chapter 8

Irina Ishtar was sent back with a polite apology.

She wasn’t the sort of person to get angry over a child’s mistake, so she simply said it was fine and climbed into the carriage bound for the capital.

Lucis kept staring after Irina as she left, but he never once let the word “mother” slip from his lips again.

“Lucis. Do you remember anything about your mother?”

I asked just in case. Lucis tilted his head a few times before replying.

“…Sparkly?”

Well, I suppose she would have sparkled.

After all, dragon lairs were said to be piled high with treasure.

It seemed Lucis had almost no real memory of his mother.

“Yaaawn.”

Because he had to be dressed up early for the funeral, Lucis was yawning over and over.

In the end, I had him carried off in Sia’s arms.

After spending the last few days acting as his nurse, Sia had grown much closer to Lucis.

“Th-then, I’ll be going too…”

Simon tried to slip away quietly after his younger sister, but I caught him.

“Where do you think you’re going? You stay until the end.”

Sia might be excused since she was the third child and had to look after Lucis, but Simon, as the second son, was required to remain with me until the funeral was concluded.

With no mistress of the house, at least two direct heirs had to be present to receive guests.

“Eek!”

Grabbed by the collar, Simon made a strange squealing noise and hunched over.

It was as though even being touched by me terrified him.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his exaggerated reaction.

“Why are you so scared? Do you think I’m going to kill you or something?”

“Eeeek!”

“…”

While I stood there bewildered, Sia hesitantly spoke up.

“Um… Seymour oppa. One funeral is enough for today… right? For Lucis’s sake, if nothing else?”

“….”

Seriously, what the hell had Seymour done to his siblings?

* * *

The funeral proceedings finally came to an end.

The late count’s coffin was laid to rest in the family crypt, and all the guests had departed.

Only the last unofficial step remained—the family banquet.

“…”

“…”

“…”

Normally, this would be the time to offer one final remembrance, to let go of grief and prepare to return to daily life the next morning.

But now, everyone sat in silence, watching each other.

More precisely—they were watching me and my uncle.

So, it’s today.

I could sense it instinctively.

This was when they’d bring up the matter of the earldom.

The funeral’s done. Lucis isn’t here. The timing’s perfect for them.

Knowing their attack was imminent, I focused even more intently on my meal. If I was going to fight, I’d need strength.

Or in this case—meat strength.

As always, delicious.

The family chef really knew how to cook a steak.

“…”

“…”

“…”

At the long table, nearly twenty seated, I was the only one cutting and chewing.

“Hahaha…”

A dry laugh came from Simon’s side.

It belonged to my uncle, Richard Mausoleum—decked out in ridiculously ornate clothes, reeking of overpowering perfume.

He’s also the one who keeps whispering nonsense into Simon and Sia’s ears.

Richard dragged out his laughter, pulling everyone’s attention to himself, then spoke with a mocking tone.

“Quite an appetite you have, Seymour.”

His meaning was clear: Your father hasn’t even been laid in the ground two hours, and you’re already eating meat? And you expect us to entrust the family to you?

I shrugged and shot back lightly.

“You don’t look like you have much of an appetite, Uncle. Oh, is it because your digestion’s weak with age? Will you even be able to ‘digest’ work again starting tomorrow?”

It meant: Separate public and private matters. Take care of your own affairs first.

Richard narrowed his eyes but chuckled smoothly.

“So now you worry about this old uncle of yours? Don’t. Missing a meal or two won’t dull my senses.”

“Oh, I know your senses well. When it comes to fashion and perfume trends in the capital, you’ve always had the best instincts. Even after decades, I doubt your ‘sense’ will ever fade.”

I set my knife down with a click.

“Or your seat, for that matter.”

“….”

My warning was clear: Be content with what you have. Don’t covet more.

At that, everyone else froze. Not a single hand touched cutlery anymore.

* * *

The clatter of plates and silverware was gone.

Everyone in the hall now stared at me and Richard, tense or curious, waiting for the clash.

“…Since the topic’s out, I’ll say it plainly.”

Clearing his throat, Richard cut straight to the chase.

“What will you do with the enterprises your father managed?”

“Enterprises?” I raised an eyebrow.

In this world, nobles ran businesses. For a great family like the Mausoleums, it was no different than a sprawling conglomerate.

Military supply, magic, construction—core industries. Fashion, perfume, dining, mercenaries—side ventures.

The side branches managed some, but the true money-makers always stayed with the head of the house.

So it wasn’t strange for the topic to come up. But it made me wonder:

Did they already give up on the title of count?

