The noble screamed as the cold penetrated his flesh and bones, cutting through his fusion like it wasn’t even there... The supernatural chill froze the sweat on his skin instantly and made his teeth chatter so violently he bit his tongue.
"Let me cool your head a bit more," Ren murmured, his voice carrying the casual tone of someone adjusting the temperature in their bath, and the temperature dropped even further.
The noble fell to his knees the instant Ren released him, vomiting violently from the combination of dizziness from the involuntary acrobatics and the shock of extreme cold. His breakfast splattered across the expensive cobblestones, chunks mixing with bile.
He trembled so hard he could barely keep his fusion active, the connection to his beast flickering like a candle in a hurricane.
It was then that the property agent, who had been discreetly trying to move away from the confrontation, cleared his throat nervously.
"Lord Patinder is under the patronage of Lady Ashenway," he explained carefully. "And he’s a candidate for his own nobility at the beginning of his ’adult year’... This new year’s eve ceremony for fifth-years in a few days."
The name Ashenway hit like a physical blow. The noble’s eyes widened even further, horror replacing the last vestiges of his arrogance.
"I... I’m sorry," the noble managed to say between gags, spittle and vomit dripping from his chin. "I didn’t know... forgive me... please..."
Ren released his control gradually, allowing the air to return to normal temperature degree by degree. The ice crystals began to melt, creating a light mist that sparkled in the sun.
The noble collapsed completely on the ground, shivering uncontrollably, soaked in cold sweat and vomit, his expensive clothing ruined and his dignity obliterated.
"Next time," Ren said calmly, "consider respecting people... Maybe what you see as ’inferior’ isn’t what it seems. Now leave."
Dizzy and feeling terrible, the noble tried to pretend to be knocked out, hoping that unconsciousness might spare him any more suffering. But when Ren began moving the air again, just a subtle shift that promised more punishment, he dropped the act and crawled as best he could toward the exit, his ’dignity’ could indeed go lower. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝕟𝕖𝕥
The butler had a small smile of satisfaction on his normally expressionless face, the kind of subtle pleasure that came from watching arrogance meet its match.
And Ren’s parents, who had been ready to intervene with their new Silver beasts, so close to letting maternal and paternal instincts overriding any consideration of rank or propriety... understood again and with more intensity that their son no longer needed anyone to protect him.
If anything, they might be the ones who needed his protection now.
Ren let the moment extend for a few seconds before simply nodding and continuing with his property inspection, as if the exchange hadn’t been important.
But he had sent a message. And he knew the story would spread.
The fourth day brought a different lesson.
Ren had been at the castle for a few hours handling some matters, when he returned to find the butler scolding his parents in the courtyard.
"With all due respect," the butler was saying in a tone suggesting it wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of restrained exasperation, "you cannot be seen working manually in the garden. Not when there are employees specifically hired for those tasks."
His mother had dirt on her hands, her cheeks flushed from exertion. She’d clearly been helping the gardeners with the new herbs, unable to resist the pull of physical work she’d done her entire life.
His father had been moving some of the enormous, heavier pots, decorative pieces that weighed hundreds of pounds, using his improved double tamer strength without thinking about the social implications.
"We were just helping a little bit," his mother protested, carrying a bewildered and hurt voice of someone being scolded for trying to be helpful. She wiped her hands on a cloth, smearing more dirt than removing it. "I don’t understand the problem..."
"The problem," interrupted one of the maids sent by Selphira, a woman with sharp eyes and sharper awareness of social dynamics, "is that the neighboring nobles are watching. And when they see the lords of the house working like servants, they form opinions about the legitimacy of their status."
She gestured subtly toward the neighboring properties, where Ren could now see curtains twitching in windows, faces peering out to observe the spectacle of the ’supposed nobles’ doing manual labor.
Ren saw how his parents struggled with understanding that they now had to play a role constantly, even in their own home. The confusion and hurt in their expressions made his chest tighten.
They’d worked hard their entire lives, taken pride in that work, and now they were being told that very work ethic was inappropriate.
Ren was surely going to have to send many more "messages" in the future to establish that his family’s legitimacy wasn’t up for debate...
"It’s ridiculous," his father muttered that night as they sat in the informal dining room, his hands clenched around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. "I’m perfectly capable of moving my own pots."
"I know," Ren responded softly, reaching across the table to touch his father’s arm. "But that’s how this world works. It’s not about capability. It’s about perception."
And wasn’t that the truth that governed everything in noble society? Not what you could do, but what others thought you could do. Not who you were, but who you appeared to be.
The fifth day of vacation brought uninvited visitors that promised complications of an entirely different nature.
A middle-aged noblewoman, accompanied by her daughter approximately Ren’s age, appeared at the main door with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.
The mother’s smile was calculated, practiced, the kind that came from years of social maneuvering. The daughter’s was more genuine but carried an edge of nervous anticipation.