SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 478: The Night Before

It was already night by the time Trafalgar finally had his room to himself.

Both families had withdrawn to their respective chambers to wait for tomorrow, and the mansion had quieted enough that only distant footsteps and the faint movement of servants still drifted through the halls. The afternoon had been tolerable, which already counted as a victory. More importantly, none of his family had crossed his path long enough to ruin it.

Trafalgar lay on the bed with one foot over the other, one hand tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling for a moment.

Then he said, "Status."

The system window appeared in front of him.

[Host: Trafalgar du Morgain]

[Title: Cursed Heir]

[Age: 17]

[Race: Half-Human / Half-Primordial]

[Bloodline: Primordial Being]

[Core: Flow]

[Class: Swordsman / Riftspawn]

[Talent: SSS]

[Passive Skill: Primordial Body – Rank: Unique – Lv. MAX]

[Passive Skill: Riftborn Devourer – Rank: Unique – Lv. MAX]

[Passive Skill: Sword Insight – Rank: Legendary – Lv. MAX]

[Passive Skill: Morgain Blade – Rank: Unique – Lv. MAX]

[Combat Skill: Arc Slash – Rank: Common – Lv. 2]

[Combat Skill: Severing Fang – Rank: Rare – Lv. 2]

[Combat Skill: Severance Step – Rank: Epic – Lv. 2]

[Combat Skill: Earthsplitter – Rank: Epic – Lv. 1]

[Combat Skill: Morgain’s Requiem – Rank: Unique]

[Combat Skill: Morgain’s Last Dusk – Rank: Unique]

[Combat Skill: Morgain’s Final Crescent – Rank: Unique]

[Combat Skill: Crosswind Edge – Rank: Common – Lv. 1]

[Weapon: Maledicta – Rank: Epic – Type: Evolutive Sword]

[Accessory: Oathbinder – Rank: Legendary – Type: Ring]

[Armor: Leather Undersuit – Rank: Uncommon]

[Accessory: Heirloom of the First Lord – Rank: Unique – Type: Ring]

[Utility Item: Blazewick Torch – Rank: Common]

[Weapon: Widow’s Whisper – Rank: Rare – Type: Dagger]

[Weapon: Nightpiercer – Rank: Epic – Type: Longsword]

[Armor: Shadowhide Leather Armor – Rank: Rare]

[Armor: Armor of the Unborn Star – Rank: Unique]

[Clothing Item: Winter Jacket – Rank: Uncommon]

[Accessory: Leviathan Fang Pendant – Rank: Legendary]

Trafalgar stared at it for a long while.

A slow breath left him.

’Wow. This is ridiculous.’

Seeing everything laid out like that made the difference clearer than usual. Talent, bloodline, skills, weapons, armor, accessories. Too much for someone his age. Too much for someone who, not that long ago, had to claw for every small improvement like a starving dog fighting over scraps.

His eyes stopped on one line.

[Weapon: Maledicta – Rank: Epic – Type: Evolutive Sword]

That made the corner of his mouth lift faintly.

’My little girl Maledicta reached Epic already.’

He had not properly stopped to think about it before. Between the war, the Council, the Primordial matter, and tomorrow’s wedding, that detail had simply passed through his hands and settled there like it belonged. Now, seeing it written so plainly, it felt different.

At this point he was beginning to look less like a student and more like the sort of shameless monster a protagonist was supposed to run from in the last volume.

His gaze moved lower.

[Weapon: Nightpiercer – Rank: Epic – Type: Longsword]

’Hm.’

Now that Maledicta had evolved again, there was even less reason to keep Nightpiercer for himself. He could sell it to Augusto. The merchant would probably try to act calm for a second, fail, and then start smiling like a thief who had just found god. Or maybe...

His eyes narrowed slightly.

’Or I can give it to Arthur.’

The captain had earned something. He had handled Euclid well, kept order, and did not need to be watched every second like half the idiots Trafalgar had dealt or met with over the last year. A weapon like that would not be wasted on him.

His eyes moved over the rest of the window again, line by line, slower now.

A smile formed on his face.

’If I keep growing at this rate, I should start apologizing before fights. It would be rude not to.’

That thought had barely crossed his mind when the sound reached him.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The system window vanished from sight.

Trafalgar pushed himself up from the bed and headed for the door with one thought already in his head.

’Please don’t be Rivena. She’d ruin the night and tomorrow too if she could.’

Honestly, he would have taken Helgar coming to insult him or Valttair showing up to say something cold over her. Anyone but that woman.

He reached the door, took the handle, and opened it.

The moment the door opened, Trafalgar’s expression shifted.

It was not Rivena.

Aubrelle stood there barefoot in the corridor, her white blindfold still in place, pale hair falling neatly over her shoulders, while Pipin circled nearby in a slow, quiet arc. The soft light of the mansion caught against the bird’s feathers each time he turned, leaving a faint shimmer in the air around him. Seeing her there at that hour was enough to catch Trafalgar off guard.

