Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 277: Burn The Witch

So what if the plan failed?

So what if the clone had been a decoy, a macabre mockery of Sienna herself?

So what if the real serpent refused to slither from the safety of her shadows, hidden deep within her fortress of deceit and silk-lined lies?

Vyan wasn't the kind of man to stop at the first fall.

After Iyana informed him of what transpired in the dungeon with Sienna, aka, her clone, he quietly stood up from his chair. He just took a few wordless steps towards Iyana and brought out his handkerchief. He gently pressed the fabric against her cheek, wiping the specks of blood on her skin.

His expression was thoughtful, contemplating their next move.

Right about now, the entire capital must be festive with anticipation for awaiting coronation ceremony for the new crowned heir. Time was bleeding too quickly toward that final day.

"Sienna has cornered herself," he murmured, voice like low thunder before a storm. "We don't need to wait for her to come out. We'll drag her to us ourselves."

Clyde stood beside them, his sharp jaw clenched, gray eyes flicking with an edge of anger. Sienna was a threat not just for his boss but also his beloved. As long as she was alive, a cloud of uncertainty hung over them.

"Say the word, my lord," Clyde replied, rolling his shoulders as though preparing for a dance rather than an infiltration. "You want me to be a prince for a night?"

"Easton," Vyan corrected, smirking. "Just for a few hours. Enough to get past their gates and drag her to us. Or, if you think you can end her yourself, do it. The sooner we get rid of her, the better."

Clyde laughed, and it was a devilishly good one. "Oh, I've always wanted to be a prince for a day."

"If everything goes alright, Clyde, you will become the emperor, you do that know, right?" Iyana teased.

"An emperor has too much responsibilities. I'd rather be a prince, honestly."

The metamorphosis was subtle—flesh curling, bones stretching, shadows folding inwards and birthing something new. In a matter of moments, the Aide of the Grand Duke was gone, and in his place stood a mirror of Easton himself—beautiful sandy blonde hair and the hazel eyes.

Yes, hazel eyes, not green. Because one couldn't replicate the eye color of the members of the imperial bloodline. Only the imperials had green eyes within the entire empire.

So, the closest shade of green was hazel. It was the safest bet.

"Enjoy having your wish fulfilled then," Vyan said. "But don't forget to burn that witch to the ground."

"I sure won't."

"Also, don't engage in any danger. Stay safe."

With no delay, Clyde—now Easton—teleported to the capital. He informed Althea through their communication device and she soon came to take him inside through the secret passage. Seeing him, she fixed his hair in a way that didn't make his eyes too visible and urged him to go forward.

The guards recognized him instantly. Of course they did. He didn't even have to speak; the face alone earned reverence and open gates. He walked with the same heavy-footed disdain Easton always carried—like the world owed him an apology.

The guards didn't even question why Easton was outside when he should have been confined in his room according to the imperial order. They just assumed that the guards before their shift must have let Easton go out secretly. Who were they to question a prince, after all?

Corridors stretched endlessly beneath the golden glow of enchanted lanterns. The palace smelled of dried roses and cold incense, like it hadn't seen laughter in years. He moved like a ghost in a graveyard, step by rehearsed step, heart hammering beneath his borrowed skin.

He was just a few feet from Sienna's chamber door when the air shifted—cold, sudden, and wrong.

The creatures emerged from the darkness like oil slipping through cracks.

One was tall, skeletal, and oddly elegant. Its limbs were stretched unnaturally long, fingers ending in tips that shimmered like obsidian glass. Its skin was ash-gray, tight over sharp bones, and its eyes were hollow, save for the gold rings swirling like smoke within them.

The second was hunched, malformed, with a gaping maw where a face should have been. From its back sprouted tendrils—hundreds of them—coiling and twitching like dying vines. It breathed in clicks and gasps, like something trying to imitate human speech and failing miserably.

The taller one spoke first, its voice gliding like silk laced with venom.

"Password."

Clyde froze.

His mind scrambled. Password? What password? How am I supposed to know the password of that paranoid woman's room?

He kept his face calm, lifted his chin.

"Oh, please," he scoffed, slipping into Easton's cold tone. "Since when do I need a password to enter my own wife's room?"

The demons didn't move. Didn't even twitch.

The hunched one let out a guttural sound, like bones crunching underwater. "It's the protocol."

Clyde gritted his teeth. Shit.

He took a step back and assessed the two demons.

Can I take them both down all by myself?

Taking a moment to measure their aura, he decided against it. Vyan did tell him not to engage in any danger. Even though he might be able to take them down, he'd be sure to kick up a fuss that'd invite the whole imperial army here.

"Fine," he said smoothly, feigning irritation. "I'll get the damned password. Tell her to expect me."

The taller demon tilted its head. A slow, eerie smile spread across its face.

"We will tell her someone tried to infiltrate. That's all she needs to know."

That smile didn't look like it belonged on anything human. It didn't look like it belonged in this world.

Clyde didn't show a single sign of fear, turned on his heel, and walked away before they could get a hold of him. He didn't run until he was out of the palace.

When he spawned in Vyan's office, panting and pale, Vyan only raised a brow.

"No luck?"

"Unless her demons enjoy bedtime poetry, I'm guessing the password wasn't 'Love me like you used to,'" Clyde deadpanned, wiping sweat from his brow. "That entire place is crawling with cursed monstrosities. We're not going to get to her that way."

Vyan didn't reply for a while.

He merely continued doing his paperwork, while Clyde slumped on the couch, his features returning to normal.

Finally, Vyan spoke.

"Then we do it at the coronation. She wants a stage?" His voice turned to steel. "Let's prepare one for her. After all, as the imperial law suggests, a witch should be burned at the stake in front of the public to see."

Because it didn't matter if Sienna never stepped out again.

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Vyan would drag her into history. And this time, she wouldn't crawl back out.

"And Clyde," Vyan added. "Go back to the imperial palace."

"Why?" Clyde questioned.

"Stay with Thea at all times."

Clyde's eyes hardened.

"Without a doubt, their next aim would be to take Thea's life."

No Althea, nobody else to fight for the throne. Clear answer would be Easton if Althea was out of the equation.

Until now, they didn't take this into consideration because they were confident that Easton wouldn't stoop that low. No matter how much he loved his crown, he was a righteous man—was what Althea and Iyana had vouched for. But Vyan could no longer keep faith in that notion.

Easton might be completely blinded by Sienna's magic at this point. Seeing how he has had no issues lying straight-up at the court, he wouldn't hesitate to harm Althea, either.

So, Althea needed an upgrade in her security. Who better than Clyde? The self-proclaimed best mage in the empire before Vyan came into the picture?

"What about you?" Clyde asked in a small voice. "What if they come after you?"

"Hm?" A smile spread across his lips, his eyes gleaming with sinister intent. "I'd like to see them try."