"The Fated Rival of the Moon"

The grand banquet hall shimmered under the glow of golden chandeliers, nobles chattering amongst themselves, yet all eyes occasionally flickered toward one figure—Azrael Kaelthorne. He stood tall, his silver hair reflecting the dim candlelight, his golden eyes devoid of warmth as he exchanged words with none other than his fiancée, Elaris Velmira.

She examined him with curiosity, her own sharp instincts noticing the drastic transformation in him. This is not the same Azrael Kaelthorne from before.

"How did you get this strong so quickly?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Azrael's expression remained cold, his tone as sharp as his blade. "Training."

Elaris raised a brow. "What kind of training?"

"1,000 horizontal and vertical slashes. 100 push-ups. 100 sit-ups. A 20 km run. Two hours of meditation. Eight hours of sleep. A diet high in protein."

She blinked in surprise, then smirked. "So, half talent and full hard work. I admire that."

Azrael remained silent. He had no desire for admiration—only strength.

As time passed, the banquet gradually came to an end, nobles leaving one by one, whispering among themselves about the shockingly powerful Kaelthorne bastard. However, just as Azrael was about to retire for the night, a servant approached him.

"The family head summons you, young master."

Without a word, Azrael followed, entering the grand study of the Kaelthorne estate, where the family head—his father—awaited. The man's piercing gaze settled on him, scanning him carefully before nodding in approval.

"Good job," the family head said, his tone devoid of warmth yet filled with undeniable acknowledgment.

Azrael nodded. "Thank you."

Then, without hesitation, he met his father's eyes. "Why is a shadow following me?"

For the first time in a long while, the family head's expression faltered. A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes before he quickly concealed it. He noticed the Shadows?

The Shadows—Kaelthorne's elite assassins, a force that answered only to the family head—were trained to be invisible. Even high-ranking nobles would struggle to sense their presence. Yet, Azrael had not only noticed but was directly confronting him about it.

"Do I not have the authority to know?" Azrael continued, his voice unwavering.

Silence filled the room for a brief moment before the family head chuckled, his expression unreadable. "Very well. You are no longer under surveillance."

Then, as if sealing his decision, he pulled something from his desk and tossed it toward Azrael. A gleaming black card, adorned with a golden crest—The Imperial Crest.

"A magic card," the family head stated. "No spending limit. Only the Four Dukes, the Grand Duke Kaelthorne, and the Imperial Family possess one. Consider this a reward."

Azrael caught the card, examining it briefly before tucking it away. "I accept."

With that, he turned and left, returning to his chambers. He had no intention of wasting time celebrating his reward—there was still much to do.

As he lay in bed, the System window flickered before his eyes.

[System Notification: All Surveillance Removed. You are now Free from the Kaelthorne Shadows.]

A faint smirk crossed Azrael's lips. Now, I can move as I please.

With that final thought, he closed his eyes, drifting into sleep—his next steps already forming in his mind.