Ch#161
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The return of Lev Zid was a development that caught everyone off guard.
Adrina was well aware that he was the one who set the Oak Forest ablaze. She had seen him on the brink of death with her own eyes, so his continued existence felt like an impossibility. Her mind initially jumped to the supernatural, wondering if a phantom stood before them, a sentiment clearly shared by others in the vicinity.
The faces of Macauliffe and Claude were masks of grim realization.
The history was a dark chain: Claude had handed the discarded knight over to Macauliffe, who in turn had deployed Lev to incinerate the Woodpecker timberlands. A living Lev Zid was a liability they never wanted to encounter again. His expiration would have buried their secrets; his presence was a waking nightmare.
“Your Excellency.”
Adi broke her silence.
“Was this part of the arrangement as well?”
Yuls shifted his focus to the woman beside him. Her posture was rigid. Despite her attempts to appear stoic, her loathing for Lev was radiating off her in waves—a sharp, cold fury that she couldn’t quite suppress.
“I am referring to Lev being standing here, alive.”
“It was,” Yuls replied.
He found he didn’t care for her reaction.
“I contacted the Royal Family to inform them that the arsonist responsible for the Oak Forest had been apprehended.”
He found the flicker of any sentiment she held for Lev—even if it was pure malice—to be irritating.
“The authorities have arrived to take him into custody.”
Yuls simply wanted her to feel nothing for the man.
“Once he begins to testify.”
Even if her heart held only disgust.
“The individual across from us will not escape the consequences.”
Yuls directed a pointed look at Macauliffe before locking eyes with Claude. The Prince’s expression was a turbulent mix of emotions, with naked apprehension clearly visible. Claude had likely only intended to irritate the Count and never envisioned Macauliffe taking such drastic, destructive measures. However, Yuls was not in a forgiving mood. Regardless of the original motive, his lands had been scarred.
The debt was owed, and he intended to collect from his royal cousin just as he would from anyone else.
The timing of that collection mattered, and since he wasn’t ready to cash in that chip, he didn’t intend to break Claude just yet. Yuls allowed a faint, sharp smile to touch his lips, prompting a strained, joyless chuckle from the Prince.
Claude had originally come here thinking he was attending a show, especially after Yuls had sent word that a visit wasn’t necessary. He hadn’t wanted to miss the spectacle. Now, the realization that he was the punchline of the joke was sinking in. While Macauliffe was the immediate prey, the warning from Yuls was aimed squarely at him.
Yuls had ignored the petty assassins Claude had sent as a prank, but perhaps the Duke drew a hard line at territorial sabotage. Or perhaps the presence of another factor had changed the Duke’s temperament.
Claude felt a pang of regret; he should have kept her when she was still Adrian. Had he secured her then, she might not have evolved into this person, and this trap might never have been set. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the situation had spiraled out of his control.
Perhaps a quick exit was the best move. As Claude moved to set down his glass and depart, Macauliffe’s voice cracked the air. “Your Highness.” Claude turned to find the Viscount looking like a corpse, his finger trembling as he pointed toward Lev.
“Tell me you see him as well, Your Highness.”
“……”
Claude wondered if the man had lost his mind. He couldn’t tell if Macauliffe was in shock or simply doubting his own sanity.
“I’m not sure.”
Knowing Macauliffe, either was a possibility. Claude had been restored by powerful Healing magic, but Macauliffe likely lacked such high-tier support. Deciding to torment the man for a moment, Claude added, “I have no idea who you’re looking at.” Macauliffe’s eyes filled with terror.
“…The toxin I used… no one survives that.”
The Viscount’s breakdown was almost beautiful. Claude turned his smirk back toward Yuls, but his humor vanished when he saw the Duke and Adi watching them—specifically Macauliffe—with blank, chilling stares. Getting caught between those two was a recipe for disaster.
