The fire in the brazier had nearly died. Raizen added fresh wood, and flames surged upward once more. Sparks flew from the blazing logs with sharp, crackling pops, scattering like tiny desperate escapes into the dark.
Raizen watched the fire in silence, patiently awaiting his master's orders.
"How amusing." Calix leaned back slowly in his camp chair. His voice had dropped to something low and dangerous. The flickering light carved harsh shadows across his cheekbones, transforming his already severe face into something almost inhuman.
"To attempt something like *this*. With such a sweet, innocent face."
Raizen offered no response to the bitter remark—only a deep, quiet sigh as he observed the cold smile spreading across the Grand Duke's lips. His master's mood had turned foul. So foul that sweat soaked through Raizen's back from the tension alone. The atmosphere inside the tent had grown sharper than broken glass.
A letter had arrived from the Postal Guild. Sent from the principality.
What Asella could never have known was that the Postal Guild—renowned throughout the Empire for its independence and reliability—had long been under Karma's complete control. The organization knew practically every secret worth knowing. It was no exaggeration to say that all important correspondence in the country passed through their hands.
Instructions regarding the Charts correspondence had been established even before the Archduke's marriage.
*All letters and parcels addressed to Charts must be reported immediately.*
"And the estate?" Calix asked.
"Philip and Anthony are there at present."
No corner of the Empire remained inaccessible to Karma's eyes and ears—not even the most influential noble families. For this reason, Calix always possessed the most essential information precisely when he needed it.
"Plans are changing." His voice was quiet. Final.
"In what way, Your Highness?"
"We move at dawn."
Still six hours until sunrise.
"The Emperor doesn't know yet?"
"Irrelevant. I'll inform him later. *Personally*." His intentions remained unchanged. "If we depart now, we'll arrive before first light."
"I'll see to it." Raizen bowed and hurried from the tent.
---
Alone now in the barracks, Calix let the silence settle around him like a shroud.
*Asella Benvito.*
He spoke his wife's name with a wicked grin. Then laughed—a soft, dangerous sound. It was fortunate no one remained to hear it.
She had tried to send a secret letter to Charts Manor. To warn Philip and Anthony.
*Those bastards.*
The same people who had tormented her for years. Who had subjected her to constant cruelty. The very family she had only escaped by marrying *him*.
When problems arose in a household, husband and wife resolved them together. But when a wife dared oppose the head of her family? Her fate became something indescribably miserable. A husband might return her to her birth family, where she would drag out a lonely existence for the rest of her days. Or he might lock her away in a monastery.
And yet, his wife had chosen such a fate.
_I'm sorry, Asella. But you cannot stop what's coming._
_Your family will be destroyed to its foundations. The name Charts will be erased from the history of the Garmanian Empire. There will be nowhere left for you to return to._
_From now on, your place will always be by my side._
All that remained was one simple matter.
_Making you pay for your betrayal._
_But that could wait. There were many ways._
Calix rose and walked to the fire. He glanced once more at the letter in his hand—his wife's elegant handwriting, each stroke precise and deliberate. Without hesitation, he cast it into the flames. The paper curled, blackened, and dissolved into ash within seconds.
---
## — The Reckoning —
The intensity of his fury demanded immediate release. It was still deep night when Karma's men, led by Calix himself, arrived in the capital—far earlier than planned.
A meeting with the Emperor had been arranged, but Calix abandoned it without a second thought.
*Why postpone until tomorrow what could be finished tonight?*
They rode directly to the Charts residence.
When the thunder of hooves finally ceased, the ancient mansion loomed before them—a fortress as old as the Empire itself.
During Adele's lifetime, the estate had possessed a classical elegance. Now it was cluttered with ornate stucco work, completely mismatched to the building's proportions and style. The effect was one of grotesque vulgarity—wealth without taste, ambition without grace.
Calix laughed softly. "Rats," he murmured, "infesting someone else's territory."
"Your Highness." A squire approached, presenting a weapon with a polite bow.
The sword was imposing—no small weight. But Calix lifted it as though it were lighter than a feather. His eyes, fixed on the dark fortress walls, gleamed with cold, predatory light.
*Tonight, many useless lives would be cut short. Lives for which no one would pay any price.*
At last, the Archduke's lips curled into something bloodthirsty.
"Let's begin."
---
Karma's operatives slipped onto the mansion grounds like the night itself given form—silent, invisible, inevitable.
*Not a single person survives.*
Within minutes, the estate descended into chaos. Shrill screams echoed from every direction. Those who fled the building in panic froze mid-step, unable to escape. Ominous black figures advanced toward the castle from all sides, moving without sound, without mercy.
Dark rumors had long persisted throughout the Empire: people died in horrific agony merely by meeting the eyes of Karma's agents. Many victims simply accepted death when the sharpened blade found them—too terrified to resist.
But some had been ordered taken alive.
All of them had participated in the abuse inflicted upon the Grand Duchess. There were *many*. Among them, maids who had once served Rebecca. The terrified captives were driven forcibly onto the lawn before the mansion. Doomed, they groaned in pain and cried desperately for mercy.
But there would be no mercy.
They were thrown roughly to the ground. Karma's operatives surrounded them from all sides like eerie black phantoms gathered for some grotesque feast. The exhausted prisoners knelt with faces white as bone, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Only one thing was clear.
