The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

Kael's eyes narrowed into slits beneath the mask, and a soft click of his tongue escaped.

It might have been indiscernible to others, but to him, the aura was unmistakable—refined, cold, and laced with that familiar trace of arrogance.

'Adele…'

'What the fuck are you doing here?'

His jaw clenched behind the mask, veins twitching on his temple. He wasn't just angry.

He was pissed.This wasn't supposed to happen.

Adele,the high and mighty daughter of House Veydrin. His sister.

The woman now walking amidst elite guards like she belonged among royalty.

Kael's thoughts raced, his mind unraveling the mess she was about to drag them into. He had long suspected Adele was involved with the Third Prince's ambitions. Subtle alignments, secret meetings, coded letters—it all pointed to one direction. Still, he kept it quiet. Kept it contained. He was waiting for the right moment, a discreet strike that wouldn't shake the pillars of Veydrin.

But this? This wasn't quiet.

She wasn't just supporting the Prince from behind the curtains. She was leading his front.

And here, of all places.

'Fuck… fuck you, Adele…'

'This was supposed to be a clean job.'

'Now we're going to be hanged because of you.If you want to act, can't you just hide behind scenes…If Princess saw this…'

His eyes burned with fury, but just then—

"What happened?" Martina asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

Kael blinked and turned. Everyone was looking at him—Martina, Herion, Adonis, even Sol—with concern and suspicion.

"They're from Nightstar, right?" Kael said, his voice calmer now, controlled, as he tried to cover up the storm in his chest.

Martina nodded slowly. "From the information we've gathered, yes. But we're not entirely sure."

"What should we do now? Sneak in and record?" Linda asked, her tone hushed but anxious.

"That was the plan," Martina replied, brows furrowed. "But the security is heavier than anticipated."

She had expected a small trade, a quiet exchange of goods or intel. But the moment that woman stepped off the ship with an escort of elites, everything changed.

These weren't just guards. Each one of them radiated strength—refined warriors, not disposable fodder.

One wrong move and the entire operation would collapse.

"We can't risk an engagement," Martina said firmly. "We stay on the sidelines."

She raised her hand toward Herion. "Give me the scope."

Herion didn't speak. He tossed the compact telescope toward her, and she caught it smoothly.

Martina crouched near the broken wooden panel of the dockside crate, pulled the scope up to her eye, and adjusted the zoom. The world narrowed, sharpened, and settled upon the figure in the black gown.

Martina eyes focused and she asked inwardly,'Who are you really…?'

Behind her, Kael remained still—his hands clenched, eyes still locked in the direction of the ship.

He didn't need a scope. He already knew exactly who she was.

…..

The young man stepped off the metal ramp with practiced grace, his polished boots tapping lightly against the dock as he approached the woman in the black gown. He wore the sharp uniform of a Nightstar Major—crimson-lined coat, dark epaulets bearing gold insignia, and the kind of cold confidence born only of authority.

His eyes, a pale slate grey, rested on the veiled woman.

"Are you in charge here?" he asked, voice clipped and professional.

The woman, her posture tall and unbending, nodded.

"Yes," she replied coolly, her voice low and poised.

The Major gave a slight bow, placing his right hand over his chest with measured decorum. "Major Radii of the Nightstar 7th Division. Appointed under Blackshore Command. I'm here to fulfill the contract."

The woman gave a subtle nod, returning his gesture just enough to show civility without subservience. "Lela," she answered. "I'll be overseeing the exchange personally."

"Lady Lela," Radii echoed with a polite smile. "A pleasure."

She didn't smile back. "Let's get to it."

Radii chuckled softly. "Straight to business. I like that."

Without another word, he raised his gloved hand and motioned behind him. Two men in matching uniforms walked forward carrying a long, metallic casket—coffin-shaped, sleek, and sealed with reinforced clamps. They placed it gently onto the dock with a metallic thud.

"The goods?" Lela asked.

"Of course. You may verify them," Radii said, stepping aside.

At her signal, one of her guards moved forward, leaned down, and unclamped the sides. With a hiss of released pressure, the lid lifted open.

Inside, it was deceptively innocent—just layers of white fluffy bags. Salt.

Radii smiled at her faint frown. "It's a bit further inside. Smuggling an art, you know."

