Chapter 155: Vengeance for the Ambush
“I sold them to the nobles who wanted them!” Brandon blurted out.
“Who, exactly?” Damian pressed, his voice sharp.
Brandon clamped his lips shut, hesitating. Admitting this aloud felt like sealing his own fate. If he named names, wouldn’t that cut off every possible escape route? His face betrayed his inner turmoil, a storm of doubt and fear.
Noticing his hesitation, Damian decided to nudge him along. He infused his blade with a faint aura, the cold steel glinting as it grazed Brandon’s skin. The sharp pulse of energy sent a jolt through Brandon’s body, paralyzing him momentarily. His face drained of color, and he gasped, “Hrk! I-It was Marquis Grant and Duke Vandemir!”
“…Duke Vandemir?” Damian’s brow furrowed, one eyebrow arching in surprise. Marquis Grant was no shock—he’d suspected as much—but Duke Vandemir’s involvement was unexpected. The assassination attempt in the western territories had been pinned on Frederick, so Damian had assumed no connection to the duke’s family.
“Why would those two want black magic bombs?” he demanded.
“I-I don’t know! It’s not our practice to ask what they’re used for. We just sell them,” Brandon stammered, his voice trembling.
“Where are the contract and the ledger?” Damian’s tone was unyielding.
“That’s… I can’t just…” Brandon trailed off, his words faltering. Handing over the contract and ledger would ruin him. He’d never work in trade again—betraying client trust was a death sentence in his world.
Damian’s expression turned scornful. He tapped the flat of his blade against Brandon’s cheek, the gesture both casual and menacing. “What, planning to take them to your grave? Think that’ll make your trip to the afterlife more comfortable?”
“Sob… I’m already a dead man just for giving you their names! Please, show me a shred of mercy!” Brandon pleaded, his eyes brimming with tears as he rubbed his hands together in desperation.
Damian sheathed his sword and gripped Brandon’s shoulder tightly, his voice low and deliberate. “The only mercy I’ll offer is this: hand over the contract and ledger, and I won’t touch your fortune. You can use it to disappear before you meet your end.”
Whether Brandon fled to another kingdom or hid in some remote mountain didn’t matter to Damian. He only cared about getting what he needed—nothing more, nothing less.
Brandon’s shoulders flinched upward, his mind racing. For a long moment, he said nothing, his face a mask of frantic calculation. Finally, his lips parted. “You… you really won’t touch my wealth?”
“I won’t,” Damian replied coolly. “Except for the compensation owed to the slaves you illegally trafficked.”
Brandon’s mind churned again, weighing the offer. It wasn’t a bad deal. Whatever he’d have to pay the slaves, he’d still salvage at least half his fortune. With that, he could slip away to a foreign land, assume a new identity, and survive. Truth be told, the moment the slave auction was busted, I was as good as dead, he thought grimly. The high-ranking clients who’d done dirty deals through his Dome Trading Company would want him silenced to protect their secrets. Rather than play a losing game of survival against a host of enemies, striking a deal with Damian here and now seemed the better bet.
“The contract and ledger are in my office safe,” Brandon said at last. “The combination is 4885.”
Damian flicked his eyes toward Isaac, who nodded and swiftly knocked out one of Brandon’s lackeys with a sharp blow to the back of the neck before heading off to retrieve the documents.
Brandon’s eyes darted nervously, and he ventured cautiously, “I’ve told you everything. Can I go now?”
“No,” Damian said flatly.
“W-Why not? You said you’d let me go!” Brandon’s voice cracked with panic.
Damian snorted, his expression one of incredulous amusement as he looked down at the trembling man. “I said I wouldn’t touch your money. I never said I’d let you walk.”
“Oh…” Brandon’s voice was barely a whisper, his face a picture of stunned betrayal.
“Use that overflowing wealth of yours to break out of prison,” Damian said with a smirk.
Brandon screamed internally, feeling half-cheated, but Damian’s iron grip on his shoulder kept him pinned in place. The memory of the depraved slave auction fueled Damian’s resolve—he wanted Brandon behind bars, at least for a while.
The illegal slave auction’s participants and ringleaders were all rounded up and imprisoned. Those unjustly captured were compensated and set free. Once the situation was mostly resolved, Isaac returned with the contract and ledger from the Dome Trading Company.
Damian sat down calmly, poring over the documents with meticulous care. As he read, a realization hit him: Brandon’s name had seemed familiar for a reason. Over the past five years, the Dome Trading Company had frequently done business with the ducal estate. Damian vaguely recalled seeing Brandon’s name while investigating the duke’s affairs some time ago.
Now, as he reviewed Duke Vandemir’s transaction history, his expression darkened. For the past two years, they’ve been buying mostly weapons. Were they meant for me? Up until recently, the duke’s dealings had centered on money laundering and smuggling, but the sharp increase in arms purchases stood out. Damian tapped the armrest of the sofa, lost in thought. The idea that these weapons were amassed to kill him felt… off. He hadn’t been attacked with the kinds of weapons listed in the ledger—not often, at least.
A nagging unease settled in his gut as he turned to Marquis Grant’s transaction records. By some twist of fate—or perhaps not—the marquis had also been heavily trading in weapons. Is this really just a coincidence? The fact that both Duke Vandemir and Marquis Grant had been dealing extensively with the same trading company raised red flags. Typically, noble houses of their stature took pains to avoid overlapping dealings to prevent any awkward entanglements.
