Ch#141
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A scorching heat tore through his throat, but the agony didn’t stop there; it felt as though his entire frame had been consumed by fire. His veins swelled with a pressure that threatened to burst, stealing his capability to draw breath. Then, with a sudden, violent rush, air flooded back into his lungs, forcing them to expand.
“Ghk, kuh-heuk, huu!”
“Your Excellency, please, just breathe!”
Joel’s urgent voice broke through the haze. The skin around Yuls’s mouth burned. As his vision cleared, he could make out the worried faces of Dimitri, Adi, and Roy hovering behind the physician.
“Focus on your breathing.”
Adrina stood nearby, her garments drenched in crimson. Reaching out a trembling hand toward her, Yuls tried to speak.
“What… took place?”
His vocal cords refused to cooperate. The sound was wet and distorted, less of a whisper and more of a sickening gurgle, as if his windpipe were submerged. He struggled to push past the obstruction, but the single word “Why” was the only thing that managed to break free.
“Don’t try to talk,” Adi urged, moving closer. “And don’t be alarmed. This blood—it isn’t mine.”
Her features were twisted with a pain she was clearly trying to mask as she squeezed his hand. In that moment, a flicker of confusion crossed Yuls’s mind. The hand holding his didn’t feel the way he remembered.
“The relief of seeing you awake is beyond words, Your Excellency.”
Adrina’s voice shook with emotion. Yuls allowed his eyelids to flutter shut once more. The chaotic sounds of the room began to drift into a soft, distant hum.
“Just a moment…”
He intended to tell them he only required a brief rest, but his strength failed before the words could form. When he finally returned to consciousness, sunlight was streaming in. Joel had drifted off on a nearby couch, while Roy and Dimitri kept a silent vigil against the wall.
Despite the recent poisoning, a strange sense of vitality filled him. He suspected Joel had worked tirelessly through the night to pull him back from the brink. Knowing the immense effort his recovery must have cost the man, Yuls let out a faint, amused breath.
“Back to this again, I see.”
He looked down at his small, delicate hands. Based on their size, he guessed he had regressed to a point before his thirteenth year.
“I imagine… the cause remains a mystery to everyone.”
Dimitri’s posture went rigid. It was clear the head chamberlain was just as baffled. The Duke had collapsed, coughing up blood and physically shrinking, immediately after consuming the Grimaldi-specific wild raspberry spirit. There was no logical way to explain such an event; it defied human understanding. Yuls found himself in the same state of disbelief.
“We need to bring the Witch back into our custody.”
“Understood, Your Excellency. We will track her down regardless of the cost.”
Since she had mentioned Ramels as her goal, they had a clear path to follow. Whether she departed by ship from Pallesa Palace or took another route, she would either have to move through the Central Continent’s heart or navigate the southern coastal waters.
While a formal inquiry to the Information Guild was necessary, a scout needed to reach Ramels immediately. Finding her was their only hope of untangling this bizarre situation.
“There is another matter I should report,” Dimitri added.
“Go on.”
“A courier arrived from our lands.”
“Is it about Lev Zid?” Yuls asked. “Has he regained consciousness?”
“He has, Your Excellency.”
A thin smile touched Yuls’s lips.
“And did he identify who was responsible for the blaze in the forest?”
Dimitri met the Duke’s knowing, slightly mocking look with a solemn nod.
“Yes. It was exactly as you suspected.”
Claude gripped his temples with both hands.
“This is a total disaster.”
The complexity of the political situation wasn’t his primary concern at the moment; it was the brutal hangover. He had assumed high-quality spirits would be kind to him, but the distilled fruit wine had betrayed him. Every time he opened his eyes, it felt like needles were being driven into his retinas, and a rhythmic pounding echoed in his skull.
“I said, this is a mess.”
He looked up, acknowledging the more pressing issue in the room.
“Count, what could you possibly have been thinking?”
“Well…”
The Count remained a free man within his own walls. This was his domain, after all; there was no one present with the authority to throw him in a cell. However, his face was a map of bruises, his lips were split, and the signature scar on his cheek was almost lost in the swelling.
Claude had been unconscious during the chaos, and the report from his chamberlain that morning had left him stunned.
“If I am forced to stand trial, my defense is simple,” the Count stated calmly.
You absolute lunatic… Claude thought. Neither Spencer nor Adrina Grimaldi seemed to possess a shred of sanity. The father had attempted to murder a Duke, and the daughter had tried to kill her own father.
