SWNOVELXO Chapter 3: [3] Unwanted Visitor
Callian crouched low, his golden eyes locked onto the massive boar rummaging through the undergrowth. It was big. Fat. Juicy.
Perfect.
He licked his lips. "Alright, big guy, let's make this quick."
The boar snorted, its tusks gleaming under the dappled sunlight. Its beady eyes locked onto him, filled with instinctual aggression. Callian tilted his head. Was it about to charge?
The answer came when the boar let out an enraged squeal and kicked off the ground, barreling toward him like a boulder.
Callian sighed. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
As the boar lunged, he twisted to the side, his body moving fluidly. With a single step, he dodged past its tusks, barely stirring the fallen leaves beneath him. His fingers flexed, tightening around the hilt of his hunting knife.
One clean strike.
The blade flashed.
The boar collapsed mid-run, skidding across the forest floor with a heavy thud. Its massive body twitched once before going still.
Callian exhaled slowly. "Too easy."
Honestly, he was a little disappointed. He remembered fighting wild boars in his past life—mutated beasts with razor-sharp fur and flames spewing from their nostrils. Those had been fun.
Shaking his head, he cleaned his blade and crouched down, grabbing the boar by its hind legs. With a practiced motion, he swung it over his shoulder.
"Violet's going to love this," he muttered.
Humming softly, he began his trek back to the cabin, enjoying the peaceful morning. Birds chirped in the distance, the wind rustled through the trees, and the air smelled of damp earth.
Then—
A scream.
His body reacted before his mind did.
Violet.
The boar slipped from his grasp as Callian vanished, moving at a speed that left the forest untouched in his wake. Windless Footstep—a technique that allowed him to travel without a single sound.
When he reached the clearing in front of his cabin, his golden eyes darkened.
Knights. At least twenty. Lined up in pristine formation. Their armor gleamed, their swords at their sides.
And at the center of it all—
A silver-haired man gripping Violet's small wrist.
His daughter trembled, her wide violet eyes filled with fear.
At her feet, the 'kitty'—a massive demonic wolf—was growling, its fangs sunk deep into the man's arm.
Callian moved.
Before anyone could react, he was already there.
With one arm, he pulled Violet into his chest. With the other, he grabbed the wolf by the scruff of its neck, yanking it away from the man's arm.
The knights flinched.
The silver-haired man… smiled.
His sharp, steel-colored eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he slowly straightened. Blood dripped from his arm, but he didn't so much as wince.
"Amazing," the man murmured. "I didn't even see you move."
Callian ignored him.
He checked Violet first, running his fingers through her hair, searching for any signs of injury. She clung to his tunic, her tiny hands gripping the fabric so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Papa," she whispered, her voice shaking. "They tried to take me."
Callian's chest burned.
Not with rage. Not yet.
He turned his golden gaze to the man in front of him. "Who are you?"
The man inclined his head. "Grand Duke of Ashville."
Silence.
Callian blinked once. Twice. Slowly, he processed the words.
Violet.
Ashville.
Silver hair.
His jaw clenched.
The Grand Duke smiled slightly, watching him. "Julianna is my daughter."
Violet stiffened in his arms.
"By family law," the Duke continued, "any child born with silver hair must be raised as an Ashville. That means Violet—"
Callian's voice was calm. Too calm. "I see. So you came here to take her."
The knights tensed.
The Duke didn't deny it. "It is our custom."
Callian hummed. "Your custom doesn't mean anything to me."
A flicker of amusement crossed the Duke's face. "As I expected."
Callian didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't let the quiet, growing rage in his chest take over.
Not yet.
"Even so," the Duke said lightly, "I would like to stay the night. I traveled far, and I am an old man. At the very least, let me see my granddaughter properly."
Callian stared at him.
He weighed his options.
Kill them all? Possible. But unnecessary.
Fight them? Also unnecessary.
Deny the request? No. That would make him look unreasonable.
Violet was watching.
She was still scared, still shaking. But her small fingers curled tighter into his shirt, seeking warmth. Seeking reassurance.