The guards understood. They began lifting the top layers carefully, revealing a false bottom.

Beneath the salt was a metallic compartment with precise, compartmentalized fittings.

Rows of compact, disassembled rifles lay embedded within the frame, each part packed meticulously—barrels, stocks, triggers, scopes, all disjointed and wrapped in shock-resistant foam.

Radii crouched beside the casket and pulled out a section, holding it up for her to see.

"These are state-issue Nightfang rifles," he said. "Broken down for easy concealment. At a glance, most wouldn't identify it, even under scan. We've made sure each unit is encoded—you can't just piece them together without proper sequence."

Lela crossed her arms. "Assembly?"

"We've brought two engineers. They will be quiet men. They'll stay behind, help your people assemble the pieces," Radii replied smoothly.

She gave him a long, unreadable look, then nodded slowly. "Very well. Begin inspection."

At her word, another of her guards stepped forward and began checking each rifle component, scanning for defects or inconsistencies.

As the cool sea breeze brushed past the docks, Lela's eyes remained locked on the metal.

Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere.

And behind the shadows, Kael watched silently—his eyes narrowed, his rage smoldering.

The guard moved methodically, his gloved hands brushing aside the remaining salt bags before removing a few more rifle components from the hidden chamber. He placed them on a nearby crate with a soft clunk of metal on wood, then drew a compact, palm-sized scanner from his belt.

The scanner whirred softly, a pale blue light passing over the parts.

"Power nodes intact. Carbon fiber insulation's clean," he muttered, noting readings on the small screen. "Serials match the manifest you sent us last week."

Lela said nothing, her gaze focused and unwavering.

Another guard joined him, lifting out a cylindrical container secured in the side panel of the false bottom. He unlatched it and revealed a tightly coiled series of magnetic cartridge belts—sleek, compact rounds for the rifles, engraved with a small Nightstar insignia.

"Ammo capacity is as expected," he said, running a second scan. "Anti-jam seals are intact. There is no leakage."

Major Radii stood a few paces away, arms behind his back, expression calm. "All stored in low-humidity caskets. These rifles haven't seen air since they left Blackshore."

The guards continued.

Each component was lifted, checked, and matched. They carefully aligned barrels with stocks, checked internal receivers, examined firing mechanisms, and tested thermal shielding with small handheld gauges. They worked with the quiet precision of men used to handling contraband under pressure.

One of them, a grizzled veteran with a tattoo under his left eye, paused as he studied a scope.

"Custom-made?" he asked.

Radii stepped forward and nodded.

"Yes, all of these are custom-made according to His Highness's wishes. You can all check and have a trial."

The man gave a short nod of approval.

Beside them, the first engineer had begun a rough assembly of one of the rifles—more to test the modular integrity than to fully complete it. His hands moved with practiced ease, slotting in magnetic locks, rotating chambers, tightening internal screws.

Adele narrows her eyes seeing the sophisticated thing.In fact, she found this useless.

Click. Clack. Snap.

The rifle came together like a sleek puzzle. Light and deadly.

He lifted it, tested the weight, and then handed it to Adele who looked curiously.

She accepted it with a surprising familiarity, her fingers wrapping around the grip as if it weren't her first time holding a weapon of that make. She raised it slightly, pressed a button on the side. A faint hum of energy vibrated through the body of the rifle.

"Responsive," she murmured.

Then, without hesitation, she raised the rifle and aimed it toward the open sky, her movement clean and controlled. She peered through the scope.

"Range seems stable," she said, then lowered it and handed it back. "I'm satisfied."

The guards exchanged nods and began re-packing the pieces, this time separating out a batch for immediate assembly and leaving the rest secured.

Radii offered a small smile. "We'll have the engineers stay here, just long enough to finish setting things up. After that, they're ghosts."

Lela turned slightly, her voice sharp. "They will not speak of this."

"They won't." Radii's tone matched hers in gravity. "They've signed their silence with more than paper."

She looked at him, cool and unreadable again. "Then the deal stands."

With that, the first crate was sealed once more, and the engineers moved to begin full assembly procedures under dim lights and hushed instructions—bringing the hidden war tools of Nightstar quietly to life under Lela's watchful eyes.