Lucas de Castillo. The pervious firstborn son of the Count and Countess
20 years ago, amidst a wintry night, Lucas came into the world. As he grew he'd shown the bearing the distinctive markings of the Castillo lineage. He possessed a remarkable talent for the art of battle and mastery of weapons. Coupled with a decent reserve of mana, he showcased both kindness and intellect. He was the perfect heir. he should have rightfully assumed the mantle of leadership by now. However, fate had other plans.
4 years ago, during the monster tide, their adversaries schemed a vile plot, targeting the Countess in the absence of the Count. Lucas, a valiant warrior despite being a young lad, bravely shielded his mother from the onslaught of both beasts and foes. Though he fought with all his might, he succumbed to overwhelming numbers. At the tender age 16, he died a painful death.
His sacrifice spared the Countess, yet it plunged their lives into turmoil. Consumed by grief and guilt, the Count blamed her for his son's demise, reverting to his former ways. The Countess, shattered by her son's loss, also bore the weight of guilt. Their encounters became fraught with the Countess's anguish and tears, intensifying the turmoil. And that wasn't the only problem.
With the loss of his son, the need for an heir persisted. Yet he was unwilling to bear another child with the Countess, he swiftly adopted a boy from a collateral branch, anointing him as the successor. That boy, none other than Edwin.
He gritted his teeth upon hear his name come out of the old man's mouth. Each syllable that left his lips carried a sense of mockery. He clenched his fist understanding. Like his a fake. Like he's nothing mouth than a substitute.
"This will be no change in plans. Only branch members will be invited to your party."
Edwin stared at his adoptive father with widen eyes. This-this can't be!
The birthday celebration of an aristocrat holds immense significance, particularly for the designated heirs of prestigious households. It serves as a pivotal occasion to forge alliances, bask in the limelight, and solidify their standing within society. And gathering a multitude of guests, showcasing the might and influence of one's household. Yet, his adoptive father wants to hold a small get-together!?
Yet, this adoptive father intends to host a modest gathering!?
This is like a slap in the face, to undertime his worth and position!!
He trembled, not in fear or sadness, but anger. He's swearing in his head, cursing his 18 ancestors-including his 'father'. It's taking everything in him not to beat this inconsiderate son of a bi-father.
Meanwhile, the said father looked down at his adoptive son with amusement in his familiar red orbs. "It cannot be helped." He suddenly said, snapping him out of his violent thoughts.
"Right now, this are dangerous. We can't let anyone know of....that thing's birth." He continued, his face balled up when mentioning his daughter.
"If you want to blame someone, blame that wrench." He curtly said, returning to his paper.
Sensing that his wouldn't get anything from him, he clicked his tongue and left the room.
The Count was now left all alone in the room.
He exasperatedly ran his hand through his hair. That child was an unexpected occurrence. He would never willingly associate with that woman, let alone get intimate with. The sole reason she conceived was he and the Countess got drunk one night! That daughter is a mistake. A mistake!
Suddenly, an image flashed in his head, a beautiful woman that he dearly loves....
He shook his head, ridding the lingering thoughts away and went back to his work.
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"Damn!" Edwin stomped through the carpeted-hallway, anger oozing out of his very being. It seemed like he was a volcano ready to explode at any minute now.
As time passed, he aimlessly walked throughout the grand castle. Eventually coming a halt to a slightly unfamiliar and darker hallway. He frown, observing the place to see where in bloody hell is he mindlessly stormed around the castle in anger. He glazed towards his right, freezing.
A paint. A rather large paint was proudly hung up on the wall, displayed to everyone passing. What was wrong wasn't the wall or anything- but the painting itself. The paint....Is no other than a portrait of the late first son, Lucas.
Lucas was very good-looking, inheriting his fathers red hair and his mothers amber eyes. In there, Lucas is happy. Wearing a dark red coat of arms around his muscular body, with matching pants. His red hair slicked back, his amber eyes shining brightly like the sun. A large smile plastered on his handsome face. There was something on the bottom, it read
"Imperial year 1594
Sir Lucas De Castillo"
1594.....that was 6 years age. Lucas died when his was 16, so then he should have been 14 when it portrait was done....
"Tch" He unconsciously clenched his fist. Even in his death, traces of him are all over.
After all....
He nothing more than a substitute.
A substitute.
His biological parents, particularly his father, belonged to a subordinate branch within the esteemed Castillo family. Despite their status as part of the noble lineage, they held the lowest rank within their branch. Nevertheless, they were happy family, he loved his mom and dad. However, tragedy struck when he was merely 9 years old, resulting in the untimely passing of his parents. He still remembers the funeral
On that somber, rain-drenched day, the world seemed draped in hues of gray and shadow. His beloved parents, who promise him a lifetime of support, dead. Laying in the tombstone, buried under the dirt.It was then that his uncle, the head of the main lineage, stepped in. He vowed to provide unwavering support and comfort, designating him as the heir apparent.
However, it was nothing what he expected. Even though he was young, he could tell by the stares and whispers what awaited him. His could also infer why they brought him here after see the count and countess relationship. He was just a substitute for the son they lost. That's all.
Just a replacement.
That's who he truly is. His couldn't help but to clench fist tighter and tighter by each passing second. After a definite time, his finally managed to tear his eyes away from the blasted painting. He quickly walked away as fast as he could.
To get away from his reality.
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