Chaos' Heir
chapter-876

A wave of pain awakened the Foxnor descendant, and the lab's faint illumination immediately attacked his drowsy eyes, forcing him to squint and attempt to rub them.

Nevertheless, moving the arms triggered another wave of pain. The descendant could only grunt, peeking at his torso and finding clean bandages. Someone had changed them while he was asleep, but his injuries still needed care.

The descendant sighed, looking to his right to check his bedside table. The previous day, he had found a tray with food, and a sad smile appeared on his face when he saw a new meal. His family wasn't there, but someone was still taking care of him.

The man was about to reach for the tray when his mind noticed another detail. He had already spent one night in the lab, but the environment felt brighter now. Moreover, he felt slightly uncomfortable and alert. He was on edge, and an explanation for that odd sensation soon arrived.

A splashing noise resounded in the dead-silent lab, followed by a gulping sound. The descendant followed his ears, turning in the direction of the disturbance. It turned out he wasn't alone. A bright-eyed figure in a dark corner was staring at him.

"P-Prince Khan!" The descendant gasped. A tremor ran through his body, giving him the strength to straighten his back. However, that energy suddenly disappeared, keeping the man down on the interactive desk.

"You are injured," Khan announced, checking the remaining booze in his bottle. "Don't move."

The descendant held his breath, almost panicking. He couldn't understand why Khan was in the lab in the middle of the night, but only bad thoughts rose to his mind. His presence couldn't mean anything good.

"I apologize for the other day," Khan exclaimed. "I knew you might have gotten hurt, but I had to prove something."

"Y-!" The descendant tried to speak, but coughs interrupted his line. "I'm sorry, Prince Khan. You have nothing to apologize for, Prince Khan."

By then, Khan had seen, met, and interacted with many descendants, becoming somewhat of an expert in them. The injured man seemed to lack the wealthy families' manners, and his attempted politeness resulted from fear.

Khan sighed, focusing on his bottle. He had predicted a similar reaction, making him question the reason behind his secret visit. Part of him didn't even know why he had flown there right after the [Hunt], and his pensive mood didn't help.

"I bet you didn't get much of an education," Khan guessed, "With your problems and everything. How did you even join the tournament?"

The descendant's panic intensified, and the rumors about Khan flooded his mind. The slightly dark lab, the late hour, and the lack of an audience hinted at a specific development, inevitably terrifying him.

"Uncl-," The descendant began to say before correcting his words. "I asked Major Foxnor a favor. He is good with me."

"The Major has a soft spot," Khan chuckled. "Amusing."

"Don't do anything to him, sir!" The descendant pleaded before realizing his mistake. "I mean, Prince Khan, please."

"Why would I do anything to him?" Khan asked, failing to connect the descendant's concern to actual problems.

"Because," The descendant muttered, hesitating. "Because I made a scene at your tournament. Si-I mean, Prince Khan."

"So that's how the network sees me," Khan laughed. "I guess I deserve it. I did kill many people."

The descendant was too scared to notice the slight bitterness in Khan's voice, and that reaction didn't reassure him, either. The man still thought something terrible was about to happen.

"I won't kill you," Khan reassured, "Nor do anything to your Uncle. That's not why I'm here." "Then," The descendant frowned, "Why are you here, si-Prince Khan?"

"I've been wondering that myself," Khan admitted, lifting his bottle, only to discover that the booze had vanished.

"Damn it," Khan cursed, placing the bottle on the closest surface before scanning the lab. His attentive, bright eyes inspected every corner of the area, widening when they pointed at a specific drawer.

Khan hurried toward the drawer, and his eyes brightened when he pulled a bottle. He turned, showing a proud smirk and the booze to the descendants, whose confusion intensified when he heard him speak.

"I've hidden bottles like these everywhere in the quadrant," Khan revealed, happily opening the booze. "I've forgotten half of those locations, but nothing stays hidden from my nose."

The descendants temporarily forgot where he was and opened his mouth in disbelief. For a few seconds, Khan appeared like a cheerful young man, barely a couple of years older than him.

Khan noticed the prolonged stare and addressed it. "Do you want some?"

The question snapped the descendant back to reality. The panic and fear returned, making him shake his head and refuse the offer. "I don't drink, sir."

"Don't be boring," Khan laughed, approaching the interactive desk and placing the bottle on the descendant's hand. "Drink, drink. It might be your only chance to taste the good stuff."

Something told the descendant that refusing Khan's offer wouldn't be possible, so he mustered his strength to straighten his back. His injuries hurt, but disappointing Khan sounded far worse in his mind.

"Easy," Khan said, helping the descendant up, "And don't tell the doctors tomorrow."

The descendant almost jumped when Khan's hand landed on his back, but the care it exuded quickly reassured him. He didn't believe Khan could be so gentle, so he nodded, taking a short sip from the bottle.

The burning sensation that spread through the descendant's throat triggered a violent cough. The man almost spit the booze out but forced himself to gulp. Khan seized the bottle in the meantime, wearing his proud smirk again.

