Chapter : 41
"No reason!" Milo insisted, his voice rising slightly in panic. "None at all! Those lads," he nodded towards the bandaged pair again, "they wasn't doin' nothin'! Just standin' there! Maybe talkin' to some girls, friendly like! It was… it was savage, Your Grace! Uncalled for!" He practically scuttled back into the cluster of witnesses.
"Elara," Rubel called the stout woman forward. "Your account?"
Elara twisted her apron, her face pale. "Just like Milo said, Excellency! I saw it all! Lord Ferrum looked like he was spoilin' for a fight from the moment he turned the corner! Eyes all hard, you know? Those poor boys didn't stand a chance! He just… attacked! Shouting things too!"
"Shouting?" Rubel seized on the detail. "What sort of things?"
Elara faltered, glancing nervously at Rubel. "Well… angry things, Excellency. Threats! Like… like he owned the street! Said he'd teach 'em who was boss!" She wrung her hands. "It was frightening!"
"Frightening indeed," Rubel echoed gravely. He gestured to the other three witnesses. "Do your accounts align with what Milo and Elara have described? Did any of you see any provocation from these young men?"
A chorus of mumbled "No, Your Excellency," "Just like they said," and "He just hit 'em!" rose from the remaining three, their eyes wide with fear, their stories overlapping slightly but sticking firmly to the core narrative of Lloyd's unprovoked, instant aggression.
Rubel let the weight of their 'testimony' settle before turning his attention to the bandaged figures, his voice softening with pity. "And these poor souls… loyal servants of families connected to our own Ferrum line," he added, subtly linking them to the broader family structure, "merely attempted to speak with their young lord yesterday, perhaps to understand the previous day's aggression. And for their troubles?" He gestured towards the bandages. "This horror. Inflicted deliberately. Cruelly."
One of the bandaged men emitted a particularly long, drawn-out groan, shifting painfully in his chair. The smell of medicinal salve and something faintly unpleasant emanated from them.
"But the most heart-wrenching testimony," Rubel continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, drawing everyone's attention, "comes from the innocent parties caught in the middle." He beckoned the two young girls forward again. They approached the desk like lambs to the slaughter, trembling visibly.
"Child," Rubel addressed the taller girl, his voice gentle, almost paternal. "Please, do not fear. Just tell the Arch Duke the truth. Few days ago, near Weaver's Alley… what happened? Did those young men," he carefully avoided naming the bandaged figures directly this time, "bother you? Threaten you in any way?"
The girl shook her head violently, tears welling in her eyes. "N-no, Your Excellency! No, Your Grace!" she choked out, her voice thin and reedy. "They were… they were nice! Truly! We were a bit lost, see, and they… they just asked if we needed help finding the Weaver's Guild Hall! Showed us the way on a little map one of 'em had!" She sniffled. "They weren't mean at all!"
"Map?" Lloyd thought incredulously. That's a new one. Creative.
"And then what happened?" Rubel prompted softly.
The second girl burst into loud, theatrical sobs, burying her face in her friend's shoulder. "Lord Ferrum!" she wailed between sobs. "He came… he came out of nowhere! He looked… terrifying! Like… like a demon!" She shuddered dramatically. "He yelled at the boys for… for talking to us! Said… said they had no right! Then he… he hit one! Just like the witnesses said! He said…" she trailed off, sobbing harder.
"What did he say, child?" Rubel pressed gently, milking the moment. "What threat did he make?"
"He said… he said he'd burn them!" the girl cried out, lifting her tear-streaked face. "He said he'd burn them if they ever looked at us again! We were so scared! We just ran!" She collapsed back into her friend's embrace, her small body shaking with contrived fear.
It was a masterful performance of manipulation, Lloyd had to admit, albeit a crude one. Rubel had coached them well, layering specific lies onto the general narrative, playing on sympathy, painting Lloyd not just as aggressive, but as possessive, threatening, almost demonic.
Rayan Ferrum, standing beside his father, allowed a small, cruel smile to touch his lips. He found the girls' performance particularly amusing.
Viscount Rubel turned slowly, facing Arch Duke Roy, his expression now one of righteous conviction. "Your Grace," his voice resonated with authority, "the evidence is undeniable. Five impartial witnesses. Two grievously injured victims. The terrified testimony of the very girls Lord Lloyd claims he was 'protecting'. It paints a consistent, damning picture: an unprovoked, brutal assault driven by arrogance and rage. An abuse of power that stains the honor of our name."
