CHAPTER 302: CH 302: RETURNING HOME - PART 3

Nigel Heinsberg strolled through the stone corridors of the Armstrong estate with a lazy gait, twirling his short blade with idle fingers.

He was still somewhat sore from Kyle’s grip earlier, but more than that, he felt annoyed—annoyed that he had been caught off guard and pulled away mid-fight.

That girl was tougher than she looked, but not tough enough.

He was nearly at his room when the butler stepped out from the shadows like a persistent shadow himself.

"Young master Nigel. Your father has requested your presence. He said it’s something extremely important."

The butler said, bowing slightly.

Nigel rolled his eyes.

"Tell him I’m not interested. If he wanted to scold me, he should have come to me."

The butler did not budge.

"It concerns young master Kyle."

Nigel stopped cold.

His playful expression vanished, replaced with a sharp, hawk-like focus.

"Kyle?"

"Yes."

Without another word, Nigel turned around and began walking.

The butler followed behind at a respectful distance, not wanting to ignite his young master’s foul temper and get injured as a result.

Soon, Nigel pushed open the heavy doors to the Duke’s office without knocking. His father sat at his desk, shrouded in the quiet candlelight, surrounded by papers and sealed documents. His eyes were cold as ever—calculating, unreadable.

"You called?"

Nigel asked, remaining standing.

The Duke glanced up.

"I did. Sit."

"I prefer to stand. I don’t like being caught off guard."

Nigel replied, crossing his arms.

The Duke’s lips curled faintly.

"Do as you please. I’ve decided to name the next heir to the Armstrong Duchy."

He set his pen down and folded his hands over the desk.

Nigel blinked once.

"Is that so?"

"It is. Among all my children, you’ve shown the most growth. Power. Adaptability. Cunning. I want you to succeed me."

The Duke leaned forward slightly.

Nigel’s eyes narrowed.

"I didn’t expect this comedy tonight. You want me to be the next Duke? Why?"

He said coolly.

"Because Kyle’s position is no longer as simple as a noble heir. He’s walking a path that might set him against the world. Against it."

The Duke said flatly.

Queen’s name was left unsaid, but Nigel felt the implication.

"I’ve called Kyle back to discuss this matter. But my intention is clear—he will assist you, not the other way around. You’ll learn the burden of power while he manages external affairs."

The Duke continued.

Nigel was silent for a long moment. The air seemed to freeze.

Then, he laughed—once, humorlessly.

"No."

The Duke’s eyes narrowed.

"No?"

Nigel’s gaze hardened.

"As long as Kyle exists, I will never sit in your chair. I don’t need your title. I don’t want your name. What I want—"

He paused,

"—is for Kyle to be recognized for what he truly is. You want to use him to help me? You don’t even understand what you’re asking."

"You’re speaking out of emotion."

"I’m speaking out of truth. Kyle is stronger than I am. Wiser. Better suited for the role. You want me to lead and him to follow? That’s not how it works."

Nigel snapped.

He was not willing to listen on this topic, even from his own father.

The Duke tapped a finger on his desk.

"And if Kyle refuses the seat?"

"Then I’ll support him from the shadows. But don’t make me your puppet while ignoring the real lion in the room."

Nigel said without hesitation.

"You’re my son. You will do your duty."

The Duke said sternly.

"I am doing my duty. I’m protecting the only person who still has the strength to change this cursed world."

Nigel replied.

The silence that followed was like a thunderclap waiting to strike. For a long time, neither man spoke.

Nigel stood up from his chair, irritation flickering in his eyes.

"If that’s all, then I’ll be leaving. Call me again when you’ve changed your mind."

He turned sharply on his heel and walked to the door, pushing it open—only to freeze when he saw someone standing on the other side, hand raised mid-motion to knock.

Kyle.

Nigel’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, unsure of what to say.

A rare moment of hesitation flashed across his face, as if caught between wanting to warn Kyle and not knowing how. But he didn’t need to speak.

"Come in. We were just talking about you."

Their father’s voice said smoothly from behind him.

Kyle’s eyes flicked past Nigel and met the Duke’s.

Without a word, he stepped inside. Nigel didn’t want to leave anymore. Gritting his teeth, he followed Kyle back into the room and took his seat again—but only because Kyle was now present.

The Duke leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"Take a seat, Kyle."

Kyle did so wordlessly. His movements were measured, composed, like he had already anticipated every word that was about to be said.

He lifted the cup of tea that had been poured for him and took a slow sip.

"I called you back to make things clear about the future of the Armstrong house."

The Duke began.

Kyle said nothing.

"Nigel will be the next Duke. His growth has outpaced the rest, and he shows the spirit of a leader. But this role will require guidance—and that’s where you come in."

The Duke gestured slightly with one hand.

Nigel stiffened, waiting for Kyle’s reaction.

"I want you to stay. Help your brother shoulder this burden. Lead beside him. I know the world is shifting. I know the war is coming. But I also know that this house must not fall."

Kyle didn’t flinch. He simply set his cup down with a soft clink and met his father’s gaze, calm as still water.

Nigel, however, was a bundle of nerves. Each word from the Duke felt like a dagger pointed at Kyle’s pride, at his history. His fists clenched at his sides under the table.

When the Duke finished speaking, the silence stretched for a moment too long.

And Nigel couldn’t take it anymore.

He turned sharply toward Kyle.

"I have no intention of becoming Duke. None. I already told him."

He said quickly, his voice firm and eyes burning with urgency.

Kyle arched a brow, but didn’t speak.

Nigel pressed on, leaning slightly forward.

"If it were up to me, you would be the one to inherit everything. I don’t want it, brother. And I sure as hell won’t let anyone force it on you."

The Duke’s expression twitched slightly—displeasure, perhaps, or just surprise at how direct Nigel was being.

Kyle finally spoke.

"Then why are you still here?"

Nigel blinked.

Kyle continued, his tone quiet but sharp.

"If you’ve already decided, then you should have left. You say you don’t want the title, but you’re still here listening to this farce."

Nigel lowered his gaze.

"I stayed... because you were here."

Kyle stared at him for a long second. The room went still, even Queen’s distant presence quieting in observation.

The Duke sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Regardless of what either of you think, my decision stands. Nigel, whether you want the title or not, you’re the most viable option. Kyle, I don’t expect obedience, but I do expect loyalty to the family."