Dragon's Awakening: The Duke's Son Is Changing The Plot-Chapter 54 - 53 - Tricked.

As the heavy black doors clicked shut behind Raven, the air inside the Patriarch’s chamber remained dense, loaded with unsaid words.

Randolf stood like an ancient statue behind Argon, silver eyes still faintly gleaming with the residue of his ability.

’I didn’t have to use it, did I?’

He activated it on instinct, as whenever Argon asked anyone a question, he found out whether they were lying.

But today, he didn’t need to do it.

’Does he care for the youngest?’ He wondered, his expression turning thoughtful. ’Even after that incident?’

He could clearly remember how sad Argon was at that time, and he recalled how, for the first and the last time, Argon had shed a tear.

As he stared at Argon’s back, now resting on his throne-like chair, his eyes closed, Randolf sighed.

’I don’t know what you would do this time, brother...’

Argon, on the other hand, didn’t move.

He sat unmoving, his eyes closed, until his brows twitched.

Then—

Tap-Tap-Tap.

Three knocks were heard, not on the door this time but on the window.

Rendolf tensed, his head snapping toward the window, his dagger drawn, only to pause at what he saw.

There, outside the tinted glass of the tall rear window, stood an old figure.

He was hung upside down on the window’s dormer, peering in with the curiosity of a child looking into a candy store.

His white hair was tangled like cotton left in a storm, while a grin split his face like a cracked porcelain mask.

A crooked finger tapped once more.

Tap.

Randolf’s gaze trembled.

Unlike others, who wouldn’t know who this old man was, he did.

’Crisaius Von Vaise.’

He was their only ancestor alive.

However, he didn’t relax and waited for orders.

After all, he served the Patriarch.

Argon let out a breath, his eyes still closed.

"Leave," came the soft command, devoid of emotion.

Randolf didn’t hesitate and left with a bow.

His gaze flicked once to the old man at the window, but it didn’t linger as he was soon out of the room, closing the door as he left.

The moment Randolf disappeared—

Creak.

The window slid open without permission.

Crisaius did not wait for an invitation, nor did Argon expect him to.

With the grace of a dislocated squirrel, he tumbled headfirst, flipping midair, and landed lightly on the floor as if gravity chose not to apply to him.

"You really are a piece of wood, you know that?" He grinned, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves.

Argon didn’t rise, flinch, or speak.

Instead, he opened his eyes—cold steel behind frost—and looked at his master.

He could tell why Crisaius was here.

With everything going on with Raven, he was sure Crisaius was here to help Raven.

Crisaius waved his hands as if fending off an incoming scolding. "Before you spit those noble words, I’m not here to fight or to demand but to talk."

He walked across the room casually, examining the dragon crest stitched into Argon’s tunic, flicking it like a child flicking a badge on a school uniform.

"But as your master, surely I’ve earned at least that much, haven’t I? The right to make a simple request?"

Argon stayed silent, not responding to those words, but Crisaius did the same, sitting on the seat before Argon.

He started playing with things on the table like a curious little child.

For a long second, Argon just stared at Crisaius, but knowing the old man, he knew the guy would continue to annoy him if he didn’t say anything, so he spoke.

His voice was heavy and deliberate as he began. "As Patriarch, I must be fair, so please don’t make requests I can’t fulfil—"

"Nah." Crisaius raised a bony finger and interrupted, his grin widening. "It is because you are the Patriarch that you can be unfair."

Argon’s eyes narrowed.

Crisaius continued, now hopping onto the edge of the massive black table like it was a swing. "Who’s gonna stop you, hmm? The branch family heads? The elders? You’re Argon Von Vaise, man. No one would want to go against the strongest man for something like this."

He swung his legs back and forth childishly. "So don’t give me the ’fairness’ talk."

Silence.

For a while, none of them spoke.

Until—

—Crisaius leaned back, sighing deeply.