Chapter : 42
He straightened to his full height, his gaze sweeping briefly over Lloyd with triumphant disdain before settling back on Roy. "This cannot stand, Your Grace. For the sake of justice, for the sake of order, for the sake of the Ferrum reputation, there must be accountability."
His voice hardened, the demand ringing clear. "I repeat my request. Lord Lloyd Ferrum must kneel before these men he has wronged, apologize sincerely for his actions, and offer compensation for their suffering. Five Gold Coins each. It is the least that can be done to redress this egregious offense!" He folded his arms, looking expectantly at Roy, confident that the sheer weight of the orchestrated testimony left the Arch Duke no other option. Checkmate.
The silence in the study stretched, thick and suffocating. The witnesses held their breath. The bandaged men fell silent, their groans momentarily forgotten. Rayan’s smirk widened. Rubel stood tall, awaiting the inevitable judgment. Rosa remained perfectly still, an emerald statue observing the proceedings with inscrutable detachment. Ken Park hadn’t moved a muscle, a pillar of stoic readiness beside Lloyd.
Arch Duke Roy Ferrum’s gaze remained fixed on his son. He had listened without interruption, his face revealing nothing. Now, the moment of judgment had arrived. The assembled players waited for him to lower the boom, to enforce the seemingly inevitable conclusion Rubel had so carefully constructed.
Roy did not look at Rubel. He did not look at the witnesses or the victims. His intense, penetrating gaze remained locked on Lloyd.
"Lloyd," Roy stated, his voice cutting through the thick silence like a blade, flat, devoid of judgment, yet carrying the immense weight of his authority. "Viscount Rubel has presented his case and his demands. The witnesses have spoken." He paused, letting the finality sink in. "The twenty-four hours I granted you have elapsed."
He leaned forward fractionally, the movement drawing every eye. "You claimed you could prove your innocence. You claimed you could expose the truth." His voice dropped slightly, becoming impossibly quiet, yet resonating with absolute command. "The stage is yours. Present your proof."
----
The air in the Arch Duke’s study hung thick and expectant, saturated with the poison of Rubel’s accusations and the weight of the fabricated testimonies. The Viscount stood smugly, arms folded, awaiting the inevitable capitulation. Rayan smirked, savoring the anticipated humiliation of his cousin. The witnesses trembled, caught between fear of Rubel and the imposing presence of the Arch Duke. The bandaged figures offered occasional, strategically timed groans. Rosa remained an enigma, a silent observer clad in emerald green.
All eyes were on Lloyd, awaiting his defense, his excuses, his inevitable crumble under the orchestrated weight of 'evidence'.
Lloyd rose from his chair, not with defiance, not with anger, but with a calm, almost serene confidence that was deeply unsettling. He didn’t immediately address his father or his uncle. Instead, he walked slowly, deliberately, towards the cluster of terrified witnesses, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished floor. Ken Park remained by the chair, a silent anchor.
He stopped directly in front of them, close enough that they could smell the faint scent of soap and starch from his tunic, close enough that they couldn't avoid his direct, penetrating gaze. He looked at each of them in turn, his eyes lingering for a moment, seeming to peel back the layers of their fear and deceit. They flinched under his scrutiny, shuffling, looking down, anywhere but at him.
"Milo," Lloyd began, his voice quiet but carrying easily in the tense silence. He addressed the thin, shifty-eyed man who had spoken first. "Milo Tanner. Runs a small stall selling slightly bruised fruit near the East Gate, correct? Always struggling to make ends meet. Especially since acquiring that rather unfortunate gambling debt at the 'Lucky Gryphon' tavern two months ago."
Milo jerked as if struck, his face draining of all remaining color. He stared at Lloyd, mouth agape. "H-how…?"
"A debt currently held," Lloyd continued smoothly, ignoring the stammered question, "by a moneylender known to have… close ties to certain interests affiliated with Viscount Rubel Ferrum. A debt for which the collection methods were becoming increasingly… persuasive. Until, perhaps, a generous offer was made? An offer to clear the slate entirely, maybe even add a few silver coins on top, in exchange for a small service? A simple recitation?"
Milo trembled violently, unable to speak, his eyes wide with terror.
