Chapter 71: Zylle Mordan, Alaric’s Superior In Phantom Assembly

The morning sun bathed House Galanis in a warm glow, its light streaming through the high arched windows of the grand dining hall. The remnants of breakfast lay scattered across the long, polished table, the air thick with the mingling scents of freshly brewed coffee, buttered pastries, and spiced tea. Servants moved swiftly and efficiently, clearing plates and wiping down surfaces, their murmured exchanges blending into the ambient bustle of the estate.

Cassandra sat regally at the head of the table, her posture straight, her hands resting lightly on the armrests of her chair. A servant stood beside her, holding a neatly rolled parchment, his posture stiff as he awaited her instructions. She exuded authority, the kind that needed no declaration. With a slight tilt of her head, she gestured for the servant to unroll the parchment, her sharp eyes scanning its contents.

“This will do,” Cassandra said finally, her tone firm. She handed the parchment back to the servant, her lips curving into a faint, calculated smile. “Ensure this news is disseminated across the kingdom. I want every corner of Eloriath to know what transpired. Every man, woman, and child should hear of Eskil’s crushing defeat at the hands of Alaric Steele.”

The servant’s brow furrowed slightly as he accepted the document, clearly grasping the gravity of his task. “Yes, Matriarch. I’ll see to it personally.”

“Good,” Cassandra said briskly. “The details must be precise—no embellishments, but no omissions either. Make it clear: Eskil, once hailed as the kingdom’s most promising martial talent, was bested with decisive elegance by Alaric.”

The servant nodded, bowing deeply before retreating from the hall with quick, purposeful steps. Cassandra watched him leave, then turned her attention to Lyra and Alaric, who sat near her at the table. Lyra sipped her tea with a calm, satisfied air, while Alaric leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful yet sharp.

“By tomorrow,” Cassandra said, her voice laced with quiet satisfaction, “this will be the only story anyone in the kingdom is talking about.”

Lyra set her cup down with a delicate clink. “As it should be. Eskil’s arrogance needed this reckoning, and the kingdom needs a reminder of where true power lies.”

Alaric’s eyes flicked between the two women, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And what of Eskil and his companions? The defeat will sting, certainly, but what happens next?”

Cassandra leaned back, steepling her fingers under her chin. “We won’t release him yet, of course. That would be too lenient. Instead, we’ll demand a hefty price—one million gold coins from the Lionheart Martial Institute for Eskil’s release. The same for each of his comrades who dared to attack House Galanis.”

Lyra’s brow arched slightly, her voice skeptical yet intrigued. “That’s a bold figure. Do you truly believe they’ll pay it?”

“They won’t have a choice,” Cassandra replied smoothly. “Eskil’s value to them is immeasurable. Refusing would be tantamount to admitting their golden boy isn’t worth saving. And if they do refuse…” She leaned back, a sly smile playing on her lips. “That humiliation alone will be worth it.”

Alaric’s lips twitched into a faint smile of his own. “The money is secondary,” he said. “What matters is the blow to Eskil’s pride. Every coin paid will weigh on him like a millstone. It will remind him of his failure, not just in combat but in judgment. The Institute paying such a sum will only deepen his shame.”

Lyra chuckled, her tone light but approving. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

Alaric shrugged modestly. “I’ve had time to consider our options.”

“And what of his friends?” Lyra asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I doubt the Institute will pay for them,” Alaric said simply. “They’re secondary players, expendable in Eskil’s shadow. If the ransom isn’t met for them, we have leverage to use—or, better yet, an opportunity.”

Cassandra tilted her head, intrigued. “Go on.”

“They’re talented fighters,” Alaric continued. “Young, skilled, and still impressionable. We can break their loyalty to Eskil, to the Institute, and mold them into assets for our family—or for House Galanis. Imagine the poetic justice of Eskil’s own comrades serving as our guards, perhaps even standing against him one day.”

A low hum of approval escaped Cassandra, her expression contemplative. “An intriguing idea. Their skills would be a valuable addition to our forces, provided their loyalty is unquestionable.”

Lyra studied her son, her lips curving into a small, approving smile. “You’ve thought this through thoroughly. I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Alaric replied, a hint of pride in his tone. “I believe it’s the most pragmatic course of action.”

Cassandra nodded, her calculating mind already spinning through the possibilities. “And what of Yvonne? She’s a different matter entirely.”

