SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 443: Decision [II]

A second passed after the message left the device.

Then another.

The runes along the surface of the Shadowlink Echo dimmed slightly as it awaited a response.

A knock sounded at the door.

Darian’s ears twitched at the interruption. Aubrelle turned her head slightly toward the sound.

Trafalgar closed his fingers and the Shadowlink Echo dissolved into faint particles of mana before fading completely. He rose without hurry and crossed the room, opening the door.

Caelum stood on the other side.

He wore a human face this time, appearing to be in his mid-twenties. The features were unfamiliar, but the eyes were not. Yellow. Clear. Steady. The same gaze that had followed Trafalgar long before anyone else had.

"Young Master," Caelum said, bowing his head slightly.

"Can I meet my father right now?" Trafalgar asked, stepping aside just enough for Caelum to enter, though his gaze remained fixed on him.

Caelum crossed the threshold and the door closed behind him. He did not look toward Darian at first; his attention stayed on Trafalgar.

"It will be difficult, Young Master," he replied, voice even, hands resting calmly behind his back. "You already know what is happening."

Trafalgar held his stare for a moment, then took a step closer, closing the distance until only a narrow space remained between them. His expression did not change, but his voice lowered.

"To whom did you swear loyalty, Caelum?" he murmured, just loud enough for the words to reach him alone.

Caelum did not step back.

"My loyalty is yours," he replied quietly, eyes lowering just a fraction in acknowledgment. "That has not changed."

Trafalgar’s gaze did not soften.

"Then listen carefully," he murmured, voice barely above breath. "Before they finalize the next Thal’zar heir, I need to see my father. If Darian stands under me, that seat becomes useful. In the long term."

Caelum’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

"It is not only Lord Valttair you must consider," he said just as quietly. "Lady Elenara au Sylvanel holds equal weight in this decision. Perhaps more, given the current balance. They are not discussing possibilities anymore. They are concluding."

Trafalgar’s fingers tightened slightly at his side.

"Darian was among the three strongest candidates," Caelum continued, voice still low. "But the selection has already been made."

A brief pause.

"Lucien du Thal’zar has been chosen."

The words settled between them like a stone dropped into still water.

"The decision is effectively locked," Caelum added.

Trafalgar did not react immediately. His eyes remained steady, unreadable, as if Lucien’s name were merely another variable placed on a board he had already begun rearranging.

"And if Lucien were not alive?" he asked softly.

There was no hesitation in the wording. No metaphor.

Caelum’s gaze lifted fully this time, yellow eyes meeting Trafalgar’s without flinching. He understood at once. Not the surface meaning, but the intention beneath it. The calculation. The redirection of momentum through removal rather than persuasion.

He did not answer immediately.

Instead, he considered the implications—the internal shock within Thal’zar, the ripple through Sylvanel, the reaction from Valttair, the risk of suspicion, the narrow window before succession was publicly declared.

"If Lucien were to fall," Caelum said at last, tone level, "the decision would return to the remaining candidates."

A slight pause.

"It would narrow between Darian and Maris."

His eyes shifted briefly toward the interior of the room, where Darian still sat unaware of the full weight of the exchange.

"Maris is married," Caelum continued. "That complicates alignment. In such a case, the choice would likely settle between the two of them."

Trafalgar absorbed the answer in silence, eyes remaining on Caelum as if he were verifying the shape of the outcome rather than weighing its morality. Lucien offered him nothing. A clean heir, already chosen, already aligned, already positioned beyond his reach. Even if Trafalgar were allowed near the decision, he would be negotiating from the outside, watching someone else take a seat that would become untouchable the moment it was secured.

Darian was different.

Darian was afraid, but he was perceptive. He was pliable in a way that could be turned into loyalty, and loyalty could be turned into access. If Darian rose, he would rise with a chain attached, not to Morgain as a house, but to Trafalgar as a person. That distinction mattered more than titles. A head of Thal’zar who owed him everything would be a lever that could shift future negotiations without anyone realizing where the pressure truly came from.

If he acted now, Darian would understand that Trafalgar’s earlier words had not been bravado. Influence was invisible until it moved something that should not move, and once Darian witnessed that, the bond would tighten on its own. Morgain’s shadow would stretch into Thal’zar without needing banners, treaties, or public declarations.

Trafalgar turned back into the room.

Darian looked up at him instinctively, sensing the shift before understanding it. Aubrelle remained silent, but her posture had straightened, attention sharpened.

"If I secure you the position of Head of the Thal’zar..." Trafalgar said, voice even, eyes fixed on him, "you will do as I say."

Darian stiffened, ears angling back.

"It’s impossible—" he began.

Trafalgar cut across him without raising his tone.

"If I do it, you will be under me. Even if you become a puppet to my father and Elenara, you will follow me." His gaze did not waver. "Answer me. Yes or no."

The room seemed to contract around the question.

Darian’s fingers tightened against his knees. Fear surfaced first—the weight of what he was agreeing to, the loss of autonomy, the irreversible step. But beneath it, something else moved. The possibility Trafalgar had forced into existence moments earlier. The image of the seat he had convinced himself he did not want. The thought that perhaps he did not have to face it alone.

His throat shifted as he swallowed.

He lifted his eyes fully this time and held Trafalgar’s gaze.

"I will be loyal to you, Trafalgar," he said, voice steadier than before. "If you help me obtain the position of Head of the Thal’zar, I will do as you say. I will be of use to you in the future."

The words did not echo loudly.

But they altered the balance of the room.

An heir of one Great Family binding himself to another.

And not to the first heir.

To the eighth.

Trafalgar did not look at Darian when he spoke again.

He turned slightly toward Caelum, just enough to shift the axis of the room.

"Kill Lucien du Thal’zar," he whispered.

The words were quiet.

They did not tremble.

Caelum went still for the span of a single breath. Not from hesitation born of conscience, but from the magnitude of the name. Lucien was not a minor noble, not a disposable piece. He was an heir of one of the Eight Great Families. His death would not be an incident. It would be an event.

Caelum understood the implications immediately.

He also understood the command.

His loyalty had never been conditional.

He had chosen his side long ago.

He inclined his head slightly.

"Yes, my Lord."

The next instant, his presence thinned, as if the space he occupied had simply decided to forget him. The air shifted faintly where he had stood, and then he was gone.

Darian felt it more than saw it.

A chill crawled along his spine.

Trafalgar’s gaze remained on the door through which Caelum had disappeared, voice calm, almost reflective.

"I hope you keep your word, Darian."