Chapter 95 : A Truth Unveiled in Gunmetal Shadows
“A Truth Unveiled in Gunmetal Shadows”
I was certain of it this time.
I was the one who saved Johannes Schulz from the jaws of peril.
I stood poised, gaze steady, the cold barrel of my pistol still fixed unwaveringly on Porche Max. The weight of danger lingered in the air like a stormcloud on the verge of rupturing. Johannes rose from the sofa, his movement unhurried—graceful even—as he approached me.
“Nice try,” he said, his voice dipped in amusement.
“Only a ‘nice try’?” I arched a brow, tone tinged with disbelief.
He gave a low chuckle, and slowly lowered his own weapon, the tension in the room knotting tighter in its paradoxical ease. My face twisted with confusion.
“And to think—I came here alone, as though fleeing. Perhaps I am a far more trustworthy husband than I imagined.”
“…What are you doing?”
“I could ask the same. You trusted me enough to allow a stranger to step inside.”
But what if he lowered his gun now? Porche Max was still armed—and far from hesitant.
“Isaac corrupted your daughter’s education,” Johannes said smoothly. “And now, you’ve pointed your gun at an old friend of my father’s.”
As we exchanged deliberately casual words before the man who clearly posed a threat, Porche Max let out a murmured curse and pulled out his firearm, the glint of it catching the dim light. He seemed almost thrilled.
I raised my gun instantly, shielding Johannes behind me. Yet, we were already in the sights of our adversary.
A deep frown furrowed my brow as I turned to Johannes. He did not blink. His expression remained serene—detached—as he turned his head toward Porche Max. Of course, I knew this man. He would never move without a plan. But still… What was he thinking?
Then, in a voice as calm and flat as still water, he spoke:
“You would do well not to act foolishly.”
Porche Max sneered.
“Then you shouldn’t have let your guard down, Duke.”
“You think I let my guard down?”
Johannes’ expression turned languid—almost bored—as he slid his hands into his trouser pockets.
“That’s why I reached for my weapon. I assumed a nobleman like yourself would never dare shoot.”
Is this detached poise some nobleman’s birthright?
Porche Max adjusted his aim with a muttered scoff, as if he’d encountered this smug aristocratic calm too many times before.
“If you’re going to threaten an innocent man, you should be prepared to face the consequences. I daresay Isaac would thank me for re-educating his naïve daughter.”
With a jerk, he pulled the pistol’s slide. The metallic click-clack reverberated like a clock striking doom.
“One last warning. Move, and we shoot.”
Then—he laughed. A deep, sardonic laugh, dripping with madness.
“You’re all shaking. Don’t try to hide it.”
He squinted.
“You really think I won’t pull the trigger? I live at the very bottom of Herzburg. What does it matter whether I die today or ten years from now? You think I came here without the will to die?”
His finger brushed beneath his nose, and the cracks in his worn face seemed to deepen.
Then his voice dropped low—dark and certain:
“Stop this little performance, Duke Schulz. If you dare pull the trigger, even if you take his gun, Edith might be caught in the crossfire.”
Yet Johannes did not flinch. The muzzle pointed at us, yet he remained perfectly composed—as if he could see the ending of this play long before the curtain fell.
And somehow… his calm washed over me, too. I almost believed we were not in danger at all.
Then, he stepped forward—toward Porche Max.
“You are gravely mistaken. I never, even for a second, lower my guard.”
“…What?”
Though Porche Max was not small, he was dwarfed by the formidable figure of a man carved from war and discipline. Instinctively, he stepped back, eyes wide.
With deliberate grace, Johannes reached to his waist, drew a pistol of his own, and from within his coat, retrieved a white handkerchief. He dusted the muzzle with aristocratic precision.
“Which is why,” he said, voice calm, lethal, “none of the battles I’ve commanded have ever ended in defeat.”
Porche Max’s throat convulsed in a silent swallow. Words fled from him.
Then… as if everyone in the room finally saw through the illusion, their expressions changed.
“You’re just trying to disarm me. But I’ll warn you… If I pull this trigger—it’s over.”
Porche Max began backing away.
And when Johannes could no longer reach him with one swift motion, he stopped.
“Maybe…” Porche Max muttered, “by killing Duke Schulz—a nuisance to the crown—I can finally escape this wretched Herzburg.”
Escape… Herzburg?
His words hung heavy with implication. I narrowed my eyes, sensing a bitter truth in his tone. Did he just reveal that no one could leave this place?
He laughed again, darkly. Then, almost bitterly:
“You see, after the Alchemist Massacre, we—the old residents—were bound to this city. Only those who were young at the time… or newborns… were allowed to relocate elsewhere. Anyone who tries to escape gets caught. We’re prisoners—willing or not.”
I didn’t need to hear more to grasp the royal family’s motives. They wanted Herzburg wiped clean—not just of its people, but of its sins. Of its memory. They wanted Docilia’s cruelty buried beneath layers of time and silence.
The curse placed on me was a scapegoat. A fabricated veil.
The real reason was far more calculated. Far more inhumane.
The bereaved were chained to this land. Young survivors fled in secret, hiding their origins to avoid the stigma. And so, the past rotted in the shadows, unseen, unmourned.
Porche Max’s voice cracked with weariness:
“If Isaac is alive… and if he sent me that letter… then perhaps, despite everything, he still sees me as a friend.”
“…….”
“I didn’t even realize I had betrayed him.”
A humorless chuckle escaped him.
“You really don’t know anything, do you?”
I remained silent.
“If this is our last meeting… allow me to enlighten you.”
He raised his voice, eyes flashing.
“Your father—Isaac Prim—and the former Duke, Lucas Schulz… I was the one who reported them to the crown.”
I reeled.
“Reported…? What are you saying?”
“They were planning a rebellion. Right here, against the monarchy.”
“That’s absurd. My father—he was just a commoner—he wouldn’t…”
“He did. And because of that, Candace died.”
He turned to Johannes, words laced with venom.
“What…? What do you mean? My mother died… giving birth to me…”
His words tore apart everything I’d believed.
I stood paralyzed, unraveling under the weight of this unexpected truth.
And then, Johannes’ voice sliced through the fog.
“Thank you for your confession.”
Porche Max’s eyes narrowed.
“What—what are you talking about?”
Johannes let out a faint sigh.
“You’ve explained quite a bit. I understand now why you came.”
“So that’s it? No answers?”
Porche Max’s lips curled.
“Fine. Perhaps it’s better to die here.”
A grim resolve settled on his face.
“Goodbye. If you’re granted another life—learn to tame your reckless judgments. And do us all a favor… curb your fondness for empty bravado.”
His voice, hollow and measured, was the last sound before—
The trigger was pulled.
