CHAPTER 132: I’M SO DAMN ANGRY

"How do you feel about what happened earlier, Cedric?"

In a modest room, Roswell sat relaxed, sipping his hot tea.

Across from him, Cedric sat with his eyes closed. Slowly, he opened them and looked at his uncle coldly.

"In my opinion, Elina was the real winner of the party," he said flatly.

Roswell chuckled softly and nodded. "You’re right. Princess Elina truly stole the spotlight. It wouldn’t be surprising if the heads of the noble families chose to support her once they return to their territories."

Cedric nodded in agreement. To him, the party had been a battlefield—a contest between him and his siblings.

Each of them was vying for the attention of the noble family heads, trying to sway them to their side.

To be honest, if the Singularity of Light hadn’t intervened, victory might have gone to Adalen. But the unexpected incident disrupted the flow of what should’ve been a predictable game.

As a result, Elina became the center of attention. Many had previously doubted whether the Singularity of Chaos would truly protect her—or if it was merely an empty promise.

Yet that single event shattered those doubts, replacing them with complete trust and a firm belief that the Singularity of Chaos was genuinely on Elina’s side.

It was, without a doubt, like hitting two birds with one stone.

"Are you afraid?"

Roswell’s sudden question jolted Cedric back to reality. He looked at his uncle with a flat gaze and replied calmly, "Afraid? Why would I be? I don’t fear the challenges ahead. I face them... and crush them."

Roswell smiled slightly and nodded, looking pleased.

"That’s good. After all, not every opportunity falls into Princess Elina’s hands," he said casually. "You may not know this, but Prince Nolan is in conflict with one of the dukes’ sons—Allen Ashvale. The two despise each other. Perhaps you could approach Allen and earn the Ashvale family’s favor. What do you think?"

Cedric was briefly surprised, but then a faint smile formed on his lips.

"That’s an interesting idea. I’ll give it a try."

Roswell didn’t respond. His gaze shifted toward the two servants standing near the doorway.

Then, his eyes settled on the one to the left—a plain-looking man with brown hair.

"You. Come here," he ordered.

The two servants looked startled. The one who was called felt his heart race, but he steadied himself and stepped forward.

"May I help you, Prime Minister?" he asked politely.

"Prepare me a cup of tea," Roswell said with a nonchalant tone.

The servant let out a quiet sigh of relief. He nodded and turned to prepare the tea—but then...

Scrk!

A sharp blade suddenly pierced his abdomen. Fresh blood spilled from the wound, staining the floor beneath him.

"Wha-What...? How...?" The servant’s eyes widened in horror.

But before he could finish his sentence, the sword was slowly pulled from his body.

A wave of searing pain tore through him. In an instant, his life was gone. His body collapsed to the floor, a look of terror still frozen on his face.

Standing behind him was a man in a black mask.

His body was wrapped in a dark cloak, a hood drawn low over his head, concealing his face and any identifying features.

He turned to Roswell and brought his hands together in front of his chest. "The target has been eliminated, as ordered, Prime Minister."

Roswell’s expression remained unchanged, as if the brutal scene hadn’t disturbed him in the slightest. "Good. Now, go."

The cloaked man nodded and began to fade—his body dissolving into shadow until nothing remained.

Meanwhile, the other servant stood frozen, his face ghostly pale. Cold sweat trickled down his neck as he swallowed hard, paralyzed by fear.

Then Roswell’s piercing gaze fell on him, sharp enough to make his knees nearly buckle.

"Go... and forget what you saw."

The words struck like a command carved into his mind—unquestionable and absolute.

He could only nod stiffly and leave the room, his steps unsteady and trembling.

"Uncle, that was—" Cedric frowned, about to speak, but Roswell raised a hand and cut him off.

"He was a spy," he said curtly.

Cedric fell silent, his gaze turning cold.

"I wonder... whose side he was on."

"I don’t know yet," Roswell replied quietly. His eyes shifted toward the window, where a sea of stars glittered in the night sky. "But one thing’s certain—the battle for the throne will be fierce... and brutal. So be prepared."

Cedric frowned but said nothing. He simply nodded, slowly and solemnly.

***

Inside the room, Nolan sat calmly on the sofa, his back leaning against the cushion in silence.

His left leg rested casually over his right thigh, while his right hand held a glass of red wine.

The balcony door was left open, allowing the cool night breeze to drift in.

From where he sat, the starry sky was clearly visible—but Nolan’s expression remained flat and cold, devoid of interest.

Behind him stood two figures: a man and a woman—Arnold and Malverna.

Not a word was spoken. The air between them grew thick with suffocating silence.

Even Malverna—who usually complained and never missed a chance to mock Nolan—now stood with her head lowered, eyes fixed on the floor.

There was a reason for her silence. The aura Nolan radiated was terrifying and oppressive, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Beside her, Arnold looked just as shaken. Cold sweat trickled down his temple, and his body trembled ever so slightly.

The cheerful smile that once adorned his face had long vanished, replaced by sheer tension and fear.

Several minutes passed in that unbearable silence before Nolan finally let out a soft sigh and spoke in a calm, low voice.

"I’m so damn angry... you know that?"

The words struck like lightning. But neither of them dared to respond.

"I have no grand goals or ambitions," Nolan said as he lowered his gaze, staring into the red wine in his glass. He swirled it slowly, then whispered, "Neither power nor money ever interested me. None of it compares to my mother, my friends... and my sister, Elina."

"I’m not the type to provoke others or go looking for trouble. For someone who just wants a quiet, peaceful life, all of this... is exhausting. But—"

A faint, chilling smile tugged at his lips. "Sometimes, there are people who deliberately seek death in front of me. They think they’re the strongest, the most powerful... that they can do whatever they please."

"In truth, as long as they stay out of my way, I don’t care. But what happened at the party earlier... that crossed the line. I’m furious. And this fury... needs an outlet."

With that, he gently set the wine glass on the table and slowly rose to his feet.

He opened his left hand, and in an instant, a black mask materialized from thin air, floating down into his palm.

Had Elina seen it, she would have frozen in fear.

It was the mask of the figure that haunted her thoughts—Singularity of Chaos.

Nolan placed it over his face, and in a flash, his aura shifted—no longer calm and composed, but dark, overwhelming, and deadly.

"Come with me," he said softly, yet with a voice that cut like a blade. "It’s time they learned... what happens when they make me angry."

...

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