Callian sighed.
"Fine. Stay the night," he said flatly. "But Violet stays close to me."
The Duke chuckled. "Of course."
—
The cabin was small, but the Grand Duke made himself comfortable. Callian cooked as usual, making a simple stew while Violet sat at the table, unusually quiet. The 'kitty' lay at her feet, its eyes locked onto the Duke with pure hatred.
As they ate, the Duke spoke.
"Julianna remarried."
Callian didn't react.
"Marquis Hansford," the Duke continued. "She has a daughter now. A girl named Fiona."
Still, Callian didn't react.
Blonde hair. Not silver.
He didn't care.
Not really.
Not until—
"Fiona?"
The name slipped from his lips before he could stop it.
The Duke paused. "Yes."
Callian went still.
His hands froze around his spoon. His golden eyes darkened, his mind suddenly spinning.
He hadn't thought about it much before. This world—he had assumed it was just another fantasy setting, just another place to exist after his previous life as a hunter.
But now…
"Tell me," Callian said slowly, "where exactly is the Ashville Duchy?"
The Duke raised a brow. "Are you truly asking for geography lessons?"
Callian's voice was calm. Deadly. "Answer me."
The Duke considered him for a moment. Then, he spoke.
Callian asked more. The empire's name. The rulers. The year.
With every answer, his stomach twisted.
He knew this world.
Damn it.
He knew this world.
The Duke studied him carefully. "You seem troubled."
Callian exhaled. Slowly. Carefully.
No. He wasn't troubled.
He was furious.
This was the world of Poisonous Violet.
His sister's novel.
A story where Violet Asheville—the future villainess—suffered.
And now… the Duke wanted to take her.
Because of a law? Because of tradition?
Callian's expression didn't change, but his grip on his spoon tightened just slightly.
The Duke took another sip of his wine. "I will take Violet with me tomorrow."
Violet stiffened. "No!"
Callian closed his eyes briefly.
He was strong. But he wasn't stupid.
Fighting an entire empire? Nonsense.
…He could do it. That wasn't the issue.
But Violet would hate it.
She would follow them.
She would go with her 'family.'
Callian exhaled, looking at his daughter.
Her small hands clutched the edge of the table, her violet eyes glistening with unshed tears.
He reached over, ruffling her hair gently.
"Don't worry, Violet," he said softly.
She looked up at him, her lower lip trembling. "But—"
"Don't worry," he repeated.
Because no matter what happened—
No matter what the Duke said—
No matter what fate had written—
Callian would never let her go.
*****
Duke Demian of Ashville sat in his carriage, fingers idly drumming against the armrest as he gazed out the window. The thick trees of the Death Forest loomed around them, their dark silhouettes cutting against the pale morning sky.
He never expected to find himself in this cursed place.
And yet, here he was.
All because of Julianna.
His rebellious daughter.
Demian had eight children—five sons, three daughters. And among them, Julianna had always been the sore thumb.
Rebellious and rash.
In Ashville, rebellion was not a flaw. Strength determined one's worth, and only the strongest survived. To question, to challenge, to push against expectations—that was natural.
But Julianna?
Her foolishness knew no bounds.
She ran away.
For years, he allowed it. Let her roam, let her struggle. If she could survive on her own, then she deserved to stand among the strong. If not, then she was never fit to carry the Ashville name.
Then, one day, she returned—announcing her engagement to a Marquis Hansford.
Pregnant.
And planning a wedding.
Demian hadn't cared. They were adults. They could do as they pleased.
But then—
Fiona was born.
Blonde-haired, bright-eyed. A child who looked nothing like her father.
Demian had expected dark locks like the Marquis. Or silver hair, like all Ashville firstborns.
Instead—blonde.
Julianna's hair.
His lips curled in distaste.
That was when he realized—
She abandoned her firstborn.
For a moment, he had been speechless.
Illegitimacy did not bother him. The strong wrote their own laws. A child was a child, regardless of bloodlines or contracts.
