Chapter 172: Grandfather and Grandson
“What did you say?”
Howard turned to Aracila with a hardened expression. She met his gaze unflinchingly, her words deliberate and clear.
“I understand that you hate Duke Vandemir and resent the Vandemir family. But to take those feelings out on a child—don’t you think that’s shameful?”
“Don’t speak so recklessly when you know nothing!”
“That’s exactly what I’d like to say to you, my lord. Do you even know how Damian grew up? Do you have any idea why he’s at odds with his family?”
Aracila’s voice trembled faintly at the edges. Who else but Howard could have suffered from Monica’s death?
Yet, while he, a grown man, could at least hold himself together, Damian—a mere child—was left utterly alone in a house where everyone was his enemy, with no one to lean on.
When Howard was drowning in the grief of losing his daughter, Damian couldn’t even afford to grieve.
“In the Vandemir household, they did unspeakable things to young Damian. They abused him countless times, tried to kill him more than once. Even when his mother was alive, he fought his battles alone, and after she passed, he dedicated his entire life to seeking revenge.”
And yet, Howard had treated Damian as if he were one with the Vandemir family, shunning him simply because of the blood in his veins. Because of this, Damian grew up hating the very blood that coursed through him, endlessly doubting and unable to love himself.
This was what enraged Aracila the most. Howard spoke as though he alone had suffered, but she knew the true pain belonged to the abandoned child.
“Did you truly not know any of this, my lord? Or did you know and choose to turn away?”
Her question pierced Howard’s chest like a spear. He could only stare at her in silence, unable to respond.
He had known the atmosphere in the Vandemir household was volatile after his daughter’s death. But he hadn’t wanted to get involved.
He had believed everyone born of that bloodline was guilty.
He couldn’t bear to look at a grandson who didn’t even resemble his beloved daughter.
Deep down, though, Howard knew his actions were wrong. Aracila’s words painfully unearthed the truth he had chosen to ignore.
“The ones who sinned were the adults. Why did you hate that child so much?”
“….”
“Why did you leave young Damian to live alone in that hell? For whose sake?”
Her voice, damp with emotion, quivered between her words. The edges of Aracila’s eyes reddened.
When Damian learned that even his grandfather and his family despised him, how much more must his already scarred heart have ached?
The thought of that young boy, swallowing his pain and sorrow alone because no adult around him offered help, made her heart throb with a sharp, involuntary pang.
“You loathe Duke Vandemir, but to me, both of you are equally selfish and cruel. All you care about are your own feelings, your own heart.”
“What…!”
Howard, stung by the one-sided accusation, opened his mouth to retort but fell silent, lips trembling. He couldn’t deny her words.
“If you were truly an adult, you could have hated the Vandemir family without resenting an innocent child.”
“….”
“Your daughter would surely be heartbroken if she knew of your past actions, my lord. You may make excuses, but in the end, you abandoned both your daughter and your grandson for your own sake.”
Her final words clawed at Howard’s heart, sharp and unrelenting. It felt as though his chest had caved in.
In truth, the reason Monica never returned to his arms wasn’t Damian.
It was Howard himself.
He had felt betrayed when his daughter left with the duke despite his objections, and so he had treated her coldly for a time. That was why Monica had kept her failed marriage to herself, bottling up her pain.
But what if he had respected her wishes from the start? Perhaps then, she wouldn’t have felt so alone, struggling with Damian under the heavens, isolated and abandoned.
Of course, Howard’s opposition had proven right in the end, but it was also true that it had driven Monica into deeper isolation.
“I… I…”
Unable to continue, Howard let his head drop. The realization that he might have hated his innocent grandson to avoid facing his own guilt over his daughter’s death crept over him like a cold ache.
Aracila neither comforted nor condemned him. Instead, she silently opened a box and revealed a jewelry case.
“I’d like to make a deal with you using this.”
“…Monica’s jewelry case.”
Howard, lifting his eyes with a heavy expression, recognized it immediately. Aracila’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.
“How did you know?”
“Of course I know. Her mother and I gave it to her as a gift. That eagle emblem is the symbol of the Lond family.”