Alaric spoke up before Lyra could respond. “I will take her to the Steele Mansion and keep her as a prisoner there. Aunt Cassandra, I believe it would be best if you let me handle her.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You’re certain? She’s not exactly harmless.”

Alaric’s voice was steady. “I am. I have plans for her, though they’re still taking shape. For now, she’ll stay where I can keep an eye on her.”

Cassandra shrugged, her interest waning. “Very well. If you’re confident, I see no reason to interfere.”

Lyra’s gaze lingered on her son, her expression thoughtful. “You think she can be useful?”

“In time,” Alaric replied. “She has potential, but she needs… redirection. For now, strict surveillance will suffice.”

Lyra nodded, trusting his judgment. “Just be careful.”

As the discussion wound down, the servants began clearing the remaining dishes, their movements efficient and unobtrusive. The faint murmur of activity outside the dining hall hinted at the day’s busyness, but within the room, the Steele and Galanis family sat in a moment of quiet triumph, their plans laid and their resolve steeled.

Lyra rose first, her emerald gown shimmering as it caught the light. “It seems we’re all in agreement. Now, we wait for the institute to react.”

Cassandra followed suit, her crimson attire commanding as ever. “And when they do, we’ll be ready.”

Alaric stood last, his shoulders squared, a confident energy radiating from him. He glanced between the two women, his expression firm but calm. “Let’s make them understand that if they want to ever harm the Steele Family or House Galanis, they should be prepared for themselves for our counterattack.”

As the discussion around the dining table wrapped up, the atmosphere shifted. Fiora, who had remained quiet but attentive during the strategic deliberations, glanced at Alaric. A soft smile played on her lips as she leaned forward slightly, gathering the courage to speak.

“Alaric,” she began, her voice gentle yet confident, “since we’re done for now, would you like to take a walk with me? The grounds are especially beautiful this time of day.”

Alaric looked up, momentarily surprised by the invitation. Fiora’s warm, expectant gaze softened the edge of his expression. “A stroll sounds perfect,” he replied, his tone sincere. “Lead the way.”

The two left the dining hall and stepped into the crisp morning air. The sprawling estate of House Galanis stretched out before them, its meticulously maintained gardens a testament to the family’s wealth and refinement. The pathways wound between flowering bushes, towering trees, and fountains that glittered in the sunlight. Birds chirped cheerfully from the branches, their songs adding life to the serene landscape.

Fiora guided Alaric through the lush greenery, her demeanor light and relaxed. As they walked, she pointed out the estate’s highlights—a marble pavilion with an intricate mosaic floor, a pond with vibrant koi fish, and a row of flowering vines that framed a secluded archway. Eventually, they arrived at a smaller, enclosed space. The air here carried a subtle fragrance, delicate and sweet.

“This is my personal garden,” Fiora said, her voice tinged with pride. She gestured toward the vibrant display of flowers surrounding them. “I’ve spent years cultivating it. Every flower here has a story.”

Alaric took in the sight, his sharp eyes lingering on the symphony of colors—soft pastels blending with bold reds and oranges. “It’s stunning,” he said, his admiration genuine. “You’ve done all of this yourself?”

Fiora nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have. It’s where I come to think or when I need a moment of peace. These flowers,” she added, motioning toward a cluster of delicate blooms with deep blue petals, “are particularly rare. I managed to acquire the seeds during a trade negotiation.”

Alaric crouched to examine the flowers more closely, his fingers lightly brushing the velvety petals. “You’ve created something remarkable here, Fiora. It’s clear you put a lot of care into this.”

A faint blush crept up Fiora’s cheeks, and she glanced away with a shy smile. “Thank you, Alaric. Gardening helps me focus. It’s… grounding, I suppose.”

They continued to walk, the conversation flowing easily between them. Fiora spoke of her favorite plants, the challenges of maintaining the garden, and her passion for finding beauty in simple things.

Alaric, usually reserved, found himself drawn to her warmth and sincerity. She was unlike the calculated figures he was accustomed to dealing with; her presence was soothing.

As they rounded a corner, the sunlight filtering through the trees cast a golden glow over Fiora. Alaric caught himself staring, noticing how the light illuminated her hair, giving it the appearance of spun gold. She turned to him, her expression curious. “What is it?” she asked.

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing. Just… you seem very much at home here.”

Fiora laughed softly. “I suppose I do. This garden is a reflection of me, in a way. A place where I can be myself.”

