Chapter 69

"Is that so?" Richard's expression remained cold as he looked at the thief, his voice a quiet challenge. "Actually, I already know everything I needed to know. If before it was only a vague guess, after seeing your reaction just now, I'm now certain who sent you to kill."

He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing with an eerie calm. "It's simple really. Even if you don't understand genetics, you must know that a son resembles his father, and brothers resemble each other. So, who could be like me? Besides the person you tried to assassinate earlier—my dear father, Baron Leo—I can think of only one other person who fits: my brother, Edward Angrel, who's been absent from the family for years, never coming home."

The thief's eyes went wide, his body frozen, unable to speak, his mind overwhelmed with dread.

Richard stepped closer, his voice a whisper, "I must thank you for that. Honestly, I must… thank you."

Without further hesitation, Richard plunged the small scalpel into the thief's chest, the blade piercing his heart with surgical precision. He twisted it slightly, and then slowly withdrew it, allowing the thief's life to drain away.

The thief's body slumped, and blood pooled from the wound in his chest. His face contorted in agony as he looked downward into the endless void of darkness, his last breath leaving his body in a final, shuddering gasp.

Tuku, who had been silently observing from the corner, watched the thief die. Once Richard had turned and left, Tuku exhaled heavily, as though releasing the tension and unease that had built up inside him. Even a man as ruthless as he was felt a chill at the sight of Richard's emotionless killing.

To Tuku, murder was a thrill, a twisted pleasure. He understood this about himself and embraced it. But Richard was different. Richard didn't kill for pleasure. For him, murder was merely a tool, a means to an end. It was as natural and necessary as wiping one's mouth after a meal—simple, inevitable, and detached.

Tuku had always felt that Richard didn't view people as living, breathing individuals, but rather as cold, impersonal numbers, or as pieces on a chessboard. To Richard, life seemed more like a game than anything real. He had no emotional connection to the people he killed, save for one.

Tuku let out another sigh, his expression relaxing slightly as he turned toward the two soldiers still standing nearby, still in a stupor. "Hey, stop staring! Take the body down and bury it."

"Ah... yes, sir." The soldiers snapped out of their trance, running over to the post to remove the corpse.

Tuku, meanwhile, turned and left the dungeon.

…

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly through the side tower, though they were carefully muted, yet still loud enough to disturb Lucy, the young maid, who had just drifted off to sleep.

Lucy's small cot was situated just outside Richard's chamber, in a tiny room she had personally decorated. She had been woken earlier to help treat the baron's wounds, and after returning, she had quickly fallen asleep again. But now, hearing the sound of footsteps, her eyes shot open, startled.

She rubbed her eyes sleepily and, barefoot, padded across the soft carpet to peek through the doorframe. She caught a glimpse of Richard, heading up the stairs.

"Master, what's going on? Why aren't you sleeping? It's so late! I'm so tired... Achoo!"

Richard looked down at her with a brief smile, ruffling her hair lightly. "Nothing to worry about. Just taking care of some small matters. You go back to sleep."

"Okay then..." Lucy yawned, barely keeping her eyes open. She returned to her little room, collapsed onto her bed with a soft thud, and was fast asleep within moments.

Richard shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible smirk on his face as he turned toward the stairs and ascended to the laboratory on the top floor.

In the laboratory, the potions he had prepared earlier had cooled to the right temperature, ready to be administered.

Without wasting any time, Richard took the vial and left the room, heading toward the baron's quarters. As he carefully administered the potion to the baron, his mind was consumed with a troubling thought.

Why had his beloved brother, Edward, gone so far as to have someone attempt to assassinate the baron?

It was one thing if Edward wanted to kill Richard himself, as Richard's existence posed a potential threat to his inheritance. But the baron? What possible motive could there be to kill him? Even if the assassination succeeded, it wouldn't significantly help Edward's cause—on the contrary, it would only complicate matters.

After all, Edward had been absent from the territory for over a decade, and most of the people didn't even know of his existence. The soldiers didn't recognize him, either. Once the baron was dead, Richard would naturally inherit the title, leaving Edward with nothing. In fact, if anything, Edward was inadvertently helping Richard by orchestrating this. But could that really be the case?

Or... was there something more to this? What if Edward was playing a deeper game, one of manipulation? Perhaps he intended to let Richard inherit the title first, only to later frame him for the assassination, thus turning the tide and reclaiming the title for himself. But was Edward cunning enough to devise such a plan? Or was he being directed by someone else—someone more powerful?

Moreover, when the baron had been questioned earlier, he'd reacted oddly, as though he had expected this assassination attempt. Did the baron know it was Edward who had orchestrated it? Or was there something even more complicated at play?

Richard mulled over these possibilities, but as he thought more, he realized that with the limited information at his disposal, he could speculate endlessly. The truth was like a tangled mess of strings—there were too many threads to pull at, and every one led to more confusion. It could take days, perhaps even weeks, to untangle the whole story. But the truth was that Richard didn't have the luxury of time to waste on such complicated puzzles.

Time was precious, and he had other goals to pursue.

Richard's thoughts crystallized, and he came to a decision. The best way to handle this was perhaps to simply... ignore it.

With his mind made up, Richard administered the potion to the baron, offering a few brief words of reassurance, before turning and walking out of the room without revealing anything about the thief's confession.

The footsteps echoed as Richard descended the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

…

In the days that followed, life at the castle fell back into a strange, controlled calm under Richard's watch. With the baron out of commission, a mountain of responsibilities had fallen onto Richard's shoulders. He found himself spending nearly two hours a day managing the affairs of the estate, dealing with the mountain of paperwork, before returning to his true passion: magical research and experiments.

By the time evening came, he'd tend to the baron once more, giving him the necessary treatment, and ensure that the routines of the day continued without disruption.

Though there were now more tasks added to his schedule—managing the estate and tending to the baron's health—Richard handled them with ease, his mind constantly turning over the many potential scenarios, but always keeping his eyes firmly on the future.