Chapter 25
At this rate, the conferment ceremony would end with the Tower Master receiving his title without interruption. Once the applause began, it would be far harder to draw attention.
“Could he have gotten cold feet? Did the young viscount misjudge this man…? No, surely not.”
He moved.
Ralph began pushing through the gathered nobles. Some frowned at the rudeness, but when they saw the murderous glare on his face, they instinctively stepped aside.
“His Majesty the Emperor!!”
His cracked voice rang out, raw and ragged. The moment someone dared call out to the Emperor, the palace guards and knights moved instantly.
Ralph swept his gaze across the room, eyes filled with venom. The official overseeing the ceremony leaned toward the Captain of the Imperial Guard, whispering urgently.
“Is he insane? Get him out of here.”
The Emperor’s voice was sharp and annoyed.
Ralph, now in the center of attention, drew a thin, sharp awl from his robes—and slashed a long gash from his neck down to his shoulder.
Blood spattered.
People screamed.
“What’s going on—?!”
“Protect His Majesty!!”
The guards surrounded the Emperor and Empress, weapons raised, encircling Ralph. Undeterred, he bared his teeth and radiated fury.
“Forgive this insolence, Your Majesty! But I come as a grieving father, driven by unbearable injustice! I beg you—please allow me to accuse the one responsible for this crime!”
Accuse someone?
All eyes naturally shifted toward Achilles, the Tower Master. At a moment like this, there could be only one target.
The Emperor, realizing this, hesitated to respond. The Empress glanced at Achilles, curious to see how he would react.
He stood expressionless.
Even with Ralph shouting as though his throat would tear, Achilles didn’t twitch so much as an eyebrow.
The Crown Prince, Oscar, was unsure whether to silence the man or let him speak. He glanced toward Charlize, but she had already moved close to the Emperor—only a few steps away from the Tower Master.
“Lize…”
He made up his mind and stepped forward.
“Whatever your grievance, this is a formal ceremony. We will hear you out once it is complete—”
“Your Highness! I may not live to see another chance. I’ve tried everything I could for my son, but I have no evidence, no proof! All I have left is my own life to plead my case!”
“Wait… If there’s no evidence, perhaps you’ve misunderstood—”
Ralph cried out, his voice soaked in pain.
“It’s not a misunderstanding! My son… was killed. Not by the Tower Master—but by Viscount Valter Bianchi!!”
What?
The room froze.
Everyone had expected him to accuse the Tower Master. Instead, all eyes snapped to Valter, whose face twisted with disbelief and rage.
“What—”
“That’s absurd! Don’t believe a madman, Your Majesty!”
One of Valter’s close friends raised his voice in protest.
Ralph turned on them, hatred burning in his eyes.
“My son worked as a knight under the House of Count Latran—one of Viscount Bianchi’s allies! He was ordered to approach the Tower Master and spread damaging rumors. When he failed… they killed him!”
Ralph remembered that night—after being encouraged to confront the Emperor, another visitor came to see him.
They were mages from the Tower.
“We know you wouldn’t believe anything we say. So… would you like to hear your son’s voice, one last time?”
How could he refuse?
They brought him to the place where Liam’s body was kept. Using forbidden magic, outlawed by the temple, they called forth Liam’s spirit—just for a moment.
And Ralph had wept as he spoke to his son one final time.
…I don’t know who did it. The one who cast the spell—it wasn’t the Tower Master. His magic only touched me briefly, then vanished.
Liam had a hunch. He begged his father not to seek vengeance.
…I only served the wrong master. That’s the price I paid as a knight. I think… you knew this could happen one day.
He’d told his father not to grieve too long, to live well—and then he was gone.
Ralph had begged the mages to bring him back, but they said summoning a soul was only possible once.
Instead, they explained why Liam had been murdered.
“They want to sabotage the marriage between the Tower Master and the Princess. And their master… is Valter Bianchi.”
“The Bianchi House hopes to produce the next Emperor.”
“The Tower Master didn’t fall into their trap… so they killed your son and tried to frame him—then used you, Baron, to accuse him.”
