SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 481: The Formal Union [III]

The lingering tension from Helgar’s outburst had barely begun to dissolve when Valttair turned his gaze toward Trafalgar and Aubrelle.

"Come with us."

His tone left no room for debate.

Thaleon cast a brief glance at his daughter and then at Trafalgar, offering a subtle nod of affirmation. The four of them moved away from the crowd, distancing themselves until the chatter behind them faded into a dull drone. They halted near the garden’s edge, where the lingering warmth of the formation still held the biting frost of Euclid at bay.

For a heartbeat, neither patriarch spoke.

Finally, Thaleon crossed his arms, pinning the two youths with his familiar, unwavering gravity. "The formalities are finished. What lies ahead is of far greater importance."

Valttair’s grey eyes locked onto Trafalgar first. "You are to return to the academy and complete your studies."

Trafalgar’s expression remained mask-like. "I expected as much."

"You are currently a first-year student," Valttair continued. "Two years remain in your curriculum. That does not change simply because you have taken a wife."

Aubrelle bowed her head slightly and interjected, "I have one fewer year remaining than him."

"That changes nothing of substance," Valttair replied. "Both of you remain at a stage where cultivation progress is far more vital than creature comforts."

Thaleon intervened before the atmosphere could grow too frigid. "His point is simple. Now is the ideal time to prioritize your strength." His gaze softened as it drifted to Aubrelle. "Now that the latest war has concluded, the world should enjoy a period of tranquility. At least compared to the chaos of recent times."

"’Should,’" Trafalgar repeated quietly.

Valttair caught the word instantly. "Indeed. Should. That suffices. You must prepare during times of order so that instability does not find you unprepared."

Thaleon nodded. "Precisely. The war has only just ended, and the great houses require time to reorganize. This provides you both the window to study, practice, and sharpen your skills."

Aubrelle resting a hand gently upon her gown, whispered, "So, despite today’s events, very little actually changes for us in the immediate future."

"A great deal has changed," Valttair countered. "Your status. Your influence. How the world perceives you." His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "But your fundamental duty stands unchanged. Grow stronger."

Thaleon released a soft, contemplative breath. "You are young. Despite all the burdens around you, that remains a gift."

Trafalgar looked at Aubrelle for a fleeting moment before turning back to the men. "That is exactly what we will do."

Aubrelle offered a shallow nod. "Yes."

The two patriarchs seemed content with this resolution.

With that, the departure began.

The Rosenthal clan gathered around them first. Thaleon placed a heavy hand on Aubrelle’s shoulder, then regarded Trafalgar with his typical steady, authoritative presence.

"Look after her," he commanded. "I am aware you do not require a reminder, but I will say it nonetheless."

Trafalgar dipped his head. "I will."

Lady Marie stepped forward with her customary grace. "And attend to yourself as well. Aubrelle harbors more worry than she cares to let on."

Lady Renia offered a more genuine smile. "That goes for both of you. You are wed now. Do try not to look so solemn all the time."

This managed to draw a faint reaction from Aubrelle, while Trafalgar’s lips quirked almost imperceptibly.

Idran extended his hand once more, his grip firmer—more like family than mere formality. "If any misfortune occurs, send word."

"I know," Trafalgar said, clasping his hand.

Eldric followed, quiet but clearly sincere. "We shall meet again soon."

The twins proved the most difficult to usher away. They clung to Aubrelle initially, then shot reluctant looks toward Trafalgar.

"Do we truly have to leave?" one asked.

Renia sighed lightly. "We do."

The other boy looked genuinely aggrieved. "That is heartless."

That almost forced a laugh from Trafalgar.

Aubrelle leaned down, smiling kindly at them. "You will see me again shortly."

Only then did they allow themselves to be led off, still casting lingering glances back over their shoulders.

The Morgain contingent was quite different. Some offered the bare minimum of protocol, while others simply departed without a word. Helgar kept a wide distance. Rivena’s smile sat at a periphery before vanishing along with the rest. Darion and Elira left with the same polished, icy detachment they had arrived with.

Lysandra was the outlier.

She lingered before Trafalgar one last time, pinning him with a gaze entirely free of the malice common to the rest of her house.

"You navigated today skillfully," she noted. "And... my congratulations. Truly."

Trafalgar held her gaze. "Thank you, Lysandra."

Then, she too was gone.

In the end, only Caelum remained.

He stood before Trafalgar with his characteristic poise, waiting. Trafalgar skipped past pleasantries.

"Continue to feed me information regarding Darian," he directed. "If there is any shift, I must be informed."

Caelum bowed. "Of course."

"And should you uncover anything else concerning that Primordial, report it at once."

"Understood."

Trafalgar’s eyes hardened. "Also, keep a close watch on the house. If any of them act suspiciously while I am gone, I want to hear of it before it escalates into a crisis."

A flicker of approval passed over Caelum’s features.

"I will keep my eyes peeled," Caelum assured. "You have my loyalty."

"I know."

Caelum executed a bow. "I shall take my leave then, Young Master."

As he retreated, the estate seemed to expand in the newfound quiet.

The voices had finally died down. The heavy pressure had thinned. Euclid, which had been bustling with two great houses mere moments ago, was emptying out, leaving behind only the silence of winter and the heavy weight of the oaths just sworn.

Trafalgar and Aubrelle returned to his chambers without exchanging a word. The day had been brutal, exhausting, and filled with prying eyes and heavy expectations. Now, with the door sealed behind them, the atmosphere felt distinctly different.

Pipin circled the room once before settling nearby, his red eyes catching the dim light. Aubrelle had discarded her blindfold; without it, her face appeared softer and more liberated when she turned it toward Trafalgar through the bird’s vision.

Several moments passed in silence.

Then, Aubrelle leaned in, murmuring, "So... has anything truly changed?"

Trafalgar looked toward her, one hand reaching up to unfasten his formal attire. "Nothing at all."

A smile blossomed on her face.

"Are you certain?"

He stared straight into her eyes. "We are exactly the people we were this morning."

Aubrelle took a step closer, close enough that her fingers were within reach. She touched his chest, then traced her hand upward, gently smoothing the dark fabric as if questioning his response.

"I don’t believe that to be entirely accurate," she whispered.

Trafalgar’s eyes tracked her hand, then shifted back to hers. "Is that so?"

Aubrelle’s smile widened, subtle yet infectious. "This morning, I stood beside you." Her fingers moved to his shoulder, then lightly brushed the line of his neck. "Now, I stand here as your wife."

The significance of the word seemed to coat the room in a new hue.

Trafalgar didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his hand rose to settle at her waist, finding its place with an instinctive grace. "That part is different, then."

"It is."

She was far more tactile tonight and considerably less guarded. Her fingertips grazed his jaw before slipping into his hair at the nape of his neck, a gesture of familiarity that made the quiet room feel profoundly warmer. Any residual uncertainty had vanished, replaced by an intimacy born from the intensity of the day.

Trafalgar let out a soft, low breath. "You seem remarkably aware of the change."

"I am."

Aubrelle took the initiative, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another against his jaw. Trafalgar’s grip on her waist tightened, and at the feeling, a look of quiet satisfaction crossed her features.

"Good," she whispered.

He studied her for a long moment, then reached past her toward the bed, drawing her down with him. Aubrelle went willingly, her fingers still entwined in his hair, as they descended into the sheets, with Pipin keeping a quiet, watchful eye while the mansion finally drifted into peace.