Chapter 185: Caught in the Trap
“Well, it’s difficult for us to give a definitive answer,” Aracila said, her tone measured.
“Why is that?” a guest pressed. “If it wasn’t Sir Vandermir, then the culprit must be someone else, obviously.”
“Tch, we can’t confirm that,” she replied smoothly.
The crowd had expected Aracila to take a firm stance, perhaps pointing to the true culprit, but her ambiguous response sparked murmurs. Seizing the moment, others she had planted in the room began to stir the conversation.
“Could it be that the young lord wasn’t murdered at all?” one suggested.
“Goodness, if it wasn’t murder, then how did he die?” another chimed in.
“There are all sorts of possibilities,” Pola said, deliberately letting her words trail off, leaving a lingering pause. She, too, was attending the party at Aracila’s request, playing the role of a provocateur.
The new theory—that it might not have been a murder—sent a ripple of excitement through the hall. Aracila watched as the Duke and Duchess of Vandermir’s faces paled in real time. The sudden shift from murder to possible suicide was understandably jarring, especially for those who knew their own past sins.
“Given the distressing scandal at the time, he must have been under great emotional strain,” someone added. “Perhaps he drank too much and, in a moment of impulse, made a tragic choice.”
“But wasn’t a bloodstained sword found in Sir Vandermir’s room?” another voice countered.
“Oh, come now, he’s a knight,” came the retort. “And during the New Year’s festival, he was in charge of external security. A sword and blood are hardly unusual in his line of work.”
“Maybe he got entangled with a palace maid, and it led to trouble. He wasn’t exactly discerning about time or place—could he have fathered an illegitimate child?”
Words from a few quickly swayed the many. The crowd no longer needed prompting; they took up the speculation on their own, some even crossing boundaries with their remarks. Those near the Duke and Duchess were more cautious, but the hall was teeming with people—so many that it was hard to keep track of who was where. Most spoke without regard for the ducal couple’s presence.
As the atmosphere grew heated, Aracila signaled for her allies to rein it in. The noblewomen she had enlisted stepped forward.
“At any rate, it’s a relief that an innocent man wasn’t wrongly accused,” a middle-aged noblewoman said. “Honestly, the living must go on living. Why should someone as promising as Sir Vandermir be forever tied to the dead?”
Nods of agreement rippled through the crowd. Then a younger noblewoman spoke up. “Your Highness, may we ask what will happen with the case of Young Lord Vandermir’s death? Will there be a reinvestigation?”
Though the question was prearranged, Lucas hesitated, his expression thoughtful. He stroked his chin, letting the moment linger before responding. “Hmm, it’s been quite some time, so I’m not sure what will come of it. Considering all the circumstances… perhaps it’s best to treat it as an accidental death.”
Before anyone could react, Lucas swiftly turned to Frederick. “What do you think, Frederick?”
Caught off guard, Frederick felt all eyes turn to him. Already uneasy about the strange turn of events, he struggled to maintain his composure. Carefully, he replied, “It’s difficult to say at this moment…”
“Oh, are you one of those who’d rather see an innocent scapegoat suffer than let the case go without a reinvestigation?” Lucas cut in sharply, his tone dripping with mockery. His clear enunciation and loud voice ensured no one missed his words. Frederick’s eyes darkened.
Just a year ago, Lucas wouldn’t have dared speak to him this way. But now, this wasn’t the first time Frederick had faced such boldness. Unwilling to lose face in front of so many, he gritted his teeth, forced a smile, and responded.
“Brother, why say such things? Of course, I don’t want innocent victims either.”
Frederick was quick-witted and sharp. Unlike last year, public sentiment now favored Damian. It made sense—Damian was a war hero, and his wife had recently risen as a force in high society. Voicing opposition to the prevailing opinion would gain him nothing.
His gaze flicked to Aracila, standing close by Damian’s side. So this is why you suddenly threw yourself into high society, he thought. To shift public opinion in Damian Vandermir’s favor. His teeth ground together, a bitter laugh threatening to escape, but he swallowed it and continued.
“If it’s deemed appropriate to treat it as an accidental death, then that’s the right course. After all, Sir Vandermir even went to war. What’s the point of digging into the case further?”
But his response wasn’t entirely submissive; he laced it with a subtle jab. Damian had gone to war as a branded criminal, so wasn’t it all settled? “He’s paid his dues, so I agree with making a choice that benefits everyone,” Frederick concluded, his tone clipped.
With that, he looked up at the three figures on the dais—Damian, Aracila, and Lucas. They seemed disinterested in him, their attention elsewhere, which made Frederick frown.
“What nonsense is this!”
A piercing, almost scream-like voice rang through the hall. All heads turned to its source: the Duchess of Vandermir, her face flushed crimson. Breathing heavily, she pushed through the crowd with determined strides, her fierce presence parting the sea of guests.
“Why should my son’s death be called an accident? My Oscar was murdered! My poor boy was unjustly killed!” she shrieked, her voice raw with anguish. In her frenzy, her eyes half-wild, she thrust a trembling finger toward someone and bellowed, “By that man!”
All eyes followed her gesture—to Frederick.
Flustered and indignant, he shot back, “Duchess, what is this slander? How dare you make such baseless accusations against me!”
“Deny it all you want, but I know you killed Oscar!” she cried, her voice unyielding.
The Duchess had lost all semblance of reason. From the moment she entered the hall, her mind had been spinning. Her vibrant son had been reduced to a cold corpse overnight, buried in the earth. The grief of losing her beloved child made life feel unlivable. And yet, the two people she wished dead in his place were throwing lavish parties, smiling as if nothing had happened. Her insides churned with rage.
When Frederick, the true culprit in her eyes, dared to bury her son’s death as an accident, the fury she’d suppressed exploded. “I can’t even comprehend what you’re saying!” he snapped.
