Chapter 20: Facing The Commander

A week later.

"Are you absolutely, positively, without a doubt, 100% sure this is where Sir Jacques resides?" Vyan squinted skeptically at the quaint little cottage nestled in the middle of nowhere, a place where even a magical tracker fears to tread.

Clyde glanced at the address scrawled on the crumpled paper in his hand. "Well, unless Sir Jacques has taken up a penchant for cave-dwelling suddenly, this is it." He scratched his head, muttering, "Though, knowing your luck, we might have accidentally teleported to the wrong place instead."

Vyan spotted a weathered letterbox proudly displaying the name 'Theodore Jacques.'

"Looks like we are at the right address at least," he let out, pointing it out to Clyde. "Time to ring the doorbell and hope Sir Jacques is not too busy practicing his disappearing act."

Clyde frowned, peering into the letterbox. "If he saw my heartfelt letter, where is my reply? Not even a 'please remove me from your mailing list' note? I am offended, honestly," he grumbled, giving the mailbox a suspicious once-over.

Undeterred, Vyan marched forward and rapped on the door.

According to Clyde's so-called reliable source, the commander of the Order of Phoenix—basically the army his mother personally trained—was supposed to be living here alone.

Theodore Jacques was apparently as family-free as a hermit crab at a beach, so Vyan was hoping to rope him back into the knightly fold and get the defense squad back in action for House Ashstone.

"Is he intentionally ghosting us, my lord?" Clyde wondered aloud.

"I don't see why he would—" Vyan began, only to have the door swing open, revealing a sword aimed directly at his neck.

Vyan stared down the business end of the blade, his eyes meeting those of a ginger-haired, middle-aged man with a furious glare.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice dripping with a blend of irritation and potential homicide.

Clyde looked like he was about to stage a heroic intervention, but Vyan silenced him with a swift hand gesture.

Unfazed by the sharp point inches from his Adam's apple, Vyan greeted the sword-wielding man with the kind of calm only a person who has read too many adventurous stories could muster.

"Top of the morning to you, Sir Jacques. I am Vyan—"

Theodore's eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, you are that cheeky rascal pretending to be Lady Natalia's son?"

"That's my mother, alright." Vyan portrayed an amicable smile, despite the sword nicking his skin and playing connect-the-dots with his blood vessels.

"There is no way in the seven hells you are her kid," Theodore growled, applying a bit more pressure with the blade for emphasis.

Vyan could see how unbelievable it might be for him to accept that Vyan was Natalia Audrey Ashstone's son—the first woman in the history of Haynes to have achieved the ultimate divine skill of a knight: the Aura. So, Vyan was willing to deal with patience.

However, seeing the blood ooze out of Vyan's skin, Clyde went into full offense mode and attempted to pull a classic ninja move, teleporting behind Theodore with all the grace of a startled pigeon.

Armed with a hammer conjured from the ether, he prepared to unleash some magical justice. But before he could even swing the manifested weapon, Theodore pirouetted and took a swipe at him with his sword.

Clyde narrowly avoided a close shave that didn't involve a barber and stumbled back, mentally applauding Theodore's agility while internally cursing his own lack of foresight.

Gathering his wits and a few stray thoughts, Clyde called upon his trusty wind spirits, giving Theodore the kind of glare usually reserved for someone who took the last cookie without offering.

"Hold up, Sir Jacques! You cannot just go around swinging swords at My Lord!" Clyde protested, indignant, as Theodore was about to point the sword back at Vyan.

"You mean, your faux lord," Theodore corrected.

"He is not faux," Clyde retorted, his irritation brewing faster than a potion, but he still retained his calm, appearing cold and icy.

"Clyde, why the impromptu heroics? I was having a civilized conversation here," Vyan interjected, sounding exasperated like an old man.

"He was about to separate your head from your shoulder! How could I just stand by and watch?" Clyde shot back, his loyalty shining more frantically than the bright sun during the peak summer days.

Vyan sighed. "Look, Sir Jacques and I still need to—"

"Save your breath, fibber! I have nothing to talk to you about. Get out of my abode immediately!" Theodore declared, his voice thunderous like Vyan was his seven-lifetime archenemy.

Meanwhile, Vyan's voice was a mixture of confusion and urgency as he pressed Theodore for answers. "Please, I will leave if you want me to, but I need to understand why you believe I am not who I think I am."

