Chapter 113
“Desecrate the corpse?”
Yan glared so fiercely that veins stood out along his neck.
Gerald was dumbfounded.
All he had done was raise the possibility of homicide—was that worth baring fangs over?
They needed an autopsy to determine whether the death was murder or natural causes before deciding their next steps.
Especially now, when the entire family was on the brink of ruin after suddenly being accused of treason.
“Aren’t you curious who did this, and why?”
Gerald slipped the question out lightly—very lightly.
Because he truly was curious.
He was the one who set the trap to get Michael executed; therefore, the one to eliminate Michael should have been himself.
And yet someone else had done it?
Someone who wanted to step over Michael and solidify their own power.
Or someone involved in one of Michael’s businesses—one that must never be exposed.
Gerald had a few guesses.
Did this man, called “brother-in-law,” know anything?
“His Majesty suffered a misjudgment due to illness. We cannot further disgrace the body.”
Gerald’s lips twisted.
“A misjudgment due to illness… Are you certain of that?”
“Then what else would it be?”
Yan’s thorny response made Gerald swallow a bitter laugh.
Back at the Academy, he had thought Yan was rather promising. Was it just an illusion?
He had seen many who let emotions and desires cloud their judgment, but what on earth had made this one so foolish?
The truth was, Gerald didn’t care whether the Owen family perished under treason charges.
If Sinclair allowed it, he would have already summoned monsters from the Demon Realm and razed the Owen Marquisate to the ground.
It was the family that had dared abuse his precious duchess.
But she did not want that.
Above all, she cared deeply for the Crown Prince.
Gerald also wished to be a kind and affectionate uncle.
He wanted Theodore to break his curse, be acknowledged as the heir, make friends, grow up normally, and become a respectable duke—just as Sinclair wished.
He only planned to quietly eliminate those who obstructed that goal.
Who would have thought that a small act of revenge would escalate this far?
The Emperor may have been capricious, but to discard his right-hand man so ruthlessly?
Wasn’t this self-sabotage?
And in the midst of all this, Michael was conveniently removed?
And not by simple means, but by evading both the Owen estate’s surveillance and that of the Schlezzen Palace?
Dried out like a mummy?
Not the work of an ordinary swordsman.
This was the work of a mage.
Even the nobles sensed something off, avoiding the funeral.
The treason charge delivered at dawn must have been silenced quickly by Bodrina Empress Dowager—but the core families would all know.
Still, even so. This few mourners?
Did this mean the Calliore family—of the High Priest Jubius—had finally beaten out all rivals to claim the second-highest rank?
Those who killed demons and fought alongside the magic tower… ended up destroying their own comrades.
Jubius, just how far does your ambition reach?
No—Bodrina Empress Dowager’s faction wouldn’t stay quiet either.
Prime Minister Martin Schmeier.
Was his faction rising to the forefront now?
Checking the High Priest’s influence…
Perhaps the Dowager might even step in as regent.
The Emperor still wasn’t well, after all.
Did Martin have subordinates capable of dark magic?
Just then—
“Shouldn’t Your Grace focus on breaking the young duke’s curse? Why are you so invested in Owen family affairs?”
Yan snapped again, still fuming over Gerald’s proposal.
“A curse… Yes, you’re right. A sweet and beautiful child becoming a victim of a curse—such a tragedy must never be allowed. If those who protect the Empire meet such an end, who would ever sacrifice for it?”
“…!”
“Isn’t the same true for Sir Michael’s death? Such a sudden death.”
Yan spoke mockingly, but Gerald answered honestly.
“Are you telling me to be disloyal?”
“No. I’m speaking of the virtues of a military official. You will soon become head of your household. You must cherish your retainers as your own limbs, and consider their affairs your own. I’m saying: be prudent.”
“…Do you covet something?”
Gerald let out a hollow laugh at Yan’s absurd suspicion.
Sinclair had said she had something to do before returning to the Karikas estate.
That was why he came here—and yet Yan dared speak so rudely to a duke?
The source of this ridiculous spite was so obvious that he didn’t even want to respond.
Was Yan also involved in Theodore’s attempted murder, like Michael and the Empress?
Did he too participate in abusing Sinclair and in the assassination attempt?
If so…
The desire for retribution boiled inside him.
How many in this household had participated in the abuse?
