilded Cross, sworn to protect the ruling lord directly.
Above them all stood the elite:
The Knights of Glory, the capital's inner circle and the pride of the Lionheart.
Lord Vaux, a member of the Bronze Cross, had little to do with his father's Iron Cross regiment. Even back in the capital, Vaux had never visited their estate. If it hadn't been for Kael's near-photographic memory and the occasional mention from his father in the past, he might not have remembered the man at all.
For someone like that to visit Arkwyn personally...
Something serious must've happened.
Without hesitation, Kael rose and went to change.
---
In the inner chamber, before a tall floor-length mirror.
He swapped his casual robe for a modest spellcaster's uniform. A well-worn, leather-bound grimoire hung at his side—worn but dignified.
In the glass, a pale, slightly weary beauty looked back at him.
On that handsomely carved face, a pair of smoldering eyes occasionally lit with calculation and thought.
He reached up and touched his face.
The slightly dazed-looking young man in the mirror tilted his head, an uncertain expression on his face.
…So beautiful.
Worthy of this charming devil.
While pulling on his cloak, Kael mulled over everything he knew about the Lionheart Regiment.
As the principality's most feared militant arm—and its highest lawful authority—the Lionheart Knights were uncompromising in their justice. Each griffin-mounted warrior was part of a machine trained to crush threats to the realm, particularly those linked to the Eidolons or forbidden bloodlines.
And if someone like him—a half-blood succubus—were caught committing any offense?
He wouldn't be arrested.
He'd be executed.
No wonder he felt guilty.
In his previous life, Kael—who had chosen to walk the demon path in Eclipse of Aetherion—had crossed blades with the Lionheart Knights more than once.
They're not here for me, right?
...Impossible. Absolutely not.
Kael forcefully deleted the thought from his mind.
After all, he didn't even know how his father—who was bound by the stringent [Lionheart Knight Codex]—ever ended up entangled with a succubus in the first place.
He had no idea how the Public Tribunal of the Principality of Virelia, famous for its zero-tolerance policy on abyssal bloodlines, ever allowed a half-succubus to slip unnoticed into the capital.
Even more baffling—how did the Secret Scroll Mage Academy, the top-tier federal institution for nurturing elite mages, ever admit someone like him, who should've failed the political background check at the gates?
But in any case, these were his people. His kin.
So… everything should be fine, right?
Bullshit!
Wasn't this the classic template of a military powerhouse abusing authority for lust?
Sleeping with abyssal entities, then pulling strings to get his forbidden hybrid son into a top academy through backdoor connections?
If that ever got out...
He wouldn't just be shot once.
He'd be shot a hundred times. Maybe more.
And Kael?
He might not even live to be shot.
He shivered. After all, with this body—this ridiculously enticing form that practically screamed "main course"—if he ever landed in prison...
He'd never challenge the self-restraint of those who had none.
He wasn't that brave.
That thought made his mood sink even further as he slowly walked toward the parlor.
Should I… consider killing the messenger?
But then again—the average level in the Lionheart Regiment was around 12.
Killing a fully trained Honor Knight?
Difficult! Difficult! Difficult! It is way to difficult!
Will I die before my story even begins?
No, he had to survive. He needed to find a way to fool this man.
He sifted through the original Kael's memories and felt some relief.
Thankfully, the former Kael had never harmed a human—
Not once.
In fact, he hadn't "fed" on anyone except himself.
From a legal standpoint, he hadn't violated any laws of the Principality.
Really… biting your own tail to suppress succubus instincts?
That was a creative—if incredibly idiotic—strategy.
He'd inherited this delicate body now, like a bomb already half-detonated.
He had no capital to resist the Lionheart Knights.
Trying to fight back was pointless.
Better to figure out how to gain their favor—win their trust—and maybe, just maybe, avoid ending up in whatever secret dungeon they threw demon-spawn into.
With those thoughts crowding his mind, Kael exited the inner chamber.
At the doorway, Wystan was waiting quietly.
Perhaps sensing Kael's silence, the old man looked concerned. "Young master… are you alright?"
Kael gave a tired shake of his head. "I'm fine, Grandpa Wystan. Go prepare the tea for our guest. Even if my father's been away from the capital for years, I won't abandon the decorum of a noble."
Wystan's expression warmed. "Of course, Master Kael. The tea is already prepared in the west room. I'll serve it shortly."
Kael nodded slightly and walked toward the stairwell.
---
Meanwhile, in the sitting room downstairs…
Sir Vaux of the Bronze Cross stood silently.
He had a cold, disciplined presence—every inch the first-tier Honor Knight of the Lionheart Regiment.
And right now, he was quietly rehearsing the words he would need.
How do you tell a child his father is gone?
He exhaled softly. Just as he steeled himself, light footsteps echoed through the hallway.
He turned his head slightly, his hand brushing the insignia of the Lionheart on his chest.
When Vaux looked up, he saw a young man in a simple mage's uniform walking steadily toward him.
The youth stopped before him, performed the formal salute of a scholar-warlock, and spoke with composed courtesy:
"Are you Lord Vaux of the Fourth Bronze Cross? Your visit was sudden, and our household had little time to prepare. We only have some tea and light refreshments—please forgive our lack of proper hospitality."
Beside them, Wystan moved silently, placing an elegant tray of snacks between Kael and Vaux before pouring tea into two fine porcelain cups.
Vaux's gaze lingered on the young man. His expression was calm, yet his eyes narrowed slightly with private astonishment.
So this is the succubus half-blood…
Even though the youth wore nothing more than a basic spellcaster's robe, his features were striking.
His eyes were bright yet cold, his posture respectful without being subservient, and he had spoken his name on first meeting with perfect decorum.
As expected of that bloodline… Vaux thought.
Handsome enough to unsettle even a Knight of Glory.
And yet, despite himself, Vaux's ingrained bias toward abyssal blood softened slightly.
The boy's presence carried a quiet dignity—not the temptress's charm he'd been taught to expect.
This made the next part even harder to say.
The words sat heavy in his throat.
He lowered his gaze for a moment, then sighed.
"Your father—Sir Alaric D. Evernight—led a detachment to suppress a suspected Eidolon cult yesterday."
"During the operation... he fell in battle. His body was found in the wilderness."
A brief silence fell.
"I came today to report this personally, and…" Vaux reached into his cloak and produced a sealed crystal wrapped in silver glyph-thread. "…to return the core of Alaric's Sanctuary."