SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 575: A Room in Euclid

The transition through the Gate was complete, and they found themselves standing in the realm of Euclid. Almost instantly, a profound chill permeated the air. Snowflakes danced downwards, a common sight it seemed, in Euclid or any land under the dominion of House Morgain. The atmosphere was sharp and clear, carrying the mingled scents of stone, pine, woodsmoke, and the faint tang of metalwork drifting from the distant city.

Before them loomed Trafalgar's mansion. This estate, once the property of Mordrek, now belonged to him. It was a grand residence, complete with imposing gates and expansive gardens preceding the entrance. Pathways remained free of snow, meticulously maintained by staff moving with quiet efficiency beneath heavy cloaks. Tall windows offered reflections of the subdued winter light, while the banners of House Morgain fluttered from the ramparts. New mithril plating adorned sections of the doors and stonework, gleaming faintly beneath the falling snow.

Silas gazed at the spectacle, his mouth slightly agape.

Cynthia too, made no effort to conceal her astonishment.

She had never set foot in Euclid before, and witnessing its grandeur in person made it increasingly difficult to perceive Trafalgar merely as the enigmatic young man from the academy – the one who offered terse replies, stirred up trouble with effortless ease, and invariably found himself at the nexus of every significant event.

This was far more than just a dwelling.

Trafalgar observed Cynthia's shiver beside him.

She was dressed in her usual manner, perfectly suitable for Velkaris and the academy, but entirely inadequate for the biting frost of Euclid. He raised a hand, and a subtle gathering of mana shimmered over his palm.

The [Winter Jacket] materialized in his grasp.

It was a coat of black and navy hues, of an uncommon rank, falling just above his knees when worn by him. Its sleek design seemed almost incongruous against the stark winter backdrop of Euclid.

He extended it towards her. "Here. Put it on. I suppose you weren't anticipating such a significant shift in temperature."

Cynthia's eyes widened in surprise.

After a brief moment of hesitation, she accepted the garment and slipped it over her shoulders. The jacket was undeniably too large for her, its sleeves engulfing her hands, and the collar stood so high that she could easily sink half her face into its warmth.

An immediate wave of heat enveloped her.

"Thank you, Trafalgar," she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

"It's nothing."

Silas remained fixated on the mansion.

"I'll be living here from now on?"

Arthur responded, "That is correct, Silas. I trust you will find your new residence agreeable." He gently placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I reside here as well, though the estate rightfully belongs to Young Master Trafalgar. Moreover, this entire city falls under his governance."

Silas turned towards Trafalgar, his eyes now wide with disbelief.

The revelation seemed to fundamentally alter his perception of everything.

"Big brother owns… a city?"

Trafalgar shot him a deadpan look. "Please refrain from phrasing it that way. It paints an unfavorable impression of me."

Cynthia pursed her lips, suppressing a smile.

Arthur, with timely wisdom, interjected before Silas could voice further potentially perilous inquiries. "Come along. I shall escort you to your quarters."

They proceeded through the main gate, following the cleared pathway towards the entrance. Snow blanketed the gardens in thick drifts, obscuring the trimmed hedges and low stone ornaments beneath a soft white layer. Workers lowered their heads respectfully as Trafalgar passed. The guards stationed at the entrance snapped to attention.

The grand doors swung open even before they reached them.

Two maids emerged. "Greetings, Mister Arthur," one said, inclining her head. "Young Master Trafalgar, welcome back."

The other was an elf maid whom Trafalgar recognized. Their initial interactions had been fraught, but she had since proven herself a diligent member of the staff. She bowed deeply, her posture a marked improvement from their past encounters.

Trafalgar offered a slight nod.

Arthur turned to Silas. "Follow me. I will outline the arrangements for you, and then I shall show you to your room first, if that meets your approval."

Silas nodded eagerly.

Though a sense of nervousness lingered, an burgeoning excitement was beginning to overshadow it.

Arthur led him inside, accompanied by the maids, leaving Trafalgar and Cynthia at the mansion's entrance.

For a few moments, silence hung between them.