Alaric didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he let her words settle, appreciating the rare honesty in her voice. It wasn’t often he encountered someone who could speak so openly, and he found himself grateful for the moment.

When the morning waned, they made their way back to the manor. The dining hall was alive with the scent of roasted meats and fresh herbs. Cassandra and Lyra were already seated, their conversation punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware. Fiora and Alaric joined them, their cheeks faintly flushed from the fresh air.

“How was your morning?” Cassandra asked, her sharp eyes studying them both with a knowing glint.

“Lovely,” Fiora replied, her tone light and cheerful. “I showed Alaric my garden.”

Lyra smiled warmly, her gaze flicking to her son. “That sounds delightful. It’s important to take moments like these, especially given the tensions of recent days.”

Alaric nodded in agreement, a rare softness in his expression. “It was a welcome reprieve. Fiora’s garden is extraordinary.”

Lunch passed leisurely, filled with light-hearted conversation and shared laughter. The atmosphere was markedly different from the serious discussions that had dominated the previous days. It was a moment of respite, a chance for everyone to gather their strength for what lay ahead.

As the days unfolded, Alaric and Lyra remained at House Galanis, their stay prolonged by the wait for a response from the Lionheart Martial Institute.

During this time, the estate buzzed with activity. Meetings were held, preparations made, and plans adjusted.

Amid the flurry of tasks, Fiora and Alaric found more moments to steal away, their conversations growing increasingly natural, their bond deepening.

At last, the awaited response arrived. A courier delivered a chest brimming with gold coins, a staggering sum that confirmed the Institute’s desperation to retrieve Eskil.

Yet their payment extended only to him; his comrades, including Yvonne, were notably excluded. The message was clear—they had prioritized their star pupil over the others.

When Eskil was finally released, he was a shadow of his former self. His once-proud stance was slumped, his clothing reduced to rags, and his face hollowed by days of deprivation.

Stripped of his sword and dignity, he trudged out of House Galanis under the watchful eyes of Alaric and several guards.

The doors of the estate closed behind him with a resounding finality.

Alaric watched the broken figure disappear down the path, satisfaction mingling with a sense of purpose. “He’s learned his lesson,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “Pride is a fragile thing when built on arrogance.”

With Eskil gone, attention turned to his abandoned comrades. Cassandra took charge, her demeanor as sharp and commanding as ever.

“They’ll be dealt with accordingly,” she assured Lyra and Alaric during a private meeting. “Their loyalties are malleable, and their skills are too valuable to waste. I’ll see to it that they’re given a choice—serve House Galanis or remain as they are.”

Lyra nodded, her faith in her sister evident. “I trust you to handle this, Cassandra. I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”

The final evening of Alaric and Lyra’s stay arrived, marked by a quiet dinner and reflective conversation. As the family gathered in the drawing room, the air was filled with a sense of closure.

After a tranquil evening walk with Fiora, Alaric returned to his room. The quiet of the night seemed to wrap itself around him like a heavy blanket.

He reclined on the plush bed, his mind swirling with thoughts of Eskil. Had he been too lenient in releasing him? Though broken and humiliated, would Eskil’s pride rekindle into defiance? Alaric’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm as he weighed the decision.

His musing was abruptly interrupted when he heard a voice, smooth and feminine, yet unfamiliar.

“Are you Alaric?”

The sound was sharp yet laced with intrigue.

Startled, Alaric’s eyes snapped open. Standing before him was a woman of striking beauty, her long, sleek, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, contrasting with the glow of her radiant, alabaster skin. Her piercing purple eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the room, locking onto his with an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through him. Her figure was undeniably alluring—voluptuous and commanding, yet poised with an air of authority.

“So, you’re Alaric Steele,” she said, her voice silken and confident. “The most prodigious magical talent in the kingdom, the new external member of the Phantom Assembly, and, as fate would have it, the one assigned to me.”

Alaric sat up quickly, his instincts buzzing. “And you are?”

The woman smiled faintly, a hint of amusement flickering in her expression. “Zylle,” she said simply.

Alaric’s eyes widened. Zylle? That name was no stranger to him. She was the superior to whom he had been sending his reports—an elusive figure within the Phantom Assembly. He had imagined someone calculating, enigmatic, even sinister. But this? This was beyond anything he could have anticipated.

“You’re Zylle?” he asked, his voice guarded yet tinged with disbelief.

“Yes,” she replied, stepping closer. “And you seem… surprised.”