Aracila blinked, unaware that Monica had used this jewelry case even before her marriage. That explained why it bore the eagle emblem, despite the Vandemir family’s different crest.
Opening the case to reveal a notebook and a glass vial inside, Aracila continued.
“I heard you cherished your wife deeply but never received any proper keepsakes from her.”
“….”
“I’ll give this to you. In return, help Damian. The Vandemir family is pushing for his execution. Please stand against them.”
Howard’s eyes wavered sharply. When Monica died, the Vandemir family had ruthlessly cut off all contact with the Lond family.
As a result, he hadn’t salvaged a single one of her belongings, a regret that had haunted him ever since.
Aracila, noting the tremor in his expression, placed the jewelry case back in the box. She didn’t want to barter with a dead woman’s possessions, but it was her only option now.
“This box is enchanted, so no one can open it carelessly. If you agree to help Damian, I’ll come back and unlock the spell for you, no matter the outcome.”
“…Is that all you want?”
“Yes. All I want is to save Damian.”
Aracila pushed the box toward Howard, her voice firm. He gazed at her with complex emotions before slowly nodding.
He couldn’t possibly let go of this last, fading trace of his daughter’s memory.
“Very well. I’ll do as you ask.”
In the lightless depths of the underground prison, time lost all meaning.
Damian opened his eyes, unsure whether it was day or night. How long would he remain submerged in this thick darkness?
With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes again. A pale face floated into his mind.
Aracila Vandemir. His wife.
When Collin visited and handed him Aracila’s letter, Damian let out a hollow laugh.
“Just how strong is your sense of duty to do all this?”
No, could mere duty drive someone to such lengths?
He clenched his fist, recalling the wounded look in Aracila’s eyes as she left him. Even when he pushed her away with cold resolve, she refused to abandon him. If he sensed something more in her persistence…
Was it madness, with death looming so near?
“Just one more time… I want to see her.”
The words slipped from Damian’s lips unbidden. He knew the crown prince and the Vandemir family were conspiring to push for his execution.
He knew Aracila was out there, fighting tirelessly to stop them.
But she couldn’t possibly overcome that alliance alone. Part of him wished she would give up at a reasonable point, sparing herself the inevitable backlash.
I hope they don’t grieve too much after I’m gone.
If only they wouldn’t cry because of me.
That small, fragile wish stirred in him, but it was quickly overshadowed by an unsettling question.
When, exactly, would his fate be decided? He had assumed that a collaboration between the crown prince and the ducal house would resolve things swiftly, yet no news had come. The process seemed to be hitting unexpected snags, leaving him to wonder, with growing unease, if he might be left to rot in the underground prison forever.
But whether it was fortune or misfortune, the next day, Damian stepped out of his cell to face a closed-door trial.
The so-called trial was little more than a formality—a gathering of relevant parties where the emperor would pronounce his punishment.
As Damian entered the hall, his expression impassive, he flinched at the sight of unexpected faces. He had anticipated the presence of the Vandemir ducal family and Frederick, but he hadn’t expected to see the Grand Duchess of Keystone, Prince Lucas, or the former Count of Lond seated there.
Especially not that last one.
How did they…
Damian’s gaze, unable to mask his bewilderment, darted toward the three.
Just days earlier, Aracila, with the cooperation of the Lond family, had uncovered critical information and immediately relayed it to the Grand Duchess of Keystone. At that same moment, a response had come from Lucas, another imperial figure she had appealed to for help.
Despite knowing the political risks of meddling in the Oscar murder case, Lucas couldn’t bring himself to abandon his friend in such dire straits.
Thus, the three allies who would advocate for Damian’s salvation had come together.
“Damian Vandemir has arrived. Let us now begin discussing his fate in earnest,” the emperor declared solemnly from his elevated seat.
The first to speak was the Duke of Vandemir. He strode forward, arms flung wide in a dramatic plea.
“Your Majesty, I beg you to sentence Damian Vandemir to death! I no longer wish to call that wretch a Vandemir!”
The duke’s eyes blazed with contempt as he jabbed an accusing finger at Damian, his voice raw with desperation.
