章節 3: Black Attire

"So, Matila, what brings you to me?"

Fuoco inquired, his gaze fixated on the white garments she cradled in her arms with a disdainful expression. He loathed white attire to the core, for it was the garb of angels and gods, entities of heaven. It wasn't that they were his adversaries; rather, they paid respect to him as the sovereign of hell, the supreme deity of death and justice.

He detested those garments simply because the angels and gods of heaven perpetually wore them with joyous countenances, reveling in their existence. Their abode was always abuzz with chatter, unlike the eternal silence that enveloped hell. In truth, Fuoco's sentiment stemmed from envy, a gnawing jealousy seeing them consistently enjoying themselves.

"Young Master Fuoco, today marks your tenth birthday. Your father and mother have organized a grand celebration in your honor. Even the patriarch of Cattivo himself will grace the occasion. Therefore, swiftly attire yourself in these garments and make your timely arrival at the festivity,"

Matila conveyed, presenting the clothing with grace and care. The tenth birthday of the Cattivo family's scions carried immense significance. Governing the DAFERRO territory, the Cattivo family's patriarch held the esteemed title of grand duke within the realm.

Joined by the other three grand dukes and the Emperor, the patriarch of Cattivo once brandished a sword to unify the Asgard Empire. This unification transformed the empire from a land plagued by drought and poverty into the fourth most powerful entity in the Lisdom Continent, brimming with wealth and influence.

In the family tradition, once the heir turns 10, a birthday celebration is organized, gathering all the legal heirs and the offspring of the Cattivo sub-family. Following the festivities, a rigorous test awaits the birthday child, assessing their knowledge and prowess acquired over time.

Should the child succeed in the test, they earn the prestigious reward of inheriting the Cattivo family's ancestral power—the shadow arts of the divine dragon. The family elders guide the child in unlocking their mana channels, granting them the esteemed privilege of accessing a drop of divine dragon blood.

However, if the child fails the test, they are integrated into the sub-family circle, assuming the role of a personal knight to one of the other legal heirs of the Cattivo main family. In this role, the sub-family heirs receive instruction in the shadow arts of the elemental dragon alongside teachings in weaponry handling techniques.

"Matila, fetch the black attire instead of what you're holding"

Fuoco instructed, his eyes carrying an air of indifference that unsettled Matila. She had been serving Fuoco as a maid since his birth, brought to the palace by her mother when she was just seven years old, introduced her to her future master, Fuoco Cattivo, still an infant at the time.

Matila had raised Fuoco like a younger brother, and he had always been fond of her. The Fuoco she knew was kind, innocent, a bit naive but generous, often bullied and finding solace in Matila's embrace. But the Fuoco standing before her now seemed like a completely different person (though she didn't realize he is). His indifferent and arrogant gaze, his sinister lips, and his carefree demeanor, even when she mentioned the patriarch, hinted at a transformation, Perhaps, she speculated, it was because of the impending test he was about to face.

"But...wearing black clothes to your birthday party, well, the patriarch will also be there along with other powerful individuals. Young Master Fuoco, perhaps it would be better if you wore the white one"

Matila said, her voice tinged with concern and a hint of fear as she observed the changed demeanor of Fuoco before her.The black dress carried a heavy stigma in Asgard territory due to its association with a traumatic history.

Legend had it that a demon from hell descended upon the Scleven Empire, the predecessor of Asgard Empire, once prosperous realm reigning over the Lisdom continent.This demon, adorned in tattered black garments, his eyes gleaming with villainy, and horns protruding menacingly, wrought havoc upon the Scleven Empire. Its lands were left desolate, plagued by drought and devoid of power for centuries thereafter.

In the aftermath, the other empires of the Lisdom Continent seized the opportunity presented by the event to annex territories and plunder the riches of the Scleven Empire, leading to its downfall from its once-great and powerful status.

"Follow my instructions"

Fuoco commanded Matila. The original Fuoco Cattivo would have trembled at the mere mention of the patriarch, lacking the courage to defy their wishes. However, the present Fuoco Cattivo is a Supreme Deity of Death and Justice, the Sovereign of hell, reigning over the infernos. To him, the patriarch of Cattivo was nothing more than a mortal, an insect, an insignificant existence he had never spared a glance when he was a sovereign.

Attempting to change his mind by invoking the patriarch would be futile; it was a waste of time. Wearing white attire posed no threat to him, yet the question lingered: who dared to challenge the sovereign of hell, a figure feared even by the gods?

"Yes, young Master Fuoco! I'll fetch a black attire immediately. Just wait for me"

Matila responded promptly. Matila's legs propelled her forward at the sound of Fuoco's arrogant voice. She hurried out of the room in search of a black attire for him.

"A birthday party, huh? What a lavish affair. I never even knew my real birthday, yet the original Fuoco celebrates his every year. How enviable!"

Fuoco took slow steps toward the glass window, his eyes a mix of excitement and loneliness. As he tapped his index finger against his thumb, his gaze remained fixed on the vast blue sky, a stark contrast to the dark, violent skies of hell.

He's in his millennial years, yet he doesn't know the circumstances of his birth or who brought him into existence. He simply appeared out of thin air, gaining knowledge of magic and the laws of hell, honing his body until he was deemed fit to sit upon the throne, as if he were created solely to adorn it.

Without questioning his role, he dutifully fulfilled his duties as the sovereign of hell, tirelessly working to strengthen himself each passing day and governing the infernos. He never sought anything, nor did he harbor any desires. He simply carried out his responsibilities without expecting any reward for millennia. What a solitary deity he had become...a lonely god indeed...