Fate's Forgotten Trickster

Chapter 5: A Noble's Smile is a Lie

A World of Masks

The halls of House Umbrael were built like a fortress—tall, imposing, filled with cold elegance. Marble floors gleamed under the dim light of chandeliers, and intricate silver tapestries wove silent stories of generations of power.

To most, the estate was a symbol of nobility and strength.

To Noctis Umbrael, it was a prison.

A prison wrapped in the illusion of refinement, where every step was measured, every glance a calculation, and every conversation a veiled battle.

Here, words cut deeper than swords, and power was not just about might, but perception.

And Noctis, once ignored, once deemed insignificant, was about to become the most dangerous piece on this board.

As Noctis made his way to the training grounds, he allowed his posture to slacken, his expression to remain blank, his presence unremarkable.

The servants barely acknowledged him, their gazes filled with either pity or disinterest.

They saw what they wanted to see—a forgotten noble, overshadowed by his older brother, an heir of no consequence.

They did not realize they were being manipulated.

A noble's smile is a lie, he reminded himself. And sometimes, so was weakness.

His fingers twitched slightly, activating the smallest pulse of his perception-based abilities—not enough to be noticeable, but enough to ensure that everyone who looked at him felt a sense of dismissal.

Not consciously. But subtly, a mere suggestion.

"He's no one important."

"He's not worth remembering."

"Nothing about him is worth paying attention to."

By the time he reached the training yard, not a single person had truly noticed him arrive.

The clash of steel against steel rang through the air.

In the center of the yard, Caelum Umbrael stood tall, locked in combat with two knights at once. His movements were sharp, precise—his blade an extension of himself as he easily deflected both opponents with elegant, calculated swings.

Noctis slowed his steps, watching.

His older brother was undeniably strong. Caelum's talent with the sword was real, his discipline unmatched. He had been trained from childhood to lead House Umbrael, to command respect through sheer martial ability.

"And yet," Noctis thought, "power alone is not enough."

As Caelum struck the final blow, disarming both knights with one swift maneuver, he turned—his gaze landing on Noctis.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Have you come to watch, little brother?"

Noctis met his gaze with feigned hesitation. "I was told to train."

Caelum tilted his head, amusement flickering in his sharp blue eyes. "Father must be feeling particularly generous today."

He kicked a practice sword toward Noctis.

"Show me what you've learned."

The knights chuckled under their breath.

They were expecting him to fail.

That was their first mistake.

Noctis bent down, fingers brushing the hilt of the blade. And as he did, he activated his power.

His abilities did not manifest like ordinary magic.

There were no bursts of energy, no flashing lights or overwhelming pressure.

Only whispers in the mind.

As Noctis tightened his grip on the sword, a subtle ripple of his power pulsed outward.

It was not a direct attack, nor an obvious illusion.

It was a seed of uncertainty.

For just a moment—barely more than a flicker—the knights watching experienced a shift in perception.

The way Noctis stood, the way he held the blade…

Had he always seemed that comfortable with a sword?

Had he always carried himself with that stillness?

"Strange," one of them thought. "I could have sworn he was weaker."

It was a fleeting doubt, barely noticeable.

But in the world of aristocrats and warriors, hesitation was fatal.

Caelum made the first move.

He lunged, his blade flashing toward Noctis's shoulder in a controlled strike—not meant to wound, but to humiliate.

Noctis stepped aside.

Not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to avoid the strike without seeming deliberate.

And with that single motion, he altered the entire duel.

Because to the onlookers, it did not look like luck.

It looked intentional.

Caelum's expression barely flickered, but Noctis could already feel the growing unease in the crowd.

Their minds were starting to shift, to question.

"Was that truly an accident?"

"Did he plan that?"

"What if Noctis is more skilled than we thought?"

That was how fear began.

Not with overwhelming power.

But with uncertainty.

Caelum did not hesitate for long.

He pressed forward, his strikes sharper, faster, testing Noctis's defenses.

But Noctis did not need to defeat him.

He only needed to change the perception of the fight.

Each time Caelum struck, Noctis used his power to create minor distortions in timing and perspective.

A millisecond delay in Caelum's reactions.

A slight misalignment in his depth perception.

To the outside eye, it looked as if Caelum was missing—just barely.

As if Noctis was reading his movements perfectly.

As if the weaker brother had been hiding something all along.

And then—he planted the illusion.

Not one of sight, nor sound.

But of assumption.

For just a moment, Caelum believed he saw Noctis move left.

He adjusted—swung.

But Noctis had not moved at all.

The sword cut through empty air.

The knights gasped.

And just like that, the fight was over.

Caelum lowered his blade, eyes narrowing.

He was no fool. He knew something was wrong.

But he could not prove it.

And the watching knights had already drawn their own conclusions.

"Did you see that?"

"That wasn't luck."

"Maybe the youngest Umbrael isn't as weak as we thought."

Noctis stepped back, letting his breathing quicken—acting as though the entire fight had been an accident.

"I was lucky," he murmured. "You went easy on me, brother."

Caelum's jaw tightened.

Because he wanted to believe it.

But deep down, he knew—something was wrong.

That night, the whispers spread.

The servants, the knights, even the lesser nobles—all speaking of the duel that should not have happened.

The doubt had been planted.

And doubt was the beginning of everything.

Noctis sat in his chamber, listening to the murmurs beyond his door, a slow smile curling at his lips.

"Perhaps the youngest Umbrael isn't as weak as we thought."

"Did you see how he moved? That wasn't luck."

"Strange… I could have sworn Caelum's strike should have landed."

Noctis sat in his chambers, listening.

This was the power of a Trickster's Bloodline.

Not brute strength. Not direct combat.

But shaping reality through perception.

By tomorrow, he would still be a weak noble in the eyes of the world.

But a question had been planted. A seed of doubt.

And doubt was the beginning of everything.

His father had dismissed him.

His brother had mocked him.

But now, in the shadows of their own home, the first pieces of his game were already falling into place.

Because a noble's smile is a lie.

And Noctis Umbrael was about to become the greatest liar of them all.