SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 380: Family Reunion [II]

Rivena remained still, her posture relaxed, her expression composed enough to pass as disinterest.

Outwardly, she gave nothing away. Inwardly, she was already moving pieces.

She had more than enough strength to be granted a territory of her own. No one in the room truly doubted that. If she had wanted one, she could have made a case for it. She could have pushed, demanded recognition, framed it as entitlement earned through blood and capability.

But that had never been what drove her.

Power, in isolation, bored her. Administration, titles, the weight of land and names attached to it—those were tools, not goals. Useful only insofar as they served something larger.

Her gaze drifted briefly toward her father, then away again. It seems Father is trying to avoid an internal war. That’s the logical move. And shifting the focus away from Trafalgar after revealing his talent... very smart, Daddy.’

The thought settled easily.

Valttair wasn’t acting on impulse. He never did. This redistribution, the elevation of Maeron and Helgar, the timing of it all—it wasn’t generosity, nor was it favoritism. It was containment. By spreading attention, by giving others something tangible to compete over, he was preventing resentment from consolidating into something dangerous.

And Trafalgar.

Shifting the focus away from him now was the correct move. After revealing an SSS talent, leaving him at the center would have invited fractures. Envy. Fear. Quiet hostility that could rot the family from within.

Rivena understood that better than most.

Some of her siblings were still reacting emotionally, measuring what they had gained or lost. Others were already imagining the battlefield. Very few were actually seeing the board as it was.

Valttair was buying stability with opportunity. He was turning ambition outward instead of inward.

Clever.

Her lips curved almost imperceptibly, not into a smile, but into something close to approval.

The war would test them all. Strength, judgment, restraint. And those who survived it would not be the same people who entered it.

Rivena leaned back slightly, content to observe.

Valttair’s voice cut back into the room, drawing Trafalgar’s focus forward.

"All heirs will go to war," he said. "Without exception."

The statement left no space for interpretation.

"The wives will remain behind," Valttair continued. "You will oversee the territories, manage logistics, and ensure stability in our absence. Morgain does not march blind."

He shifted his stance slightly, his gaze moving with intent.

"Squadrons Five through Nine will accompany me to the front," he announced. "The remaining forces will stay to defend our lands. No territory is to be left exposed."

Then his eyes settled on his sons.

"Each of you will take your own squadron," Valttair said. "You hold territory. That means command. You will learn to organize, to direct, and to bear responsibility for lives beyond your own."

The weight of that expectation settled heavily.

Valttair straightened, his presence filling the hall.

"We are Morgain," he said. "A family of swordsmen."

There was no need to raise his voice.

"We fight at close range. We do not hide behind others. We break lines, hold ground, and claim victory with our own hands."

Pride sharpened his tone, not loud, but unmistakable.

"That is who we are," Valttair finished. "And that is what you will prove."

Lysandra was the one who spoke next.

"And the other families?" she asked. Her tone was calm, precise. "As we know, six houses are already engaged. The Sylvanel and the five allied to them."

Valttair met her gaze without hesitation.

"They will provide support," he said. "As agreed."

He continued without embellishment.

"The Sylvanel already hold control over most surrounding territories. What remains unresolved is the core. The Thal’Zar stronghold."

A few heads lifted slightly at that.

"Their castle is not a conventional structure," Valttair went on. "It functions more like a burrowed complex. A labyrinth. They live beneath it, not within its walls. That gives them an advantage."

He let the implication stand.

"They know the terrain. Every passage. Every choke point. Carelessness there will be punished."

Lady Naevia inclined her head, fingers tightening briefly at her side.

"Then we must move quickly," she said. "Preparations should begin immediately."

"They already have," Valttair replied. "You will all be ready before nightfall."

His gaze swept the room.

"We move tonight."

A murmur threatened to rise, then died before it could form.

"Each of you will receive a document detailing your position and assignment," Valttair continued. "There will be no confusion."

He paused only long enough for the next names to carry weight.

"Elenara au Sylvanel and I will monitor the movements of Icarus and Kaedor."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"And hear this clearly," Valttair added. "If you encounter Icarus, or anyone showing signs of infection, you withdraw. Immediately."

No hesitation. No exceptions.

"We do not lose heirs to pride," he said. "Nor do we weaken the house unnecessarily."

Silence followed.

Then, one by one, heads inclined.

Every order had been understood.

The meeting came to a close without ceremony.

One by one, the wives rose from their seats, already issuing quiet instructions as they moved. Words were exchanged in low voices, measured and efficient. The heirs followed soon after, dispersing in different directions, each carrying their own calculations.

Before long, the hall thinned.

Only three remained.

Valttair stood at the head of the room. Lysandra lingered nearby. Trafalgar had not moved.

Lysandra glanced at him, curiosity surfacing at last.

"Why are you still here?" she asked.

Trafalgar answered simply. "It’s my birthday. Father said he would give me a gift."

For a moment, Lysandra looked genuinely taken aback.

"...I’m sorry," she said after a beat. "With everything about the war, it slipped my mind. Bad timing."

There was no artifice in her voice. Just regret.

"It’s fine," Trafalgar replied. "I don’t really celebrate them anyway."

Valttair cut in before the moment could stretch further.

"That’s enough," he said. "We don’t have time for this."

He reached into his coat and produced a small vial, sealed and perfectly clear. Mana pulsed faintly within it, dense and steady.

"Take this," Valttair said, holding it out. "A mana potion. It will keep your reserves full for twenty-four hours. That is how long we expect the operation to last. If you do it really well, I’ll give you a real gift then."

Trafalgar accepted it, expression unchanged.

’Seriously? ’This is all?’ he thought dryly. ’Stingy... but fine. Nothing to be done. Seriously, do I really have to do this right for you to give me something...?’

"Thank you, Father," he said aloud.

Valttair nodded once.

"You may go. Prepare your squadron. I have high expectations for you," he said. "Meet them. Or at least do not fall short."

That was all.

Trafalgar turned and left without another word.

Behind him, Lysandra remained where she was, and Valttair took his seat.

Whatever conversation followed, Trafalgar would never hear it.

As he stepped into the corridor, he exhaled softly.

"Caelum," he murmured.

The name had barely left his lips before the air beside him shifted.

Caelum emerged without sound, as he always did, his presence forming as naturally as a shadow reconnecting to its source. His posture was straight, hands already clasped behind his back, eyes attentive.

"Yes, young master," he said calmly.

Trafalgar did not slow his steps.

"Gather Arthur and the old squadron," he ordered. "No new recruits. I don’t want anyone inexperienced."

Caelum listened without interruption.

"Take only the three hundred veterans," Trafalgar continued. "The ones who’ve already seen real combat and that they were trained by the family. We’ll assemble at the location Lord Valttair designated."

There was no hesitation in his voice. No need to justify the decision.

Caelum inclined his head slightly. "Understood."

"I’ll have them ready," he added. "We will meet you there."

Trafalgar nodded once.

"That’s all."

Caelum paused for a fraction of a second, then spoke again. "Take care until then, young master."

With that, he stepped back—and vanished, leaving the corridor unchanged, as if he had never been there at all.

Trafalgar continued forward, his grip tightening briefly around the vial hidden within his coat.