Chapter 183: Now It’s Our Turn
The moon rose in a sky dyed deep indigo.
Aracila quietly dismissed Audrey, who had come to invite her to dinner, instructing that no one disturb her until called. Several hours had passed since she handed Monica’s diary to Damian. Left alone in his room, he had shown no response.
What was he doing beyond that door? She hoped he wasn’t in too much pain…
But Aracila knew such a hope was greedy. Though she had only read the opening of Monica’s final diary entry before closing it, she could feel the gentle, kind nature of the woman who remained warm until her last breath. The diary was imbued with a mother’s tender love for her son, woven into every page.
There was no way Damian could miss that. He must be in deep pain, sorrow, and anguish right now. Unable to bear leaving him alone any longer, Aracila knocked on the bedroom door. No answer came, but she entered anyway.
Damian sat motionless on the sofa, like a statue, his head bowed. Monica’s diary rested in his hands.
“Damian,” she called softly, approaching with care. Slowly, he lifted his head. The moonlight revealed a face in disarray—hazy eyes, pallid complexion. Though no tear stains marked his dry features, Aracila knew that was precisely why he had wept so much.
His parched lips parted with effort. “I hate myself,” he said hoarsely. “The foolish child who held my mother back instead of helping her—I resent that version of me.”
“Don’t say that,” Aracila replied, her voice firm yet gentle. “It wasn’t your fault. Why blame and despise yourself?”
She grasped his cheeks, forcing his gaze to meet hers. Her reflection filled the empty golden eyes that had been vacant moments before.
“Did your mother ever say she resented you?” she asked.
“…No,” he murmured.
“Did she tell you to live hating yourself?”
“…She didn’t.”
Damian lowered his eyes, his gaze falling back to the diary. The meaning of Monica’s final entry, left as a will, was unmistakable. She hadn’t wanted her son to be consumed by vengeance, squandering his one life in futility. Rather than living with hatred, loathing, and curses, she wished for him to find happiness, to break free from the cycle of his parents’ tragedies and forge his own path.
“My mother didn’t want me to seek revenge,” Damian said, his voice heavy. “But I’ve done the opposite of her wishes. I staked everything on vengeance and ruined myself.”
It would be a lie to say his life had been peaceful since Monica’s death. Every moment had been a fight for survival, growing into someone who couldn’t trust love, shaped by his obsession with revenge. He had lived a life completely contrary to his mother’s hopes, despite being showered with more love than he deserved.
“I don’t know how I’ll face her…” he whispered.
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Aracila said, her clear voice cutting through his bleak words with unwavering resolve.
“You’re a good person, Damian. You’re not broken at all.”
“How can you be so sure?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“Because I’m your wife,” she replied, a soft smile breaking across her face. “Is there anyone who’s been closer to you than me?”
Damian didn’t deny it. After Monica’s death, Aracila had become the person who penetrated his life most deeply. No one in the world was closer to him now. She was his only family.
“If you’ve made mistakes or done wrong in your life, that’s just part of being human. I’ve done the same,” she continued. “So stop blaming and belittling yourself.”
He remained silent, her words sinking in.
“You’re young, with more days ahead than behind. Why rush to judge yourself so harshly? Can’t you just live the way your mother wanted from now on?”
Aracila placed her hands on her hips, scolding him gently before sitting beside him. She took his face in her hands again, turning it toward her.
“It’s okay, Damian,” she said softly.
He stared at her, dazed.
“It’s okay.”
It was as if he’d been waiting for someone to say those words all along—that it wasn’t his fault, that it wasn’t too late, that he still had a chance. Her gentle touch brushed his reddened eyes, the warmth so comforting that something hot surged within him. Tears he hadn’t shed while alone finally broke free.
Aracila silently patted his back as he buried his face in her shoulder. Though she wasn’t the type to cry just because someone else did, her nose stung with emotion. After a long, quiet sob, Damian spoke in a subdued voice.
“I won’t seek revenge as my mother wished. But I will make sure those who sinned pay for their crimes.”
His face was more disheveled than before, but his expression was clearer, his eyes shining with a newfound clarity. Aracila took his hand willingly.
“I’ll walk that path with you,” she said.
They were husband and wife, after all—meant to share pain and happiness alike. Whether their bond was real or a facade no longer mattered. What mattered was their genuine desire to face it together.
The tranquil night enveloped them, no longer cold or lonely.
