The atmosphere in Benvito Fortress, which had seemed to warm for the briefest moment, froze solid once more.
Tension hung over the castle like a suffocating shroud—so thick, so heavy, that drawing breath felt like an act of defiance. People fell silent. Servants moved through corridors with their eyes cast downward, terrified of saying a single unnecessary word.
Those summoned to His Highness's bedchamber returned with faces drained of color. They spoke nothing of what they had witnessed. But the physician—the man who had not left that room for hours—told the story with his expression alone.
When he finally emerged from the Grand Duke's chambers, he was so utterly exhausted that two guards had to support him by the arms. His face was frozen in a mask of genuine horror.
Everyone who witnessed his exit understood immediately: the situation was dire beyond measure. If the doctor had not left his patient's side for hours—not even for a sip of water—then things could not have been worse.
And everyone who silently observed these events became certain of at least one thing: *something* had happened between the Archduke and his wife while they were alone in that bedchamber.
---
## — The Dungeons —
Heavy footsteps echoed through the castle's underground corridors, each strike of boot against stone reverberating off the damp walls.
The jailers knew their master's footsteps intimately. They lifted the iron grate without being told, bowed low in greeting, and hastened to wrench open the cell door.
A piercing screech of rusted hinges split the air. The stench that followed was worse—the thick, cloying reek of old blood and fresh agony.
"Master Zeke. How are we progressing?" Calix asked, not even glancing at the figures hanging from the wall. They looked less like living men and more like slabs of meat—broken, bloodied, barely recognizable as human.
"These ones turned out tougher than I expected." Zeke's voice carried a note of grudging respect. "Still holding on."
He considered the prisoners for a moment, then suggested darkly: "Perhaps we should just use the Veraxium? Make this easier on everyone."
"No." Calix's response was immediate. "There's no need for that."
He had avoided the truth serum intentionally from the start. He *wanted* these men to suffer—wanted to inflict as much agony as possible before granting them the mercy of confession. But more importantly, he suspected the potion would be useless in this case.
"They still won't talk," Calix said finally, turning his attention to the captives. His crimson eyes burned in the torchlight. "Because Adele's killer was the Emperor himself. Isn't that right?"
One of the shackled bodies convulsed at his words.
Zeke's eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. "Ah. *That's* what felt strange about this whole mess. I kept wondering—these men have nothing left to lose. Why the stubborn silence? Why refuse to speak even now?" A cold smile twisted his lips. "So there's a reason they *can't* talk."
He picked up a heated iron skewer and approached Philippe. Seizing a fistful of matted hair, he wrenched the man's head upward, revealing a face slick with sweat and crusted blood.
"You're *forbidden* to speak of this, aren't you?"
With deliberate cruelty, Zeke twisted Philippe's shackled wrist until the flesh turned white with pressure.
There—clearly visible on the exposed skin—was the **Emperor's Brand of Obedience**.
It was a mark that manifested whenever a victim attempted to say or do anything against their master's will. Normally invisible, completely undetectable—but when activated, the spell seized total control of the bearer's mind and body.
Zeke twisted harder, studying the sigil with clinical interest.
"An owner's mark." His voice dripped with disgust. "That changes everything. I doubt we'll extract a single useful word from either of them."
"It doesn't matter," Calix said.
He stepped forward, his footsteps thundering through the semi-darkness. His shadow danced menacingly across the rough-hewn walls, stretched and distorted by the flickering torches—the only light in this place of nightmares.
He stopped before the bound men and examined the mark on Philippe's wrist with cold indifference. Calix had seen the Emperor's dogs before, had witnessed their interrogations. But this was the first time he had studied the brand so closely.
Finally, he tore his gaze away from Philippe's arm. In his own hand, he held a small round button—the one Asella had hurled at his feet. He studied the engraving etched into its surface.
"Have you ever seen this?"
He extended his palm toward Philippe.
The prisoner's eyes flew wide with recognition. The design on the button was identical to the mark burned into his own flesh.
Calix's voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
"You slipped this to Asella. Didn't you?"
Philippe's ruined body convulsed. He began thrashing like a man struck by lightning—limbs jerking, spine arching against his chains. Despite being driven half-mad by endless torture, he shook his head with desperate, possessed fervor. Unintelligible sounds escaped from beneath the gag stuffed into his mouth—the one placed there to prevent him from biting off his own tongue.
"My lord! Look at this!" Zeke pointed urgently at the twisted wrist.
Every time Philippe moaned into his gag, the brand on his skin darkened—becoming more vivid, more pronounced, pulsing with malevolent power.
"A behavioral control spell," Zeke concluded grimly. "It manipulates his responses. Forces him to give answers that contradict the truth. He literally *cannot* confess, even if he wanted to."
Calix's jaw tightened. He thought of everything Asella had told him—her terror, her accusations, the absolute certainty in her voice when she'd screamed that he had murdered her mother.
"What did you do to her?" His voice was barely controlled. "Was it brainwashing magic? Or did you pump her full of some alchemical poison to manipulate her memories?"
There was no answer.
Philippe's body seized violently—once, twice—then went utterly limp. Unconscious.
"**Damn it.**" Calix's curse echoed through the dungeon. "This won't be easy."
He had so many questions. And every single one led back to Asella.
*Who killed Adele, and why?*
*How does Asella know secrets about Karma that even the Emperor himself doesn't possess?*
*And where has she hidden Mariel Loctrin?*
But the question that burned brightest—the one that haunted him—
*What makes you think I'm going to kill you and your sister?*
Calix gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. His knuckles, clenched into white-knuckled fists, trembled with barely contained fury. Blue veins bulged beneath his skin.