For the first time, his voice quieted. "You know, I wasn’t going to interfere. I thought... he must have a reason. I wanted to observe from afar."

The truth was, he had heard about everything, and even he wasn’t sure whether Raven was right.

That was why he came to Argon.

He didn’t want Raven to be punished, but since Argon was so adamant, he decided to tell him something.

Slowly, he turned his gaze to the ceiling, his eyes distant.

"But... I don’t have that luxury anymore."

Argon frowned, for the first time, confused. "...What do you mean?"

The old man didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he lifted his hand, trembling without a reason.

"I’ve pulled my life longer than any Vaise dared to dream. However, there’s a limit to how long I can continue. Now..."

His voice cracked, not with sadness, but with fatigue. "...I’m reaching my limit."

Argon’s eyes locked onto the hand as his body shook, his fingers clenching the armrest.

’He’s dying...’

Argon knew it was inevitable and this day would come, but it was still hard to believe.

He was looking at the man who always jokes, faltering now.

It was hard to believe, even for Argon.

Crisaius chuckled weakly. "I always thought I’d go out with a bang, y’know? Like, fighting a dragon like the legend of the hero, maybe? But this..." He looked at his hand again. "This is just... pathetic."

He lowered it slowly. "Then, that brat showed up."

His lips curled again, but this time, it was softer.

Yes, there was annoyance in his eyes, but it was covered by warmth.

"Kid’s a mess, sure. But there’s something in him. Something real. He’s not just talented—he’s dangerous in the best way. He is wild enough to break everything but smart enough to rebuild it better."

He looked at Argon directly now. "He gave me hope again. That maybe, before I die, I could see my technique getting completed."

He paused.

"And for that, I need him. I need him to face as few problems as possible. I can’t stop everything, but problems like this are doable."

The old man stared into Argon’s eyes, and this time, he was serious.

Argon exhaled, long and slow.

His expression did not change, but his grip on the armrest deepened.

Crisaius tilted his head. "You don’t owe me anything, boy. Not anymore. But if this is the last favor I ever ask you..."

He dropped to the floor, standing straight for once, his voice deepening—not in power, but in weariness.

"Let him go."

Another silence stretched between them.

Then—

"...Fine."

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t dramatic.

But it made Crisaius blink.

Argon looked away, his eyes distant.

"I’ll handle the verification tomorrow. He and the others will be cleared."

He looked at his old master one last time. "But if something like this happened again—"

"—You promised!" Crisaius cut him off with a wide grin that nearly split his wrinkled face.

He wagged a finger at Argon, his voice instantly shifting back to that high, cheeky tone. "You can’t add clauses after sealing a deal, my dear Patriarch. Tsk-tsk, I taught you better than that!"

Argon’s eyes twitched.

The sudden shift in tone was jarring but familiar, irritatingly so.

Crisaius had just dropped what was likely the most emotional bombshell Argon had heard in years, and now he was acting like it was just a warm-up act for his next bit.

With a loud pop, Crisaius cracked his neck, his mood visibly brightening as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Ah, I feel lighter already! Talking about death always makes my bones creak, so I try not to do it too often." He turned to Argon, showing a toothy smile. "Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere today! I’ll live for some time... hopefully."

He spun on one foot and headed toward the open window again, humming some off-key tune that likely hadn’t been sung in a century.

Just as he was about to leap out, he looked over his shoulder with that mischievous glint. "Anyway! Since you’re handling things, I’m off to see my precious disciple. Maybe he’ll give me a back massage. Or maybe I’ll give him one—his spine looked too straight earlier. Sus."

Argon said nothing, only stared as the old man crouched on the windowsill.

With a wink, Crisaius added, "And don’t worry—I’ll definitely not bring up what you just agreed to in front of him. Never."

Then, without waiting for another word, he launched himself out the window with a casual flip.

Argon was left behind alone.

His jaws clenched before they relaxed, and he closed his eyes, wondering when he could return to killing beasts.

He needed to take out some frustration.