CHAPTER 430: A LESSON TO LEARN-II

The ministers, having witnessed enough, finally understood. They could never hope to command such a weapon. Not after what they had seen. Arabella had not shifted the gun an inch, and yet the bullet had swerved, chosen its target on its own. Worse still, the deer had appeared as if summoned, pulled into the training ground by her unseen hand. Witchcraft. None of them could deny it now. This weapon was not steel alone but something bound to powers far beyond their grasp.

And so, in silence, they reached the same conclusion: never again would they dare to ask for the blueprint. Not after Christopher’s folly. Not after this demonstration. To press further would be to invite her wrath— and perhaps their deaths.

As they dispersed, Arabella remained behind. She reloaded the gun with calm precision, slipping each marble back into the barrel. Then, with measured steps, she crossed to where the deer lay in the dust, its body still, its eyes already clouding. She lowered herself, resting one hand gently upon its stomach.

Her lashes lowered, shadowing her green eyes as she whispered, barely more than breath, "I’m sorry."

It was her fault. She had called the creature here, made it the sacrifice. She would carry that weight.

Helena and Juan exchanged a look, their shoulders sagging with a quiet, relieved sigh.

Arabella was still Arabella. Despite the cold front she had shown, despite the merciless display, her true self shone through— kind, steady, and unwilling to let her creation become a tool for bloodshed. The ruthlessness was only a shield, wielded to protect, not to destroy.

Yes, this would work, Helena thought.

She had always supported Cassius, even back when he was only the crown prince. Yet beneath her loyalty lay a constant fear: that his cruelty, as sharp and merciless as any blade, would one day cut too deep. That it would wound not only those he ruled but also Cassius himself. For years she had prayed for someone who might stand beside him, someone strong enough to stop him before he bled the world— and himself— dry.

For a moment, watching Arabella, Helena had feared the worst. That the woman who held Cassius’s heart had already begun to change, hardening into something as cruel as he.

But no. The sight before her banished that fear. Arabella had not lost herself. Not yet.

"Cassius will wake soon," Arabella said, voice steady as timber, as if she were reading the world and not merely daring it. The certainty in her tone wasn’t bravado — it was something harder, like a promise carved into stone. "And when he does, there will be war."

"A war?" Juan echoed, frowning as if the word tasted foreign in his mouth. "What war do you mean?"

She rose, the gun cradled against her like a strange scepter, the metal cool against her palm. Her green eyes caught theirs and held, sharpened by a hunger that had little to do with blood and everything to do with justice. "A war with the sorcerers," she said quietly. "Not with every sorcerer— some are no threat after all— but with the cabal who have profited from suffering for generations. I will end the rule of that bloodthirsty leader. I will cut this century-old curse from its root."

Helena and Juan exchanged a look that was half hope, half calculation. The weight of what she proposed settled over them like a storm cloud— dangerous but as though fate had clocked its time.

Finally Helena spoke, her voice low and a little worried. "How may we help, milady? What will you need of us?"

Arabella’s reply was simple. While humans could help them fight, against sorcerers who could heal their wounds even if their heart was ripped out, it wouldn’t help much, instead it would be danger.

She had chosen her own people to fight while Helena and Juan, they don’t belong in the war.

"The court," she said, pointing not to soldiers or banners but to the benches and halls where whispers become law. "Morpheus will not sit idle. He will try to bend men to his will. He specializes in trickeries— seduction, a promise whispered to a greedy ear. My fear is for his words that could control and poison the ministers into thinking that if they try hard enough, loyalty toward the King was futile as they could become the King. If he can twist enough of the court, the throne itself will become a weapon against us."

They listened, the gravity of her words sinking to heir head. Then, as if moved by one breath, both Helena and Juan sank to their knees— not out of blind ritual but as a promise, gesture of loyalty. Arabella watched them bow and understood the weight behind the act; these were not empty words but vows offered in the presence of consequence.

"As you command, Your Highness," they intoned together, voices steady with the burden of allegiance.

Arabella let their oath land and then, softer now, she said, "I trust you both. Do not let me down." Her hand tightened once around the gun, and the metal hummed faintly in the quiet like a held breath.

When night appears, Arabella had settled back to Cassius’s glass coffin. She stood quietly, realizing that as the war drew close, her power too had gotten even stronger. Now if she wishes to, she could change the one sunny sky into a storm. If she wanted to, perhaps she could even coax the moon into disappearing.

It was a power she never knew she could have and with this, she felt confident against Morpheus. She should... yet oddly she didn’t feel comforted by the thought she had gotten stronger.

Morpheus himself must have known her ability, her power that could grow and could easily defeat him by a landslide.

So why was he always so confident that he could take care of her?

To go against her power?

It was as if she could feel a hidden plan but couldn’t see it or even feel its tail yet. A frightening idea that though they could triumph, the hidden trump he had hidden would easily overthrow everything.