Chapter 244: Chapter 244

“Didn’t Viscount Olor’s wife die from an illness?”

Marquis Ortio interjected at just the right moment.

Viscount Olor’s wife had died not long after the family received its noble title. The official explanation was that she had succumbed to a long-term illness.

But the true cause of death, uncovered by Voreoti, was abuse by her husband.

Viscount Olor foamed at the mouth as he shouted his denial. Faced with the exposure of his vile deeds, his vision was spinning.

Now, no one believed a word he said.

“Her last outfit, if I recall, was a modest yellow dress with pearl embellishments.”

“And you, Viscount, said this, didn’t you?”

Wearing garbage like that...

“‘She gave me a bruise with her stupid dress and annoyed me to the end,’ right?”

As Leonia’s testimony landed, every eye turned on Viscount Olor.

Their gazes, filled with scorn and contempt, tore into him mercilessly.

Even the few who had pitied him for becoming Voreoti’s prey now looked away in disgust.

“...Why have these crimes not come to light until now?”

The young heir of Marquis Pardus asked in a weary tone.

Though he had secretly supported Voreoti, the sheer depravity of Olor’s actions was exhausting.

“That’s something I’m truly ashamed of.”

The Empress lowered her gaze.

“His Majesty the Emperor must have been protecting him. They were close friends, and Consort Usia was beside him as well.”

Naturally, the current of blame turned toward Emperor Subiteo.

“It may be inappropriate to bring this up in such a moment, but I believe now, more than ever, the Crown Prince’s investiture is imperative.”

“We must hold the investiture ceremony immediately.”

“Please appoint the Second Prince as Crown Prince.”

“But His Majesty is still bedridden—”

“Her Majesty is already ruling as regent!”

“The Emperor is dead.”

The nobles, who had all been loudly talking about the crown prince’s appointment, fell silent.

“A short while ago, we confirmed that His Majesty the Emperor was assassinated.”

The atmosphere of the chamber, already tense, turned icy.

The Empress delivered the next blow with calm clarity.

“And the one who committed the murder... is Remus Olor.”

“Then... the rebellion earlier was—?”

Marquis Pardus’s heir asked. The Empress nodded.

Viscount Olor slammed the table as he shouted once again that he was innocent.

But no one listened anymore.

The horrific list of crimes he had committed had left everyone biased against him—and rightfully so.

“We have proof you plotted rebellion.”

As the atmosphere shifted again, the Empress alone remained composed as she produced the evidence.

A document bearing Olor’s seal—detailing plans to recruit a private army and instigate rebellion.

“Your daughter-in-law turned it in.”

Viscount Olor could not speak.

He hadn’t done that—he truly hadn’t plotted rebellion.

But the knowledge that his own daughter-in-law had provided that evidence made his blood boil.

Leonia flicked her tongue subtly.

That document was forged by Voreoti’s own hands.

Varia, who had worked in the Treasury and reviewed Olor’s documents many times, recreated the format. Inseréa, who had memorized Olor’s handwriting and habits, penned the forgery.

The family seal was replicated using the necklace found with Regina’s remains, along with Varia’s memories.

Leonia took a deep breath, exhaling from the depths of her belly, steadying herself.

“I don’t know anything! I really don’t!”

Viscount Olor shouted, spitting as he screamed his innocence.

“It was my son who acted on his own! You all saw him at the Ceremony of Honor—he’s insane!”

It was no longer a defense—just desperation.

At this point, everything he said was just noise. If only it were just noise—it made one’s head throb with secondhand embarrassment.

“T-The rebellion, too! It wasn’t me! It was him—my son—!”

Leonia spoke at last.

The fatigue in her voice was obvious. Olor, babbling whatever he pleased, faltered.

“Your bastard son kidnapped my mother.”

Carnis jerked forward, nearly collapsing over the table. The other nobles were just as shocked.

Now, the reason behind Ferio’s prolonged absence was finally revealed.

Everyone turned to Leonia, wanting details—but the young Duke’s gaze never left Viscount Olor.

Naturally, the others followed her eyes to him.

“...This is exhausting.”

“To think all of this came about because of some childish myth.”

The duke, who would turn fourteen that autumn, found everything laughable.

“That nonsense from the Ceremony of Honor?”

“You mean the Northern legend?”

“Oh heavens, that again?”

As the nobles whispered in confusion, Leonia continued.

“I’m not going to criticize people for believing in myths.”

Myths themselves weren’t evil. They could provide communities with faith and support for the desperate.