Chapter : 43
Lloyd moved his gaze to the stout woman, Elara. "Elara Gable. Your son, young Tim, suffers from the Grey Lung sickness, does he not? Requires expensive imported herbs from the Southern Isles, herbs far beyond your means as a washerwoman." His voice softened slightly, a hint of sympathy that made the underlying implication even sharper. "A desperate situation. One that makes a mother vulnerable. Perhaps vulnerable enough to accept… assistance? Funds delivered discreetly, ensuring Tim receives his medicine, in return for remembering events near Weaver's Alley in a particular light?"
Elara burst into tears, burying her face in her already damp apron, her shoulders shaking.
He addressed the remaining three in quick succession, his voice remaining calm, almost conversational, yet each word landed like a precisely aimed blow.
"And you, Jorn," he pointed to a burly man trying to shrink behind the others. "Caught skimming from the Guild warehouse where you work. Facing expulsion, disgrace, possibly prison. Until a certain Foreman, known to take instructions from associates of the Viscount, offered to make the problem… disappear. For a favor."
"Hendry," he fixed his gaze on a pale youth. "Involved in that brawl near the docks last week? The one where the Harbormaster’s nephew got his jaw broken? Charges were about to be pressed. Magically, they vanished. Coincidentally, right after you agreed to 'witness' something for certain influential people."
"And finally, Martha," he looked at the last woman, older, face etched with worry lines. "Your daughter's impending marriage. To a respectable merchant's son. A marriage threatened by the resurfacing of an old, embarrassing family scandal from your youth. A scandal someone," his eyes flickered meaningfully towards Rubel, "dug up and threatened to reveal. Unless you cooperated."
He paused, letting the weight of the individual exposures sink in, watching the complete collapse of the witnesses' composure. Their terrified silence, their tears, their trembling, spoke louder than any forced testimony ever could.
"Five people," Lloyd concluded, turning slowly away from the wreckage of their credibility to face his father and uncle directly. "Five lives, each with a vulnerability. Debt, desperation, fear of disgrace, legal trouble, blackmail. Levers. All conveniently pulled by individuals connected, directly or indirectly, to my esteemed uncle, Viscount Rubel Ferrum." His gaze locked onto Rubel’s, cold and sharp. "Coincidence? Or a rather clumsy pattern of coercion and bribery?"
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Rubel Ferrum’s face had transformed from smug confidence to disbelief, then rapidly darkening fury. The smoothness vanished, replaced by a harsh rigidity. "Lies! Slander! How dare you impugn these honest folk based on rumor and speculation!" he snarled, taking a step forward, his voice losing its controlled modulation.
"Rumor?" Lloyd raised an eyebrow, pulling a neatly folded sheaf of parchments from within his tunic – Ken Park’s overnight report, concise and damning. "I assure you, Uncle, this is far more than rumor. Dates, names, amounts, connections… documented." He didn't offer the parchments, merely tapped them lightly, letting the implication hang. "Shall I elaborate further? Perhaps discuss the specific moneylender, the foreman, the source of the blackmail material?"
Rubel visibly recoiled, his face paling slightly. He recognized the threat. Lloyd wasn’t bluffing.
"And now," Lloyd continued, his voice regaining its calm, almost gentle tone as he turned towards the two young girls who stood frozen, watching the proceedings with wide, terrified eyes. "The final piece."
He walked towards them, stopping a respectful distance away. He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to their level, his expression softening entirely. "Eliza? Maria?" he addressed them by names Ken had provided. "It's alright. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
The girls looked at him, then glanced fearfully towards Rubel, then back at Lloyd, tears still streaming down their faces.
"Yesterday," Lloyd said gently, "after our… encounter… I sought you out. Didn't I?"
The taller girl, Eliza, nodded hesitantly, wiping her eyes.
"And I warned you, didn't I? I told you that the people behind those men might try to silence you, or force you to lie." He paused, letting them remember. "I told you they might threaten you, or offer your families things they desperately need."
Both girls nodded again, more emphatically this time.
"And I told you," Lloyd continued, his voice full of quiet assurance, "that no matter what they threatened, no matter what they promised, the truth was your strongest shield. I told you that if you were forced to lie today, you simply had to wait for my signal, and then tell the Arch Duke everything that truly happened. Didn't I promise I would protect you if you told the truth?"