“The wild raspberry is a common fruit in these lands, enjoyed by everyone. I had no reason to believe it would have such a violent effect on the Duke.”
Claude glared at the man, his irritation growing.
He was well aware of the stories surrounding Adrina—or rather, Sir Adrian of Pallesa Palace. The reputation of the ‘Dog of Pallesa Palace’ was one of cold-blooded efficiency. Yet, the woman Claude had interacted with seemed graceful and quiet. He never would have guessed she was capable of such a savage outburst.
It had taken the combined strength of the Grimaldi guard and the Woodpecker contingent to restrain her. The Count’s ruined face was proof that they had only just barely saved his life from her fury.
“Has your wife had anything to say about this?”
“I haven’t seen her today.”
“Probably for the best. You look like a walking corpse.”
“I doubt my appearance would concern her much.”
Claude scoffed. “Are you really trying to boast about your marriage while I’m sitting here with this headache?”
“…I only wish that were the case.”
“Forget it, I don’t care about your domestic drama. There’s one thing I need to know.” Claude leaned forward, his expression darkening. “You had something here that could actually kill the Witch, didn’t you?”
The Duke was supposed to be immune to most toxins, whether through the Witch’s blood or some other means. Yet he had nearly died.
“I’m talking about the secret you kept hidden even from the Crown.”
“The Royal Family was aware,” the Count corrected. “It seems they simply chose not to brief Your Highness. If you consult the Grimaldi family records, you will find the truth. It explains why our lineage is so deeply tied to the history of the Witch Hunt.”
Claude felt a sting of annoyance. Was he being lectured on his lack of preparation? He hadn’t bothered with the history of a vassal house; he had prioritized the annals of his own dynasty.
He realized now that was a mistake. Such knowledge would have been invaluable. He kept his regret hidden, however, refusing to give the Count the satisfaction.
“I assumed your reputation stemmed from that old massacre.”
“That event was carried out on royal orders. Grimaldi’s fame for hunting witches predates that by generations.”
“And it all comes down to this fruit? How intriguing.” Claude toyed with the bottle of liquor he had been nursing the night before. “If this goes to court, your secret will be out. The whole world will know what Grimaldi has been hiding.”
“I am fully aware.”
“If I were in your shoes, I’d have taken that secret to the grave. It’s a powerful piece of leverage to just throw away.”
“The Witch is no longer the threat she once was,” the Count replied. “There is no longer a purpose in her death.”
Claude’s brow furrowed.
“Witches were never the true enemy of mankind. It was all human theater. We may be entering an era where we coexist with them, much like the Duke is doing now.”
“You’re dodging the point, Count.” Claude was tired of the riddles. He didn’t like being blunt, but the situation demanded it. “I want to know why you tried to take Yuls’s life.”
The Count let out a short, dry laugh.
“Your Highness might place your faith in the Duke, but I cannot.”
“…”
“His obsession with my daughter has become a liability.”
Claude looked at him, completely lost.
“I feared he would eventually go so far as to frame me for the Woodpecker Forest fire just to protect her. I decided it was better to remove the source of the problem. If the Duke is gone, the complications vanish—and so does his influence over my daughter.”
The Count trailed off, his eyes momentarily distant. Claude watched him, unsettled by the cold calculation in the man’s gaze.
“I attempted to strike before he could, but I failed.” He spoke as if discussing a minor tactical error. “He arrived sooner than I anticipated, and I underestimated how much suspicion I had already drawn.”
“…I don’t buy that you’d act so impulsively, but fine. Let’s go with that story.” Claude’s face made it clear he didn’t believe a word of it. “This really is quite a spectacle.”
He let out a sharp, mirthless chuckle.
“Sir Adrian kills Luigi, and the Count fails to kill Yuls.” His voice dropped an octave, turning ice-cold. “A father and daughter, both guilty of high treason and the attempted murder of royalty.”
In the end, no matter the history between them, the hierarchy remained. For the nobility and the royals alike, blood and rank were the final word.
“Technically, Count, the blame for both falls on your shoulders.”
Claude stood up, his body language signaling that he was finished with this conversation.
“I’m afraid I have to stand with Yuls on this one.”
“I expected nothing less, Your Highness.”
“I’ll see you at the trial in Ionad.”
As Claude walked away, Spencer wondered for a fleeting second if he had blundered. No—if he had just been a few seconds faster, he would have succeeded.
“Adrina Grimaldi.”
He whispered her name to the empty room.
“She is a far more dangerous variable than I ever imagined.”