The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation

Chapter 203: Chapter 199 — Routine

The week blurred by. Zephyrion spent his days watching Lumi, overseeing Tobias’ training, and practicing the Titan Armor.

Though he had comprehended the entire art in one night, comprehension and execution were two different things. First, he had to create a seed, use it to form a complete armor, then fuse it with his skeleton, nerves, muscles, and blood— his entire body.

It had proven painfully time-consuming, mostly because he had to wait for his body to naturally assimilate with the armor.

It was only on the sixth day that Zephyrion finally achieved it.

He stood in the middle of his room, encased entirely in armor. It was sleek, glinting, and pale white in color. Memory Metal, as he had decided to call it.

Zephyrion raised a hand, carefully moving his body around. Even with his hypersensitivity, he couldn’t differentiate the armor from his body. It was as though he had simply gained another limb.

Every movement was seamless, without a trace of the rigidity he would have expected from armor made of metal.

He was satisfied.

The rest of the night was spent adding properties to the armor. Weight adjustment, hardness, elasticity...

He didn’t stop even as morning sunlight filtered into the room. He continued like this, only pausing to interact with Lumi and check up on Tobias’ training.

Soon, it was night. Exactly one week since Kastor had taught them the Titan Armor. Zephyrion found himself standing alongside Ingrid, with their father’s emotionless eyes fixed on them.

”Show me.”

Zephyrion glanced at his sister.

Ingrid carried a strange seriousness about her. Her shoulders were rigid, her body tense. They had arrived before their father, yet she hadn’t spoken a single word to him.

He allowed Ingrid to go first.

Metallic armor spread from her chest, encasing her entire body. It was sleek, pale white, and radiated intense power. The metal of a Herald.

As Kastor nodded, she vanished, blurring across the hall in quick bursts.

When she returned, the armor melted away from her face. Then she stared at Kastor with an expectant gaze, as though trying very hard not to look expectant.

”Not bad.” Kastor gave a single nod. ”Full-body assimilation in one week. Acceptable.”

Ingrid clenched both fists at her sides as she inclined her head.

”Yes, Father.”

”You next.”

Zephyrion stepped forward, feeling the weight of both gazes settle on him. Kastor remained an expressionless mask, but Ingrid’s...

For the first time, Zephyrion could see a trace of emotion on his sister’s face. Her arms were stiff at her sides. Her jaw was faintly set. She was worried.

Why would she be worried?

Countless thoughts flickered through his mind before he slowly exhaled.

’Titan Armor.’

Metal spread across his body, forming a complete suit of armor.

He displayed fusion with everything except his blood. His movements appeared perfectly natural, but to a trained eye, it was obvious something was missing.

When he finished, he glanced toward Ingrid. She immediately clenched both fists, a bright smile breaking across her face as though she had just won some silent contest.

Zephyrion found himself staring at the smile. Something stirred in his chest. Then he felt a gaze. Ahead, Kastor was watching him, patient, as though waiting for something.

But Zephyrion had no intention of showing anything else. He inclined his head and stepped back.

For the remainder of the session, Kastor didn’t comment on his display. After offering general advice about the Titan Armor and its potential, he dismissed them.

Zephyrion left feeling slightly confused. He could have easily revealed his true progress. Yet he hadn’t. Ingrid’s emotions had somehow influenced him. Why?

Then there was Kastor’s persistent stare. Like he knew something. Zephyrion returned to his mansion with a deep frown.

The following weeks settled into a routine.

Most of his time was devoted to the Titan Armor. He continuously added new properties, then subjected himself to countless simulated battles to grow accustomed to each of them.

Throughout the day, he periodically checked on Tobias and his training. The ward’s progress during the first weeks was exceptional. Eventually, he managed to withstand it for an entire minute.

Zephyrion then attempted to move on to sight.

The results were disastrous. Three seconds. That was his limit, one he couldn’t get past no matter how long. Even worse, when he returned to the previous training, he discovered his one-minute endurance had been cut nearly in half.

The ward had been visibly dejected. Still, Zephyrion was pleased to see that he hadn’t given up.

Lumi’s condition was a source of great discomfort, more than Zephyrion would ever admit. The fact that he had no idea when, or even if, it would happen again left him perpetually restless.

In the middle of the night, Zephyrion would more often than not find himself jolting awake, heart pounding. The moment he heard the soft breathing in the room and felt the warmth beside him, the tension would ease from his body.

Slumping back onto the bed, he would stared at the ceiling, countless thoughts drifting through his mind.

He ended up not sleeping during those nights.

As the days passed, the time for the Ferran Military Academy drew nearer. Even amidst all the restlessness, Zephyrion continued preparing.

The military academy was a gathering of every youth turning eighteen within the Ferran Empire. From average talents to prodigies, everyone would be in attendance. The competition was fierce, especially among the dynasty houses.

Each existed in an entirely different realm from the heirs of ordinary houses. Prodigies among prodigies. Beyond that, the academy existed for a singular purpose. To turn children into warriors. To separate chaff from wheat.

It wasn’t going to be simple.

Aside from preparing for the academy, he also found a strange sort of respite in his weekly meetings with Ingrid and Kastor.

Every week, he allowed Ingrid to go first. And every week, he continued his still-confusing habit of displaying progress slightly below hers.

The first few times, Kastor merely watched him. Then he began asking Zephyrion to repeat his demonstrations. Yet Zephyrion always ended up doing the same thing.

Afterward, he would inevitably feel Kastor’s eyes on him, watching, waiting.

Zephyrion wondered whether his father knew and was simply choosing not to say anything. He wondered whether the man ever even thought. He wondered whether anything at all passed through that perpetually expressionless face.

This was the longest time he had ever spent this close to his father. And with every meeting, he found himself wanting to ask the same questions.

Why?

Why hadn’t he done anything when his wife and son were attacked? Why had he stepped back? Why had he abandoned them?

In the end, Zephyrion chose silence. His hatred continued to grow.