What was evil, were those who exploited them.

“But you people made two mistakes.”

She raised one finger.

“First, you misunderstood the meaning.”

The ‘god’ mentioned in the Northern legend was one who gave the Fangs of the Beast—an extraordinary power—only to the Voreoti.

“And to you, who are not Voreoti, what kind of gift would a god bestow?”

In short—foolish delusions.

“And the second mistake.”

Rather than answer aloud, Leonia raised another finger—and stood.

She began walking toward Viscount Olor.

The Empress gave her warning just as Leonia drove her sword into Olor’s hand.

Olor screamed in agony. The blade pinned his hand completely to the table.

Unable to bear the noise, Leonia kicked him in the jaw with the heel of her shoe.

Count Erbanu, who had been nearby, trembled violently and scrambled away on all fours.

Terrified, Viscount Olor sobbed like a child.

His pathetic whimpering, as though he had suffered some great injustice, was sickening to watch.

“You don’t even deserve to cry.”

The people who suffered and died unjustly because of this garbage never even had the chance to weep.

“Listen closely, Olor.”

Leonia grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back.

Blood and spit dribbled from his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

His jaw, clearly broken, hung at a grotesque angle.

Watching from nearby, Carnis whispered to a Western noble that it was definitely fractured.

“Your final mistake...”

Veins bulged along the back of Leonia’s hand as she gripped his hair tightly.

“...was touching me.”

The last, fatal mistake—the one that would send them straight to hell—was crossing Voreoti.

“I’m going to the North now. I’ll bring your son back myself.”

Then she clearly, coldly explained what she intended to do with him.

“There’s a foreign land where they salt the flesh and organs of criminals to preserve them as food.”

What a taste... The Empress frowned slightly.

“You two were so close—why not {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} reunite as one, like the old days?”

Maybe if you’re eaten slowly enough, part of you will seep back into him.

With a face devoid of any mirth, Leonia’s voice echoed like a reaper’s from the depths of hell.

“Y-You wicked little—!”

Leonia smiled sweetly.

Then she slammed his head into the table.

The sound of his forehead cracking echoed through the chamber like a bell chime.

Diator Voreoti called warmly to his young grandson, who was lying flat on the floor of the corridor.

The child only glanced at his grandfather with a sullen face before turning his eyes back to the ceiling.

“I’m not a little beast cub.”

“Didn’t the Duke of Aust call you that?”

Ferio’s ears turned red. The nickname embarrassed him more than he could say.

“Grandfather, you’re weird.”

Even though he broke the Voreoti estate’s grand clock.

Ferio couldn’t understand why his grandfather had ruined such a precious gift from the Eastern Marquis—just because it was loud.

“By the way, where are your parents?”

“They went out with Regina.”

Ferio replied in a flat voice.

Diator asked in a concerned tone.

“I stayed behind to study.”

But the emptiness in the boy’s eyes said otherwise.

Diator pitied the lonely child left behind in a large, bustling mansion.

“Your parents are being fools.”

If his late wife had seen this, she’d have taken off her shoe and hit their son’s head with the heel on the spot.

Diator changed the subject.

“What are you doing, little beast cub?”

“I’m not a little beast cub!”

“Oh, were you looking at the painting?”

Diator lay down beside Ferio, joining him in admiring the ceiling mural.

“That painting tells a story.”

He pointed upward at the image.

They happened to be lying just below the office corridor, near the mural’s end.

“Those animals are old noble families. And that black-haired person is a Voreoti.”

“And the black lion next to him is the Fangs of the Beast, right?”

“Correct. The power granted by the god to our family.”

“But why is Pardus there?”

Ferio pointed to a spotted leopard in the shadows of the painting.

The Pardus family had been relatives of the founding emperor. They weren’t originally from the North.

And yet, in the painting said to be drawn by the first Duke himself, Pardus was there in full display.

“...Shall I tell you?”

Diator grinned wickedly. Ferio raised an eyebrow.

He wondered if he’d look that scary one day when he became an adult.

“Because they were chosen nobles, too.”

At that whispered explanation, Ferio’s expression twisted with disappointment.

He felt deeply let down that his grandfather would tease him with such superstition.

“There is no such thing as a god.”

Diator pointed at the painting.

“The god lives beyond the Northern Mountains. This mural shows the journey of a Voreoti going to meet the god.”

“...Shows that journey?”

Ferio tilted his head, puzzled.

Diator spoke as if there was another secret hidden within the painting.