“One of your guild members—the one you failed to silence—came to us and confessed everything!” she shouted.
Frederick flinched. For a year, he’d been desperate to track down and eliminate the last surviving guild member he’d hired. To think that person had made contact with the Vandermir Dukedom sent his heart plummeting, threatening to knock him out cold. But he clung to his composure. Even if a key witness was in their hands, he had to deny everything and push forward.
He whipped his head around to the Duke, who stood awkwardly among the crowd, neither stopping nor aiding his rampaging wife, clearly at a loss. “Duke Vandermir, do something about your wife!” Frederick demanded. “She’s clearly lost her mind! How can you let her behave this way?”
“Y-Yes? Oh…” the Duke stammered, caught off guard by the Crown Prince’s call. For the sake of his family’s reputation, he decided it was best to restrain her. As he reached for his wife, the whispers of the onlookers reached his ears, sensitive as they were to the judgment of others.
“What’s that? So the Duchess has gone mad and is slandering His Highness the Crown Prince?”
“Tch, tch. Looks like the Vandermir Duchy’s power has finally run dry. They’ll be ruined soon.”
“I had hoped things might improve if Sir Vandermir took over the family. But insulting His Highness, even after losing a child? The whole duchy will face punishment.”
The last remark jolted the Duke awake. If he sided with Frederick here and restrained his wife, the Vandermir Duchy would bear the full brunt of the fallout. Frederick would never admit his guilt.
That would drag the Duke’s reputation even further into the mud, and the Vandermir Duchy would suffer catastrophic losses.
Realizing he had been about to act solely for Frederick’s benefit, the Duke halted in his tracks.
Meanwhile, the Duchess lunged at Frederick, only to be blocked by his knights. Undeterred, she shoved them roughly, causing a scene.
“Why did you kill my son? Did you sell out our family to the Lester Duchy? Did you think they’d be more useful for your rebellion? Is that why you murdered our innocent Oscar?”
Now she was even bringing up rebellion. Flustered, Frederick glanced around nervously and urged the Duke.
“Duke, why are you just standing there? Drag your wife out of here…!”
“My wife hasn’t said anything wrong, has she?”
“…What?”
The Duke’s response was icy.
“I know you killed Oscar and pinned the blame on Damian, planning to swallow the Vandermir Duchy once it had no heir.”
His expression had turned cold, resolute, as if he had no intention of bending to Frederick’s will any longer.
His voice trembled with rising anger as he spoke again.
“But you underestimated me, Your Highness. I, Alex Vandermir, am not so easily trifled with!”
“Ha! Have you gone mad too, Duke?”
Frederick let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
His ability to maintain his facade, unbroken to the end, was almost impressive. But the situation had reached a breaking point, and the Duke was all in. There was no reconciling with Frederick now, no possibility of turning back—he had to see this through.
Choosing the lesser of two evils, the Duke filled his chest with resolve and shouted.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know you were plotting treason with Marquis Grant before, and now with the Lester Duchy?”
“Shut your mouth!”
Frederick’s thunderous roar cut him off.
He knew a cornered dog might bite its master. That’s why he hadn’t completely discarded the Vandermir Duchy, keeping them close enough to exploit while pretending to treat them well.
But he hadn’t expected them to uncover the truth—and to expose it here, of all places.
“They’ve lost it, completely lost it! The shock of their son’s death has driven them both insane…!”
The murder of Oscar could be managed, but treason? That word should never be tied to his name.
He hadn’t even begun his plans in earnest. To see years of preparation crumble so futilely was unthinkable.
“I can’t stay here any longer.”
In the end, he chose to flee the scene. Staying to fight would only lead to greater losses.
“Where are you going?! You need to explain why you killed our Oscar!”
The Duchess made a final attempt to grab Frederick, but a knight firmly blocked her, causing her to stumble and fall.
Sprawled on the floor, she beat her chest and wailed. As chaos engulfed the hall, Aracila, Damian, and Lucas exchanged glances.
A faint smile curled their lips. Their goal had been perfectly achieved.
The events at Damian’s welcome-back party made headlines across every newspaper. With so many attendees, reports flooded in from all sides.
Eager journalists sought out witnesses, conducting interviews and vividly transcribing their accounts, spreading the story throughout the empire.
Lucas seized the opportunity, pushing for a court assembly to address the allegations of Frederick’s treason.
The Crown Prince’s faction fought desperately to block it, but Lucas now had a robust group of imperial nobles backing him.
“If His Highness is innocent, he can attend the assembly and clear his name in front of everyone, can’t he?”
“But the very act could tarnish His Highness’s honor…!”
“Then what do you suggest? Let the label of traitor stick to him forever? The more you resist, the guiltier he looks!”
Overwhelmed by the imperial faction’s forceful arguments, a special court assembly was decided upon. Even the Emperor, the Crown Prince’s last hope, agreed. Despite the Empress’s tearful pleas on her knees to protect Frederick, it was no use.
The Emperor impartially instructed Frederick and Lucas to each select half the assembly’s attendees. It was the final mercy he extended to the Crown Prince.
Lucas included Aracila and Damian on his list. The three prepared for the final battle, armed with the evidence they had amassed.
As the assembly date was set, Aracila sent word to Riley to withdraw from the merchant guild. Brady would be brought by the Vandermir Duchy, so there was no need to worry.
Amid the mounting, intangible tension, the morning of the court assembly dawned.
Dressed impeccably in her Magic Tower uniform, Aracila turned to Damian.
“Damian, are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready. And you, my dear?”
“I’m all set.”
She flashed a broad smile. Damian stepped forward to stand beside his wife. Walking side by side, Aracila said,
“Let’s go and finish this today.”
All of it.