But silver hair?
The mark of an Ashville firstborn?
That could not be ignored.
Their family's bloodline had been forged in a contract with the White Dragon, a bond as old as the empire itself. The eldest of each line inherited silver hair or bore a strong resemblance to their father—proof of inheriting their family's blessings.
Only the second child resembled the mother.
Julianna's firstborn should have had silver hair.
But Fiona…
Fiona was not the firstborn.
The truth sank in.
Julianna had given birth before Fiona.
A silver-haired child had been cast aside.
She had abandoned her own daughter.
Demian had demanded answers.
And Julianna had given them, carelessly, as if she were discussing the weather.
"She's in the Death Forest."
The Death Forest.
The most dangerous place on the continent.
Demian had thought his daughter was insane.
Even some of his own children—heirs of Ashville's monstrous strength—had yet to start families. Only his eldest son and second daughter had children of their own.
And yet—his foolish Julianna had discarded her firstborn in this place?
Even for an Ashville, that was madness.
He had expected the girl to be long dead.
And yet—
He found himself here, deep in the heart of the cursed woods, staring at a tiny café.
The building was quaint. Too warm, too peaceful for a place like this. A stark contrast to the monsters lurking just beyond the trees.
And standing in front of it—
A child.
Small.
Delicate.
She had silver hair that shimmered like moonlight.
And when she turned—
Her eyes were violet.
Violet.
The moment he stepped forward, the child looked up at him with wide, unguarded curiosity.
"Who are you?" she asked softly.
Demian grabbed her wrist. Not harshly, but firmly enough. "What's your name?"
The demonic wolf at her feet snarled.
And before he could blink—
It bit down on his arm.
Blood splattered against the wooden porch.
The knights behind him reached for their swords, but Demian held up a hand.
It didn't hurt.
The wound would heal in minutes.
What fascinated him more was why.
The beast was protecting her.
A demonic wolf, a creature born of darkness and instinct, was guarding a child.
How?
Why?
And before he could even demand answers—
A flash.
No—
A step.
Demian had always prided himself on his speed, his awareness. He was a Swordmaster, one of the empire's strongest.
Yet—
He didn't see him move.
One moment, the girl was in his grasp.
The next—
She was gone.
And in her place stood a man.
Tall.
Golden-eyed.
Handsome.
No—breathtaking.
Everything about him demanded respect.
His posture. His presence.
An aura of nobility poured from him, despite the roughness of his commoner's attire.
And he held himself with a natural authority, one that could not be taught.
Julianna had not been wrong.
Everything about this man—
Callian.
—was commanding.
The way he stood. The way he looked through him instead of at him.
Demian had faced emperors, warlords, beasts of nightmares.
Yet, for the first time in decades, he felt a whisper of something rare.
Instinctual fear.
A monster in human skin.
And then—Callian spoke.
Calm. Too calm.
He demanded answers.
And Demian…
…gave them.
As they sat inside the café, discussing the past, the child, and Julianna's betrayal, Demian found himself watching the man carefully.
His movements.
His demeanor.
The way he spoke—so naturally, so effortlessly like an aristocrat.
How?
How could a commoner carry himself like this?
The answer was clear.
He was not normal.
And that… was intriguing.
As the night stretched on, his knights grew uneasy. They whispered among themselves.
"Your Grace… is this really alright?"
"We should not stay in a place like this—"
"That man—he's not normal—"
Demian just shrugged.
What did it matter?
They had not come to fight.
And he had no intention of taking Violet by force.
He wasn't a fool.
Julianna had thrown away a gem.
Her new husband, the moustached Marquis, was nothing compared to the man before him.
Callian is dangerous.
But more than that—
Callian is valuable.
If nothing else, Demian had gained an impressive son-in-law.
A monster hidden in a peaceful café.
A warrior raising a daughter in a hellish forest.
What if he was a commoner? Strength did not care for status.
The knights—his sons—could learn much from a man like this.
Perhaps they had just found their new instructor.