Eliza looked straight at him, a flicker of hope dawning in her tear-filled eyes. "Y-yes, Young Lord! You did! You promised!"
Chapter : 44
"Then tell him now," Lloyd urged gently, straightening up and gesturing towards his father. "Tell the Arch Duke what really happened near Weaver's Alley two days ago. Tell him what those men said to you. Tell him how they blocked your path. Tell him how you felt."
Eliza took a deep, shuddering breath, looked at her friend Maria, who nodded encouragement, and then turned to face the Arch Duke. Her voice, though trembling, rang with newfound conviction.
"Your Grace!" she began, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It… it wasn't like they said! Those men… they weren't helping us! They cornered us! They were saying… awful things! Making rude jokes! We tried to get past, but they wouldn't let us! We were scared!"
Maria chimed in, emboldened by her friend. "They called us names, Your Grace! And… and one of them tried to grab Eliza’s arm! We were terrified! Then… then Lord Ferrum came! He didn't shout threats! He just… he told them off! He hit the leader, yes, but only after he wouldn't stop! And then he lectured them! Like… like a schoolmaster!"
"And yesterday," Eliza continued breathlessly, "a man came to our homes! A scary man with cold eyes! He… he offered Papa money! Lots of money! Said we just had to say the boys were nice, that Lord Ferrum was mean! He said… he said bad things would happen if we didn't!" Tears flowed freely again, but these were tears of relief, of truth finally spoken.
The study was utterly silent, save for the girls' ragged breathing. The meticulously constructed narrative Rubel had built lay in ruins, shattered by the simple, heartfelt testimony of the children he had tried to manipulate, corroborated by the exposed vulnerabilities of his coerced witnesses.
Lloyd turned slowly, deliberately, to face his uncle. The calm amusement was gone, replaced by a cold, scathing contempt. "Well, Uncle Rubel?" his voice dripped with sarcasm. "A 'misunderstanding', you called it? 'Tragic overreaction'?" He gestured towards the now-silent bandaged figures. "Or perhaps just another move in your long, pathetic game? Another attempt to discredit the main line, to sow discord, to position yourself closer to the seat you so desperately covet?"
He took a step towards Rubel, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "You think my father is blind? You think I am blind to your ambition? To the whispers? To the convenient 'accidents' that seem to follow those who oppose you?" He leaned in slightly, invoking memories only he possessed from a future that never was, yet felt chillingly real. "Like your persistent attempts, previous understanding… to engineer an engagement between your arrogant whelp of a son," he shot a venomous look at Rayan, who paled significantly, "and Rosa Siddik?"
Across the room, Rosa’s head snapped up. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the mask of indifference finally cracking, replaced by stunned disbelief. How…? How could he possibly know that? The engagement discussions had been brief, secret, vehemently rejected by her father years ago, long before her marriage to Lloyd was even contemplated. It was a hidden piece of family history, buried deep. Lloyd’s knowledge was impossible.
"You," Lloyd spat at Rubel, ignoring Rosa's shock, focusing his ire entirely on his uncle, "have been maneuvering against the main branch for years. Undermining my father subtly, waiting for weakness, plotting. This stunt? Trying to frame me, using coerced witnesses and injured pawns? Pathetic. Desperate. And utterly transparent."
Before Rubel could formulate a defense, before the sputtering rage could erupt into denial, Arch Duke Roy Ferrum moved.
He rose slowly from behind his desk, his full height seeming to fill the room, radiating an aura of power far more potent than any Spirit Pressure. His face was thunderous, colder and harder than Lloyd had ever seen it. His eyes, fixed on his brother Rubel, blazed with a fury that promised retribution.
"Rubel Ferrum," Roy’s voice was deceptively quiet, yet it cracked through the tension like a whip, sharp and absolute. Every person in the room flinched. "You dare?"
He took a step around the desk, his gaze unwavering. "You dare orchestrate this… farce? In my own study? You dare coerce witnesses? You dare attempt to manipulate my own son, the heir to this Duchy?" His voice rose steadily, each word dripping with contempt. "You dare plot and scheme against the Head Family, against me?"
Rubel visibly shrank under the onslaught, his earlier arrogance completely evaporated, replaced by stark fear. "Brother, I… it was a misunderstanding! I was misinformed! These witnesses…"
"Silence!" Roy roared, the sound echoing off the stone walls, making the very air tremble. "I have tolerated your ambition, your maneuvering, your subtle undermining for far too long! Considered it… political necessity. Kinship." He practically spat the word. "No more."