This needs closer scrutiny, Damian decided. Until he could uncover why both houses were so deeply involved in arms trading, it was best to keep this information under wraps. He carefully sealed all the documents—except for Marquis Grant’s contract for the black magic bombs—and hid them in a secure location. After all, it was only fair to repay what he’d been given.
With the marquis’s contract in hand—a damning piece of evidence in the assassination attempt—Damian sought out someone specific: Lucas.
“My favorite friend graces me with his handsome face first thing. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucas greeted him with his usual boisterous smile, his warmth filling the room. After ensuring no one was eavesdropping, Damian spoke.
“Your Highness, are you aware of the assassination attempt on me during the western beast subjugation?”
“Of course I am!” Lucas exclaimed, his face clouding with indignation as he clenched his fist. “Whoever did it, once I get my hands on them, I’ll make them regret it.”
Damian met Lucas’s fiery gaze steadily. “It was Marquis Grant.”
“…What?” Lucas’s eyes widened in shock. The idea that the crown prince’s own uncle would try to kill Damian was unthinkable. His expression grew grave.
“I have proof that the marquis purchased the black magic bomb used in the attempt,” Damian said, his voice calm but resolute. “I intend to use this to bring him to justice.”
“…Vandemir, are you serious?” Lucas asked, his tone heavy with disbelief.
“Yes.”
The unwavering response made Lucas let out a low groan, rubbing his face as if trying to scrub away the weight of the moment. Crossing Marquis Grant would surely provoke Frederick, who wouldn’t sit idly by. And it wasn’t just Frederick—there was a good chance the Empress herself would step in. After all, Marquis Grant was her kin.
A jumble of thoughts clamored in Lucas’s mind, but he wrestled them into order and spoke in a hushed tone. “I know you’re furious about this. Who wouldn’t be, with their life on the line? But revenge demands caution, Damian.”
“Those who do nothing are doomed to lose,” Damian replied evenly. “And this isn’t revenge—it’s defense for survival.”
“What kind of defense is this aggressive?” Lucas countered, his voice tinged with exasperation.
“The best defense is offense, Your Highness.”
Damian’s calm retort carried a quiet conviction. He understood Lucas’s concern—stirring up the Crown Prince’s faction could ignite a firestorm. But sitting back and surrendering didn’t guarantee safety either. Frederick’s resentment toward Damian had sparked long ago, fueled by jealousy and bitterness over losing Aracila. Their relationship had soured beyond even friendship, and that grudge had only deepened.
Sure, things might quiet down after Damian’s divorce from Aracila, but he had no intention of resolving matters that way. Who knew what Frederick might do to her next? Damian refused to take the coward’s way out, seeking comfort for himself while leaving her vulnerable. For Aracila’s sake, he needed to confront Frederick head-on, send a clear warning that he wasn’t to be trifled with. And beyond that, Damian was ready to dive into the royal family’s power struggles if need be.
That was why he’d come to Lucas today. He pressed on, his voice steady. “I want Your Highness to lend me your support.”
“What do you mean?” Lucas asked, his tone cautious.
“I want to be your ally. Would you consider forming an alliance with me?”
Lucas’s face hardened. He’d heard similar proposals before, mostly from those who wanted him to outmaneuver Frederick and aim for the throne. But Lucas had no desire to make his life harder by clashing with the Empress and her son. Even if they were the ones who’d kept him abroad for years, he didn’t want to carry any more grudges than he already did. His diplomatic achievements had already made him a thorn in their side—he just wanted to resolve things peacefully. If he kept his head down, the Empress and Frederick might leave him alone. He knew what his mother and allies wanted, but his resolve was firm.
“I’m sorry, Lord Vandemir,” Lucas said, his voice sincere as he apologized. “I have no intention of fighting anyone.”
Damian shook his head, dismissing the need for an apology. “If that’s Your Highness’s stance, I understand.”
His response was straightforward. He’d only wanted to offer his support if Lucas had ambitions for the throne. Forcing or pressuring him down an unwanted path wasn’t part of the plan.
“Then I’ll take my leave,” Damian said. “If you could forget this conversation, I’d be deeply grateful as a friend.”
Lucas chuckled lightly, his tone playful. “When you put it like that, I’ve got no choice but to come down with a bout of short-term memory loss as a friend.” His expression sobered as he added, “This time, I can’t help you, so please—move carefully.”
“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Damian replied with a smooth smile, bowing respectfully before turning to leave.
Lucas watched his confident, resolute figure retreat, a tangle of emotions stirring in his chest.
Damian Vandemir formally accused Marquis Grant of attempted assassination and the use of black magic. Without Lucas’s support, he leaned on every connection he had to push the case to the royal court. When evidence surfaced that the black magic bomb used by Ken had been purchased by Marquis Grant, the royal family was thrown into chaos.
That the Crown Prince’s uncle had not only tried to kill a valued Sword Master but had also dabbled in black magic—a grave crime—was unthinkable. The Emperor, livid at the disgrace to the royal family’s honor and the attempt to eliminate a national asset, roared, “Throw the Marquis in prison immediately and turn the Grant estate upside down!”
The only reason the Marquis was imprisoned with his limbs intact was because his sister, the Empress, pleaded tearfully with the Emperor. The Grant estate was torn apart, and though the Marquis denied all charges, he couldn’t escape being stripped of his titles in both the noble and royal councils.
The news spread like wildfire, soon reaching Frederick’s ears.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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