Unfortunately, even the Tower mages didn’t have hard evidence to incriminate Viscount Valter Bianchi. What they showed Ralph were circumstantial clues—details that strengthened suspicion.
Someone had witnessed Liam suffering a seizure under magic, only for him to return to normal shortly afterward. That same witness confirmed which noble house Liam had served: the House of Count Latran.
They also revealed that the mage who had actually cast the spell on Liam was one often employed by Valter Bianchi when handling illicit affairs.
“You and your family have already suffered irreparable damage. Please… don’t let yourself be dragged any deeper.”
The mage who said it wore a look of pity. What he hadn’t realized was this:
Ralph hadn’t just been wounded—he had been destroyed.
Liam had been his whole world.
Now, Ralph pointed his trembling, rage-filled finger at Valter standing among the nobles. Valter, visibly angry, forced himself to remain composed.
“That wicked man didn’t stop there! He had my son killed! He didn’t report it himself, for fear of exposing the false evidence! Instead, he sent his underlings to convince me to falsely accuse the Tower Master!”
He swept his hate-filled gaze across the gathered nobles, but none of those who had visited him that night showed their faces.
At last, one of the nobles couldn’t hold back and spoke up.
“All of your accusations are words and nothing more! Where is your proof?”
“Ha… Proof? You want proof?!”
Ralph had heard his dead son’s voice—but it was through forbidden magic. Illegal both by Imperial and temple law. He couldn’t use that as testimony.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto Valter.
He knew.
He knew he had no power. He couldn’t even touch the hem of that man’s robe.
“I am the proof! Heaven is the proof! The gods will know how wronged I’ve been!!”
“I cannot bear to hear another word. Your Majesty, will you allow my house to be slandered like this without consequence?”
The Duke of Bianchi finally stepped forward. At his plea, the Emperor gave a subtle signal to the guards.
And in that moment, Ralph thrust the awl into his own chest.
“Ugh!”
“What—what is he doing?!”
Blood spilled from the deep wound, but even as it soaked his clothes, Ralph stared only at Valter.
Valter frowned but stood tall, unfazed.
“I curse the House of Bianchi!! I may die here, but my curse will remain—and my hatred will repay you a hundredfold! A thousandfold!!”
He pulled the awl free and stabbed himself again, this time in the heart.
As Ralph collapsed to the ground, eyes still burning with hatred toward Valter, the entire hall plunged into chaos.
Guards rushed to the body. Some noblewomen swayed in panic, even fainting from the shock.
“What… is going on?”
The Empress frowned, unable to hide her disgust as the metallic scent of blood filled the air. She turned her gaze sharply toward where Valter stood.
And then—someone screamed.
“His Highness, the Crown Prince!!”
All eyes snapped toward Oscar.
The Empress dropped her fan in horror.
Oscar was staggering, blood dripping from his lips.
“Bro…ther?”
Charlize had only stepped away from his side for a few minutes. Barely five.
Oscar, a sword master on par with Valter, looked utterly bewildered. He stared at the blood pooling in his palm as if he didn’t understand what was happening.
Charlize was already running to him.
“Oscar!!!”
The Empress’s scream tore through the air as Oscar crumpled to the floor.
The Emperor roared in shock.
“Who did this to the Crown Prince?! Where is the physician?!”
Amid the pandemonium, Achilles didn’t move.
He stared straight at Valter.
And Valter… stared back.
Their eyes locked—and in that instant, Achilles knew.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him.
This wasn’t just a tragedy.
It was a message.
There was no longer a need to try to convince the Emperor to break off the marriage. Not when he was about to lose his only male heir.
The Imperial Family had only two children.
Crown Prince Oscar—unmarried, childless—was the designated heir. If he were to die, Charlize would become the Empire’s only option.
And if she were to ascend the throne, then marrying the Tower Master would no longer be acceptable.
The Emperor would never let her marry a man who couldn’t help her build a power base within the Empire.
Charlize had never built her own faction. She had relied solely on her closeness with Oscar—and that had been enough.
The Emperor and Empress had preferred it that way.
But now… now that Oscar might die…
The Empire would need her to marry a powerful noble.
Someone like Viscount Valter Bianchi.
