CHAPTER 215: THE SERPENT’S SMILE [2]

Bang!

The front door slammed so hard the walls seemed to shake. A couple of crooked paintings rattled against the plaster.

Aurelia strode in, boots thudding on the wooden floor like she was here to pass judgment.

Her black hair, usually tied back all neat, was a mess. A few strands sticking out like they’d been yanked on during the walk here.

Her blue eyes locked on Kyle, sharp enough to pin him in place.

Kyle, sprawled across the couch, didn’t flinch. He had been tossing a mana crystal from hand to hand. The soft blue light flashing over his fingers.

He caught it mid-air, glanced up, and put on a lazy grin.

"Oh, hey, Sis. How’s your day?"

Aurelia didn’t answer. Her jaw was tight, shoulders stiff. She marched toward him, cloak swinging behind her like a storm cloud.

She reached the couch. She planted both hands on her hips, towering over him.

"Why?"

Her voice was sharp, clipped, like she was holding back from yelling.

Kyle blinked. Tilted his head.

"Uh... why what?"

"Don’t play dumb." The words came out like a lash. "You know exactly what I’m talking about."

He sighed, sat up a bit straighter. And set the mana crystal down on the table. It rolled a little, then stopped.

"Okay, okay. You mean the marriage meeting?"

Aurelia’s left eye twitched.

"Yes. The marriage meeting. The twelfth one. The one you actually showed up for."

Kyle shrugged. "Yeah. What about it?"

She looked two seconds away from blowing up. Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles had gone white.

"You’ve been dodging these meetings for days," she said through gritted teeth.

"You sent Cedric to half of them. Made excuses for the rest. And then suddenly you go to this one? And accept it?!"

Kyle leaned back on couch, propping his boots up on the table.

"Yeah. So?"

Aurelia’s eye twitched. She snatched a cushion off the couch and hurled it at him.

Kyle tilted his head, letting it fly past. He chuckled.

"This isn’t a joke!" she snapped.

"Do you even know what you’ve just done? Marquess Rylan Veyl isn’t some random noble trying to make friends, he’s a snake. And you just gave him exactly what he wants!"

Kyle’s grin didn’t fade. "I know."

That made her pause. Her mouth hung open for a moment.

"You... know?"

"Yeah."

"...Then why?"

Kyle leaned back further, hands resting behind his head. His tone dropped.

"Because I’m interested in his daughter."

Aurelia narrowed her eyes. "Bullshit."

"It’s not."

"Kyle." Her voice went flat.

Kyle let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. "Fine. You want the truth?"

"Yes."

He met her gaze. His eyes were calm, cold.

"I am interested in Elizabeth Veyl. Just... not the way you think."

Aurelia just stared at him. Then she groaned, flopping onto the couch beside him and dragging her hands down her face.

"Gods above," she muttered, "I’m starting to regret ever pushing you into these meetings."

Kyle smirked, nudging her with his elbow. "Relax. I only said I would meet her again. Didn’t agree to marry her."

Aurelia exhaled, slumping deeper into the cushions. "Oh, thank the God."

Kyle snorted. "What, you thought I’d marry some noble girl after one tea date?"

She cracked one eye open. "With you? I wouldn’t put anything past you."

"Fair."

———————

A week ago.

Kyle sat on the edge of his bed, the letter resting in his hands like a weight.

The parchment was fine, thick, cream-colored, the kind nobles used when they wanted to show off.

Its wax seal had once been perfect. A coiled serpent stamped deep into red lacquer. Now it lay broken, crushed in his grip like something fragile and dying.

His fingers trembled.

Not from fear.

From rage.

It burned white-hot, sharp enough to make his vision clear as glass. Every detail stood out. The neat handwriting, the careful loops of ink.

The name at the bottom written with a flourish.

Marquess Rylan Veyl.

The sight of it made his stomach knot.

He knew that name.

Not personally yet.

But in the way a prisoner remembers the face of his executioner. In the way a drowning man remembers the hands that pushed him under.

Rylan Veyl wasn’t just another noble.

He was a parasite.

A monster dressed in silk and gold, smiling while blood dripped from his hands.

And now that monster wanted to marry him to his so-called daughter.

Kyle’s jaw clenched until his teeth hurt.

Elizabeth Veyl.

A name built on lies.

She wasn’t his blood. Just another tool he’d picked up. An orphan with talent, kept close because her magic had its uses.

In the novel, her fate had been one of the ugliest.