Originally, Richard and the branch families’ ideal plan would be to take the title themselves—or place one of my siblings in power and act as regents.

But since Seymour unsealed Lucis, maybe they decided that’s impossible now.

A wise decision.

If they couldn’t swallow the whole cake, they’d at least cut themselves a slice.

But I had no intention of giving up even a crumb.

It was all mine—and when I retired, it would pass to my siblings. For the sake of Lucis’s and my peaceful future.

“You mean Father’s businesses? That’s obvious. I’ll take them all.”

“So greedy.”

“If following in my father’s footsteps is greed, then yes—I’m greedy.”

“You’re overreaching. Maybe your father could, but you’re too young to handle so many ventures.”

A few of the branch members nodded.

Clearly, they’d all conspired about this beforehand.

And to be fair, they weren’t entirely wrong. For the sake of the whole house, they’d want experts involved.

Of course, I didn’t care about the “whole house.” But I couldn’t admit that here.

“No. It’s the opposite.”

I chose to go on the offensive—since the best defense was attack.

“The one who overreached was my father.”

“…What?”

“Otherwise, he wouldn’t be dead, would he?”

Richard furrowed his brow, not understanding. I pressed further.

“Was it like this back then, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“Before Father died—did you say the same thing to him? Ask him to divide up the businesses?”

“….”

Richard froze, then suddenly realized something. His face twisted, and he shot to his feet.

Clatter! Crash!

His chair toppled backward, ignored as he pointed at me with a trembling finger, his face crimson.

“You dare suspect me?! That I coveted my brother’s enterprises and killed him?!”

The air at the banquet table turned icy.

Everyone’s eyes widened, darting between me and him.

I just shrugged.

“Well, isn’t it strange? The funeral barely ends, and you immediately start cornering his son about the businesses?”

“What…?”

“Was it just a good chance that fell into your lap? Or… did you make that chance yourself?”

“You insolent brat! If anyone had the most reason to kill your father, it was you!”

For some reason, as Richard shouted in my face, I suddenly remembered Sia’s words from a few days ago:

— Will you kill Uncle too?

Why did everyone keep saying things like that to me?

That I killed someone, or that I would.

As if I could even swat a fly.

I started to argue more but closed my mouth.

“…Haa.”

Annoyance washed over me.

Richard kept yelling, pointing, accusing—his voice grating.

“Enough.”

I raised a hand, cutting him off.

All at once, I was tired of it.

This bickering. The shouting.

Why?

Why was I straining so hard—when it was all mine already?

I discarded all the clever lines I’d prepared in my head.

And simply asked:

“Uncle. There’s something I really don’t understand.”

Grinding my irritation down, I spoke slowly.

“Why did you all follow the late Count so obediently in the first place?”

Silence. But I knew the answer.

The Mausoleum family had always been ruled by fear.

The late Count was no different.

I’d read it all in the chronicles from the study these past few days.

How terrified everyone had been of him. What deliberate acts he did to inspire that terror.

“Then tell me, Uncle—if I really killed my father, shouldn’t you all fear me even more?”

“…”

“And I have a dragon at my side. Yet instead of flattering me, you’re scrambling to snatch something away?”

I almost laughed.

“Did you all suddenly grow brave in old age? Or are your minds just failing with senility?”

“…”

“You’re fools. Too blind to see. That’s why you let an incompetent brute like Father dominate you.”

“…Seymour…”

“You think I’ll be different? That just because I’m young, you can try something? That you’re free now from the tyrant’s shadow?”

“…Seymour.”

“You’re wrong. Once a beaten dog, always a house dog.”

“…Seymour—your mana!”

“Choose. Either live as my dogs—or all of you, by my hand—!”

“Seymour Mausoleum! Withdraw your mana!”

The shout jolted me.

“…What?”

The banquet hall floor was covered in thick black mist.

My mana.

When did I…?

The mist coiled upward, wrapping around several people, clutching at their hearts.

Richard was drenched in cold sweat, his face white as death.

Shit…!

I moved to pull it back—

—but stopped.

Should I just kill them all here?

It was like someone whispered in my ear.

It’s a hassle, isn’t it? Sorting allies from enemies. Deciding who to use and who to discard. Judging who’s useful and who’s not.

The voice stroked at something deep inside me.

You already have plenty to replace them. A list of capable, easily manipulated pawns across the empire is already in your head.

Sweet. Seductive.

So just do it. Pop them. Like popcorn—pop!

That voice—

was my own.