CHAPTER 309: CH 309: IS IT BETRAYAL? - PART 2

Kyle sat quietly in his room, the candlelight flickering as he finished writing the note with practiced strokes.

The wax seal pressed firm beneath his ring bore the Armstrong insignia, but more importantly, the layer of mana infused into the seal ensured only one man could open it—Duke Armstrong himself.

He stood, holding the letter for a long second before summoning the butler.

"Deliver this to the Duke. Personally. No matter what happens, make sure it reaches him."

The butler, eyes wide at the urgency in Kyle’s voice, took the note and nodded.

"Yes, Lord Kyle. Right away."

Not long after, Duke Armstrong was in the middle of reviewing strategic reports when the butler entered, his face pale with tension.

The Duke raised an eyebrow as the sealed letter was handed to him. The moment his fingers touched the wax, the mana seal responded to him alone, allowing the envelope to open silently.

As his eyes scanned the letter, his expression changed—at first disbelief, then realization, and finally, something far darker. Without a word, the Duke stood and walked briskly toward Kyle’s quarters.

He didn’t wait for permission. He pushed open the door and entered, his steps heavy with urgency.

"Kyle...Why did you send me such a message? And tell me exactly how Christan died."

The Duke said, his tone sharp.

Kyle looked up from his seat and gestured toward the opposite chair, calm and unshaken.

"Sit. We need to talk."

The Duke didn’t sit. His hands curled at his sides.

"You wrote in this letter that Christan’s death wasn’t natural. That it involved divine mana. I want answers."

Kyle exhaled slowly.

"I don’t have a full answer yet. But what I do know is that Christan was approached by someone—someone with divine affiliations. That black knight wasn’t ordinary. You saw the corrupted divine mana. And when I questioned Christan, just as he was about to reveal who brought that knight to him, he was killed by divine interference. Executed cleanly. Silenced."

The Duke’s jaw tightened.

"So they’ve reached this far..."

"They have. And if they’re willing to kill to cover their tracks, then the threat isn’t small. This was a warning to us, Father. A very deliberate warning."

Kyle said.

The room was tense, the air heavy with meaning. Finally, the Duke sat down, rubbing his temple.

"What do you propose we do?"

Kyle didn’t hesitate.

"We’ve already declared Nigel as the next Duke. Christan’s out of the picture now, whether we wanted it or not. But that leaves only one other person in the succession web—Emelia."

The Duke looked at Kyle sharply.

"You think they’ll target her?"

"I’m sure of it."

Kyle said.

"With Christan dead and Nigel firmly under your wing, Emelia is the only remaining piece the enemy can use to create instability. If they manipulate her—or worse, control her—we could be looking at a repeat of what happened with Christan. Or something far worse."

The Duke’s brows furrowed.

"Then we must keep an eye on her."

"We should do more than that. Assign her a personal guard. Someone who can resist divine influence. Someone loyal. Make sure she is watched, but don’t let her know she’s being watched. If they move, we need to be ready to catch them in the act."

Kyle said.

The Duke was silent for a long moment before nodding.

"I’ll take care of it. And Kyle..."

Kyle met his father’s eyes.

"Yes?"

"I underestimated you before. I won’t make that mistake again. Whatever this war with the divine turns into... I know now that you’re ready to face it."

Kyle didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of grim acknowledgment in his expression.

"This is only the beginning. If they’ve made their move inside our own house, then the next time... they won’t bother hiding."

The Duke stood and gave Kyle one last look.

"Then we’ll be ready. For whatever comes next."

Kyle nodded and watched him leave, the candlelight dancing once more as the door closed. In the quiet that followed, Queen emerged from the shadows behind him, curling silently at his feet.

While the Duke and Kyle discussed the rising threat behind closed doors, the banquet outside continued in full swing.

Golden chandeliers flickered above in celebration, laughter and wine flowing freely through the opulent hall.

Servants moved between nobles, their trays filled with delicacies, and the music danced lightly in the background.

At the center of the gathering stood Nigel Heinsberg, now officially named heir to the Duchy.

Nobles and lords alike came forward to offer congratulations, raising their glasses and exchanging practiced words of praise.

Nigel, however, merely nodded along. His responses were polite but brief, his face unreadable.

He didn’t know these people.

He didn’t like these people.

And if it weren’t for Kyle’s warning to "play nice," he would’ve already left the party.

The same hands that once mocked his bloodline and questioned his worth now lined up like loyal mutts. It made his stomach churn.

From a distance, Emelia watched the interactions with sharp eyes. Her painted lips curled into a frown.

She had always been the clever one, the charming one. And yet, here she stood—on the sidelines—while Nigel, the bloodied boy who once returned from war with more scars than sense, was now the center of everything.

He had their father’s blessing.

He had Kyle’s support.

He had the title.

And all he did was stand there like it meant nothing to him.

Emelia’s grip on her glass tightened. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she downed the contents in one motion and reached for another.

The guard standing a few feet away noticed her flushed cheeks and flickering gaze. He hesitated, then stepped forward carefully.

"Lady Emelia, someone has requested to speak with you. A private matter."

He whispered,

Emelia blinked.

"Who?"

The guard hesitated.

"Someone who believes you deserve more than what you’ve been given... Someone who can help."

Emelia was already three drinks past caution and two drinks deep into bitterness. Her judgment, dulled by wine and pride, swayed just enough.

"Fine. Take me to them. Let’s see what this savior of mine wants."

She murmured, waving a hand.

The guard bowed slightly and led her away from the banquet hall, down a quieter wing of the estate, where flickering torches lined the walls instead of crystal chandeliers.

Emelia’s heels clicked across the marble as the scent of wine, smoke, and something sweeter—almost cloying—lingered in the air.

She stumbled slightly. The dizziness in her head was growing heavier.

"Hurry up."

She muttered.

The guard nodded and opened a side door, leading her into a smaller, dimly lit chamber.

Inside stood a man cloaked in grey, his face hidden by a hood, his hands gloved.

The room was cold despite the summer air, and something about the stillness inside made the tips of Emelia’s fingers twitch with uncertainty.

"You came. I wasn’t sure you would."

The man said smoothly, his voice deep and calm.

Emelia narrowed her eyes.

"You said you had something to offer."

"I do. I offer you the chance to take your rightful place."

He replied, stepping forward just enough for the light to catch the lower edge of his chin—marred with faint runes glowing in a dark crimson hue.