Chapter 81

Third Person’s POV

The following morning in the City of Hoswington, word finally reached Duke Edric that Lance had regained consciousness.

The private infirmary of the High Conclave remained unnaturally quiet despite the number of healers moving in and out throughout the night. The curtains were drawn halfway open, allowing pale morning light to spill weakly across the room. The air smelled heavily of medicine and blood.

Lance lay motionless beneath the sheets, his body barely responding even after waking.

The wound around his neck had been tightly bandaged hours ago, yet fresh red continued to slowly seep through the white cloth no matter how often the healers replaced it. His breathing came shallow and uneven, each inhale sounding painful, wet.

“F… Father…”

For nearly an hour now, he had been calling weakly toward the empty room while staring blankly at the ceiling above him.

No one answered.

Every attempt strained his battered throat further, yet he continued anyway.

“Father…” His voice had long turned hoarse.

Then finally—

The infirmary door opened.

Lance’s dim eyes shifted weakly toward the sound.

Duke Edric entered the room.

If he had arrived earlier, perhaps Lance would have smiled despite the pain. Perhaps relief would have crossed his face. Perhaps some foolish part of him would have still hoped for warmth.

But after waiting so long…

After staring at that empty doorway for what felt like forever…

The detached expression on Edric’s face extinguished whatever hope remained.

Pain settled into Lance’s chest far deeper than the wound on his neck ever could.

Edric approached the bedside slowly before stopping beside him. His expression remained unreadable, cold as stone.

Under that gaze, Lance suddenly felt smaller than he ever had in his entire life.

“All my life…” Lance forced the words out painfully, his voice cracking almost beyond recognition. “Y-you never once acknowledged me…”

Edric did not respond.

His eyes drifted past Lance instead, settling calmly toward the window as though this entire moment were merely an inconvenience.

“P-perhaps…” Lance coughed violently, blood staining the corner of his lips before he continued, “perhaps my actions seemed trifling to you…”

Another ragged breath.

“B-but I always…” His voice trembled harder. “I always did my best…”

He struggled weakly to turn his head toward his father, desperate for even the slightest reaction.

Nothing.

“I…” Lance swallowed painfully against the blood rising in his throat. “I spent my whole life… trying to win your acceptance…”

The final words barely escaped him before another violent cough overtook his body. Fresh blood spilled from his mouth onto the sheets as his wound reopened further from the strain.

Still—

Edric remained unmoved.

Not a flicker.

Not a shred of pity.

Then finally, his gaze lowered toward his dying son.

“How worthless.”

The words landed without hesitation.

As though he were commenting on a broken object rather than his own child.

Lance froze.

Slowly, his expression shattered.

His eyes drifted upward again toward the ceiling as tears finally began streaming silently down the sides of his face.

“W-worthless…?” he repeated weakly to himself.

Then louder.

“Worthless… you say?”

His trembling voice rose suddenly despite the agony ripping through his throat. Blood splattered from his lips as rage finally overwhelmed the years of desperate obedience buried inside him.

“YOU—!”

Lance broke completely.

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO MADE MY LIFE LIKE THIS!”

The scream tore through the infirmary alongside another spray of blood.

But Edric did not flinch.

To him, this conversation had already lost all value.

Lance had publicly challenged the Queen during the Sovereign Assembly. The outcome was obvious now. Once the news fully spread, his son would be remembered not as an heir, but as a disgraced enemy of the crown.

A failure.

Nothing more.

Edric turned calmly toward the door.

Lance’s breathing became frantic.

Desperate.

He stared helplessly at his father’s retreating figure while trying to force out one final sentence through the blood drowning his throat.

“Even… until the end…” A violent cough interrupted him again. “You still chose… to ignore me…”

Edric continued walking.

“I…” Lance gasped painfully for air. “I despise you…”

His body trembled violently now.

“I loathe you… father…”

The words dissolved into broken breathing.

Then silence.

The room grew still.

Lance Valeen, heir of Duke Edric, died alone staring at the doorway his father had walked through without once looking back.

And yet—

Edric remained calm even after leaving the infirmary.

No grief crossed his face.

No guilt.

No regret.

Because in his mind, he still had another son.

Marcus.

Marcus was reckless. Foolish at times. Slower than Lance in many aspects. Yet Edric still believed he possessed bravery. Ambition. A fire suitable for the Valeen name.

The brothers may have constantly clashed, but surely Marcus would seek vengeance once he learned of Lance’s death.

Surely he would rise in his brother’s place.

That thought alone was enough for Edric to quietly justify walking away from his dying child without remorse.

—

“Kill Marcus.”

Lena’s command came without hesitation.

The words settled heavily across the quiet study room as Christian and Jayden stood before her desk. Neither of them reacted outwardly, though the weight behind the order was unmistakable.

Outside the palace windows, morning rain had begun pouring, the faint sound of thunder rolling somewhere beyond the walls. The dim light from the fireplace flickered across Lena’s face, casting shadows beneath her eyes that made her exhaustion far more visible.