Theodore's expression softened for the first time, his eyes betraying a depth of sorrow. "Because," he began, his voice heavy, "the Young Lord Vyan we knew is no longer with us."

Shock rippled through Vyan and Clyde, their faces mirroring the disbelief of such a revelation.

"What do you mean?" Vyan's voice trembled, unable to fully comprehend Theodore's words.

Clyde's gaze bore into Theodore, searching for any sign of deception. "How can you be so certain?" he demanded, his tone edged with intensity.

Theodore met Vyan's gaze, his own filled with regret and pain.

"When I set out to find Young Lord Vyan after he went missing, I uncovered a harrowing truth," he confessed, each word burdened with the truth of his discovery. "He had been taken and sold in the black market. Tragically, the man who purchased him met his end in a carriage accident. Among the wreckage, they discovered a child's body, and the description matched that of Young Lord Vyan impeccably."

A heavy silence fell over the room as Vyan's heart sank, the gravity of Theodore's words settling in his chest like lead.

As uncertainty bore down on him, Vyan's mind became a battleground of doubt and fear.

What if everything he believed about himself was nothing but a mirage? What if he wasn't the true son of the Grand Duke? The mere thought sent shivers down his spine, threatening to unravel the very fabric of his current existence.

Stripped of his title, inheritance, and identity, he would be left a hollow shell of his former self, cast adrift in a world that offered no solace to those branded as impostors. The very notion of losing the power to take revenge on everyone he vowed to make suffer… It was downright terrifying.

Feeling the suffocating grip of fear tighten around him, Vyan was grateful for Clyde's reassuring presence by his side.

With a gentle touch, Clyde offered a lifeline of certainty in the midst of Vyan's turmoil.

"You are real, my lord," Clyde's words were a beacon of hope in the darkness, pulling Vyan back from the brink of despair. "No matter what anybody may say, you are and always will be Vyan Blake Ashstone."

Theodore's derisive scoff only served to fuel Clyde's determination, his icy glare a silent rebuke to any who dared to question Vyan's identity.

"You possess abilities that only a true Ashstone could wield," Clyde affirmed, his unwavering gaze locking onto Theodore's. "If you were truly an impostor, such magic would be beyond your reach."

Clyde's words washed over Vyan like a soothing balm.

Vyan had already proven himself time and again, casting aside any shadow of doubt that threatened to consume him. He was no imposter—he was a testament to the resilience of the Ashstone legacy.

"Yeah, you are right," Vyan murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability as he worked to steady his breathing.

At that moment, he realized the underlying cause of his panicked reaction.

Up until now, acceptance had come easily to him. With his unmistakable resemblance to his father, hardly anyone had questioned his identity.

But suddenly facing denial had dredged up deep-seated insecurities, stirring feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt that he had long struggled to suppress.

Clyde offered a comforting pat on his shoulder, putting Vyan's insecurities to sleep once again. "It's okay," he reassured him gently, understanding Vyan's internal struggle. "It happens to the best of us."

Turning his attention to Theodore, Clyde's tone took on a steely edge.

"And you," he addressed the former commander, his words carrying the consequence of the harsh words, "despite your past rank, you are now a commoner. You are well aware of the repercussions of brandishing a sword at nobility."

Theodore merely shrugged, unaffected by the implied threat. "Do as you wish," he responded nonchalantly. "If Lady Natalia's blood indeed courses through his veins, he is welcome to challenge me anytime."

"I hereby challenge you to a duel then," Vyan announced, his voice ringing out with the calmness of a seasoned swordmaster.

Clyde shot him a look that could scare away the scariest of ghosts, while Theodore's smirk widened into a grin, his interest piqued like a naughty cat spotting a particularly intriguing mouse.

"Are you out of your chocolate-loving mind, my lord?" Clyde exclaimed, his disbelief showing on his shot-up eyebrows. "You are the one who said you always trip over your own robes during sword combat! And don't you know this man could kill you for real?"

Clyde's cautionary words made Vyan hesitate a little.

But Theodore egged Vyan on with a gleam in his eye. "You are not going to back out because of that buffoon's words, are you?"

Vyan resolved himself further and met his challenging eyes. "No, not at all."

"Ah, now that's the spirit!" Theodore chimed in, his words dripping with amusement. "You do seem to have inherited Lady Natalia's fiery determination. I like it. Let's settle this like true knights—outside, in five minutes."