Ch#140
“Take a seat, please.”
“The layout here is quite peculiar.”
Julius followed the Count into the chamber, his eyes drifting toward the masonry. The fortress was ancient, its history etched into the very stones. A large tapestry dominated one wall, depicting a dense pattern of vines and violet-tinted wild raspberries. It felt starkly different from the main manor house. He wondered if this reflected the true essence of the Grimaldi line.
“The original city fortifications remain intact,” Spencer explained. “We used plaster to mend the collapsed sections, but the rest is preserved in its primitive state.”
The Count gestured toward the furniture.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
Julius shifted his attention to his host. Given the late hour, spirits were a more natural choice than tea.
“It is a vintage crafted from the wild raspberries indigenous to this land,” Spencer added.
“That would be fine.”
Following Julius’s consent, the Count signaled for the head chamberlain to serve them. Julius looked back at the weaving on the wall. Purple wild raspberries—a curious motif.
“I assume you didn’t travel all this way without a specific purpose,” the Count remarked. He watched Julius take the chair opposite him.
“Adrina is under the impression that I am responsible for the fire in the Woodpecker Oak Forest.”
“Are you suggesting you aren’t?”
“I removed Lev from the equation as you requested, Your Excellency. Whatever transpired following his departure was out of my hands.”
“I see.”
“Do you take me at my word?”
“I find it hard to believe, however—”
Julius cut himself off as a soft knock preceded the chamberlain’s return. The servant placed a tray containing a bottle, two glasses, and a corkscrew on the table. Once the door clicked shut behind the departing man, Julius resumed.
“I doubt you would resort to such a clumsy tactic. My presence here is merely because Adrina insisted on coming.”
Julius rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
“She likely wanted to deliver a final warning to you.”
“Indeed, she did.”
Spencer mirrored the gesture, his hand hovering over his own face.
“She is still so young. Had I provided her with a proper upbringing, it might have been an amusing process. I was short-sighted back then, focused only on immediate concerns, and I chose poorly.”
“Your standards for yourself are remarkably high, Count.”
“It is simply the truth. She possesses talent even now; imagine what she could have achieved with the right guidance. I sometimes speculate on what might have happened if I had declared Adrian dead from the start and introduced her to high society as my heir.”
Julius felt a flicker of irritation. Had she entered the social circles of the capital, the line of suitors would have been endless. While he didn’t fear the competition, there was always a slim margin for failure. Perhaps the current mess was actually a stroke of luck for him.
“But not as a soldier,” Julius noted.
Considering everything she had survived, a life of luxury was never her path. Yet, the way things turned out suited his interests perfectly. He felt a brief wave of self-loathing for even thinking such a thing.
Their eyes met briefly before the Count broke the contact. He reached for the bottle. “Allow me,” Spencer said, personally breaking the seal.
“It appears Your Excellency has developed a genuine affection for my daughter.”
Julius didn’t bother to deny it; there was no reason to be evasive. Spencer let out a dry laugh. He hadn’t anticipated this outcome. Had he foreseen this specific entanglement, his earlier decisions might have differed.
But the past was set in stone.
“Adrina is barren.”
Spencer slid a glass of the dark liquid toward Julius. He watched as the Duke’s expression turned rigid, offering a look of feigned sympathy. He knew that for high-ranking nobles, the continuation of the line was the only thing that mattered.
“The news is fresh to me as well. She informed me herself—told me her body was incapable of producing an heir.”
After filling his own glass, Spencer reclined against the cushions of the sofa, raising his drink in a silent toast.
“Because of that,” Spencer began, taking a slow sip to coat his tongue. He seemed to savor the flavor, lifting the glass to let the light play through the deep red liquid before setting it down. “She has no further use to me.”
Julius’s features turned to stone.
“She no longer serves a purpose.”
Julius didn’t care about her medical state. Her ability to conceive, her gender—none of it changed his feelings. He had reached that conclusion back when he still believed she was a man. What disgusted him was hearing this cold assessment from the Count instead of hearing the truth from her.
He couldn’t fathom how a father could discuss his own child as if she were a broken tool.