But despite how tired she looked—

Her gaze remained cold.

“We will not go to war,” Lena continued calmly, resting one hand beneath her chin as documents regarding Tungsten’s attack remained scattered across her desk. “Not now. Our forces are still recovering from the ambush. If we engage Ravaryn head-on in our current condition, we will struggle.”

“But,” Lena spoke again, her voice lowering slightly, “that does not mean we can simply ignore this either.”

Her fingers tightened subtly against the armrest of her chair.

“They dared to step onto my land with their filthy feet.”

For a brief moment, the Queen’s carefully controlled composure cracked ever so slightly.

Because beneath every political calculation…

Beneath every military concern…

One thought still lingered furiously inside her mind.

Miu had been there.

Miu had been inside Tungsten while it burned.

That realization alone had already been enough to poison Lena’s thoughts since returning to the palace.

“It is not enough to merely eliminate their men,” Lena finally said.

Then slowly—

A faint smile appeared on her lips.

Cold.

Beautiful.

Dangerous.

“We execute the leader.”

Both Christian and Jayden bowed immediately.

“We’ve already dispatched our best spies,” Christian answered. “Someone like Marcus can be eliminated within moments.”

That finally allowed some of the tension inside Lena’s chest to ease. She turned her gaze toward the rain beyond the window.

“This should serve as a sufficient warning…” she murmured quietly.

But unknown to Lena—

There was already no need to move against Marcus anymore.

Because Marcus Valeen was already dead.

—

Looking back…

Marcus had been there when Cole died.

Hidden within the forest shadows, he had watched everything unfold from afar. The burning city. The chaos. The blood.

And above all—

He had watched Miu.

Watched her cut through Cole in a single swing.

Watched the fearsome knight of Ravaryn collapse before her like nothing.

Marcus remained frozen among the trees long after the battle ended.

He truly is Prince Matthew…

The thought echoed endlessly inside his head.

No matter how much he tried to deny it, the scene he had witnessed kept replaying before his eyes.

What kind of woman fights like that?

His breathing became uneven.

Then slowly—

Almost unconsciously—

His hands lifted the rifle hanging against his shoulder. The barrel aimed toward Miu’s back from the darkness of the forest.

No… She’s just a woman. I can kill her right here. Right now.

His trembling finger hovered near the trigger. But strangely…

His body would not move properly.

The overwhelming image of her standing amidst fire and corpses continued crushing his confidence with every passing second.

In the end, instinct overtook reason.

Marcus lowered the rifle abruptly and pulled his hood over his head.

“I shouldn’t…” he muttered shakily to himself before turning away. “Most of the men are dead… Cole too… It’s too risky…”

Then he disappeared deeper into the forest.

Away from Tungsten.

Away from Miu.

It was a decision born entirely from fear.

And seeing Duke Christian’s forces beginning to close in afterward—

It had been the correct decision.

Marcus traveled carefully after that, avoiding roads and checkpoints as much as possible. He moved entirely on foot to avoid detection, pushing through exhaustion until he finally reached a small farming village near Ravaryn’s borders sometime after midnight.

By then, he was starving.

Tired.

Cold.

His body ached from the journey and his mind remained clouded from everything he had witnessed.

So when he spotted a small farmhouse near the edge of the fields, he slipped quietly toward it without hesitation.

The family appeared asleep.

Marcus found the storage warehouse first.

Food.

Water.

That was all he wanted.

He rummaged through the supplies with shaky hands, barely caring what he grabbed anymore.

Then—

The warehouse door creaked open behind him.

A small girl stood there holding a lantern.

“W-who—”

She never finished her sentence.

Marcus moved instinctively.

His hands shot toward her throat before he could even think.

The lantern crashed onto the floor as the little girl struggled helplessly beneath his grip, tiny fingers clawing weakly at his wrists while terrified choking sounds escaped her mouth.

Marcus stared blankly at her. Huh…? Do I really need to do this?

His thoughts felt distant.

Muddy.

Like he was no longer fully aware of himself anymore.

The girl kicked desperately, knocking tools and baskets across the floor in panic.

Then suddenly—

*WHACK*

Something heavy slammed into Marcus’s skull.

Pain exploded violently through his head.

His grip released instantly as his body stumbled sideways.

The little girl collapsed coughing onto the floor while another figure rushed forward between them—

Her father.

The farmer stood there trembling violently with a pickaxe gripped in both hands, terror and fury twisting across his face after hearing the commotion from outside.

Marcus stared at him dazedly.

Warm blood ran down the side of his head.

The world tilted strangely.

And before he could even properly react—

The pickaxe came down again.

That was the last thing Marcus Valeen ever saw.

No glorious battlefield.

No heroic death.

No vengeance.

He died alone inside a farmer’s warehouse after attempting to murder a child.

A futile death.

A meaningless death.

And yet—

That meaningless death would soon become the spark that ignited something far, far bigger.