He wanted to find every last one who had tormented his precious wife and give them a taste of fear and pain unknown to this world.
His face chilled like the Demon King of the underworld—
“Father.”
Theodore snapped him out of his thoughts. Next to him, Sinclair—exhausted but hiding it—looked up with a gentle smile tugging at her lips.
“Let’s go.”
“Must you take both His Grace and the young duke there?”
“Of course.”
To Yan’s snide remark, Sinclair lifted her chin proudly.
Damn it. Ever since she married, her arrogance pierced the heavens.
Yan ground his teeth.
* * *
“Here?”
At Gerald’s question, Sinclair nodded.
The shabby, collapsing hut far from the main estate looked more like a shed than a separate residence.
She told him not to get upset or distressed, but he could not stop the bitter growl rising in his chest.
“Whoa! Stepmother lived in a place like this?”
Theodore stared at the tiny, poorly built log hut near the forest entrance, scandalized.
Yan hadn’t even ordered the butler to guide them to the cottage; when they headed toward the back garden, Sebas blocked them.
His expression turned awkward once he heard their destination.
He hadn’t expected Sinclair to ever return to that place.
Taking the Duke and young duke there?
And not hiding the miserable place she once lived?
Her sudden action startled him.
Still, being the veteran butler of the Owen family, he asked respectfully:
“Will you be going alone?”
“No. Together.”
Alone? For whose benefit?
Sinclair’s voice was resolute.
Sebas felt sick.
“The marquis has not granted permission.”
“Which marquis?”
Sinclair narrowed her eyes, and Sebas choked.
“…!”
“There is no marquis at present. Even if Yan is temporarily nominated, it has not yet been decided.”
“I—I see.”
Sebas flinched. He didn’t expect her to come at him like this.
The Duke’s green eyes and the young duke’s red eyes glowed as they stared him down.
Quite a sharp gaze.
“Once a new marquis is chosen, who knows what will happen to the cottage I lived in? I should collect my things in advance.”
“I will assign servants.”
“No. What would they know? Last time, among the items sent to the ducal estate, many things I needed were missing. Had I packed myself, I wouldn’t be returning here now.”
Sebas grimaced. She wasn’t wrong.
But the previous marquis had forbidden her from retrieving anything.
She might take something given by the witch Twinkle.
So Sebas had thoroughly searched the hut. It truly contained nothing but shabby belongings, so he had merely been instructed to send new dresses and jewelry as a cover.
Sebas had then embezzled the money allocated for Sinclair.
He thought the marquis would order the hut burned after she left, but no such order came.
And since no higher command followed, Sebas erased the insignificant cottage near the forest from his memory long ago.
“Your Highness?”
“If you will not guide us, step aside. Let’s go.”
Sinclair issued the order firmly, signaling Gerald, and began to move—but Sebas blocked her path.
“Your Highness.”
Sebas bowed at a ninety-degree angle.
Is he insane?
After all that, he still dared block her?
Daring to defy a superior’s order?
Sinclair’s patience was at its limit.
She didn’t want to cause a commotion in the house. Numerous retainers and relatives who knew her were resting in their rooms.
How improper would it be to make a scene so soon after the funeral?
“Sebas?”
Her voice held cutting authority, and wrinkles formed on his forehead.
Something was wrong.
Even though he blocked her path, she did not flinch. She did not hyperventilate.
Instead, one foot slid forward beneath her hem—quietly, like a predator extending its paw.
Sinclair, the witch’s daughter!
Was this the same woman the demons once terrified?
Sinclair being a witch’s daughter was a secret.
Everyone involved in the marchioness’s birthday preparations—those who met the witch, heard her proclamation, or even saw her from afar… every servant, contractor, and passerby linked to the event—
All were killed.
Except the butler.
Because he killed them under Michael’s orders.
He worried Michael might eventually kill him too, but Michael never did.
Not out of trust—but simply because he did not deem it necessary.
Thus, the butler obeyed: treating Sinclair with polite deference in public, while leading her to her death in secret on Michael’s orders.
That was why Sinclair always trembled in fear before him.
But today… this boldness—surely came from the duke who stood beside her, hand resting on his sword.
Ah, Sinclair. Daughter of the witch.
Had you been waiting for this day?
Sebas bit the inside of his cheek to hide his expression.
