CHAPTER 122: THE LORD IS EXPECTING

[Empire—One Month Later]

Whispers carried faster than the wind in the streets of every town, every market, and every noble house. Rumors clung to the air like a persistent fog, chilling the hearts of anyone who dared speak too loudly.

"Have you heard?" a servant murmured, glancing over his shoulder. "The Grand Duke... Silas... they say he’s gone mad."

"Mad?" another whispered, pale-faced. "I heard he... he executed House Calder in one night. Every noble in the courtyard... gone. No trial. No mercy. And... they say... they begged for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?!" the first whispered again. "Ha! They all begged! And he didn’t even flinch. One month... one month, and every house that conspired against the throne has felt his wrath. They say he hunts them like wild dogs, tearing apart the treason from the roots!"

In the capital’s grand square, merchants spoke in low tones as they hurried past, each repeating what they had heard:

"Did you hear about the Lord of Wintercrest?" one said, shaking. "Gone. He tried to hide in his chambers, but Grand duke Silas... they say he dragged him out himself, personally interrogated him, and—" the speaker shivered, glancing around as if the air itself could hear, "—he left no one alive. His words... they say he sounded like a beast, a wild, untamed monster... screaming at the noble that his actions cost the empire’s peace and his family’s peace!"

Even the palace guards whispered among themselves.

"I don’t know how he does it," one guard said, voice trembling. "Day in, day out... nobles executed, spies interrogated, and still... he returns home every night. They say he holds his daughter, he kisses his husband... but the rage never leaves him. The people... the nobles... they fear him more than the Emperor himself."

The other guard let out a heavy sigh, voice low as if speaking it too loudly would summon Silas himself. "This... this is what happens when you wake a sleeping monster. Those nobles—they shook hands with other kingdoms, whispered, conspired... tried to ruin everything. Of course, they must be punished."

"But was that the only reason?" another asked, eyes wide.

"No," the first murmured, shaking his head. "He’s angrier because... because he had to live away from his omega, away from his newborn child, for three long, agonizing years. Left alone while those cowards plotted and schemed."

The second guard nodded slowly, voice softening with reluctant admiration. "Well... it’s a valid reason. If I were in his place... if I had been torn from my family... I’d have done the same. I’d have made them pay."

***

[Meanwhile—House Durell Estate]

SLASH!

Blood sprayed across the polished floorboards, the metallic scent hanging heavy in the air as Silas’s blade arced with precision, taking down the knight before he could scream.

THUD!

Silas, drenched in crimson, chest heaving, pivoted sharply, his gaze locking on a man with a pale, trembling face—the lord of the estate himself. He thudded to the ground on his knees, hands pressed together as though prayer alone could save him.

"Please... Grand Duke... I beg of you... have mercy... have mercy!" the noble stammered, his voice cracking.

Silas’s crimson eyes burned with fury, his alpha aura swirling around him like a suffocating storm, his presence alone pressing down on the man like a physical weight. His voice rolled low, a growl dripping with menace:

"Mercy? After committing treason against the empire? Against my family, against everything we have built? How... how did you dare think you were worthy of such a thing... Lord Durell?"

"I... I..." the noble gasped, shivering violently, gripping Silas’s boots as though they might anchor him to life. "Give... give me a chance, Grand Duke... I have sinned; I have... committed grave crimes... I... I swear, I will serve... please forgive me..."

Silas lifted his sword, the gleam of cold steel reflecting the dim candlelight, his jaw tight, every muscle coiled like a predator about to strike. His aura darkened, pressing against the walls, making the air itself tremble.

"There is... no mercy for treason!" His voice thundered, echoing through the hall like judgment itself. "No bargaining! No pleading! No second chances! You chose to betray the empire, to betray me, to steal from my life and my family... and now you shall pay the price!"

The noble whimpered, staring at the blade like a man staring death in the face, but Silas didn’t hesitate.

SLASH!

The sound rang sharp and final. The noble crumpled, lifeless, his last screams swallowed by the cold stone walls.

Silas lowered his sword, the crimson droplets on the floor reflecting the anger in his eyes. He whispered under his breath, almost to himself, voice low and dangerous:

"Three years... three long, agonizing years... I stayed away from my omega, from my child... and this is the cost they paid for trying to take that from me. Let every noble who dares plot again remember... there is no mercy for committing treason."

The estate was silent, except for the soft drip of blood onto the floor, the echo of Silas’s words lingering in the shadows like a curse.

Callen and Damien rushed into the hall, faces taut with tension, scanning the carnage. Callen’s eyes fell on the lifeless form of the noble.

Silas’s crimson eyes swept across the hall, narrowing as he fixed his gaze on the floor. His voice was low and lethal, like a predator assessing its prey."..is there... are there any more noble houses implicated?"

Callen bowed slightly, voice tight but steady. "No, my lord. According to the reports, this was the final noble. Every house tied to the conspiracy... accounted for."

