CHAPTER 1483: RE-PLAN

__Back to the Bellevue Hotel suite__

Alexander’s face was as cold as an iceberg, his expression devoid of any warmth, only anger and malice. He was no longer like the kind and gentle old man he pretended to be. "Did you get the news?" he asked, voice low and sharp.

Salvo De Rova’s expression matched the room’s chill. He swallowed, forcing his anger into measured words. "Yes. Someone breached the sanctuary and took every sacrifice," he said through clenched teeth. "We don’t yet know who, but judging by what happened today, it can only have been Harland, no one else."

Alexander’s jaw tightened until his knuckles paled. He crossed to the wide window and stared out at peaceful Herriond as if the placid streets had personally insulted him. "How did they pull the Scion from the King? And how is that dam*ed King looking so well and healthy?" His fist closed so hard his knuckles whitened. "This plan was supposed to be foolproof."

Salvo exhaled a brittle laugh. "It should be impossible. No Gifted people are strong enough to remove a Scion from a living host without destroying the host body or causing grave injury to the host body. I don’t know...Something else must have happened, they might do some trick, or who knows what.." Salvo also had no idea how this could have happened.

"...And what happened to the Scion? Is it alive or dead?" Salvo narrowed his eyes.

Salvo turned quiet, he had no answer about that, but the probability can’t be good. "Judging by Zalchana’s reaction, the scion might already be destroyed."

"If that’s true, I don’t know how to calm Zalchana’s rampage." Alexander pinched his glabella.

Salvo’s mouth pressed into a thin line of malice. "Why don’t we use it? We can turn Zalchana’s hatred against the Lucient family and Harland, just like what happened with Nazareth."

Alexander froze for a beat, then gave a curt nod. "Fine. That will work." His eyes flashed with calculation before he scoffed, sharp and derisive. "But da*n it! Now we’ll have to tear half our plan and start new."

Salvo also felt frustrated, but there was no point crying over spilled milk. He pushed it aside and continued. "The sanctuary is ruined, but we can’t move Zalchana from there. I thought it would become a problem since Harland already knows the location. It’s no exaggeration to assume they’ll come again to make sure the place is destroyed, so, what is your order, Your Grace?"

Alexander let out a controlled sigh, already mapping the lie. "Declare the entire area around the sanctuary restricted. Raise the barriers, release a few Baels, and tell everyone the place was raided by Baels and the paladins did their best to eradicate them. It will stop Harland untill our other plan ripens, also that narrative will also bolster the paladins’ and our organization’s reputation, and after King Lucas awakens, we’re gonna need every means to prop our reputation up."

Salvo nodded. "And the healers who managed to flee?"

Alexander turned his gaze back to the window; his eyes brimmed with unhidden cruelty. "Find them. Kill them all — including their families, if necessary."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Salvo answered calmly without a hint of hesitation. He gave a courteous bow and then left the room.

_______________________________________________

__At the same time, in another room...__

Alinna sat curled on the edge of her bed, her thumb flicking endlessly across the glowing screen. Every post, every comment was the same: the triumphant return of King Lucas. People mocked those who had sworn he was gravely ill, their laughter sharp and merciless.

Worse still, the endless comparisons between Princess Lorient and the Saintess filled her feed. The verdict was unanimous: the princess could never be compared, not in grace, not in strength, and definitely not in worth.

Alinna bit her lip untill it slightly bled, the taste of iron grounding the storm rising in her chest. Years of sacrifice, of smiling, of pouring herself into the people, yet all of it seemed to go down the drain, erased with a few careless words from strangers.

Why—Why don’t they love me? she thought bitterly. They should be grateful... they should revere me... they should love me as they love her. The thought twisted, half-plea, half-demand, and it burned her pride to admit she wanted their worship so desperately.

Her hand trembled as she tossed her phone across the room. It struck the wall with a muted thud before sliding to the floor, unbroken. Thanks to the reinforced casing and the durability spell etched into it.

Alinna pressed her shaking fingers against her lips, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Her eyes stung, her vision blurring red at the edges.

She wanted to scream, to claw the air until it tore, but the thought of someone might hear her dramatic outburst stopped her.

So she can only bury her face in her hands instead, stifling the sound against her palms. The scream still escaped, low and strangled, laced with frustration and fear. Fear of becoming like any other people...ordinary.

_______________________________

In contrast to the commotion at the Bellevue Hotel, Lory was perfectly at ease. She sat behind the study desk, leisurely sipping lemon tea as her eyes lingered on the laptop screen for a moment before she went back to her work.

Lory genuinely believed Fredhardt had orchestrated the sudden flood of stories about her and Lucas. The exaggerated commentary, she suspected, was deliberately fueled to undermine the Saintess’s influence, along with the S.A.I.N.T. organization and Alexander Behrenn.

She didn’t think many people would genuinely still remember and adore her after all this time. If only she knew Fredhardt didn’t need to lift his fingers and the conversation about Lory’s greatness already ran by themselves.

Therefore, Lory didn’t take the comments seriously, regarding them more as political maneuvers than genuine sentiment. Her thoughts were already focused on checking on reports from the Noxcra agents concerning Luxemborough and the S.A.I.N.T. organization.

Her fingers moved across the keyboard with a steady rhythm, almost like a quiet dance.

Meanwhile, on the couch, Zhao Li Xin sat in a lotus position, his eyes closed, his breathing calm and steady. While her world was filled with keystrokes and flowing data, Zhao Li Xin seemed to retreat inward, wholly absorbed, focused in meditation.