Alaric recovered quickly, masking his astonishment with a cool demeanor. “I hadn’t expected you to appear unannounced in my room.”

Zylle arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Is that a complaint?”

“Not at all,” he said smoothly. “Though I’m curious as to why you’re here.”

Instead of answering immediately, Zylle studied him, her gaze sharp and assessing, as though she were weighing his worth. The intensity of her stare made Alaric instinctively activate his Harem God System. A familiar interface appeared in his mind’s eye, displaying her stats.

[Zylle Mordan – Overall Score: 83.2

Appearance: 89

Personality: 83

Status: 73

Pride: 90

Strength: 75]

His gaze lingered on the numbers. Zylle’s beauty was undeniable, her personality commanding, and her pride intimidating. Her strength was formidable, enough to give even him pause.

“You’ve been quiet,” Zylle remarked, pulling him from his thoughts. “Something on your mind?”

Alaric met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Just taking your presence in. It’s not every day one meets their superior in such… unexpected circumstances.”

She laughed lightly, the sound low and rich. “Fair enough.” She folded her arms, her tone shifting to something more serious. “I came because I believe you’ll need my assistance soon. The Lionheart Martial Institute isn’t an enemy to take lightly, and if you’re planning to make a move against them, the Phantom Assembly’s resources could prove invaluable.”

Alaric leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Your concern is appreciated, but now isn’t the time. My family has only just absorbed the spoils from dismantling the Farrow Family. We need time to consolidate our gains. The humiliation of Eskil and securing a million gold coins for House Galanis was enough for now.”

Zylle nodded, a flicker of approval in her eyes. “Prudent. Rushing into conflict would be foolish. But remember, the Assembly’s strength is at your disposal when you’re ready to act.”

Alaric tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his gaze. “And what do you gain from offering your help so freely?”

Her lips curved into a sly smile. “I gain nothing directly, Alaric. But the Assembly thrives when its members succeed and cause chaos in the Kingdom. Your rise strengthens us all.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with implication. Alaric studied her, his mind racing. Zylle wasn’t someone to be underestimated. She was a powerful ally, yes, but also a potential obstacle. Still, there was an allure to her—a dangerous, intoxicating pull.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said finally.

Zylle inclined her head, her purple eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Good. I’ll be watching your progress closely.”

Before he could reply, she raised her hand. A soft, iridescent glow enveloped her, and with a whisper of magic, she disappeared, leaving only the faint scent of lavender in her wake.

For a long moment, Alaric sat in silence. A wry smile tugged at his lips. “Interesting,” he murmured. His thoughts turned to the challenge of Zylle. Her stats had made it clear—entangling her in his ambitions wouldn’t be easy. But then, Alaric had always enjoyed a challenge.

The next morning, Alaric and Lyra prepared to leave House Galanis. The estate buzzed with activity as servants loaded their belongings into the carriages.

Yvonne, shackled and subdued, was brought out in an iron cage. Her defiant glare pierced through the bars, but Alaric didn’t spare her more than a passing glance.

In the courtyard, Cassandra and Fiora stood waiting to bid them farewell.

“It’s been a fruitful visit,” Cassandra said, her tone as sharp as ever. “You both saved us and now together we have dealt a decisive blow to the Lionheart Martial Institute. You’ve done well, Alaric.”

“Thank you, Aunt Cassandra,” he replied. “But the credit isn’t mine alone. House Galanis played its part magnificently.”

Fiora stepped forward, her smile warm but tinged with sadness. “It’s a shame you can’t stay longer. The estate feels livelier with you here.”

Alaric’s gaze softened. “I’ll return,” he promised. “There’s still much to discuss—and I’d hate to miss the next season of your garden.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded. “Then I’ll make sure it’s even more beautiful when you do.”

Lyra exchanged a fond embrace with her sister. “Cassandra, thank you for everything. I’ll send word once we’ve settled.”

“And I’ll keep you updated on the prisoners,” Cassandra assured her. “Their loyalty will shift soon enough. You’ll have nothing to worry about.”

With final goodbyes exchanged, the carriages rolled out of the estate. Alaric glanced back at the towering gates of House Galanis as they disappeared into the distance. Pride swelled in his chest. They had achieved much, but the path ahead was long.

As they traveled toward the Steele Mansion, his thoughts drifted once more to Zylle. A smirk played on his lips. She was a wild card—a potent mix of power and allure. Ensnaring her wouldn’t be easy, but Alaric was nothing if not ambitious.