Chapter 613 – Reward And Punishment.

The horizon burned gold and crimson as the first rays of the sun spilled across the rooftops of the battered palace. Roland sat by the window with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He watched the light creep into their room and slowly brighten it. Arthur sat beside him, slouched in his own chair, his face still stained with cultist blood. Neither of them had slept while they waited.

“Looks almost peaceful.”

Arthur murmured as he watched soldiers running outside.

“You would never guess what happened here.”

Roland adjusted his helmet and kept his eyes on the display. Small dots moved across the palace grounds while one large patch of static lingered in a particular location. The presence of a tier four class holder still interfered with his sensors.

“I am sure Mary will be furious with me. I hope she is doing fine.”

Arthur said again, his voice trailing away.

Roland leaned out the window as he answered.

“I am sure she is safe. Gareth and Morien are with her as well. It is only a matter of time before they call us for an explanation. Once that is over, I am sure we will be free to return to Albrook.”

“Mhm. I hope so.”

The two men remained in place, waiting to be released. Two guards stood outside the chamber, though the watch was not especially strict. No one believed they would be foolish enough to attempt an escape when soldiers filled the grounds. Even if they slipped past the sentries, the Duke and the Grand Knight Commander would end their flight with ease.

Roland had gathered a wealth of data from the confrontation, material that would serve him well in the future. For now, though, the only thought in his mind was surviving this ordeal and returning to Albrook. The Duke struck him as a strange man, either careless enough to risk his sons’ lives or so confident in his own power that he believed they could never be harmed. His strength was undoubtedly formidable, yet even he had been unable to break through the massive shield that protected the palace.

Their stay here had been short, yet he already felt he had seen enough of this place to last a lifetime. Roland only wished to retreat into his workshop and vanish from the gaze of others, but he knew that such a thing was no longer possible. In this battle, he had revealed far too much and displayed abilities that no ordinary tier three class holder of his level should have possessed. He was almost certain that his true name would soon be uncovered, if it had not already been.

‘Is this it? What will the Duke do with me?’

That question weighed on him more than any other. Would the Duke compel him to return to the central kingdom and confront his father, or would he consider him a royalist spy? Roland’s choices had been far from logical for a man of noble blood, and the most natural conclusion was espionage. If he were judged guilty of such treachery, the consequences would be severe.

As he wrestled with these thoughts, a knock interrupted his brooding. A knight in polished yet dust-streaked armor stepped inside. He pushed the doors apart and performed a casual bow.

“Lord Arthur, Sir Wayland. His Grace summons you both to the great hall. The rest of the young lords are already assembled. Please follow me.”

Both Roland and Arthur looked at each other and stood up from their chairs. The knight’s boots rang against the stone floor as he led them through the corridors. The palace smelled faintly of smoke and charred wood, mingling with a hint of iron from blood that had not yet been scrubbed clean. Servants moved quietly, avoiding eye contact, and the guards they passed kept their visors low. It was as though the entire household held its breath as they awaited the Duke’s judgment.

Arthur straightened his back as they walked, though the weight of exhaustion clung to him. He cast a glance at Roland, who carried himself with calm composure. Although Roland wished to keep his helmet on, he removed it, since wearing it in the presence of the Duke was discouraged and its functions offered no real advantage here.

His mask was gone as well, leaving him exposed with his face revealed to all. For the moment, no one seemed to recognize him as a member of the Arden estate. His father was still only a Baron and usually kept himself hidden beneath heavy armor that covered his entire body, so perhaps Roland’s identity would remain safe.

They entered the great hall that had previously been hidden from them. The large doors and walls still bore claw marks, but some workers were already restoring them to their former state. Once inside, the first thing Roland noticed was the throne on the opposite end. Upon it, Duke Alexander Valerian sat with a flawless posture, his presence commanding the room.

To his right stood the Grand Knight Commander, the man they had seen the day before, who had never drawn his sword in battle. To his left was someone new, an older man who appeared to be his chief aide. He whispered into the Duke’s ear while holding a stack of papers, perhaps sharing information about Arthur and Roland, who were just arriving.

The rest of the hall was spacious. The banners of House Valerian hung along the sides since this part of the castle had been untouched by the nightly attack. The five sons of Alexander Valerian stood before the throne, each with guards at their sides. Arthur and Roland were led to the end of the line. The atmosphere was tense, filled with restrained whispers from nobles who had been summoned to witness the inquiry.

Some nobles stood along the sides while others, who seemed to hold a higher rank, occupied booths on the second floor. A clear difference in treatment was evident, and Roland quickly noticed it. Those standing below appeared to be the same nobles who had been present during the initial gathering, while those seated above were entirely different. It seemed they had known about the Duke’s plan and had been kept safely away from the area under attack.

‘Was that how he planned it? He pretended to lower his guard and let the cultists into his home… Quite ruthless…’

The longer Roland remained in this hall, the lower his opinion of the Duke became. The man appeared shrewd and indifferent even toward his closest kin. Perhaps there were other illegitimate children like Arthur scattered elsewhere, which would explain why the Duke did not truly fear for the survival of his five legitimate heirs. Someone would always remain to carry on the line. It seemed that as long as he believed his core of power was unshaken, he was willing to risk the lives of others.

This thought made Roland recall his tier three ascension trial. At that time, he too had needed to become ruthless, form alliances, and at times sacrifice some of his forces in order to gain an advantage. That was one of the main reasons he had avoided involving himself with nobility, since the ruthlessness they displayed was deeply unsettling. Yet now he found himself in the middle of it all with no way to escape, and with the Duke standing before him to decide his fate.

Alexander Valerian’s gaze swept across his sons, lingering on each with a weight that made even Julius bow his head. His armor was held by the Grand Knight commander and looked pristine as always. Roland could tell that the enchantments placed on it were not simple and were above the tier three grade. When the Duke finally spoke, his voice was level and calm, yet carried a domineering power.

“You did well in surviving the cult’s onslaught. For that, you have my praise… however.”

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The Duke’s words rolled through the great hall, and no one dared to breathe.

“Survival alone is not merit. I will hear of what transpired, and lies will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”

He addressed everyone, and with their heads lowered his sons responded.

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Good.”

“Ivan, stand!”

“Y-yes, your Grace.”

His eyes settled first on Ivan, who stood up, his body trembling despite trying to hold his head up. Guards held him firmly by the arms. Alexander’s stare cut into him like a blade, and it was clear that his fate would be different.

“You, Ivan. You consorted with the witch. You opened the gates of my house to those wretched beings.”

Ivan stammered, his voice breaking.

“Y-your Grace, I was deceived. She had taken the form of my wife. I did not know, please forgive…”

“Silence.”

The Duke’s tone struck like a whip, and Ivan could not continue speaking. Everyone felt it as well, some force that crushed their voices and prevented them from speaking, a power that most likely belonged to the Duke.

“You consorted with a witch. You jeopardized the safety of your kin, your people, and this house. No deception can excuse such weakness. You will answer for this.”

Ivan’s knees buckled, but the guards at his side forced him to remain upright. Murmurs rippled among the nobles standing along the walls, yet no one dared to raise a voice. The Duke leaned back in his chair, his frown deepening.

“You are my blood, but blood does not grant you immunity from punishment. The Valerian name is like adamantium, and adamantium does not break.”

Ivan’s fate was sealed with those words, and the Duke continued.

“From this day forth, your title will be stripped, and your lands will be divided among your brothers and the other nobles.”