Cynthia surveyed the gardens, still enveloped in his jacket, her white hair catching the delicate snow. "Wow," she finally breathed. "I've never been anywhere quite like this. It's truly immense." She gazed towards the manicured grounds. "May I explore them?"

Trafalgar inclined his head slightly. "Certainly. Let us proceed."

They began to stroll together along one of the cleared pathways.

The gardens, vast and more austere than overtly decorative, featured stone benches, wintry trees, and low hedges submerged in snow. Mana lamps, partially obscured by frost, cast an ethereal glow. It lacked the gentle ambiance of the orphanage courtyard. Trafalgar walked alongside Cynthia, their conversation minimal.

His thoughts, however, had already drifted elsewhere.

Silas was now within Euclid's confines. This resolved the immediate threat. He was at a considerable distance from the orphanage, away from children vulnerable to his potential, albeit accidental, transformations, and situated amongst individuals whom Trafalgar could implicitly trust.

Nevertheless, several matters still required his attention.

'I absolutely must instruct Arthur to confirm if Arthur has successfully awakened his mana core. My intuition strongly suggests he possesses mana manipulation abilities. I'm also intensely curious about the class Arthur has inherited; could it be Gluttony, mirroring his father's path, or perhaps something derived from his mother's lineage?'

These musings occupied his mind as the relentless snowfall continued its descent.

'Two days remain until the commencement of our second year. Tomorrow demands a visit with Arden, Marella, and Garrika. Following that, a return to the academy is in order.'

A soft exhalation escaped his nostrils.

'I've certainly maximized this vacation period, to the best of my ability. Though, labeling it a true 'vacation' might be a rather generous interpretation.'

Cynthia maintained her position at his side, offering no interruption to his introspective journey.

She recognized the subtle shift when Trafalgar became lost in his thoughts. It was an observable phenomenon once one became accustomed to his presence. His outward expression remained largely unchanged, yet his awareness turned inward, as if he were perusing some esoteric text visible only to him.

She granted him this moment of quiet contemplation.

Instead, she moved slightly ahead, pausing near a hedge blanketed in snow. A slender branch, overburdened by the frozen precipitation, dipped precariously. Cynthia extended a hand, its movement partially obscured by the cuff of her sleeve. Her touch was gentle, yet the branch yielded abruptly, dislodging a cascade of snow that landed upon her shoulder and hair.

She stilled.

Trafalgar observed the incident.

For reasons he couldn't quite articulate, the image of Cynthia standing there, partially enveloped by his jacket, with snowflakes dusting her fair hair and the bridge of her nose, attempting to feign nonchalance, struck him as remarkably more amusing than the situation warranted.

'Adorable.'

He advanced towards her.

Cynthia turned to face him, her posture already adopting a defensive stance. 'Do not utter a single word.'

'I had no intention of doing so.'

'You were thinking it.'

'That, I admit, was my intention.'

'That is significantly worse.'

Trafalgar reached out, his fingers gently brushing the snow from her hair.

'It's barely noticeable,' he remarked. 'Given the shade of your hair.'

Cynthia became exceptionally still.

The proximity between them had diminished before she was fully prepared for it. Trafalgar, standing taller, was now close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet his gaze. The warmth emanating from his jacket seemed to create a buffer against the surrounding cold, making it feel more distant.

A delicate blush crept across her cheeks.

Trafalgar registered the change and retracted his hand, granting her personal space.

'My apologies.'

Cynthia's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the fabric of his jacket.

'It did not trouble me in the slightest.'

This response emerged more softly than she had intended.

Trafalgar paused.

Cynthia cleared her throat and redirected her attention towards the garden path, adopting an air of studying the snow-laden lamps with an intensity far exceeding their actual merit.

Before either could exchange further words, Arthur reappeared, accompanied by Silas.

The young boy was practically vibrating with excitement at Arthur's side.

'I have been assigned a room!' Silas announced with eager anticipation, preempting any inquiries. 'A dedicated sleeping space, exclusively for my use.'

Arthur cast a fleeting glance towards Trafalgar.

Trafalgar grasped the unspoken message immediately. The critical matter still required discussion, and because his mind had been elsewhere moments prior, he responded with a haste uncharacteristic of him.