Many of the mansion's inhabitants—servants, guards, family members—were already dead. Some had been slaughtered before their very eyes. Every room, every corridor, was saturated with the thick, coppery stench of blood.
Then two more figures were dragged through the open doors.
Men in luxurious silk pajamas, squealing like slaughtered pigs.
"What's happening? How *dare* you! Who are you?"
Philip and Anthony. Ignoring their screams, Karma's men hauled them down the porch steps and hurled them to the ground. Anthony thrashed wildly. Philip fought with desperate fury—until their arms were wrenched behind their backs and they were forced to their knees.
"Ugh—*ahhh*—" Anthony's scream tore through the night air as his joints dislocated. Philip grimaced but struggled to maintain composure.
Both were now covered head to toe in mud.
Yet Philip refused to lose face before his people. Not until the end.
"Listen carefully," he snarled, voice trembling with forced authority. "If His Majesty discovers what you've done here, you'll—*mmph*—"
The words died in his throat as Raizen pressed cold steel against it. The blade pierced skin. A thin ribbon of blood traced down his neck.
"Keep your mouth shut," Lord Cardon commanded.
"*You*—why are you here?"
Raizen didn't answer. At his silent nod, Philip's arms were wrenched higher, his body forced so low his forehead nearly touched the dirt.
"What are you *doing*?" Philip's protest cut short when another figure emerged from the mansion.
"Your... Highness?"
The man in black radiated such deadly intent that words withered before they could form.
Jet-black hair gleamed beneath the crimson light of approaching dawn. His magnificent uniform—tailored perfectly to a powerful frame—rippled with each movement, evidence of decades spent on battlefields. Every step proclaimed dominance. Every breath promised violence.
**Grand Duke Calix Benvito.**
When those blood-red eyes fixed upon him, Philip's heart seized as though struck by lightning.
He was shaking now—violently, visibly. Head bowed, he could only hear the heavy, inexorable footsteps drawing closer. Closer. Then stopping.
The Archduke stood so near that Philip's forehead nearly grazed his boots.
The man twisted his neck at an unnatural angle, straining to look up into Calix's face while Karma's agents pressed down on his shoulders.
"...!"
Calix watched without expression as the screaming, terrified captives were dragged across the lawn. Their sobs clashed obscenely with the crisp air of early spring morning. His crimson gaze burned with barely contained bloodlust.
Finally, the hard line of his beautiful lips parted.
**"It's over."**
---
The words jolted Philip back to desperate awareness.
"*Why?*" He writhed against his captors, voice rising to a pathetic whine. "Why are you doing this, Your Highness? Just days ago, Your Grace personally congratulated me when His Majesty bestowed the title of Marquis upon my son! Why now would you—"
"It is the Emperor's will." Calix's tone carried no warmth. No hesitation. "Tell me—where have you ever seen hounds kept alive once they can no longer hunt?"
"How... how can..."
"It is customary to dispose of dogs that have outlived their usefulness." A cruel smile. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Philip's face went blank.
*Bodies strewn throughout the mansion. Pools of blood spreading across marble floors.*
His clothes—his bare feet—were caked in the blood of the dead.
"This cannot be! I have been *sincerely* devoted to His Majesty! I have *always*—"
"Fernando." The Archduke spoke the Emperor's name with utter arrogance, as though it were nothing more than a footnote. "After Adele's death, he required someone to look after her daughters. You were... adequate for the task."
"But where is the betrayal? There must be some mistake!"
"Betrayal?" Calix's smile turned pitying. "You're simply a thorn that's finally worked its way too deep."
"How... how is this..."
"You wanted a title. *Marquis*." Contempt dripped from every syllable. "But you cannot begin to imagine what such a title truly means. Did you honestly believe Fernando would tolerate a dog that keeps biting the hand that feeds it?"
"That isn't *true*!" Philip's voice cracked. Shame, resentment, and fury churned behind his eyes. "Whatever His Majesty has decided, he cannot execute me like this! Not without—"
"He has *dreamed* of this moment." Calix cut him off, voice soft as a blade sliding between ribs. "The utter annihilation of the hated Charts family. You don't believe me?" He gestured lazily. "Read it yourself."
At the signal, Raizen stepped forward. The Count had clearly been waiting. He approached Philip and tossed a folded document at his feet.
The pressure on Philip's shoulders vanished. The black figures surrounding him retreated in eerie silence.
Something was wrong.
Philip's hand trembled as he reached for the document. He unfolded it slowly. The first thing his eyes found was the large imperial seal at the bottom—unmistakable, undeniable. Above it, dense handwriting filled the expensive parchment. He blinked hard, struggling to read the cramped script.
A moment later, his face turned the color of chalk.
"*Father!*" Anthony wrenched free and snatched the document away. His eyes scanned the contents—and panic flooded his features as he looked back at Philip.
"What *nonsense* is this?"
"This is no nonsense." Raizen's smile was strange—completely inappropriate for the carnage surrounding them.
"You stand accused of the murder of Marchioness Adele Charts. You are further accused of attempting to seize her title and property through fraud and deception. Your actions constitute an insult against the Imperial Crown itself." He paused, letting each word sink in like a nail being driven home. "The title of Marquis cannot be bestowed upon a person of common birth—*especially* not an illegitimate child. Therefore, His Imperial Majesty views your conduct as conspiracy and high treason."
The color drained completely from the captives' faces.
*This was the worst possible outcome.*
**_There would be no escape._**