Rylan had shaped her into the perfect weapon. Sharp. Loyal. His. And when the war shifted, he sold her to the demons without hesitation.

Kyle remembered that passage too well. The way her screams had been called musical. How she had begged for death before the demons granted it.

But Elizabeth wasn’t the reason his hands shook now.

No.

His grip tightened. A thin layer of frost spread from his fingers, creeping over the parchment until it stiffened, cracked...

And crumbled into mist.

Rylan Veyl had killed Aurelia.

Not in an honorable duel. Not with blades crossed and eyes meeting.

He had waited.

Waited until her mana was spent, until every drop of strength had gone into shielding civilians from the demon horde.

Until her arms trembled, her breath came shallow, and her vision blurred from exhaustion.

Then, like the coward he was... he struck.

A dagger slid between her ribs from behind.

Kyle could picture it as if it were unfolding before his eyes.

Aurelia, gasping. Staggering forward. Her hands clutching at the hilt buried in her chest. Her own blood slicking her fingers.

Rylan’s voice, low and venomous, brushing her ear.

——"A shame. You were always too noble for your own good."

And then...

Laughter. Cold and mocking.

The last sound she heard before she fell.

That laugh still echoed in Kyle’s mind.

A poison that refused to fade. He could almost hear it now, that smug, aristocratic chuckle as Rylan stepped over her body like it was nothing more than debris on the road.

It wasn’t reality yet. But it would be. Unless Kyle changed it.

And he would. By every god that still listened... he would.

Rylan Veyl didn’t deserve a quick death. He deserved to drown in the filth he’d created. To choke on every ounce of pain he had dealt to others.

But Rylan wasn’t some nameless thug you could drag into an alley.

He was a Marquess.

A viper wrapped in silks, settled deep within the highest circles of power.

His marriage to the Duke Ignaris’s daughter was his golden ticket.

The alliance kept every blade sheathed, every truth buried behind polished smiles and locked doors.

But Kyle knew. He knew them all.

Rylan Veyl. On paper. The noble lord who funded orphanages, a patron to society’s unwanted.

In reality? Their worst nightmare.

Children vanished in the dead of night. The ones no one would miss, the ones whose names no one would remember. Official records blamed demon raids. Convenient and clean.

Kyle knew better.

Rylan sold them. Not just to slavers and brothel owners, but to dark mages. The kind who needed... fresh materials.

The kind who paid enough to make sure no one asked questions.

Then came the war. That was when Rylan’s mask slipped entirely.

While good men bled on the front lines. He grew rich off their misery.

Medicine, food, weapons. He hoarded them, only to sell them back to starving towns at prices that could gut a kingdom’s treasury.

Families wasted away in their beds while he dined on roasted pheasant and laughed about supply and demand.

Even before that. He’d been rotting his own house from the inside.

Kyle remembered the novel. Battalions walking into perfect ambushes because someone had leaked their route. Loyal knights branded traitors overnight, their places filled by Rylan’s puppets.

And when the demons finally came? He didn’t even hesitate.

He opened Fort Veyl’s gates to them. His own city, and let the slaughter happen.

Men, women, children... all thrown to the wolves to prove his loyalty to his new masters.

Kyle’s breath came fast now, each inhale sharp, each exhale colder than the last.

He could feel it. Storm element curling inside him, feeding on the rage, seeping into his bones.

This wasn’t just anger anymore.

Rylan Veyl would die. Not someday. Not when it was convenient.

As soon as possible.

Politics didn’t matter. Neither did the fallout.

Rylan was a disease, and Kyle intended to be the cure.

But charging in blindly would be suicide.

The man had guards, friends in high places. And a web of influence wrapped tight around him.

Kyle couldn’t just kick down his door and drive a blade through his heart.

Not yet.

No, first. He’d tear Rylan apart piece by piece. Strip away the titles. Cut off the allies.

Drag every filthy secret into the light. He’d watch the man lose everything.

Status, power, allies.

And when Rylan was nothing, when he was left clawing at the dirt like the rat he truly was...

Then Kyle would make sure he saw the blade coming. Just like Aurelia had.

The last scraps of the letter drifted to the floor, blackened ash scattering like dust in the still air.

Kyle drew in a slow breath, calming the storm raging under his skin.

There was work to be done.

———————

Author Note:

Umm... Sorry for the delay again, and please tell me your thoughts on this Chapter.

I was really unsure if this arc would land or not, so please do share your views...

Do you think Kyle’s rage was justified? Or did it feel off? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

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