SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 480: The Formal Union [II]

The echoes of the final words had barely faded when Trafalgar stirred.

At first, the movement was subtle, yet sharp-eyed observers near the front caught it immediately. He closed the remaining distance between them, reached out to frame Aubrelle’s face with his hand, and pressed a kiss to her lips in full view of the surrounding crowd.

The impact on the gathering was instantaneous, though the occupants mostly masked their surprise behind a veneer of noble decorum.

Such displays were rarely permitted during a formal union, especially with delegates from both houses and a Council Elder stationed mere paces away. Nevertheless, Trafalgar remained unfazed. Though startled for a split second, Aubrelle soon rested her fingers against his sleeve, meeting his passion with the same profound warmth she had revealed the night prior.

As they finally drew apart, a delicate blush bloomed upon Aubrelle’s cheeks, and the heavy silence of the garden felt fundamentally transformed.

The Rosenthal faction was the first to yield.

The twins appeared utterly transfixed, nearly breaking ranks before being restrained. Renia no longer bothered to hide her beaming smile, and even the normally composed Marie regarded Aubrelle with a newfound, tender appreciation. Thaleon remained uncharacteristically quiet, yet his gaze brimmed with unmistakable relief and pride. Eldric appeared as stoic as ever, though the rigid tension in his shoulders had clearly evaporated, while Idran viewed Trafalgar with a level of genuine respect that had been absent before.

The collective affection of the Rosenthal kin enveloped Aubrelle, as natural as the air they breathed.

The atmosphere surrounding the Morgain contingent was entirely different.

They maintained their stoic expressions and rigid posture. However, the subtle shift in their eyes was plain to those who knew what to read. Trafalgar’s status had climbed once more, an advancement none of them could ignore. His recent battlefield exploits, his rising power, his immense talent, and now this official union with House Rosenthal—these factors made him a force that could no longer be dismissed.

Lysandra, ever bold, was the first of his kin to step forward. She halted directly before him and offered a respectful nod.

“My congratulations, Trafalgar.”

Her voice was underscored by genuine sincerity, a rarity in the hollow platitudes traded throughout the day.

“My thanks,” he replied.

At a slight distance, Rivena looked poised to intervene, her smile curling into a promise of malice. Yet, she barely moved before Caelum appeared at her back like a phantom cloaked in shadow. He placed a hand firmly upon her shoulder—a gesture that seemed polite but carried the weight of a final warning.

“I would strongly advise you to stay still, Lady Rivena,” he murmured.

Rivena’s smile vanished into a tight, thin line.

She shot him an icy glare of irritation, but she ultimately stood her ground. Whatever scheme she had harbored dissolved instantly.

Trafalgar watched with indifference. Today was not worth wasting his breath on her.

The garden eventually regained its composure, though the underlying current had shifted permanently. The union was ratified, and those present began the uneasy process of recalibrating their expectations.

Then, another individual approached him.

Helgar.

Helgar stood before the couple, projecting the same brute physicality and rugged presence he always carried; his formal attire failed to conceal the predatory nature beneath.

“My congratulations to you, dear brother,” he remarked, his lips twisting into a mocking grin. “It looks like you have managed to secure a suitable partner.”

Aubrelle stood beside Trafalgar, her hand tracing the fabric of his sleeve. She faced Helgar with effortless elegance.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Helgar.”

Helgar studied her for a moment.

Trafalgar immediately sensed the undertone in Helgar’s gaze: pity. He looked at Aubrelle as if she had been shackled to a disappointment, as if her proximity to Trafalgar had tarnished her standing.

Trafalgar’s expression froze, his eyes turning to flint.

Helgar caught the change, and for a fleeting instant, a shiver traced his spine. He had not anticipated such a hostile reaction.

Still, he pressed his advantage.

“We have had so few opportunities to converse, little brother,” Helgar continued, lowering his tone to sound falsely intimate. “I wanted to say that your performance in the war was impressive. Truly, I have heard much of you.” His grin sharpened. “Though, one must admit, even a stray dog can find a bone if enough people fall around him.”

Trafalgar stared at him without blinking.

For a long moment, silence reigned.

‘Well,’ he reasoned with a sense of clinical detachment, ‘I am returning to the academy shortly. Valttair swore he wouldn't summon me back here for a while. Why not stir up a little chaos?’

He turned his gaze toward Aubrelle, leaning in until his lips brushed near her ear to whisper.

“Aubrelle, I understand today is sacred for our union, but…” He paused, his voice barely audible. “May I handle this?”

She looked taken aback for a heartbeat. Then, deciphering the venom in Helgar’s voice and the dangerous resolve in Trafalgar’s, she understood.

Aubrelle offered a faint, approving smile.

“Just try not to humiliate me too thoroughly, husband.”

That was the only permission he required. Trafalgar turned back to Helgar, every shred of ceremonial warmth incinerated.

Helgar let out a scoffing laugh. “What? Did the truth sting? That is the tragedy of strays. You grant them a blade and a single victory, and they forget their station—”

“Keep on talking,” Trafalgar interrupted, his voice void of inflection, “and you will meet the same fate as Darion.”

Helgar stopped midsentence.

The air between them grew suffocatingly dense.

Trafalgar stepped forward, refusing to raise his voice. He had no need to shout.

“You speak far too much for a man who still lags behind me.” He locked eyes with Helgar, unblinking. “The war proved the truth of it. When the stakes were high, when House Morgain needed a champion worthy of the name, no one mentioned you. Every tongue spoke of me.”

Helgar’s jaw tightened. “Mind your tone.”

“You should be concerned with your own,” Trafalgar retorted, a cruel twist to his lips. “You stand before my wife, attempting to condescend to me with nothing but empty arrogance. If you insist on playing the fool, find a theater elsewhere.”

Helgar’s hand flexed uncontrollably at his side.

Observers began to murmur as heads turned throughout the garden. While the specifics were lost to them, they could clearly see Helgar’s face flushing with rage and Trafalgar standing immovable as a mountain.

“You believe a single campaign gives you superiority?” Helgar snarled.

Trafalgar’s eyes sparkled with intensity. “No. I believe effectiveness does.” He tilted his head with mocking curiosity. “And your output has been remarkably pathetic.”

Helgar prepared to lunge—

“Enough.”

Valttair’s voice severed the tension like an executioner’s blade.

Both men whipped around simultaneously.

The patriarch had approached without warning, his features set in a scowl that threatened to erase their petty quarrel instantly. His eyes swept over Helgar, then turned to Trafalgar.

“This is neither the time nor the place for such insolence.”

Helgar’s teeth ground together, but he averted his gaze first.

Trafalgar remained silent. He sustained Valttair’s heavy gaze before slowly drifting back to Aubrelle’s side.

Valttair surveyed them once more before departing, the air he left behind lingering with the cold intensity of a frost.

Only silence remained for several seconds.

Finally, Aubrelle leaned toward Trafalgar and whispered, her tone delicate as a secret.

“Excellently done. You defended both your pride and your wife.”

The corner of Trafalgar’s lips tugged upward.

Helgar witnessed the reaction, and his expression soured into a deeper mask of hatred.