The Duke Farbellini's family owned one of the most prestigious properties in the capital—a grand mansion that had been passed down through generations. Its exterior marked by the passage of time, the mansion exuded classic charm, while its interior embraced the latest trends in modern luxury.
The property, a fusion of cutting-edge design and traditional elegance, was a source of immense pride for the Farbellini family, as were their distinctive platinum-blonde hair. After all, Farbellini was the very heart of the Traon Empire.
Duke Assef Farbellini watched the mansion from the carriage window as they approached, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Perhaps he had overindulged a little at the party that night, but he felt his chest swell with pride at being a Farbellini.
Yes, no matter how much that individual struggles…
Farbellini would remain forever. Even if the imperial family changed, Farbellini would continue its legacy like an ancient tree, standing firm against the passage of time.
Assef reached into his coat to retrieve a cigar case. Just as he opened the window and prepared to light a cigar, the carriage jolted violently and came to a sudden stop. The cigar case fell to the floor, and the expensive cigars scattered throughout the interior.
Clicking his tongue in irritation, Assef raised his voice slightly at the coachman.
What does that mean?
The driver, normally reliable, would only brake like that if something truly serious happened. Under normal circumstances, Assef would have ignored it, but the man's silence unsettled him. He was stiff, his eyes wide with apprehension, staring at something ahead.
Assef followed the coachman's gaze, but had to close his eyes tightly when the headlights of an oncoming vehicle flashed, blinding him.
When the light dimmed and he slowly opened his eyes again, the scene before him seemed almost surreal. The carriage was surrounded by armed soldiers. Ahead of them, staring directly at the vehicle, stood a tall man in a suit.
Assef's gaze met the man's, whose blood-red eyes sent a chill down his spine. He muttered a curse under his breath—a word he hadn't used in a long time. A soft tap on the window was followed by the booming voice of a burly soldier outside.
- Skirt.
He was one of Archduke Erzet's knights. If Assef remembered correctly, his name was Lotan. Upon recognizing the name, Assef opened the door and exited the carriage.
When his feet touched the ground, the cold night air enveloped him. It wasn't the chill of dawn he felt, but the sweat trickling down his back. Swallowing hard, he approached the Archduke.
Although he wasn't wearing his imperial uniform, dressed only in simple evening attire, the Archduke was far more imposing than the armed soldiers. The air was heavy with the sharp, metallic smell of blood, carried by the night breeze, causing Assef's chest to clench.
Good evening, Duke Farbellini. The moon is bright tonight.
The Archduke greeted him casually, his hands in his pockets, as if they had simply met by chance on a quiet night. Assef licked his dry lips.
Since becoming duke, fear or panic were rare emotions for him, but this was different. A primal terror gripped his heart, unfamiliar and unsettling.
The Archduke couldn't simply kill Duke Farbellini without due process. Executing him right there wasn't an option. After all, Farbellini was a noble house of the empire.
Even clinging to the logic that the man couldn't kill him without formal procedures, Assef couldn't shake the fear that he might ignore the rules. If the Archduke had lost his mind and decided to act without regard for the consequences, he could turn Assef into a bullet-riddled corpse right there—especially given the Archduke's recent history of silent massacres.
“…What brings Your Grace here at such a late hour?” asked Assef, careful not to raise his voice, fearful that any sign of affront might provoke a deadly response. He chose his words with extreme care, and the Archduke’s gaze, cold and implacable, seemed to pierce him completely, as if the man knew exactly what Assef feared.
A rat has been prowling around my wife's laboratory.
— …!
Assef could barely conceal his shock. He had heard rumors of an intruder in the Archduchess's residence and had simply chosen a young scholar whom he considered easily manipulated for the task. He had ordered him to observe the Archduchess and exploit any weakness he found. In return, he had promised fortune, prestige, and a coveted position.
But apparently, the scholar was captured almost immediately. Or rather, it seemed he hadn't just been captured—
'Was the Archduke expecting this? Had he set a trap?'
Assef's mind raced with the realization that he had made a critical mistake—one that the Archduke had already anticipated. The man's next question cut through the tension like a blade.
How is Miss Farbellini doing?
Instead of confronting Assef directly about his crime, the Archduke's only question was a subtle but refined threat. Overwhelmed by the implications, Assef exhaled deeply. As political calculations swirled in his mind, he stopped speaking as Duke Farbellini and started speaking as a father.
— Your Grace… I was foolish. Please, I implore your mercy.
A man who appeared in the middle of the night with soldiers pointing guns at him could easily turn his attention to terrorizing Assef's daughter next. Raised amidst luxury like the Lily of Traon, she would not be prepared for the spectacle of gunpowder and blood. As Assef bowed his head and begged for forgiveness, the Archduke accepted his apology with apparent generosity.
However, in exchange for letting the incident pass, the Archduke made an unexpected request.
— Give me the lion's feather.
He was demanding the relic held by the Farbellini family—the golden feather that, according to legend, had fallen from the winged lion of the founding myth. Whenever Assef looked at that feather, he secretly ridiculed it, questioning whether it was truly from a lion or merely a golden piece from some common bird.
The fact that Archduke Erzet, known for his disdain for superstitions and disbelief in the gods, was now demanding that object left Assef dumbfounded. Of course, he would hand over the pen if it meant saving his life, but…
Unable to suppress a sudden wave of curiosity, Assef dared to ask the man a question.
What does Your Grace truly desire?
Ever since the news of King Kalpen's execution reached his ears, Assef had been deeply intrigued by Caesar's motives. Beheading a king was an extreme decision, far worse than negotiating a deal and keeping him alive. What could have led Caesar to act so recklessly?
But it wasn't recklessness; it was confidence. Immediately after the execution, the Archduke swiftly dismantled the resistance army that had formed around the crown prince of Kalpen. Typically, such a rebellion would persist for months, but Cesare seemed to know exactly which nobles supported the resistance, how they supplied it, and where they were positioned. The resistance was completely crushed in less than a month—a surprisingly quick, almost supernatural victory, as if the Archduke possessed divine insight or had become a god.
Assef had feared the Archduke before, but now it was different. It was as if Cesare had acquired an almost prophetic understanding of the world, capable of predicting and manipulating events with frightening accuracy. The situation had become so surreal that Assef almost laughed.
The Archduke's seemingly prophetic actions continued even after his return to the empire. The nobles of Traon found themselves powerless against his prediction. The man not only dismantled the power of the noble families, but also began to eliminate them one by one. Many lost their titles dishonorably or were quietly murdered. Most did not even receive proper funerals.
But why? The Archduke's massacres seemed excessive, and Assef couldn't understand his motivation. It didn't seem that Caesar wanted to seize the imperial throne; even those who could have been valuable allies met bloody ends. For whom, after all, was this silent slaughter intended? Assef truly wanted to understand Caesar's intentions.
— … What do I desire, you ask?
The Archduke pondered for a moment before replying, almost as if speaking to himself.
If I had to say... peace.
Assef's face contorted in disbelief, interpreting the Archduke's words as mockery. A man who left a trail of blood and carnage could not truly desire peace.
Noticing Assef's reaction, the Archduke continued, speaking slowly, his gaze unwavering.
— If I didn't want her, after all…
His blood-red eyes locked onto Assef with a chilling intensity, and a crooked smile curved his lips.
Do you think you'd still be here, alive, standing before me at this very moment?
To be continued…