"Good, right?" Khan commented, his eyes wandering in the distance. "I remember the Niqols' being better, but maybe my brain is playing tricks on me."

Khan silently drank and inspected an empty spot on the wall while the descendant studied him. The man had no heightened senses, but something in the air smelled like sadness.

"Did your family give up on you?" Khan asked, his eyes still on the wall. "Wait, what's your

name?"

"Roger, Prince Khan," The descendant revealed. "Roger Foxnor."

"Did they stop investing in you, Roger?" Khan repeated his question, finally looking at the

man.

Roger lowered his gaze before explaining his situation. "I will never become truly strong, and I'm not that smart. My Cousins are a better investment."

"I guessed as much," Khan admitted. "It's your element, isn't it?"

Roger lifted his gaze, nodding at Khan before lowering his head again. He had done his best,

but the monster inside him was too big of a hurdle to overcome.

"My element is also problematic," Khan announced, showing his palm and releasing a purple-red strand of mana. "It's so unreasonable. It doesn't care for rules or situations. It's a cluster of violent urges I can't even begin to control."

Roger inspected the bright trail of mana before soft words left his mouth. "But you control

it."

Roger quickly realized his mistake and instinctively raised his voice. "I'm sorry, Prince Khan. I didn't mean to."

Khan wore a warm smile and closed his hand, dispersing the strand of mana. His status had to be genuinely terrifying for Roger, and things would probably worsen.

"Do I?" Khan asked. "Do I control it?"

Roger opened his mouth but didn't speak. He understood that Khan's question was rhetorical but couldn't muster an answer anyway.

"Humankind thinks that the chaos element is the most destructive shape the mana can take," Khan explained. "Truth is, chaos is freedom, pure, violent freedom. Controlling it would go

against its nature."

"Are you saying my element also has a similar nature?" Roger questioned, too caught in the topic to address Khan adequately.

"See, you are smart," Khan exclaimed. "But no. Yours is something else, more animal than a natural phenomenon. It probably has something resembling thoughts."

Roger completely lost Khan but remained silent. He was growing comfortable with Khan's presence, especially since the conversation seemed to point toward a solution for his issue. "Does it talk to you?" Khan asked. "Your real element, I mean. Did it ever say anything?" "My element saying anything?" Roger questioned, confused.

"It doesn't have to be actual words," Khan explained. "Did you ever feel something foreign? A sudden desire you didn't recognize? An urge? A thought?"

Roger lowered his gaze, scouring his memory. He had experienced episodes that aligned with Khan's description but had never thought much of them. After all, he was strange, so it made sense to have a few screws loose.

"Sometimes," Roger revealed, "I get really angry, and I don't mean pissed or irritated. I mean truly, deeply angry, so angry I fear my head might explode."

"It's anger then," Khan concluded. "Did you ask your element why it's angry?"

Roger lost Khan again, but the latter continued without waiting for a reply. "Maybe you

infected it with your anger due to your family situation. You grew together in the end."

"I did this?" Roger questioned.

"Oh, no," Khan shook his head. "You didn't create your element. It probably just focused on

anger due to repressed feelings."

"Am I angry at my family?" Roger wondered. "I probably feel it's unfair, but angry is a

stretch."

"It's not something reasonable," Khan explained. "Our politics are too complex for an

element. Yours probably just understood your surface-level reactions."

"So," Roger realized, "It is my faul-"

Roger couldn't finish his line because Khan flicked his forehead. That simple gesture hurt way

more than it should have, but it served its purpose.

"I told you it's not your fault," Khan snorted, turning, walking for a few steps, and turning

again. "Look," Khan continued. "My people will run tests on you. They'll study your element and hopefully develop a way to control it. They are trustworthy people, so don't worry about

invasive stuff.

"However, you probably aren't the only one with that condition, and I wonder whether there's a better way. I want to find a better way."

Khan fell silent, indulging in his bottle for a few sips before resuming his explanation. "The

more I learn about this, the more people I can help. If you allow it, I'll run private tests with just the two of us. Ideally, I might find a solution for you like I did for me." Roger couldn't believe his ears. He didn't understand most of what Khan said, but the core message was clear. Khan was giving him hope, so his head performed a slow but evident nod.

"Good," Khan exclaimed. "Take it out then. I want to talk to it."

"But, Prince Khan," Roger complained. "I don't know how."

"Shut it," Khan scoffed. "Your family must have taught you tricks to suppress it, so just

ignore them and summon your mana."

"But-" Roger tried to complain again, but Khan didn't let him.

"Kid," Khan interrupted. "I gave you an order."

Roger gulped and joined his hands to his waist, slowly filling the space between his palms

with mana. Nothing became visible, but Khan saw everything clearly. Roger's pale-orange mana fused with the symphony, but its color quickly intensified.

A single crackling noise suddenly resounded in the lab, and more soon followed. The pale-

orange mana quickly turned bright red, changing shape. Its gaseous texture grew denser, forming sparks that raged between Roger's palms.