“Okay.”
That single word hung in the air of the master bedroom. No dissuasion. No mercy.
Several hours later.
The first-floor dining room.
White wax burned in the silver candelabra on the long table. The flames rose straight up in the stagnant air, without even a flicker.
A medium-rare ribeye steak sat on the porcelain plate in front of Bell. The black pepper sauce had completely congealed, and a thin film of dark grease had formed around the edges.
No one touched their cutlery.
The air was oppressively heavy. Even the few maids standing in the corner forced their breathing to the absolute minimum frequency.
Tia sat to Bell’s right.
She had not been asked to leave the table.
Eleanor reached across the tablecloth and placed her hand over the back of Tia’s hand.
She patted it twice gently.
The warmth from her palm was a signal of acceptance. The Duchess had used this most direct physical gesture to bring the girl into the family’s inner circle.
At the head of the table.
Elisk folded his pure white napkin neatly and placed it beside his porcelain plate.
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. The sound of him clearing his throat broke the dead silence.
“The royal marriage proposal.”
Elisk spoke, the words squeezed from between his teeth with obvious difficulty.
“Thorne wants Cecilia. An answer must be given by tomorrow.”
Cecilia sat directly opposite Bell.
Her hands were beneath the tablecloth, fingers clenched together so tightly that her nails dug into the flesh on the back of her hands.
The sensation of pain reached her brain.
Without mana, the wounds could not heal. Trails of blood began to seep out from between her fingers.
She looked up at her father at the head of the table.
Fine blood vessels were visible around her red irises.
“Father.”
Her voice trembled.
“I will not marry him.”
“You know better than anyone what he has done in the Royal Capital. Of the commoner girls from the South District who were sent into his manor, how many came out with their limbs intact?”
“If I go, I will die.”
Every word was heart-wrenching.
This shell of a body, stripped of all transcendent power, now held only a normal girl’s most instinctive resistance to hell.
Eleanor stood up abruptly.
The solid wood chair slid back, its legs letting out a dull friction sound against the expensive carpet.
She walked around half the long table to stand behind Cecilia, pressing her daughter’s head into her embrace.
“She won’t marry him.”
Eleanor stared at her husband, her chest heaving violently.
“The Lucas family has not fallen so low that we must sell our daughter to wag our tails at that man.”
“At worst, we surrender our military power and retreat to the North. That is our fief. The royal family’s reach cannot extend that far.”
Elisk did not respond immediately.
His right hand clenched into a fist, his thumb repeatedly rubbing against the knuckle of his index finger.
Surrendering military power and retreating to the North.
Politically, this was equivalent to severing one’s own arms. The royal family would never let an old noble who had lost their fangs go free. They would most likely be intercepted and slaughtered by unknown “bandits” along the way.
Bell leaned against the back of his chair.
His left hand rested on the armrest, while his right held a goblet. The surface of the red wine in the glass was as still as a mirror.
Strip away Cecilia’s final sanctuary and throw her into the quagmire of the royal family.
Killing with a borrowed knife.
Let her taste for herself what it was like to be traded like merchandise, facing the threat of death at any moment.
Bell set down his goblet.
The glass base tapped against the wooden tabletop with a crisp clink.
“I approve of this marriage.”
The words were clear and steady, without any emotional fluctuation.
The air in the dining room froze instantly.
Eleanor turned her head, staring at her eldest son as if he were being incomprehensible.
Cecilia’s body stiffened in her mother’s arms.
“Brother...”
Cecilia forced out the words, her vocal cords rasping harshly.
“For the sake of the family.”
Bell’s gaze pierced across the table directly at Cecilia.
“The Lucas family cannot afford the royal family’s wrath right now.”
“The Lucas family currently holds the mining rights to three mines in the Royal Capital, five core trade routes, and a vassal knight order of twelve hundred men.”
“The royal family only needs to cut off the etheric network supply and strip our magic potion quotas. Within three months, the family will be bankrupt. The knight order will mutiny because we cannot pay their salaries.”
Bell leaned forward slightly.
“Since you were born into the Lucas family and have enjoyed over a decade of privilege, consuming the best potions and using the top resources...”
“Now that the family needs you to fulfill your political obligations, this is what you should do.”
Every word was a strike to the heart.
It was entirely the cold interest-balancing of a noble elder brother.
Cecilia’s chest rose and fell rapidly.
She stared at Bell’s face, trying to find a single trace of pretense.
There was none.
There was only the cold scrutiny of a superior looking at a usable pawn.
