The next day, Vanessa left without anyone's knowledge, slipping away like a shadow at dawn. Before departing, she fed her baby one last time, cradling him gently and whispering soft words of love and promises. She gave him a gift: an egg, as big as the baby himself, a mysterious object of unknown origin but great significance. Izark, with a deep sense of foreboding, had anticipated something like this might happen, so he was not surprised. He took Zain in his arms, wrapped him in a soft blanket, and, along with some of his most trusted warriors, left the mansion.

  Their destination was Ravion Palace, located in Vermilion City, the capital city of his dukedom. Vermilion City was a bustling metropolis, a hub of activity and trade. The streets were lined with beautiful buildings, their facades a mix of elegant elven architecture and robust human design. Merchants hawked their wares, traders haggled over prices, and people went about their daily chores with a sense of purpose. The city was protected by massive stone walls, which loomed over the landscape like silent sentinels. Watch towers, equipped with enormous crossbows, dotted the perimeter, standing ready to defend against any threat.

  The palace itself was a marvel of elven craftsmanship, a testament to the Gremory household's wealth and influence. It was an expansive structure with more than a hundred rooms, each more opulent than the last, and many grand halls adorned with intricate carvings and lush tapestries. The palace was a true home worthy of a Duke, filled with the history and legacy of the Gremory family.

  As Izark entered the city, his eleven most trusted warriors followed closely behind him. Each one of these men was a paragon of strength and loyalty, their reputations as formidable as their Duke’s. They rode on specially bred war mounts, which were half a meter larger than the average horse, their powerful forms and fierce temperaments making them ideal for battle. As the group made its way through the city, people paused to bow in respect, their eyes widening in surprise at the sight of a baby in Izark's arms.

  Izark dismounted and strode through the grand entrance of the palace, where rows of soldiers stood at attention on either side, holding the flags of the dukedom high in the air. The banners fluttered gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors a symbol of the Gremory family's pride and strength. He moved directly to the throne room, his steps echoing in the vast space. The throne room was a large hall, designed with high ceilings and adorned with magnificent chandeliers. The walls were lined with exquisite tapestries depicting scenes of past glories and triumphs. It was a space designed to inspire awe and command respect, with soundproofing enchantments ensuring that no secrets ever left its confines.

  Izark sat on his majestic throne, Zain still in his arms. The throne was an imposing structure, crafted from dark wood and inlaid with precious metals and gemstones. It was a symbol of his authority and power. He called for one of his followers and instructed him to summon his butler, Morris, and to ensure that no one else entered the hall.

  Soon, Morris arrived, bowing deeply to his lord. Morris was an older man, his hair silver and his face lined with age, but his eyes were sharp and his mind keen. He had served the Gremory family for many years and was Izark's most trusted aide. Morris glanced at the child in Izark's arms but quickly dismissed the sight, focusing on his lord instead.

  "Morris, what's the current situation?" Izark inquired, his voice steady and authoritative.

  "Nothing much, my lord. Usual small skirmishes on the border. The bandits in the south of the territory have been wiped out as per your order. Our dukedom has even experienced an increase in collected taxes as many people are migrating from Marquis Renis's territory due to his tax hikes." Morris reported, his tone efficient and businesslike.

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  "Our sources have indicated that Renis is allying with Duke Ranold. They might be planning to attack us. But that's good; our soldiers haven't fought for a while now. It will be beneficial for us to engage them." Morris continued, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

  "That old coot Ranold isn't attacking me; he just wants to use my forces to drain Renis's strength so that he can acquire his lands with fewer losses. What about our family planes?" Izark asked, his mind already strategizing.

  Morris quickly sifted through some papers he had brought with him. The Gremory family controlled seven planes, each one of them teetering on the edge of becoming primary planes, a status that would elevate their power and prestige but also bring new challenges.

  "Out of seven planes, three are returning significant profits, which are expected to increase in the future. However, the other four require more investment, and the treasury cannot cover these expenses. We might need to increase taxes..." Morris suggested hesitantly.

  "No, we will find another way. What's the situation in the family?" Izark interjected, his mind already working on alternative solutions.

  "Your younger sister, Viscount Mary, is expanding lands west of our territory and is currently at war with Viscount Donby. She requested that you do not intervene, as she considers it her fight." Morris explained.

  "Viscount Donby is the nephew of Duke Martin." Izark mused, his expression thoughtful.

  "Yes, my lord." Morris confirmed.

  "Send an envoy to Martin with two bottles of our finest wine. Inform him that if he attempts to assist Donby, directly or indirectly, he should be prepared for war with me. Make sure he understands that I will not stop until either my enemy is dead or I am." Izark ordered, his voice cold and determined.

  Morris knew that this message would be more than enough to deter Duke Martin. A war with Duke Izark was tantamount to courting death. When Izark's father had died, many had sought to take advantage of the perceived instability in the Dukedom.

  Several small nobles had formed an alliance, amassing an army of 100,000 to challenge Izark's rule. However, Izark, with only 10,000 troops, had fought back with unmatched ferocity. His eleven followers, all great generals, had used tactics, terrain, and formations to devastating effect, delivering a crushing blow to the alliance.

  The war had ended with Izark seizing the territories of a Count and three Marques. Half of the original 100,000 troops had been killed, and the rest were captured and ransomed off. Only a tenth of his own forces had perished. The world had been forced to accept the terrifying truth of Izark's might.

  "As you wish, my lord. And your younger brother, Marquis Delius, is continuing his usual activities—attending parties, engaging in noble charades, and building connections. However, he has not achieved much and is now complaining that this role does not suit him. He wishes to go on a conquest or something more befitting his skills." Morris reported, his tone slightly amused.

  Duke Salis had only three wives, each bearing one child. They had all died before Salis. Izark had other illegitimate siblings, but they held no significant place in the family, with the males serving in the military and the females working as maids or consorts.

  Izark's only brother and sister were very close to him. His sister, known as the beauty of Gremory, was also one of the family's powerhouses, having ascended to the rank of Viscount. Her only flaw was her quick temper, which often led her into conflicts.

  As for his brother, he was not particularly strong but excelled in diplomacy and managing relations with other nobles. Despite his recent complaints, he had always been a valuable asset to the family.

  "Don't worry about him. He will find his way. There are very few people in our family capable of managing lands and developing trade. He is the best among them. But that alone isn't enough. We need more talented people to develop our Dukedom." Izark said, his voice thoughtful.

  "I will search for suitable candidates. As for the other family elders, you know they form a council when you are away and disband it when you return. Apologies for my words, but they are good for nothing." Morris replied bluntly.

  These elders, from different branches of the family, were supposed to assist in decision-making, but Izark had never considered them useful. They spent their time bickering over trivial matters, indulging in vices, and generally being a burden.

  "Keep the loyal and useful ones; eliminate the others. Do it with utmost secrecy, over a month, slowly, one by one. Make it look like a disease or something natural. No one should suspect an assassination." Izark instructed, his voice steely.

  "It will be done perfectly, my lord." Morris assured, bowing deeply.

  "Now, what about my children?" Izark asked, his voice softening as he looked down at Zain, the future of his lineage, nestled in his arms.