The real Ferrum power, inherited only by the direct main line, was far more potent, far more versatile. Steel. Not just crude iron, but its refined, stronger state. And not just passive manipulation, but active shaping, imbued with an innate, controllable fire affinity. The ability to forge, temper, and command steel with thought, heat, and will. To create weapons from nothing, to mend armor instantly, to weave defenses or deadly snares from whisper-thin metallic threads.
It was a power kept secret even from the cadet branches of the family, known only to the ruling Patriarch, passed down in whispers and hidden texts. A power his father, Roy Ferrum, had possessed but likely never had the chance to teach him before assassins struck them down in their own home. Lloyd had discovered it too late to save them, but just in time to begin mastering it in the three short, brutal years before his own death.
Now, back at nineteen, with the knowledge intact, the power thrummed in his veins, nascent but responsive. He had just demonstrated a minuscule fraction of its control, sending that near-invisible, superheated wire whipping through the air with pinpoint accuracy.
Rosa, still locked in her dismissive pose, finally seemed to sense a shift. Perhaps a subtle change in his stance, the lingering intensity in his eyes, or maybe the faintest crackling sound that had accompanied the wire's passage, too low for conscious hearing but registering on some primal level. Her gaze flickered away from him, a frown touching her perfect brow.
She looked back.
Towards the far wall, near the window, stood a heavy, ornate cabinet. Crafted from dark wood, it was reinforced with thick bands and fixtures of black iron, common decorative and structural elements in noble households.
Or rather, it had been.
Now, a clean, impossibly fine line sliced diagonally through the entire cabinet, from the top left corner to the bottom right. It bisected wood, iron bands, hinges, and lock with equal, contemptuous ease. The cut edges glowed faintly for a fraction of a second with residual heat, a thin wisp of smoke curling upwards before dissipating. Then, with a soft groan of stressed material giving way, the top half of the cabinet slid sideways along the perfect cut, tilting precariously before crashing to the plush carpet with a muffled thud, spilling its contents – linens, perhaps spare blankets – in a messy heap.
Silence. Absolute, stunned silence.
Lloyd watched Rosa's face.
And for the first time since he had known her, across two lifetimes, her carefully constructed mask of icy indifference shattered. Completely. Utterly. Her eyes, wide and staring, flew from the ruined cabinet back to him. The colour drained from her face, leaving her marble-pale. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound emerged. Shock – raw, undiluted, world-shaking shock – was writ large across her features. This wasn't the dismissal of a Viscount's daughter, nor the calculated curiosity of a powerful cultivator. This was the visceral reaction of someone witnessing the impossible, confronting a reality fundamentally different from the one they knew.
She knew the Ferrum power. Everyone knew the Ferrum power. Iron Body. Iron Manipulation. Strong, respectable, but ultimately limited, especially in an heir deemed mediocre.
This, however… this silent, effortless, devastatingly precise destruction… this wasn't Iron Manipulation. This was something else entirely. Something hidden. Something dangerous.
Lloyd held her shocked gaze for a beat longer, letting the implication sink in. He didn't need to explain. The demonstration spoke for itself.
Then, with a thought, the invisible steel wire, still hovering in straight thin line near her hair, retracted instantly, dissolving back into the latent Void energy within him.
He straightened up, adjusting the tunic he wore. The weariness was still there, but overlaid now with a grim sense of satisfaction. He had delivered his response to her dismissal. He had shown her a glimpse, just a glimpse, of the truth lurking beneath the surface. He had proven, in a way words never could, that there was more to Lloyd Ferrum than she, or perhaps anyone, suspected.
Without another word, without a backward glance at her stunned, frozen form or the ruined cabinet, Lloyd Ferrum turned and walked calmly out of the room, closing the heavy door softly behind him.
He left the silence, the shock, and the shattered pieces of a very expensive iron-banded cabinet in his wake. And perhaps, just perhaps, the first seeds of doubt about just how 'unworthy' he truly was.