SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 479: The Formal Union [I]

A frigid morning descended upon Euclid.

Within the confines of Trafalgar’s bedchamber, the biting chill was held at bay. The mansion had been thoroughly heated since the previous day, and the chamber was now filled only by the whisper of fabrics, the soft clicking of metal fasteners, and the disciplined, steady breathing of Caelum as he labored.

Trafalgar stood before the grand mirror while Caelum meticulously layered dark garments over his frame. His formal attire was entirely black from high collar to hem, accented by silver embellishments precisely calculated to reflect his status without dipping into gaudy vanity. The base layer hugged his physique, while the outer coat offered a heavier, structured silhouette across his chest and shoulders. A pair of gloves sat upon a nearby table, reserved for the final touch.

Caelum moved about him with the seamless grace of a servant well-versed in such rituals, though this duty was a first for Trafalgar.

"Young Master," Caelum murmured, smoothing the collar before retreating half a step. His amber eyes narrowed slightly. "Could you kindly remain still?"

Trafalgar, having shifted his weight for the third time in seconds, observed him through the reflection. "Honestly, I fail to see why such extensive assistance is required."

"Because if I were to leave you to your own devices with formal attire, you would surely fasten it improperly or insist that an entire layer is redundant."

Trafalgar emitted a soft click of his tongue, yet he ceased his movement.

Caelum smoothed the black coat over his shoulders, aligned the seams across his torso, and knelt to ensure the fabric draped perfectly. Once the gloves were pulled on with painstaking care, he adjusted the collar one final time.

Trafalgar allowed him a few moments of silent industry before breaking the quiet.

"Now that we are unobserved," he remarked, his gaze lingering on the glass, "is there any intelligence from the Council that I ought to possess?"

Caelum’s movements faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Indeed," he replied. "There is one development of note." He finished straightening a sleeve before proceeding. "An essence linked to the Primordial bloodline has been identified."

Trafalgar maintained his silence.

The ensuing hush was brief, yet heavy with intensity.

So, the eight great families were all aware. Perhaps not the full scope, and surely not the hidden truth, but they knew enough. They understood that a manifestation linked to that bloodline had emerged upon the battlefield.

Caelum lifted his gaze to the mirror to study Trafalgar’s reflection. "You do not appear astounded."

Trafalgar met his eyes in the mirror before looking away.

Caelum refrained from pressing the issue. Instead, he reached for the final clasp and secured it with steady fingers. Only then did he add, in a lower tone, "You realize you can confide in me, don't you?" A minor pause followed. "My loyalty belongs to you—more so than to your father. Or your adoptive father, if that distinction satisfies you."

This caused a subtle tremor in Trafalgar’s expression.

"I appreciate that," he answered.

And indeed, he did—far more than he would ever venture to voice.

Nevertheless, he avoided a direct response to that topic, steering the dialogue elsewhere.

"How does Darian fare?"

Caelum accepted the transition without resistance. "Admirably. He is discharging his duties as expected." He stepped behind Trafalgar to loosen his dark hair, merely to gather it into a more refined style. "From what I have confirmed, he acquitted himself well before the Council. More effectively than many anticipated."

Trafalgar issued a faint hum of acknowledgment.

Caelum began securing the hair into its customary ponytail. "If it is your desire, I can facilitate a meeting with him."

"That would be beneficial," Trafalgar said. "But not yet."

"Understood, Young Master."

Caelum finished the tie, then circled back to appraise him from the front. His hands hovered once more over the shoulders and collar, smoothing imperfections so minor they would have escaped any other eye.

Trafalgar expelled a soft breath. "Is there anything else I should be appraised of before I depart?"

Caelum’s expression remained unreadable. "Just this." He clasped his hands behind his back. "This will be the first wedding in this family that you have actually attended."

This prompted Trafalgar’s gaze to snap back to him.

"You were never granted permission to witness your siblings' ceremonies," Caelum continued. "Therefore, you might view this as your maiden experience with such protocol."

A twitch touched the corner of Trafalgar’s mouth. "How incredibly generous of them."

Caelum disregarded the sarcasm with practiced elegance. "Regardless, there is little cause for agitation. This is an official union designed to solidify and advertise an accord between two great houses. It will involve declarations, witnesses, symbols, and established tradition. It closely resembles a public binding rather than the frivolous, sentimental displays favored by lesser nobility."

That, at least, was palatable.

"And given your inclinations," Caelum added, catching his eye with a trace of dry insight, "I suspect you would have found little joy in a grand ceremony with your entire family hovering about."

Trafalgar released a sharp laugh. "You know me far too well."

"I endeavor to."

Trafalgar remained pensive for a moment. Then, his face grew rigid, and he asked, "Can you fulfill one request for me?"

Caelum executed a slight bow. "Always."

Trafalgar looked at him squarely. "Ensure that Rivena does not attempt anything. I am speaking in all seriousness, Caelum."

That singular instruction served as all the context required.

