The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

Information began pouring in quickly as Kael's entourage settled within the estate.

Seraphina Salvatore.

The only daughter of Duke Luke Salvatore, the current head of the Salvatore Duchy. Declared as heir from a young age, she was trained strictly in matters of politics, combat, diplomacy, and governance. A woman raised to become a ruler.

She was cold,sharp and unbending.

Kael wasn't sure if her frosty demeanor was directed solely at him or if it was her standard behavior toward everyone. But one thing was certain—Seraphina was making a statement.

She moved through the courtyard like the center of gravity itself, and everyone naturally revolved around her.

Her lavender hair, long and loosely braided, shimmered under the sunlight as droplets of rain evaporated into mist around her. It fell over one shoulder, ending in delicate curls. Her eyes, a deep violet, glowed with quiet resolve—distant, intelligent, and watchful. She wore a tailored military-style coat of emerald green and silver, hugging her figure with poise and power.

As she passed the workers and knights, the reaction was overwhelming.

"Lady Seraphina!"

"Good morning, Duchess!"

"You look lovely today!"

The servants didn't fear her. They adored her.

She smiled back, briefly, nodding at each one with subtle familiarity. Some she addressed by name. There was no stiffness, no walls between them. It felt warm, genuine—as if she were one of them, not above them.

Watching this, Kael frowned a little. That's… unexpected.

But beside him, Ariana was staring.

Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in thought. There was something in Seraphina's aura—the way she carried herself, the rhythm of her steps, the silent command she held.

'She looks familiar.'

Ariana's mind flickered back.

A face. A scarred face. A cruel laugh. A woman drenched in blood and hatred.

The resemblance was uncanny—but different.

The one she remembered was twisted and wicked. This Seraphina radiated grace and poise, the kind that inspired loyalty. No scar. No venom.

Her thoughts were cut short by Kael's whisper.

"Hey. What are you staring at?"

Ariana jolted slightly. "It's nothing."

"Really?"

"Really."

Before he could press further—

SLAM!

A loud voice echoed.

"We are here!"

The Salvatore Mansion towered before them—majestic, ancient, and proud.

Though nearly equal in size and structure to the Veydrin estate, there was one key difference. Life.

The flower fields spilled out like a sea of colors. Vast stretches of red lilies, yellow marigolds, wild roses, and violet asters blanketed the grounds. The wind carried their scent—a perfume of spring, memory, and warmth. Butterflies fluttered in the air, dancing between the blossoms, while a bluish mist hugged the foot of the distant mountains, tracing their path upward like a celestial staircase.

Kael stood dumbfounded.

"This…" he whispered. "It's… massive."

A voice, low and refined, replied from the garden-side veranda.

"Your mother loved them."

Kael turned.

Sitting calmly was a man with striking features and sharp eyes—Luke Salvatore, Duke of Salvatore and Kael's uncle. His posture was proud, and his tone sharp, but his gaze betrayed something else: restraint. Behind the cold mask… there was a storm.

Beside him sat a woman of regal grace.

Alina Salvatore.

With gentle hands and kind eyes, she resembled a matured version of Seraphina, though her aura was far warmer. Her long blue hair was pinned elegantly, and she personally poured the tea into cups, refusing to let servants interfere.

Luke glanced through the window at the garden.

"When Emilia was six," he said, "she told our father she wanted a garden of her own."

Kael raised a brow.

"So he cleared this land. Every inch of it. And since then, not a single day has passed without someone tending it. She called it her Heaven of Colours."

Kael leaned forward to accept his tea—then froze.

'Wait… she just wanted a garden… and they carved out a third of the damn estate for her?'

'They didn't love her. They worshipped her.'

Luke sipped his tea, then looked directly at Kael.

"You're twenty-one, correct?"

"Almost," Kael replied with a half-smile.

Luke ignored the quip, his voice rising.

Please read this chapter on its original platform—M|V|L1EMPYR.

"Twenty-one years… and not once have you come to see her. Are you not ashamed?"

The weight in the room dropped. The air thickened.

But Kael had prepared for this.

He let out a sigh and gently set down his teacup.

He moved slowly, loosening his tie, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, and pulling the fabric aside—

Exposing faint, pale marks.

Scars.

They ran across his neck like faded ink stains—like invisible chains once bound him.