“Therefore, Your Excellency is welcome to her.”
“…Count Grimaldi.”
Julius felt a sudden constriction in his throat. He frowned and took a drink of the wine to clear it. Even then, the words felt stuck.
Spencer Grimaldi was a failure as a parent. Julius had always believed his own father was the pinnacle of cruelty, but it seemed to be a recurring theme among the powerful. The King had been no better. It felt as if every father in his orbit was competing for a prize in depravity, and the Count was currently leading the race.
“You would discard her for something so trivial?”
The man had abandoned something precious for a reason that was utterly insignificant. Furthermore, Adrina wasn’t an object to be handed over. She was a person who made her own choices. The Count’s habit of treating people like property was revolting.
“Had she been fertile, I intended to claim a child from your union. I would have molded the perfect successor. Perhaps even the curse would have…”
Spencer broke off with a mocking snort.
The curse.
That was the other factor. A secret guarded for generations, now reaching its end. There was no one left to pass the burden to. Adrina was right; the house of Grimaldi was finished.
He had considered searching for ancient, faded branches of the family tree to find a replacement to train, but the trail was cold. Spencer felt a genuine pang of regret for his past errors.
“Do you know why my family led the charge against the Witches?”
“…Tell me.”
“Because we are the only ones who truly know how to kill them.”
Julius narrowed his eyes. He was well aware of the Grimaldi family’s reputation for brutality. He knew how they hunted those accused of witchcraft—the way their forces had slaughtered women to appease the King he had helped crown.
“I am not referring to the common accusations,” Spencer clarified. “I mean a true Witch.”
The Count leaned forward.
“If you carried the blood of a Witch, that drink would be your end.”
Julius stared at him, confused. Poison? He looked down at the glass in his hand, then back at his host.
“It’s a strange irony, isn’t it?”
Spencer had already tasted the wine himself.
“Witches can survive toxins that would drop a man instantly, yet they perish from a simple fruit that is harmless to everyone else.”
“……”
“The term ‘Gray Disease’ actually originated with the very first Witch seen in the North. It was a plague, to be precise.”
Julius recognized the name. Though long gone, the sickness had once ravaged the western regions of the Central Continent. It was a localized horror that appeared once and then vanished from history.
“The afflicted turned gray, their skin looking like it was covered in a thick mold. It wasn’t the black of rot, but a dull, rodent-like gray. It tore through the Grimaldi lands and reached as far as southern Thuringen.”
Julius felt a sudden wave of vertigo.
“A Witch emerged from the yew forests and provided a cure. And the people she saved, in their infinite malice…”
Spencer’s hand twitched toward his throat, his fingers scratching at the skin as if agitated.
“…they murdered her.”
The Count’s breathing became labored.
“It wasn’t a calculated execution. They had no idea she was fragile. It was meant to be a gift—a sign of thanks for saving them. Children gathered wild raspberries with their bare hands and made a juice for her. The Witch drank it, unaware of the danger. It seems neither side understood the lethality of that fruit.”
Julius looked at the bottle on the table. The wine made from those same berries.
“The boy who gave it to her was terrified, convinced he had committed a sin. He expected to die as well. But the Royal Family turned his mistake into a triumph, granting him a title for ‘slaying’ the source of the plague.”
Spencer’s eyes were like ice as he looked at Julius.
“They claimed he killed the Witch who started the disease.”
A thin, dark smile touched the Count’s lips.
“The boy who ended the first Witch was the first Grimaldi.”
Julius began to choke. He struggled to draw air, but his throat felt like it was being squeezed shut from the inside. His windpipe was rapidly swelling.
“The Grimaldi line has a gift for spotting Witches. Though usually, we only confirm our suspicions after they are dead.”
Julius felt the strength leave his limbs. The glass tumbled from his numb fingers, shattering as the dark wine bled into the rug.
“That is the source of our curse.”
The Count picked up his own glass again.
“It belongs to the Grimaldi family, not the crown.”
He finished the rest of his drink in one motion.
“So, it concludes here.”
As Julius’s eyes drifted shut, the Count reached for the bottle to pour himself another.