'Arthur, I require you to ascertain whether his mana core has awakened. Exercise extreme caution. Should it have awakened, prioritize control techniques above all else. Combat training is to be deferred until his stability is thoroughly assessed.'

Arthur's expression remained composed.

'Understood.'

'If the core has not awakened, do not attempt to force it. Remain vigilant for any emergent signs.' Trafalgar briefly shifted his gaze towards Silas. 'His bloodline may precipitate events sooner than anticipated.'

The instant the words left his lips, he became aware of Cynthia's presence beside him.

Her expression had undergone a transformation.

Trafalgar's thoughts faltered for a fraction of a second.

He had made a slip.

The snow, the jacket, the recent closeness, Silas's unrestrained excitement, Arthur's ill-timed return; all these elements had conspired to erode his typically unwavering concentration. Cynthia was unaware of Silas's unique bloodline. She lacked insight into why Arthur's immediate presence was necessary. She remained ignorant of the reasons why leaving the boy at the orphanage had become an untenable option.

And he had nearly divulged far too much in her presence.

Arthur, too, perceived the shift and offered a subtle nod, deftly steering the conversation away from the precarious precipice.

'I shall handle the matter with the utmost discretion.'

Trafalgar accepted the assurance, maintaining an even tone.

'Ensure he remains in close proximity to individuals you trust implicitly. No unsupervised servants should enter without explicit permission, nor should soldiers be permitted to interrogate him. For the present, all details concerning him are to be kept confidential.'

Arthur placed a hand over his chest.

'Naturally, Young Master.'

Silas looked between them, not fully comprehending the gravity conveyed by their words, yet sensing an undercurrent that piqued his curiosity.

'Will I commence training?'

Trafalgar looked down at him.

'In due course.'

Silas's countenance brightened immediately.

'But first,' Arthur interjected, 'you shall partake in a meal, receive adequate rest, and familiarize yourself with the household's regulations.'

Silas nodded with an air of complete seriousness, as if the concept of rules were already an integral component of his impending training.

Cynthia remained silent throughout the exchange.

Trafalgar sensed the unspoken question hovering around Cynthia, yet she wisely refrained from voicing it in Silas's presence, a discretion he found himself appreciating. She simply clutched the borrowed jacket tighter, her gaze fixed on Arthur as he guided the boy back towards the grand residence.

From then on, Arthur continued to acquaint Silas with the mansion's layout. He pointed out Silas's designated room, the expansive dining hall, the corridors accessible to him, and crucially, the areas forbidden without explicit permission. Cynthia trailed them for a portion of the tour, her innate curiosity piqued, though Trafalgar could discern her thoughts remained fixated on the word Silas had let slip.

Bloodline.

Silas had provided her with a thread of information, a tangible clue, and Cynthia, being no fool, was not about to dismiss it.

Only when Arthur and Silas moved ahead, disappearing down another hallway, did Cynthia fall back, her steps slowing as she drew level with Trafalgar.

"Don't worry," she murmured softly. "I didn't overhear anything."

Trafalgar turned his head to look at her.

It was an obvious fabrication, but not a clumsy one; rather, a well-intentioned lie. Cynthia had clearly gleaned enough to understand that something significant was being concealed, and she was offering him the courtesy of feigning ignorance. For reasons he couldn't quite articulate, this gesture deepened his regard for her.

He studied her for a moment, noting how the generously sized winter jacket still draped over her shoulders, its fabric already shedding melting snowflakes that clung to her pale hair.

"Would you like to know?" he inquired.

Cynthia paused before responding.

Her eyes drifted toward the corridor where Silas had vanished, then returned to meet his gaze.

"It's alright," she replied. "You don't have to tell me."

"Aren't you curious?"

"I am," she confessed readily. "But I trust you."

Her answer resonated with him, lingering far longer than he might have anticipated.

Cynthia shifted the jacket more snugly around herself, her voice softening slightly.

"I hope you can return that trust," she added.

With those words spoken, Cynthia continued on, leaving Trafalgar standing alone on the garden path. He watched her progress back toward the mansion, the same oversized **[Winter Jacket]** still engulfing her small frame, its dark material appearing to swallow her whole as the snow continued its gentle descent around her.