"Your Highness, matters become... *complicated* when the Emperor himself is involved." Raizen's voice was cautious, measured—the tone of a man delivering unwelcome truth. He followed his master like a shadow. "By now, everyone connected to this affair has almost certainly been eliminated. All traces erased. This happened seven years ago. It's unlikely any evidence remains."
"**Find everything you can.**" Calix's command left no room for argument. "Everything connected to Adele's death. I don't care how insignificant it seems. Use any means necessary."
*Who carried out the contract on Adele? The Emperor was clearly the instigator—but who held the blade?*
*And what did they do to Asella? The only living witness to her mother's murder?*
The method, at least, was becoming clear. Someone had altered Asella's memories. Made her believe, with absolute conviction, that her own husband—Calix Benvito—was the killer.
"One more thing." His voice hardened further. "Find me a priest imbued with powerful divine essence. Or a wizard of exceptional magical ability."
At minimum, they needed to discover who had tampered with Asella's mind. And if it was Fernando himself... then there was every chance the magic involved was extraordinarily advanced. Perhaps the same caliber he used to achieve complete dominion over his obedient dogs.
"Contact the Master of the Magic Tower and the Temple. Tell them Calix Benvito wishes to meet."
Raizen hesitated. "They are... not known for their willingness to engage. And the identity of the Tower's Master remains unknown."
"Agree to any conditions. Do everything possible. I *need* this meeting."
"But, Your Highness... what if they still refuse?"
The air in the dungeon grew impossibly heavy. Calix's crimson eyes ignited with an eerie, malevolent light—as if the shadows themselves recoiled from his gaze.
"If they refuse?" His voice was soft now. Terrifyingly soft. "Then they will learn the full meaning of what it means to be Calix Benvito's enemy."
Zeke swallowed audibly. His mouth opened, then closed without producing sound.
In the ominous silence that followed, only Raizen's voice remained steady—almost casual, as though discussing the weather.
"Any further instructions, Your Highness?"
Calix went still.
An image surfaced unbidden in his mind: a weeping woman, hatred blazing in her tear-filled eyes, hurling an ill-fated medallion at his feet.
"Find Mariel Loctrin." His eyes flashed with renewed darkness. "Search everything. Wherever her magical trace was last detected—scrutinize every detail. We cannot afford to lose her."
He squeezed the button in his fist until it cracked beneath the pressure.
*Asella...*
To keep this woman in his grasp, he needed only one thing.
He needed to find Mariel Loctrin.
---
## — Vigil —
Calix lowered his head and pressed his ear to Asella's chest.
Only after he was certain her heart beat steadily—*thump, thump, thump*—did he lift her gently and carry her to the bed.
He hadn't been fast enough to intercept her hand. The glass shard had already torn through her flesh when his magic surged forth and reduced it to glittering dust. But the damage was done. And Asella—stunned by the explosion of power, or perhaps by her own despair—had collapsed. He'd barely managed to catch her unconscious body before she struck the floor.
Without waiting for the physician, he treated her wounds himself.
What he discovered made his chest constrict with something perilously close to anguish.
Not a single inch of her body had been spared.
Her arms and legs were latticed with scratches—dozens of them—and punctured by thorns from the savage bushes she'd fought through during her flight through the mountains. The cut on her palm, where she had gripped the shard, was so deep that Calix couldn't stop the bleeding for what felt like an eternity. Her feet were bruised and torn from the glass she'd stepped through without even noticing.
When the physician finally arrived, Calix refused to leave. He personally supervised every moment of the treatment, watching with hawklike intensity as the doctor worked. Thanks to precious magical remedies—salves and tinctures worth more than most men earned in a lifetime—her wounds closed quickly, healing without leaving marks on her smooth, delicate skin.
But even now, hours later, she remained unconscious.
Calix's gaze drifted over the newly healed skin of her hands—soft, unblemished, as if the injuries had never existed. Then his eyes traveled to her face.
Still bloodless. Still deathly pale.
He stared at that face for a long, silent moment.
*His wife. Asella Benvito.*
A woman who had tried to deceive him. Who had pretended to accept her life beside him while secretly, meticulously preparing to escape. A woman whose face made it utterly impossible to guess what she was thinking—or what she truly wanted.
*"I have feelings too! I have a heart!"*
Her words echoed in his memory.
She had shamed him.
For Calix, no one had ever been particularly important. He kept useful people close; he discarded them when their usefulness ended. A man indifferent even to himself could hardly be expected to concern himself with the feelings of others.
He had never considered other people's emotions.
There had never been any need.
But this woman...
She refused to leave his mind. No—she had done more than that. She had gotten *closer*. Burrowed beneath defenses he hadn't known existed.
*"You bought me like a thing. And ordered me to live like a doll—an instrument for producing your heirs."*
A sudden, unfamiliar pain lanced through his chest. His face contorted with an emotion he couldn't name—something raw, something devastating.
*"Isn't it enough for you to kill me and my mother?"*
Those words had shocked him to his core. But they had also answered questions that had tormented him since the day they met.
*Why did she try to avoid me?*
*Why did she cower in terror whenever I appeared?*
*Why did she apologize endlessly for things she had never done wrong?*
Now he understood.
But understanding brought no relief.
Because the moment she regained consciousness, she had tried to harm herself again.
Three more times.
The glass shard had been only the beginning. She'd clawed at her own bandages. Torn at the healing wounds. And the last time—the *last* time—he'd barely managed to seize her as she tried to throw herself from the window.
Another desperate escape.
From him.
From the man who had so desperately wanted to be a good husband to her.
Calix sat beside the bed, watching her shallow breaths, listening to the fragile rhythm of her heart.
Slowly, wearily, he closed his eyes.
---