“Even beasts recognize their own kin, but that monster brutally murdered his own brother! Such a vile, ruthless creature cannot be allowed to live!”
Damian gazed at his father, who stood before him demanding his execution, with an eerie calm. Perhaps because he had never held any expectations, the words stirred no emotion in him.
Following the duke, Frederick spoke, his voice smooth yet carrying an air of trustworthiness.
“Your Majesty, since ancient times, the crime of killing one’s kin has been harshly punished. Yet Sir Vandemir committed such an outrageous act during the New Year’s festival, in the presence of foreign dignitaries. If Your Majesty does not deal with him severely, whispers of discontent will spread to other kingdoms.”
“Exactly!” the crown prince chimed in, fueling the duke’s fervor. “No matter how much he coveted the ducal title, to kill his own brother in a fit of madness—such a lunatic must be punished harshly to set an example!”
The duke, now even more agitated, shouted without restraint, spittle flying as he condemned his son to ruin. Howard, watching the scene, furrowed his brow. To him, it was an utterly deplorable display.
Stepping forward, Howard spoke before the duke could continue.
“Your Majesty, there are aspects of this case that make it premature to conclude Damian is the culprit. Executing him while the evidence remains unclear would itself spark great controversy.”
The Duke of Vandemir, stunned by Howard’s sudden defense of Damian, glared at him with outrage. “Lord Lond, have you lost your senses? The knife stained with my son’s blood was found in Damian’s room! There’s evidence he was sneaking into Oscar’s chamber at dawn!”
But Howard, his expression composed, countered the duke’s claims.
“Can you be certain that blood belonged to your son? And a knife—couldn’t anyone have placed it there? If we think calmly, isn’t it strange that the youngest sword master would leave such obvious evidence scattered about?”
“W-What?!”
The duke, caught off guard, stammered, unable to respond coherently. Se Gleich, seizing the moment, Prince Lucas stepped forward.
“I’ve heard that a knight from the Red Hawk Order recently lost a blade identical to the one used in the crime. Who’s to say the culprit didn’t simply pick it up and use it?”
“Your Highness, what are you saying?” the duke retorted, his tone incredulous. “Are you suggesting someone framed Damian by killing my Oscar?”
Frederick’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. He had thought the duke bore little resemblance to his son, but now he saw the similarity in their careless outbursts. With a cold glance at the duke, he noticed the Grand Duchess of Keystone nodding gracefully.
“That possibility seems plausible, doesn’t it, Duke?” she said, her eyes glinting sharply. “I find it odd that you’re so quick to brand Damian a murderer. Most parents would want to protect their child, yet you seem eager to see your last remaining son condemned to death.”
Her piercing question struck at the heart of the matter, and the duke flinched visibly. Deep down, while he genuinely wanted Oscar’s killer brought to justice, the opportunity to rid himself of Damian had also stirred a dark desire within him. Had it been anyone else but Oscar who died, and Damian named the culprit, the duke’s fervor for the death penalty would likely have been less intense, though no less resolute.
“Your Grace, isn’t that a bit harsh to assume of a father who’s lost his son?” Frederick interjected with a faint smile, subtly checking the Grand Duchess.
Her presence, no doubt at Aracila’s behest, irritated him. He had hoped to align himself with her, given how much his father cherished his youngest sister, but this was an unfortunate turn. Glancing at the emperor, who silently observed the exchange with an unreadable expression, Frederick continued.
“When you start doubting, everything begins to look suspicious. Rather than getting caught up in speculation, shouldn’t we trust the clear evidence before us?”
His words were meant to quash the notion that Damian might be innocent, knowing the opposition lacked concrete evidence to counter him. The three defenders faltered, momentarily silenced.
Frederick pressed on. “Besides, this is, in a sense, a family matter. It’s not something the imperial family should overly meddle in.”
He knew this would limit his own influence, but it didn’t matter. It would also drag the Grand Duchess and Lucas down with him, like ghosts pulled into the depths.
As the two hesitated, unable to counter forcefully, Howard, who had been watching Frederick with a quiet intensity, finally spoke.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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