Chapter 84

In this era of lagging communication, a piece of news sometimes took several days, or even over ten days, to reach Francis's ears. He didn't dare to mobilize all his resources to search on a grand scale, so the final result... was that he still hadn't been able to confirm who his target was.

The lack of any leads for a long time had almost driven him to the brink of losing his mind. Now, finally finding some clues, he immediately resolved to resolve these damned matters as quickly as possible—scouts disappearing without a trace was very suspicious, and combined with previous doubts, perhaps the person he was looking for was indeed hiding among these scouts.

He consoled himself with these thoughts, but the anxiety in his heart could not be alleviated.

He casually picked up a piece of parchment on the table, which contained a surveillance report on Sally. Since they couldn't plant spies inside the "Rosicrucian" temple, the guys who kept watch outside the church day and night couldn't obtain much useful information. They could only indirectly learn some trivial information like "attended morning worship" or "gained the bishop's favor," which were essentially useless.

He had also considered using assassination to make Sally die directly, but the risk was too great. If he offended the "Rosicrucian," the retaliation would be hard to bear. The madness of religious institutions was far from the "elegance" of lords who talked and laughed while stabbing each other in the back. So, in Francis's heart, such a contingency plan always remained as a last resort...

With such a troubled mood, Francis sighed and prepared to go to the back garden to clear his mind. But when he pushed open the door, he saw the old butler of the duke's mansion walking by with a silver tray, so he stopped and greeted him briefly.

Butler Alpha had served this family for over fifty years and was sixty-seven years old this year. He still looked spirited, with a straight back and neatly combed silver-white hair. Even at this age, he moved nimbly as he carried the tray.

Seeing Francis, the old butler immediately stopped, nodded in greeting, and smiled slightly, saying, "Young Master Francis."

This title, which he had heard for twenty years, now seemed to carry a hint of irony. Francis nodded and asked, as if looking for a topic, "How is Father's health recently?"

For a long time, Francis and Butler Alpha almost always started their conversations with this topic. Even as father and son, everything before inheriting the dukedom and territory was still in the hands of his father, and as the executor of orders, Butler Alpha's power, to some extent, even exceeded Francis's.

So he didn't dare to offend this old butler, even though the other always treated him with utmost respect. This inner vigilance never relaxed.

Butler Alpha's gaze was lowered, maintaining his respectful posture, and he said softly, "Sir's condition... is relatively stable."

This ambiguous statement made Francis sigh. In fact, everyone knew that Duke Angmar's illness had never improved. No matter how many doctors or clerics were brought in, or even druids from the southern forest, no one could cure this mysterious illness. All he could do was watch Duke Angmar age and decline day by day, completely helpless.

"Then... today, let me deliver lunch to him, old Alpha."

He had thought of saying this a long time ago but never did. Now, due to his troubled mood, Francis suddenly wanted to see his father—when he was young, he always found solace with his father whenever he was in a bad mood. Although he knew that now he would only see a silent and unresponsive old man, he suddenly... missed the old times.

"Young Master, Sir will understand your intentions."

Because they were familiar, and Francis had grown up under Alpha's care, the butler did not refuse the young viscount's request and obediently handed over the silver tray to the duke's eldest son.

Francis took the tray and walked toward his father's bedroom, lost in thought. Behind him, the old butler, who had been bowing, slowly raised his gaze.

His grayish-white eyes narrowed slightly, and the face that had just been full of warm smiles now carried a hint of coldness.

This feeling was fleeting, and in the slightly dim corridor of the duke's mansion, the old butler seemed to have only paused for a moment. When he turned to leave, he resumed his usual calm and composed demeanor...

Because the duke's mansion was almost in a state of "retirement," the guards were lax, and there were far fewer servants. Duke Angmar rarely left his bedroom now, and he didn't allow anyone to enter his room except during meal times, as if he had completely isolated himself.

So Francis hadn't entered here for a very long time. When he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scene before him evoked a sense of nostalgia.

He vaguely recalled playing here as a child, and the room's layout hadn't changed much. The deep red carpet was still soft, the armchair that had been used by the Lucifron family for fifty years gleamed in the sunlight, and the candlestick on the desk showed the marks of time. The fireplace, which always burned in his memory, seemed to have left a warm feeling in his heart.

He remembered listening to the old duke and duchess tell him stories, the orange flames making his body feel warm.

In the warm memories, his sister Sally would always sit obediently by his side, listening to the stories he told her, and the look of admiration on her face always made him feel proud and satisfied.

When did everything start to change?

After entering the main hall, the extreme silence made his already bad mood even more oppressive. His gaze swept over the unchanged decorations—the valuable oil paintings on the walls, the full-body armor, and the ornate longsword on the weapon rack. The warm memories were instantly shattered by these colorless objects, pulling him back to reality.

Continuing forward, as he approached his father's bedroom, Francis's steps became hesitant.

