Chapter 617 – Who Is Responsible?

“My lady, it’s time for bed.”

“Bwed? Nwo… I stwill…”

Before she could finish, the elven lady’s head sank gently against her son’s chest. Arthur carried her upstairs after a long day spent talking. When evening came, they shared wine together and this was the result.

“Mother could never hold her wine. Some things never change.”

After smiling he adjusted her weight carefully and made sure not to wake her. The scent of moon blossoms lingered in her hair, just as he remembered from his childhood. Her breathing was calm, her face peaceful despite the faint shadows of exhaustion beneath her blindfold.

Arthur held her close as he ascended the stairs, one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. She muttered something in her sleep, her hand still clutching the hem of his shirt as though afraid he might vanish. The hallways of the villa were silent except for the soft echo of his footsteps. Moonlight streamed through the windows, painting the floor with silver. Even if the world outside was an illusion, it looked breathtakingly real.

He pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder. The room appeared exactly as he remembered it. Blue drapes framed the windows, silver embroidery trimmed the bed, and candlelight glowed softly across a table scattered with threads and teacups. He laid her down gently, adjusting the pillows until she rested comfortably.

“Sleep well, Mother.”

He whispered while pulling the bed sheet over her. The sight roused old memories. This was not the first home they had shared, nor was it the second. They had moved often, driven out by danger and constant attempts on their lives. It was no surprise that someone had tried to harm his mother while he was away, though the last attack had been promised to be the final one.

‘Lying bastard.’

The thought burned in his mind. He had trusted his father to protect her. He had left believing that, with his absence, those in the palace would forget about them. He was wrong. The attempt had come from within, of that he was sure. It must have been one of his brothers’ mothers, each of them envious of her beauty and grace.

Once certain she was resting, Arthur stepped quietly into the hallway. The villa was still, bathed in the glow of candlelight that shimmered against the walls. Sylmira waited near the stairway, her expression grim. She knew what he wanted.

“Sylmira, tell me. How did this happen? It was one of those harpies, wasn’t it?”

His voice trembled with anger, his mind filled with the faces of four women. He could not be sure which one was responsible, but he was determined to find out. Sylmira lowered her eyes and clasped her hands tightly before her apron. For a moment, she said nothing. Only the faint crackle of the candles filled the silence between them. Then she drew in a breath and began to speak.

“It was about a year ago, several years after you left. At first, things were peaceful. The Duke’s orders were strict. No one from the main household was allowed to approach us directly. All food and supplies came through the usual channels, checked by the clerics before entering the villa through the teleportation gate.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed when the maid mentioned the timeline. His mother had been blind for an entire year, and he had known nothing about it. Even if he had known, there would have been nothing he could have done. He had been powerless. Though he blamed himself for that, his rage began to turn toward someone else.

“And yet someone or something slipped through?”

“Regrettably, someone tampered with the lady’s favorite tea leaves.”

“Her favorite tea leaves?”

Sylmira nodded slowly and continued.

“Yes. It happened on one of the usual supply days. The crates arrived as they always did, sealed and blessed by the clerics before we received them. Nothing seemed unusual. There were no signs of foul play. The lady asked for her favorite brew…”

Her voice faltered. She did not want to say what happened next, but she forced herself to go on.

“The lady was bedridden for days. The clerics rushed in to care for her, and although her life was saved, her eyes could not be restored. It was some kind of side effect from the poison.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he listened.

“What happened to the servants who checked the crates?”

“To my knowledge, they were all apprehended and executed.”

“I see.”

Arthur remained silent, lost in thought. It was clear to him that someone from outside had been responsible. The women who lived with his mother were like family. They had served her since his birth, and if they had wanted her dead, they would have acted long ago. That left the servants from beyond the household. They were people who could have been bribed, blackmailed, controlled by magic, or connected to the cultists.

‘Could it have been Ivan’s wife or his mother?’

After the recent incident, they seemed the most suspicious, yet he could not dismiss the other three ladies. His mother had always been an inconvenience to them. She had no family background or noble blood. They never accepted her, and with only a few loyal maids by her side, she had no one to defend her. She had been a target for as long as he could remember, and the Duke’s only form of help had been to confine her, keeping her hidden from harm.

“Why didn’t the Duke restore my mother’s eyesight? With his resources, he should have been able to ask the church for help.”

Arthur knew that certain ailments could be cured through the power of tier-four clerics, who were on the same level as his father. If the Duke had truly wanted to heal her, he could have made a deal with the church. Yet he had not.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe it was impossible?”

Sylmira didn’t seem very knowledgeable about the situation, and that was not surprising. She was only a maid who could ask the guards bringing in supplies for information. Just like his mother, she was confined to this place. Everything was monitored from the outside, yet even with that, his mother had suffered what seemed to be irreparable damage to her eyesight.

“Nothing is impossible…”

Arthur muttered to himself as he turned around and walked down the stairs. Several theories were already forming in his mind. The most obvious was the Duke’s indifference, either because he refused to negotiate with the church or simply did not care. Another possibility was that he wanted to avoid angering his other wives and being accused of favoritism. Tier four clerics were expensive, and given his high status, the church would likely demand more than just gold in return.

For the time being, he excused himself and went to his old room. This villa had been the last one he stayed in, yet it still filled him with a deep sense of nostalgia. Once inside, he sat near the window and looked outside. It was quite a sight. The moon flowers on the lake began to glow as the false moonlight touched them, and in the distance, he could see a small shrine dedicated to the twin deities of the moon, Lunaris and Lunaria.

“Could the moon elf clerics help Mother?”

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Now that he understood the situation, his thoughts began to race. If his father refused to help, then it was up to him. There were a few options before him, one of which was still the path toward the Dukedom. If he managed to defeat his brothers, making a deal with a church might still be possible. Another option was to seek help elsewhere, though that path seemed daunting since his father would never allow his mother to be freed.

As he pondered, an image came to his mind: an armored man who always seemed to have the right answers.

“Could he do it?”

Arthur remembered a group of injured knights, all of whom had lost limbs that were later replaced through mechanical means. The idea of his mother undergoing such procedures, however, filled him with dread. He wanted her to be free of pain, not endure more of it. The knights had already lost their limbs, but his mother had not, and he doubted whether such a transformation could even restore her senses. Repairing movement was one thing, but restoring sight or hearing was something else entirely.

Within the confines of his old room, he sat alone. The moonlight fell softly across his face, yet he barely noticed it. His thoughts moved in restless circles, caught between anger and guilt. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother smiling, her hands trembling as they reached out to feel his face. He thought of his father’s broken promise, the lack of information that had followed the attack, and the long year his mother had endured in isolation.

*CRUNCH*

The sharp sound of breaking glass snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked down at the wine glass in his hand. It was shattered, and dark red wine spilled across the floor. His hand was uninjured, his tier-three body far too resilient to be harmed by ordinary glass.

“I should clean this up and go to sleep. Mother will worry.”

Arthur gathered the broken shards one by one, careful not to leave even a sliver behind. He sighed quietly and fetched a cloth from a nearby basin, dabbing at the spot until the stain began to fade. He could have called the maids, but he knew they would only worry. It was not the first time he had done something like this. As a child, he often hid the injuries he got from climbing trees and running around the villa.

When the floor was clean, he tossed the cloth aside and sank into the chair again. The villa was silent. Only the whisper of wind through the chimes outside filled the room. His thoughts drifted toward his mother upstairs, and his eyes grew heavy.

“Tomorrow I’ll make her smile again, at least for the short time I’m here. But then…”