CHAPTER 291: DIE TRYING

The dimly lit lair was filled with the stench of burning incense and damp stone. Faint candlelight flickered against the uneven walls, casting eerie shadows over the hooded figures who knelt in silence.

At the center of the chamber, the man who orchestrated everything—who had rewritten the fates of so many—stood in barely contained fury.

His fingers curled into fists as his piercing gaze settled on the hooded subordinate before him. His voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the heavy air.

"You have not kept her under control enough."

A shudder ran through the kneeling figure, though she dared not look up.

"She dared to rebel."

The master’s anger was barely restrained, his tone teetering on the edge of something darker—something lethal. The echoes of his words rang in the hollow chamber, a reminder of his disappointment.

He stepped forward, the hem of his dark cloak brushing the stone floor.

"I wanted to brand her with the curse when I first brought her in." His voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous. "But you—" he spat the word, filled with disdain "—you decided to show pity. You hesitated. And now, look at what has happened."

The kneeling figure trembled but did not speak.

It was true.

Annora had slipped from their grasp, inch by inch. And now, she had dared to act on her own.

The master exhaled sharply, his frustration thick in the air. He turned away, pacing, his mind racing through every carefully laid plan that had been unraveling one by one.

Everything he had worked for—everything he had built—was falling apart.

Cassian.

The Crown Prince had been the key to all of this.

He was changing.

Cassian had been disinterested in Annora from the moment she returned. He should have fallen for her, should have been under their control just as he had been in the past. But no. He had remained detached, unaffected.

And that was dangerous.

"He’s awakening," the master muttered under his breath.

His hands clenched.

Cassian was supposed to be the strongest piece on the board, yet now, he was slipping from their grasp.

And then there was Dimitri.

At the very least, Dimitri remained under Annora’s influence. That much was still going according to plan. With him by her side, she had enough power to move forward, but she also had the power to go against them.

He could not afford another failure.

And Edward.

The master scoffed, frustration rising in his throat like bile.

That man... He was a mistake to even consider controlling. Unlike the others, Edward’s mind was far too twisted, too unstable to manipulate directly.

Forget it, he thought bitterly. It’s too dangerous to confront him alone.

Edward had always been an enigma—his mind warped by his own madness, his devotion to his goal bordering on obsession. He had not fallen into their hands.

That had been expected.

But what wasn’t expected was that Cassian would resist, that Adeline would keep changing the story, that Layla—Layla—

The master’s lips curled into a sneer.

She was never supposed to be here.

She did not belong.

And yet, somehow, she had interfered.

Layla should not exist in this world.

That woman had disrupted things far too much. She was another anomaly—one that needed to be removed.

Which brought him back to his next step.

The Second Prince’s death.

That had been an unfortunate necessity. Without him, there was now a void in the Imperial succession and the story. A role that needed to be filled.

And that was where the Third Prince came in.

The master’s fingers curled into the fabric of his cloak as he considered the pieces on the board. The Third Prince was nothing more than a stand-in—a tool to be used, just to fill the shoes of the Second Prince as the story progresses. He too will be discarded in due time. He was nothing.

Nothing but a substitute.

And then there was the Eastern Duchy.

The master’s expression darkened.

There had been another disruption there.

He had taken something—someone—from them. A certain boy who should have been the future Eastern Duke... But Adeline interfered. Her again.

He had taken the boy away and had already decided his fate.

Layla would die.

And just like in the original story, the boy would rise in her place. He would become Duke. That was the way things were meant to be.

Layla’s existence was unnatural. She had defied fate. And for that, she would be erased.

Everything had to return to the way it was meant to be.

The master let out a slow breath, his anger momentarily tempered by his unwavering belief in the plan.

There had been setbacks.

But it was not over.

He thought of everything he had done to keep the story on track.

He remembered the first encounter with Edward, how he took away the Holy Sword from him.

He had to return it to its rightful place, the Northern Duchy, for it would be important in the story. Everything had to go as planned.

And then, the Northern Duchess.

She had also not been meant to live.

She had survived far longer than she should have, and that alone had been enough to alter the course of history. So he had corrected it.

He had killed her.

And now?

Now, there was only one obstacle left.

Adeline.

The master’s expression hardened.

She was the reason everything kept changing.

She was the reason Cassian was resisting.

She was the reason Layla had become a force to be reckoned with.

But... They could not touch her.

Not directly.

Her holy power was far too strong.

And more importantly—

She was vital to the story.

Without her, things would collapse in an unpredictable way.

No, they could not move against her head-on.

A direct confrontation would never work.

Instead, they would do what they did best.

Work in the shadows.

The master let out a slow breath, regaining his composure.

His fury had not faded, but it had settled into something more controlled.

More focussed. He will make sure everything works out as it should, or he will die trying.