“There isn’t an antidote in existence…”
The urge to flee and protect his own interests became overwhelming. As Claude turned to leave, Macauliffe lunged for his sleeve. With a sharp snap of his wrist, Claude struck the hand away. The sound of the slap echoed, drawing the attention of the surrounding guests.
“Control yourself, Viscount. What do you think you are doing?”
“But, Your Highness—”
Macauliffe’s skin was the color of parchment. The other nobles, who had initially watched the spat with mild curiosity, soon followed the trajectory of their gaze. They saw a figure stumbling through the trees.
The man was draped in clinical white, looking more like a terminal patient than a member of any household staff. Some wondered if he was a spectral illusion or a bizarre performer. It was only as the figure stepped into the light that the truth became clear.
It was Lev Zid, the disgraced knight of Grimaldi.
His exile was common knowledge, though his whereabouts had been a mystery. No one knew the specifics of his fall from grace, but his martial reputation was formidable. Many in the crowd had considered hiring him despite his tarnished name.
Seeing him now, in this wretched state, was beyond anyone’s imagination.
He moved with a ghostly gait, but as he drew nearer, the sheer hatred etched into his features was more demonic than spectral. He ignored everyone else, his eyes fixed on a single target as he began to pick up speed.
Lev’s lips moved. Although the distance was too great for most to hear, the word ‘Viscount’ seemed to hiss from his throat. Whether it was the sight of him or a raspy, broken voice reaching his ears, Macauliffe knew the truth: Lev Zid was no ghost. He had survived the impossible.
Panic seized Macauliffe. He turned to suggest a retreat to Claude, only to find the Prince had already abandoned him. Claude was already several yards away, moving with a speed that betrayed his royal composure.
The Prince was a snake. He was usually better at reading people than reacting to physical threats, but today he was proving remarkably agile. Macauliffe realized his long-term investment in the royal had just vanished into thin air. Nothing in Dalkatir was going according to plan.
Ivan intercepted the retreating Prince. As the chamberlain spoke, Claude’s face grew increasingly pale. Watching the Prince’s distress brought a bitter smile to Macauliffe’s face; if he was going down, at least Claude was sinking in the same boat.
But he couldn’t stay still. He needed to vanish into the throng of southern elites. Surely Lev wouldn’t dare cause a scene in front of such powerful witnesses.
Macauliffe tried to bolt, but Lev was faster. The knight transitioned into a full sprint, navigating the rough forest floor with terrifying ease. Macauliffe tried to shove his way into the crowd of nobles, but his path was blocked by confused aristocrats who tried to engage him in polite conversation.
“Viscount!”
Lev’s voice was a jagged scream. Simultaneously, a group of knights emerged from the treeline. They wore the insignias of Ionad and Pallesa Palace, not the Woodpecker colors.
“Lev, stop!”
A knight from Ionad cried out. The contingent from Pallesa Palace was larger, and Lev recognized the faces of his former brothers-in-arms among the Ionad men. He didn’t care.
“Stand down, Lev!”
He didn’t even flinch. He threw himself at Macauliffe, who was pinned against the crowd, a manic, terrifying grin split across his face. A blade glinted in his hand.
“Viscount Macauliffe Pasalis!”
With a roar of the man’s full name, Lev slammed into him. The two went down in a heap of screams and thrashing limbs. Crimson geysers erupted into the air, painting Lev’s white garments in a gruesome spray of red.
The unexpected violence sent a shockwave through the gathering. Claude stood frozen beside Ivan, his face drained of color, while Ivan stepped forward to block the Prince’s view of the carnage. Nearby knights raced toward the struggle as the aristocrats began to shriek in terror. Yet, Macauliffe’s high-pitched wails of agony pierced through the bedlam.
“…Well,” Yuls said, his tone sounding genuinely bothered.
“This part was not in the script, Adi.”
“No,” Adi replied, her eyes wide as she watched the bloody spectacle.
“I don’t believe it was.”