The moment Lucas saw Damian, tears welled up in his eyes like dew, and he threw his arms around his friend.
“Ugh, I missed you so much!” he cried.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Damian replied, awkward. “But, um, could you—”
“I was so afraid I’d lost you forever!” Lucas interrupted, clinging tightly. “I swore I’d defeat our enemies and bring you back!”
His effusive words and tight grip pushed Damian’s gratitude into an uncomfortable ambiguity. Aracila watched, barely stifling a laugh. Noticing Lucas seemed to be enjoying Damian’s flustered reaction, she chimed in playfully.
“You two look like you’re dating. Is this what happens after spending a night together?”
“Wife, please, no creepy remarks,” Damian muttered, exasperated.
Unable to hold back any longer, Lucas burst into laughter, the tears he’d shed at Damian’s return already dry. Realizing Lucas had been exaggerating to tease him, Damian pressed a hand to his forehead.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” he said.
“People don’t change so easily, my friend,” Lucas replied with a grin.
Lucas sank into the sofa with a casual reply.
He seemed unchanged at first glance, yet he had transformed significantly. The carefree, wandering rogue’s air had vanished, replaced by the relaxed menace of a predator eyeing the throne.
“Anyway, I’m genuinely glad to see you again. Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Damian bowed respectfully.
Even with their close rapport, he never crossed the line—a trait Lucas both regretted and trusted. Wiping away his playful smile, Lucas spoke with gravity.
“Now, shall we discuss the other reason for your visit? Frederick’s movements have been suspicious lately.”
Ever since it became clear that Damian was likely to return victorious from the war, Frederick had been holding increasingly frequent, clandestine meetings with nobles who supported him.
Moreover, word had reached them that the Lester Duchy, effectively Frederick’s right hand, had quietly liquidated a portion of their assets into cash.
“Most crucially, Riley, who infiltrated the Habitz Merchant Guild, sent a letter yesterday. Weapon purchases have spiked recently, keeping the guild quite busy.”
“Is His Highness the Crown Prince behind it?”
“It’s highly likely. If we sit idly by, Frederick might actually spark a rebellion.”
“Then we’d better stop him before that happens.”
At Damian’s words, Aracila and Lucas nodded in agreement. A civil war would benefit no one. That’s why they had been diligently gathering evidence of treason and rallying support.
Through this process, Aracila had come to realize just how cunning Frederick was. His deft maneuvering in her prophetic dream, cutting ties with Oscar Vandermir, was no fluke.
Frederick exploited those around him meticulously, never acting directly himself. Dark magic artifacts and weapons were procured by his allied nobles, and his private Owl Brigade was managed by the Lester Duchy.
If they accused him recklessly, he could slip away again, severing ties to leave others to take the fall.
“I’m planning to raise the issue of Frederick’s treason at the court assembly,” Lucas said. “If we present the evidence we’ve gathered and our allied nobles lend their support…”
“Hold on, Your Highness,” Aracila interjected, her face deep in thought.
“That feels too conventional, too tame. Wouldn’t it be better to make a spectacle, something to seize everyone’s attention?”
“Oh? Does the lady have an idea?”
Aracila gave a sly smile. “I recently heard from Collin that the Crown Prince’s side is still frantically searching for Brady.”
A plan had sparked in her mind as she considered his words.
“What if we send Brady to the Vandermir Duchy? He could reveal that the Crown Prince is the true culprit behind Oscar Vandermir’s death, sowing discord between them.”
The Vandermir Duchy was currently half-estranged from Frederick.
Though not entirely abandoned—thanks to the family’s enduring status and the Duke’s vigor—they were no longer a core part of the Crown Prince’s faction. Yet, having once been involved in weapon purchases, they still held exploitable value.
“So, we push the Duke and Duchess to denounce the Crown Prince,” Aracila explained.
She suspected they knew something about the rebellion. Why else would they have amassed such an arsenal?
Even if they didn’t, it didn’t matter. They could leak the information through Brady.
“It’s not ideal if all the evidence and witnesses come solely from our side.”
“That’s true,” Lucas conceded. “But if the Duchy kills Brady, we’d lose a key witness, wouldn’t we?”
“That’s why I plan to send him with a powerful protective magical artifact, one imbued with my magic. There’s a device from the Magic Tower that allows a single teleportation.”
At Aracila’s response, Lucas’s expression visibly softened. He nodded slightly, murmuring, “Then we can send him without worry. It would indeed be more effective if the Duchy accuses Frederick first, and we follow. But… are you sure about this?”