Suddenly, the sound of the phone broke the harmonious silence.

Zhao Li Xin slowly opened his eyes and glanced at his phone on the table. With unhurried movements, he lowered his legs from the couch and reached for it. He pressed the answer button but said nothing; the voice on the other end spoke first.

"Mr. Zhao, how are you?" Hugo Hamilton greeted in his usual calm, cheery tone.

"Good," Zhao Li Xin replied shortly, his voice flat.

Hugo, long accustomed to his manner, wasn’t bothered in the least. "Mr. Zhao, thanks to you, the exhibition was a great success, and we’ve received many requests for interviews."

Zhao Li Xin’s brows drew together slightly. "Interviews?"

Lory glanced at him briefly, her eyes glinting in amusement before turning back to her screen.

"Yes," Hugo continued. "They want to know about your background, your life experiences, and your next artwork."

"So nosy," Zhao Li Xin muttered, sounding half lazy and half annoyed.

Lory caught his words, the corner of her lips curling upward. She remembered the Zhao Li Xin of the past, a man who treated his words like gold. He was someone who wouldn’t bother to explain himself, not even to his parent, the emperor.

Hugo, meanwhile, was not surprised by Zhao Li Xin’s response. Based on what he knew, Zhao Li Xin had never spoken openly about himself, nor had he ever shared personal reflections.

He was a man of control, reserved, detached, and almost entirely withdrawn from others, with the sole exception of his wife. At most, he tolerated a few individuals due to their association with Lory, but beyond that, he remained markedly indifferent.

Given such a disposition, it was inconceivable that he would have the patience to entertain a reporter’s intrusive questioning.

"I knew you were going to say that," Hugo chuckled. Interviews, to him, were pointless anyway. Every artist had their quirks; some paraded around in the same bizarre outfit, others clung to their sunglasses like a lifeline, day or night.

So what if Zhao Li Xin dodged interviews left and right? If anything, it’s only gonna crank up his elusive persona.

"Well, that’s fine," Hugo went on. "But there will be a lot of people trying to reach you for collaboration, endorsement, and such, in short, you’ll be busy; therefore, I’m planning to arrange an assistant for you. What do you think?"

"It’s fine," Zhao Li Xin answered purfunctorily.

"Alright. Do you have any criteria for the kind of assistant you want?" Hugo asked.

Zhao Li Xin paused for a few seconds before answering with measured firmness. "Male."

Hugo’s brows lifted slightly, but his tone remained steady. "Male?"

"I want a male assistant," Zhao Li Xin clarified. "Someone who follows orders without unnecessary questions. Smart, quick-witted, loyal, and who knows his boundaries. I don’t want anyone prying into my personal life. I don’t like assistants who are too nosy."

Hugo pursed his lips into a thin line. Finding a smart and intelligent man was easy, but loyalty? That was something he had to treat with caution. "Okay... I’ll call you back after I’ve screened your potential assistant, Mr. Zhao." With that, he hung up.

"My husband became famous...again." Lory’s eyes crinkle with a playful smile.

Zhao Li Xin chuckled softly. He only does this to build his reputation as Lory’s husband. He doesn’t want people to criticize Lory for marrying an ordinary man, so the better his reputation, the better it is for Lory.

Lory sighed and reached for her phone on the table. Alongside the endless headlines about Lucas and herself, a lot of news outlets had reported on the exhibition and Zhao Li Xin. A young, talented painter with looks that eclipsed any hot actors and celebrities out there, of course, Zhao Li Xin garnered a lot of attention, especially from women all over the world, and his aloof, reserved demeanor only fueled their curiosity further.

"I think you’ll need to wear a mask when you go out from now on," Lory muttered as she scrolled through the women’s comments about him. Even though she had expected this situation, it’s annoyed her nonetheless.

Fortunately, Zhao Li Xin’s private number wasn’t widely known. Otherwise, the flood of calls from entertainment media would have been unbearable. Hugo had been right, sooner or later, Zhao Li Xin would need an assistant to handle these matters.

"You should be careful too," Zhao Li Xin reminded her, his voice even. "People who know you’re married to me might start digging into your background."

"My Raven Jane identity," Lory mused, tilting her head. She had crossed paths with the Guild more than once, and some of them might still remember her; moreover, Zhao Li Xin’s face is not easy to forget.

"Well, I guess it doesn’t matter," she said after a pause. "No matter how far they dug, they wouldn’t be able to cross the security level of Noxcra, and no matter what they might think, no one would ever imagine I’m Lorient."

Just then, Zhao Li Xin’s phone rang again. Hugo. As usual, Zhao Li Xin answered without a word, letting the man speak first.

"Mr. Zhao, there’s someone very eager to meet you. Can you guess who?"

"No." Zhao Li Xin’s reply was quick and flat but had no intention to be rude.

"..." Hugo’s enthusiasm faltered. What was he thinking, trying to joke with Zhao Li Xin? He quickly cleared his throat and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"It’s Salvo De Rova. He wants to invite you to dinner—says it’s about hosting an exhibition in Wellington."

Zhao Li Xin’s brows lifted slightly. He glanced at Lory and smiled faintly.

"Oh? Salvo De Rova invited me to dinner?"

Lory’s eyes widened, a flicker of excitement glinting within them.

"So... will you accept?" Hugo pressed.

A cold smile curved at Zhao Li Xin’s lips. "Of course. Send me the time and place."

"Understood. I’ll message you later." Hugo’s voice was brisk before the call abruptly ended.

Lory clasped her hands together, then pleaded pitifully, "Can I come, pleaseee...."