Tia sat beside him.
Liquid Mithril flowed subtly within her body. She looked at the woman across from her who had once been so arrogant—the woman who had once killed her.
“I agree with Bell’s judgment,” Tia spoke.
“Sacrifice one person to save everyone. This is the only way to survive right now.”
Two votes for, two votes against.
Cecilia’s breathing grew faster and faster.
She pushed away her mother’s hand and stood up straight.
Her hands pressed onto the tabletop, her nails scratching against the smooth wood grain, leaving faint white marks.
“Brother...”
Her tone changed.
The final syllable was drawn out, carrying a sticky, sickly obsession.
This was the tone she loved to use most before torturing Bell in her hundreds of loops.
She was trying to use this method to awaken the three years of fear buried deep within Bell’s soul.
“Are you going to... push me to someone else?”
She leaned forward, her red irises locked onto Bell.
“When those people touch me... will you really be happy?”
Bell sat in his place, not flinching back.
He looked at that pale face.
Fear?
A few years ago, hearing this tone would have made his stomach cramp. He would have lost control of his bladder on the spot.
But now.
Bell smiled.
It was a tiny movement, just a slight pull of his facial muscles.
“Yes.”
One word shattered Cecilia’s final illusion.
“I will be very happy.”
Cecilia’s legs gave way, and she slumped back into her chair.
Her vision blurred.
The brother she had always kept under her heel, who could only struggle in despair, had truly thrown her away.
The butler standing in the corner kept his head bowed.
The shirt on his back was soaked with cold sweat.
The young master had changed.
After returning from Moon Phase City, the gentleness he once possessed had vanished. It was replaced by an absolute coldness.
At the head of the table.
Elisk closed his eyes.
He crossed his hands over his stomach.
His eldest son’s words were correct.
Logic told him this was the only way to preserve the family.
But emotionally, she was his daughter.
“Let me think about it more.”
Elisk opened his eyes.
“I will give a final decision tomorrow morning.”
Just as he finished speaking.
A flurry of dense footsteps came from outside the dining room.
It wasn’t the Duke’s estate guards.
The sound of leather boots on the cobblestone path was extremely heavy, mixed with the clatter of metal armor.
“Ah—”
A short scream came from the front courtyard, followed by the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground.
Boom!
The double wooden doors of the dining room were kicked open by a massive force.
The door panels slammed against the walls, wood splinters flying.
The butler was knocked to the ground by the blast of air, rolling twice before stopping.
A squad of guards in white uniforms with silver trim flooded into the dining room.
The guards lined up on both sides, hands resting on the hilts of the swords at their waists.
A man in a purple silk robe walked in with a slow, leisurely pace.
Thorne.
Thorne Ross. The Second Prince.
His gaze swept across the long table and pinned directly onto Cecilia.
The slit of his eyes revealed unmasked lust and greed.
“There’s no need to wait until tomorrow morning, Lord Duke.”
Thorne walked to the table.
His short, thick fingers pulled a piece of parchment from his sleeve.
He slapped it onto the table.
A crimson seal was stamped on the bottom right corner of the parchment.
A supreme royal command.
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
Thorne’s gaze scanned from Cecilia’s cheeks all the way down, stopping at her collarbone.
He stuck out his tongue and licked his dry, cracked lips.
“This is a notification.”
He turned his head to look at Elisk at the head of the table.
“Tonight, I am taking my fiancée with me.”
Cecilia pressed against the back of her chair.
She was trembling all over.
In hundreds of loops, she had never found this man so disgusting.
Stomach acid churned.
No mana. No World Tree Heart.
She couldn't even conjure the most basic fire ball.
Elisk stood up abruptly.
His hands pressed onto the table, veins bulging on the back of his hands.
“Your Highness.”
The words were squeezed from between his teeth.
“This is the Duke Lucas estate. Not the royal palace.”
“So what?”
Thorne laughed, the rolls of fat on his face shaking violently.
“You dare defy a secret royal decree?”
He took a step forward, reaching his hand toward Cecilia’s arm.
“Come here, my little beauty.”
Clang—
The sharp ring of metal against scabbard tore through the air of the dining room.
Elisk drew the longsword from his waist, the tip pointing directly at Thorne’s throat.
The guards drew their weapons in unison.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the long table.
Bell did not stand.
His left hand hung below the table, fingers spread.
Tia reached over and interlaced her fingers with his. The temperature of the liquid Mithril was transmitted through her skin.
Rate on N.U.