Silas’s jaw tightened. He turned slowly toward Damien, his shadow stretching long across the walls. "...And what of Elize? The north? Were all the corrupt nobles eliminated?"

Damien’s posture stiffened, pride lacing his tone. "Yes, my lord. Elize has swept the north clean. Every noble who dared betray the throne has been dealt with. She awaits the arrival of the new, loyal nobles to restore order."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved Silas’s lips. His voice, calm yet carrying the weight of storms, resonated through the hall. "Then... the empire... has finally been purged of corruption. The rot has been excised."

Callen inclined his head, a measure of respect and relief in his voice. "Indeed, my lord. Now all that remains is to place new, loyal nobles in their stead, to rebuild what was broken."

Silas’s gaze shifted, his crimson eyes softening slightly, the storm in him giving way to something warmer—something only reserved for his home, for his family. He straightened his back, voice firm but carrying an edge of personal longing.

"That... that is Adrein’s work. I’ve finished mine. Let the empire breathe again. Let the people see that betrayal carries a price... and justice will always be delivered."

He turned toward the doors, the hall falling silent behind him. His steps were measured and purposeful, but each one carried the weight of a beast who had purged a kingdom.

"Now... we return. Lucein waits for me, and my daughter... my little star... they deserve peace, not the sight of a tyrant at work."

Callen and Damien exchanged glances, then followed, matching Silas’s stride, knowing that whatever fear had ruled the nobles, whatever terror Silas had cast across the empire... it had ended, and now a new order would rise.

***

[Rynthall Estate—At the same time]

Meanwhile, at Rynthall Estate?Well... chaos. Absolute chaos.

"MAMAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!"

"Lord Lucein has fainted—SOMEONE CALL THE PHYSICIAN!!"

Lucein lay sprawled across the polished floor, pale as moonlight, his lashes trembling against his skin. Theoran’s heart lurched. He scooped Lucein into his arms with surprising strength for his age and thundered down the corridor.

"Call Frederick immediately! My son-in-law is as weak as a feather in the storm!" he barked.

"MAMAAAAA!!"

Elysia’s cries echoed through the hall as she chased after them, her little hands clutching the air as if she could hold onto her mother’s soul. "Please... don’t die, Mama! Please wake up!"

Theoran kicked open the chamber door, laid Lucein gently on the bed, and yanked a blanket over him. His voice roared like a general on the battlefield. "CLOSE THE DAMN WINDOWS!! SHUT THE DRAFTS! CALL MARCEL! ALPHANSO! WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE HIDING?!"

"Mama..." Elysia clutched at Lucein’s limp hand, her tears splashing onto his skin. "Mama, don’t leave me... please, please..."

Theoran lifted her into his lap, rocking her gently. "There, there, little star... your mama’s not leaving. He just fainted, that’s all. He’s tougher than he looks."

The door burst open with a slam. Marcel tumbled in, followed by Alphanso.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Marcel screeched, dropping to his knees beside the bed. His face twisted in despair as if the heavens themselves had betrayed him. "My lord—MY PRECIOUS LORD! What cruel fate dares—"

Alphanso groaned and yanked him back by the collar. "Stop shrieking, you fool. You’ll wake the dead. It’s probably just weakness."

Marcel flailed, his eyes glassy with tears. "WEAKNESS? Look at him! He’s pale! He’s fragile! He’s—he’s glowing like a dying candle!"

Alphanso pinched the bridge of his nose. "Or maybe because he’s been skipping meals and sleeping too much, hmm? That’s what happens when someone ignores their soup."

Marcel blinked. His tears paused mid-stream. "...You mean... it’s because he didn’t eat his soup?"

Before Alphanso could throttle him, the door burst again. Frederick and Faylen arrived with their medical bags, breathless.

"What happened?!" Frederick demanded.

Elysia, hiccupping, pointed with tiny trembling fingers. "Uncle... Mama fainted!"

"Step aside," Faylen ordered, already checking Lucein’s pulse. His brows furrowed. "His pulse is... weak."

Frederick pressed a stethoscope to Lucein’s chest, his eyes narrowing behind his spectacles. "...It’s not just weakness."

The two physicians shared a look—sharp, startled, almost disbelieving. Their eyes widened in unison.

Theoran noticed. His heart dropped. "What? What is it? What’s wrong with my son-in-law? Speak, damn you!"

Frederick hesitated, wiping his glasses with trembling fingers. "It’s not... not serious, my lord."

Marcel erupted like a volcano. "NOT SERIOUS?! Look at him! He looks like a porcelain doll abandoned by God, and you dare say it’s not serious?!"

"Marcel," Faylen snapped, rolling his eyes. "It’s not bad. It’s... good."

The room froze.

Theoran blinked. "Good...?"

Frederick cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles again, and finally spoke the words that silenced even Marcel’s sobs.

"Lord Lucein... is pregnant."