The bedroom door was open, and from there, he could see the well-lit balcony and the motionless figure sitting in the armchair by the balcony.

Many emotions welled up in his heart—anger, frustration, resentment, and sighs. But he also understood that no matter what he did, the person in front of him was still his father, a fact that could not be denied.

Over the years, his father's distance from him was obvious to everyone, and Francis's heart had once been filled with panic, fearing the day his father would announce that he had lost the right to inherit the dukedom.

So he began these plans—contacting the orcs and eliminating his own sister without a trace... this way, the dukedom would have no second choice, and he could rest easy.

The more he thought about it, the more his emotions became chaotic. The failure of the ambush on Sally had dealt a heavy blow to Francis, and now, looking at his father's back, he felt an inexplicable tension.

"Father... your lunch."

He opened the hemispherical lid of the silver tray, revealing roasted pigeon, fruit, bread, butter, and hot soup. Such food was extremely luxurious for commoners, but for a noble lord, it could only be called "simple."

Francis's words received no response, and he seemed to have anticipated his father's reaction. He placed the food on the round table and then came to the armchair where Duke Angmar sat, reaching out and gently gripping his father's arm.

The old man's body was extremely weak, almost emaciated to the point of being skin and bones, with loose, pale skin covered in age spots—logically, Duke Angmar, who was only fifty-two this year, shouldn't have aged to such an extent, but his appearance now looked like that of a ninety-two-year-old.

When Francis gripped his forearm, Duke Angmar's face showed no change at all. If it weren't for the slight trembling of his eyelashes and slow breathing, others might have thought he was a statue.

His originally sea-blue eyes were now grayish-white, and Duke Angmar was staring straight at the street scene of Holier outside the balcony. When Francis leaned down and repeated his words in his father's ear, the frozen gaze finally showed a slight tremor.

Then, like a rusty machine, Duke Angmar's head slowly turned, as if his eyes couldn't move, and he saw Francis's face, then... slightly narrowed his eyes.

"I'll help you eat."

Without waiting for his father to show any sign of agreement, he extended his other hand to support his father's shoulder and slowly but firmly helped him stand up.

Duke Angmar was now emaciated, weighing less than a hundred pounds. Francis wanted to say something, but when he realized how light his father was, he sighed softly and gently helped his father walk to the round table.

The old man's steps were unsteady, almost as if his body was moving purely on instinct. When he sat down and looked at the food in front of him, he still showed no extra expression, as if it were just a pile of stones.

Francis picked up the knife and fork and began cutting the food for his father, talking about recent events, including gossip among the nobles and income from the territories—several years ago, his father enjoyed such conversations, but now, it was more like Francis was talking to himself.

"Three estates have better yields this year. The last time I passed by, I tasted the wine that Butler Burton had the servants make. To be honest, it was quite good."

"Lord Kirk's son hasn't chosen his marriage partner yet. He doesn't seem to like Viscount Gordan's daughter, of course, I think he's looking down on Viscount Gordan's land."

...

As he spoke, Francis cut the tender roasted pigeon into small pieces and placed them on the plate, sitting in the chair next to his father and softly said, "You can eat now."

This might be the only response the old duke could make. He trembled and lightly gripped the fork, starting to eat mechanically. Just as Francis was wondering if he should say something, Duke Angmar, who had shown no expression, suddenly paused his hand.

"Sally... where... is she?"

The voice was so hoarse that Francis was stunned for a few seconds before he realized what his father was saying—suddenly, he had a bad feeling, because his father had never shown such abnormal behavior, always eating when it was time to eat, without saying an extra word.

But now—did he remember Sally?

"Sally has been chosen by the bishop as a candidate for a priest. She has already started her training at the 'Rosicrucian' temple."

Francis spoke the truth, so his expression was natural.

"No... that's not right."

Duke Angmar, with his arm suspended in mid-air, slowly said these words. It seemed he was recalling something, and he was frozen in place, with only his drooping eyelids showing that his eyes were trembling—clearly, the old man, who had always been silent, was thinking.

Francis swallowed, feeling his heart rate quicken. He wanted to say something but saw his father slightly turn his head, his lifeless gaze lifting to look at him.

He had never expected his father to have such a look... in the grayish-white eyes, first appeared confusion and struggle, but when they focused on him, they showed... disappointment.

"You did... something wrong."

"Something... very wrong."

The intermittent voice, weak due to the old man's frail body, still carried a hint of anger.

His father was angry.

This fact made Francis suddenly panic—using orcs to attack Sally was enough to show his ruthlessness, but for his father, Francis had never had any thoughts of "patricide and usurpation." After all, he was just a young man who had never left the southwestern territory of the Calen Kingdom, with ambitions but limited to that...

So, for his father's sudden anger, he had no composure, only sitting next to his father, trying to look puzzled, and stammering, "Father... what are you talking