"Aubrelle?" he asked, his brows lifting slightly. "Did something happen?"

For a second, she hesitated. That alone felt unusual on her. Aubrelle was rarely the type to linger at the edge of words like this.

"Can I come in?" she asked softly.

Trafalgar stepped aside at once and opened the door wider. "Of course. Come in."

She passed by him, Pipin gliding after her without a sound. Once inside, Aubrelle reached up and untied the blindfold with familiar ease. She never needed it when she was alone with him, and the gesture had become natural enough now that Trafalgar no longer thought much of it. He closed the door behind her while she walked toward the bed and sat down near the edge.

It was a large bed, wide enough that even someone like Trafalgar, who liked his space, could not complain. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, watching as Aubrelle folded the blindfold in her hands for a moment before setting it aside.

"Sorry for coming this late," she said. Her voice was quieter than usual. "I was feeling nervous about tomorrow."

Trafalgar sat down beside her, one leg bent slightly as he turned his body toward hers. "Oh?" The corner of his mouth moved faintly. "Don’t tell me you’re planning to run away before the wedding."

Aubrelle turned her face toward him.

Trafalgar knew she was not seeing him with her own eyes. What reached him was the gaze she borrowed through Pipin, distant and strange in a way no normal sight could ever be. Even so, when she faced him like that, it still felt as if she could see too much.

Then she moved closer.

Her hand touched lightly against his chest first, steadying herself, and then she kissed him.

Her lips met his with a heat that made the teasing line he had just spoken die completely before it could become anything else. Trafalgar’s hand rose almost by instinct, settling against her waist as he kissed her back. Aubrelle leaned into him, and when the kiss deepened, it carried all the nervousness she had walked in with, but turned into something softer and more honest. Her mouth parted against his, warm and searching, and for a few seconds the room narrowed around that alone, the quiet, the closeness, the slow pull of breath shared between them.

When they finally parted, Aubrelle stayed close enough that he could still feel the warmth of her against him.

Trafalgar looked at her for a moment, then let out a faint breath through his nose. "Well. That answers that."

A small trace of color had risen to Aubrelle’s face, but she did not look away.

"Yeah," he said, his voice lower now. "I don’t think you’re trying to escape."

That drew the smallest smile from her, though it faded quickly.

Trafalgar noticed.

His hand remained at her side for another second before easing away. "So what is it?" he asked, watching her more carefully now. "What’s bothering you?"

Aubrelle lowered her gaze for a moment, her fingers resting lightly against the fabric of her dress.

"It is Mayla," she said at last.

Trafalgar’s expression shifted slightly. "Mayla?"

Aubrelle gave a small nod. "I already told you before, and I told her too, but..." She paused, searching for the right way to say it. "It still does not sit well with me. She was there before I was. And tomorrow, even so, I will formally become your first wife."

Trafalgar stayed quiet.

He understood why that weighed on her. He also understood there was no clean answer to give. This was one of those things tied to family, rank, timing, and politics. Ugly things. Necessary things.

"We can’t avoid tomorrow," he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. "No matter what either of us thinks, this still has to happen." His eyes rested on her face. "But I understand why it bothers you."

Aubrelle shifted closer and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Can you promise me something?" she asked softly.

Trafalgar turned his head a little toward her. "Tell me."

After a brief silence, Aubrelle said, "Will you ask Mayla to marry you too after this?"

That caught him off guard.

For a second, Trafalgar said nothing. Then something in his expression eased, faint but there.

He appreciated it. More than he could easily put into words.

Aubrelle and Mayla were two of the most important people in his life, and instead of circling each other like enemies the way the wives of House Morgain always did, they thought of each other. There was no poison in it. No grasping for rank. No desperate scramble to place their children above everyone else.

"I will," he said.

Aubrelle lifted her head slightly. "Really?"

"Yes." The corner of his mouth moved faintly. "Though I don’t know what Valttair will say. I already made my position clear to him, so I doubt he can stop me."

That made Aubrelle tilt her face toward him. "What did you tell him?"

Trafalgar did not hesitate. "That he can use me as much as he wants as long as he stays out of my private life."

Aubrelle went quiet for a second. "That was brave."

"Was it?" Trafalgar let out a faint breath through his nose. "Maybe." His gaze drifted ahead. "What I have with my family is mutual use. Nothing more. You already know how it is. If it were up to me, I’d rather see most of them dead." His voice stayed flat, but the hatred under it was old and familiar. "For now, all I can do is keep taking whatever I can from this cursed surname and keep moving forward."

Aubrelle’s hand found his.

"You know we’ll stand by you," she whispered. "No matter what you decide."

That landed more deeply than he let show.

Trafalgar leaned back and let himself fall onto the bed. Aubrelle, still against him, went with him and ended up resting over his chest. One of his arms moved around her almost without thought.

"That is good to hear," he murmured.