Chapter : 45
He pointed a trembling finger at his brother. "Know this, Rubel Ferrum. If you, or any member of your immediate family," his gaze flickered briefly towards the terrified Rayan, "ever attempt anything against the Head Family again – any plot, any manipulation, any whisper of dissent – I will not hesitate. I will strip you of your titles, seize your lands, and banish your entire line from the Ferrum name and blood forever. You will be erased."
The threat hung in the air, absolute and terrifying.
"As for this… transgression," Roy continued, his voice regaining its icy control, "there will be immediate consequence. You will pay a fine of one hundred Gold Coins to the Ducal treasury by sunset tomorrow. A pittance, perhaps, but a public acknowledgment of your offense." He waved a dismissive hand towards the door. "Now get out of my sight. All of you." He included the witnesses, the bandaged figures, and Rayan in the command.
Rubel stared, aghast at the severity of the judgment, the public humiliation, the explicit threat of banishment. But he saw the unwavering resolve in his brother's eyes. He opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, then closed it again, defeated. He bowed stiffly, a mockery of respect, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the study, his face a mask of barely contained fury. Rayan scrambled after him, shooting Lloyd one last look of pure hatred. The witnesses and the bandaged victims scurried out like frightened mice, vanishing into the corridor.
Roy then turned his attention back to Lloyd, his expression still stern, but the overt fury lessening slightly, replaced by a complex mix of assessment and perhaps… grudging approval? He also glanced towards Rosa, who was still processing Lloyd’s impossible revelation about the engagement attempt, her usual composure visibly shaken.
"Furthermore," Roy declared, his voice resonating with authority once more, "the matter of Viscount Rubel Ferrum and the conduct of his branch family will be the primary agenda item at the Ferrum Family Summit next week. His position, his influence… will be reassessed. Thoroughly."
The implication was clear. Rubel hadn't just failed; he had potentially crippled his own standing within the family hierarchy for years to come.
Lloyd stood tall, meeting his father's gaze. He had not only proven his innocence but had turned his uncle's attack into a devastating counter-offensive, exposing Rubel's treachery and solidifying his own unexpected competence in his father's eyes. The game had decisively shifted.
----
Day number Seven.
The number pulsed behind Lloyd Ferrum’s eyelids even before the first intrusive rays of dawn managed to pierce the heavy velvet curtains. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours since reality had decided to hit the cosmic rewind button, depositing his eighty-year-old consciousness back into this infuriatingly youthful, perpetually awkward nineteen-year-old body. Seven days back on Riverio. Fourteen days married to an Ice Queen. Seven days sleeping on… this.
He cracked an eye open, greeted by the familiar, ridiculously ornate pattern carved into the ceiling plasterwork. Yup. Still the sofa. Still emitting that faint, aggressively floral scent of potpourri that seemed designed to induce headaches. Still boasting lumps in places furniture shouldn't even have places.
Seven days, his internal monologue echoed, already picking up speed like a runaway minecart. Feels like seven years. Or maybe just a particularly long, uncomfortable week trapped in aristocratic purgatory. He pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side, the floorboards predictably cold against his bare feet. Another day, another ducat… or maybe just another chance to not die humiliatingly before breakfast.
A sigh escaped him, probably number… fifty? Sixty? He’d lost count yesterday amidst the Rubel-induced farce. This body seemed predisposed to sighing. Or maybe it was just the cumulative weight of three lifetimes pressing down. Focus, Lloyd. Today is important.
Today was the seventh day. The final hurdle. The finish line for Operation: Canine Cuisine Upgrade. Five System Coins. That was the prize. Five precious coins that, added to the eight he’d scraped together through furniture destruction, bully slapping, and impromptu economics lectures, would finally… finally… push him over the threshold. Ten coins to open the shop. Thirteen total. Enough. Barely enough, but enough.
Anticipation thrummed beneath his skin, a low-voltage current chasing away the morning grogginess. The System. The Shopping Tree. That bizarre, potentially universe-altering catalogue of power he’d stumbled upon in his first life, understood on Earth, and now, finally, could use. What wonders, what horrors, what ridiculously overpriced upgrades awaited him behind that 10-coin paywall? He had to know.