Alina, in the midst of handing out a saucer, froze. Her hand trembled slightly.

Luke's expression darkened. His brows drew together.

"What…?"

Kael's lips curled into a thin, mocking smile.

He looked directly into Luke's eyes.

"Now," he said softly. "What do you think this is?"

Alina gasped, her eyes wide in horror.

Her delicate fingers trembled as she looked at the pale scars lining Kael's neck—evidence of pain, of shackles once invisible to the world.

"Kael…" she whispered in disbelief, the teacup in her hand rattling lightly against the saucer.

Even Luke Salvatore, the proud and cold Duke, faltered for a breath. His eyes narrowed sharply, his gaze locked on those old wounds. The color drained slightly from his face.

Kael smiled bitterly, brushing his fingers across his neck with mock amusement.

"I wonder what these could be," he said softly. "Perhaps a fashion choice?"

His voice dropped lower, each word dripping with coldness.

"A child—when treated like a pest, when told he should've never been born, when even his own mother screams that he should've been killed—needs time to heal from that. That kind of trauma doesn't go away."

He leaned forward slightly, his tone sharper.

"I wonder… whose fault was that?"

SLAM!

The table cracked with a deafening sound as Luke smashed his fist down, the china rattling violently as tea spilled across the pristine surface.

His face contorted with fury.

"Are you mocking Salvatore?!"

His voice bellowed like thunder, shaking the very walls of the estate.

"Do you not understand how much your mother suffered in that hellhole you call a home? That place broke her.! It shattered her dreams! It crushed her soul until she became nothing but a hollow shell!"

"She was a lovely, radiant woman—a blooming flower. And Veydrin turned her into ashes!"

A powerful shockwave of magical force surged from Luke's body, a swirling pressure of rage and power that cracked the floor beneath him and sent a ripple through the windows. Paintings trembled. Curtains flared. Even the very walls seemed to groan under the pressure.

Alina's eyes narrowed.

She raised a hand, a soft wave of energy pushing back the worst of Luke's burst before it shattered anything more. "Enough," she whispered—but the Duke was far from calm.

Kael's hair rustled from the shockwave, his chair slightly scraped back from the blast. But he didn't move.

He sat, perfectly still—eyes sharp, cold, and unflinching.

Then he spoke.

"Let me tell you something."

"I also hate that old man of mine," he said, voice as calm as steel. "I absolutely detest him. He's a monster. Emotionless. Cold. The kind of bastard who wouldn't blink if a man died in front of him."

"But…" Kael's eyes narrowed, locking directly with Luke's. "There's something you're deliberately ignoring."

"My mother… was treated like a queen."

"She was given everything—freedom, wealth, security, reverence. Anything she wanted, she got. Anything she disliked was removed from her sight. No chains, no cages. Just a silent, stoic man who didn't know how to love."

"And yes… that was his flaw. A terrible one."

"But you—" Kael growled, his voice rising. "you have no damn right to call us criminals!"

He stood up, his chair skidding back with a shriek across the marble floor.

A surge of killing intent erupted from him.

Like a crimson explosion, the room was instantly dyed in red—an overwhelming aura of bloodlust, heart-wrenching, bone-chilling. It wasn't just anger. It was the condensed will of a man who had seen death… and dealt with it.

The light itself seemed to dim.

Every breath froze.

The servants outside the room dropped their trays and clutched their chests, gasping for breath.

"Wh-what is that?!"

"It's like… like death itself—"

Some stumbled backward, collapsing to their knees. The animals in the garden scattered, birds took flight in alarm. A fine crack splintered across a nearby vase just from the pressure.

Even Luke's eyes widened—stunned.

This wasn't a boy.

This was… a monster born from silence. A predator disguised as nobility. A blade that had already tasted blood countless times.

"This killing intent…! How?!" he whispered.

'Only veterans of countless wars… only generals who've walked rivers of blood… have such bloodlust!'

Kael stepped forward, slowly, each step echoing like a toll of a war drum.

His voice dropped low—calm, but it sliced through the room like a dagger.

"You called me filth."

"You barred me from my own mother's land."

"You accused my family of crimes we never committed."

He leaned in slightly.

"Now look me in the eyes, Duke Salvatore… and say it again."