Caelum’s eyes gained newfound sharpness. "Understood. I will keep her removed from any matter of consequence." His voice remained velvet-smooth, though underlying iron was evident. "You may rest assured that nothing shall come to pass."

Trafalgar held his gaze for a heartbeat, then gave a singular nod. "I am grateful."

Caelum inclined his head once more and reached up for a final tweak. His fingers perfected the line of Trafalgar’s ponytail, grazed the shoulder seam, and he stepped back.

"There," he announced.

Trafalgar observed himself with proper focus.

Black coat. Black gloves. Dark hair bound back. Austere lines. A polished, formidable visage.

Moments later, Trafalgar entered the garden with Caelum at his heels, trailing by half a pace.

The environment had been transformed. Beneath the warmth radiating from the formation covering the estate, the garden possessed a regal aura, draped in the black and silver of the Morgain house, tempered by the delicate sophistication of the Rosenthal. Both families were already assembled.

Trafalgar’s gaze swept ahead, alighting upon Valttair and Thaleon. The two patriarchs stood near the atrium, engaged in hushed discourse. Valttair held a sheathed sword, while Thaleon clutched a ring containing the spirit of a sealed summon.

Caelum leaned toward him, whispering, "Those are the formal tokens."

Trafalgar’s eyes stayed transfixed on the items. "The blade is our offering."

"Indeed. House Morgain presents a relic of steel from its lineage. House Rosenthal provides a summon sealed within that ring."

Trafalgar glanced toward him. "And after the exchange?"

Caelum replied instantly. "The ritual exchange occurs first. Then, an Elder from the Council of Sages will address the gathering. Following that, the vows and the agreement will finalize the union."

Trafalgar’s brows lifted slightly. "An Elder is present in person?"

Caelum gave a single nod. "As is mandatory for houses of such prominence." His tone softened marginally. "It is Lord Armand."

Trafalgar exhaled sharply through his nose.

'Armand. How terribly appropriate.'

Caelum stood tall. "You ought to take your station, Young Master."

Trafalgar proceeded forward without a word.

As he advanced, eyes turned toward him in droves. He gave them no mind. He was acutely aware of his appearance today. The formal black attire, the gloves, the stern ponytail—it was sufficient. More than sufficient.

Then, Aubrelle appeared.

The ambient murmurs in the garden diminished on their own. Aubrelle glided forward with Pipin at her side, her pale blindfold secured, her gown possessing an ethereal poise that seemed inherent to her regardless of her attire. Trafalgar watched her approach, and for one fleeting moment, the presence of the others faded into insignificance.

She halted before him.

Then Armand stepped forward.

He was draped in the vestments of an Elder, and whatever blood ties linked him to Trafalgar were obscured by his office and rigid discipline. His visage betrayed nothing. When he spoke, his voice was anchored, formal, and resonant.

"On this day, under the observation of house, oath, and name, House Morgain and House Rosenthal convene to seal a union validated by their respective bloodlines."

A profound silence settled over the garden.

Armand proceeded. "Let it be documented that Aubrelle au Rosenthal stands here as the chosen first formal wife of Trafalgar du Morgain."

His gaze shifted slightly.

"And let it be documented that Trafalgar du Morgain stands here as a husband bound by oath to House Rosenthal through her."

Armand raised a hand. "Present the offerings."

Valttair moved forward first. His countenance remained impassive, his bearing rigid. He extended the sheathed sword with one hand.

"House Morgain offers steel from its bloodline," he declared, his voice frigid and solemn. "A blade to signify protection, authority, and the endurance of our name."

Armand acknowledged the statement with a shallow nod.

Thaleon then stepped forward, raising the ring. His tone carried a touch more warmth, yet retained the gravity expected of his position.

"House Rosenthal offers a summon bound by oath," he proclaimed. "A symbol of trust, kinship, and the alliance between our line and yours."

Armand spoke again. "Steel and summon. House and oath. Let both be recorded and witnessed."

The sword and ring were placed between Trafalgar and Aubrelle.

Armand then surveyed them both.

"You shall now recite your vows."

The declarations were concise.

Armand turned his attention to Trafalgar. "Trafalgar du Morgain. Do you accept Aubrelle au Rosenthal as your first formal wife, and do you swear before these witnesses to uphold this union in name, protection, and status?"

Trafalgar’s response was instantaneous. "I do."

Armand then shifted to Aubrelle. "Aubrelle au Rosenthal. Do you accept Trafalgar du Morgain as your husband, and do you swear before these witnesses to uphold this union in name, loyalty, and status?"

Aubrelle’s voice was delicate yet carried clearly across the courtyard: "I do."

Armand allowed the silence to linger for a pulse.

"Then, by the mandate of house, oath, and the Council, this union is recognized."

A hush followed, heavier and more profound than the one before.

For a fleeting second, it felt as though only the two of them existed.

Aubrelle turned her face toward him. When that perception settled upon him, it felt remarkably direct.

He held her gaze.

Then Armand withdrew; the formality had concluded, and the union between House Morgain and House Rosenthal was sealed before the eyes of all.