His concerned gaze shifted to Damian.
After all, the Vandermir Duchy was Damian’s family. Mishandling this could drag them into the fallout, which was why Lucas had avoided targeting them until now.
“It’s fine,” Damian replied firmly, without hesitation.
“If they’re clever, they’ll find a way to extricate themselves. If not, Aracila and I have our strategies.”
His voice brimmed with confidence. Aracila, standing beside him, smiled with equal ease.
“If you’re both that certain, then fine. Let’s proceed with your plan.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The three dove into a detailed discussion of the strategy before concluding the meeting.
As they tidied up, Aracila spoke in a bright, lively tone.
“Now it’s our turn.”
Until now, they had been on the defensive, enduring one-sided attacks. But this time, they were taking the offensive.
Their moment had finally arrived, and they intended to strike back fiercely, ensuring their enemies would never have another chance.
“Long live Sir Vandermir!”
When Damian arrived at the laboratory with the Dilai flower, Sally and Rudy were beside themselves with joy, practically bouncing around. They showered him with excited praise and accolades.
Even Eric, caught up in the euphoria, grabbed Sally and Rudy’s hands, spinning around the lab in delight.
Aracila, feeling an unexpected swell of pride, laced her fingers together, propped her chin on her hands, and smiled warmly.
“Now that we have a specimen, there’s no reason for the research to fail again, right? Let’s propagate it quickly and make the truth serum.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Absolutely.”
Eric’s eyes sparkled with anticipation as he nodded vigorously, the lab buzzing with renewed energy after so long.
They immediately began extracting seeds from the Dilai flower.
The reason for the flower’s extinction was clear: it could only grow at a specific temperature, a fact no one had understood.
They knew it thrived in cold climates, but not that the temperature needed to remain constant.
Having pinpointed this condition, the lab artificially lowered the greenhouse temperature below freezing, planted the Dilai flower, and used magical potions to nurture it into vibrant health.
The flower, grown rapidly, soon wilted, dropping small black seeds. These were sown in potion-infused soil, coaxing new blooms to life.
After repeating this process several times, the Dilai flower population grew to dozens. With enough flowers secured for the truth serum, they began production at once.
The old truth serum had a grim side effect: vomiting blood. The lab refined the formula, developing a new method to eliminate this flaw.
Finally, the first truth serum was complete. The four gathered around the vial.
“Oh, our first truth serum is finally done…!”
“Its color is stunning—like emerald seawater with a splash of pink paint.”
“It smells so pleasant, people might actually take it willingly.”
“We worked hard for this. If even one of us hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t have succeeded.”
At Aracila’s words, they exchanged sheepish smiles. After a year of grueling research, seeing the result before them filled them with emotion.
Now, all that remained was to test its efficacy.
“Let’s try it ourselves first to confirm it works. Any volunteers?”
A brief silence fell. They exchanged glances until Rudy raised his hand.
“I’ll drink it.”
“Nice one, Rudy!”
Eric gave a thumbs-up, handing him the vial. Rudy gulped it down as the others watched tensely.
“Hey, how is it? Anything feel off?”
“No.”
“No urge to vomit blood or nausea?”
“I’m fine.”
They exchanged looks. No side effects after drinking it—a clear improvement.
“Good. Now we’ll ask some simple questions. Try to lie as much as you can, okay?”
“Got it.”
Rudy nodded calmly. The three pondered what to ask.
Then, Eric, one hand on his cheek in thought, suddenly threw out a question.
“Do you currently have a crush on someone?”
“No—”
Rudy’s attempt to deny it faltered as his lips trembled and froze.
His tongue, poised to lie, twisted uncontrollably. Despite his desperate resistance, the truth serum’s power forced the truth out.
“Y-Yes, I d-do.”
“Oh no.”
“Ugh!”
Rudy gagged, fighting to the last to lie, but he couldn’t utter anything but the truth.
Seeing his ashen face, Eric felt a pang of guilt.
He’d assumed Rudy, who showed no interest in romance, had no one he liked and had asked lightly, only to accidentally pry into his private life.
The serum’s effectiveness was undeniable, so Aracila halted the questioning and gave Rudy a break. The effects would wear off in about thirty minutes.
She tapped the glass vial filled with the shimmering liquid, a sly smile tugging at her lips.
With this, all preparations were complete. Nothing remained but their enemies’ downfall.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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