Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls-Chapter 446: How about... dinner?

The woman’s sobs broke the silence like something dissonant, almost offensive, in that corridor now dominated by authority and fear. She held her son’s body against her chest, rocking slightly, as if the movement could undo what was already irreversible. Her face was contorted, not only by pain, but by a furious disbelief, an absolute inability to accept the reality that was imposing itself before her.

"How dare you?!" she screamed, raising her tear-stained face to Hella, her voice faltering between sobs and hatred. "How dare you do this to my son?! Who do you think you are?!"

The words echoed through the corridor, but found no immediate answer. Hella only observed her for a moment, in silence. There was no pity in her gaze. No anger. Only a surgical coldness, the same expression a general would have when assessing a broken piece on the chessboard.

Then she moved.

Hella took two firm steps and stopped before the kneeling woman. The slap came swiftly, violently, laden with intent. It wasn’t an impulsive gesture, but a deliberate one. The dry sound of the impact echoed loudly, and the force was enough to make the woman’s head snap sharply to the side, eliciting a cry of pain and causing her to fall to the side, still clutching her son’s body.

She immediately brought her hand to her face, weeping, the sob now mingled with the physical shock. Her pride had been crushed as easily as her son’s body had been destroyed minutes before.

Hella stood before her, imposing.

"What part of King of Witches..." Hella began, her voice low, controlled, but laden with overwhelming authority, "didn’t you understand?"

The woman raised her eyes, now wide, but still not fully conscious. The pain seemed to have only fueled her despair.

"He... he killed a son of the Emperor!" she screamed, her voice shrill, almost hysterical. "You will pay for this! The Emperor will—"

Hella smiled.

It wasn’t a kind smile. Nor was it cruel in a theatrical sense. It was a calm, confident smile, the smile of someone who knows exactly how the world works... and knows she’s on top of it.

"The Emperor?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "I’m absolutely certain he won’t lose a second of sleep over trash like your son."

The words struck the woman like an invisible blow.

She paled instantly.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her body began to tremble, no longer from anger, but from belated understanding. There was no revenge. There was no justice. There was no matter. Her son wasn’t a martyr. He wasn’t an unjustly wronged heir. He was... irrelevant.

The weight of it was worse than death itself.

Hella paid her no more attention.

She turned calmly, as if closing a minor matter, and walked back to Kael. Her steps were firm, elegant, perfectly controlled, a stark contrast to the emotional chaos left behind.

She stopped at a respectful distance and bowed again. Less profound this time, but still laden with meaning.

"Once again, I apologize," she said, her tone genuine enough to be convincing, yet calculated enough not to be mistaken for submission. "For the deplorable behavior of this house. For the disrespect to the Scarlet name. And... for wasting your time."

Kael watched her in silence.

His face was serene, but his eyes analyzed everything. The way Hella had handled the situation. The speed. The complete absence of hesitation. This hadn’t been mere damage control. It had been a clear political message to all who watched.

Hella then straightened up and smiled more gently.

"As a form of reparation," she continued, "I would like to invite you to dinner tonight. Just the two of us. A quiet conversation, away... from this kind of spectacle."

She made a vague gesture with her hand, indicating the hallway, the bodies, the dried blood on the marble, the terrified stares of those present.

"Consider this a formal... and personal apology."

Kael held her gaze for a few seconds.

He wasn’t naive.

That dinner had nothing to do with food. Nor with courtesy. It was a strategic invitation. A clear attempt to speak away from prying ears, to align interests, to measure forces, perhaps even to test limits.

He saw it with absolute clarity.

And yet...

Kael sighed slowly.

"You don’t waste any time," he commented, with a slight hint of irony in his voice.

Hella smiled a little more, accepting the comment without denying it.

"Time is a valuable resource," she replied. "Especially when dealing with someone like you."

Kael looked around one last time. The corridor was now in absolute silence. No one dared to move. The woman was still crying softly in the background, but she was no longer screaming. Fear had replaced any illusion of revolt.

He turned his gaze back to Hella.

"All right," he said finally. "I accept."

Her smile widened, but only enough to show professional satisfaction.

"I’m glad to hear that."

She made a discreet gesture, and immediately some guards began to organize the space, pushing away onlookers, handling the bodies with almost mechanical efficiency. The palace was regaining its appearance of order... though stained by something that wouldn’t be forgotten anytime soon.

Hella turned slightly, indicating the way.

"I’ll arrange everything personally," she said. "A proper dinner. No interruptions."

Kael began walking beside her.

As they advanced down the corridor, he cast one last glance over his shoulder at the fallen woman.

There was no satisfaction in his eyes.

Only weariness.

"This place..." he murmured, almost to himself.

Hella heard him.

"Yes... it’s been complicated," she replied without hesitation. "But that was good, the more bastard children of my idiot brother are killed, the easier it will be to manage the future of this kingdom..."

Kael stared blankly as he walked, "Having children must be..."

"Complicated," Hella commented, "Even more so when you’re Emperor."

Kael remained silent for a few steps, the sound of his boots echoing softly through the corridor, now too clean for what had transpired there minutes before. Servants avoided looking directly at them; guards kept their eyes fixed ahead, rigid, as if any deviation could be interpreted as a grave offense. The palace continued to function, but something had cracked beneath the surface—and everyone felt it.

"Having children must be..." Kael began, the sentence fading as his gaze fixed on some invisible point ahead.

"Complicated," Hella finished, without hesitation. "Even more so when you’re Emperor."

She walked with her hands clasped behind her back, impeccable posture, her voice low enough not to be heard by anyone but him. There was no hurry in her steps. This conversation was deliberate.

"Adriano always confused power with legacy," she continued. "He thought that spreading his own blood would guarantee continuity. In the end, he only spread problems."

Kael let out an almost imperceptible breath, something between a dry laugh and a tired sigh.

"How many are there?" he asked.

"Officially?" Hella tilted her head slightly, thoughtfully. "Seven acknowledged. Unofficially... it’s best not to keep that count."

Kael raised an eyebrow.

"And of those seven?"

"Most are useless," Hella replied without ceremony. "Spoiled, arrogant, weak. Raised to command, never to bear the weight of their orders. They live surrounded by sycophants, believing the world exists to serve them."

She made a vague gesture with her hand, as if discarding defective pieces.

"Two are too cruel. One is too stupid. Another thinks he’s a great strategist because he won board games against condescending advisors. The one who died today..." she shrugged. "He was just noise."

Kael didn’t comment, but his jaw tightened slightly. "And the rest?" he asked.

Hella took a second longer to answer.

"There’s the youngest."

Her tone changed. Subtly, but it changed.

"Sixteen years old," she continued. "And, ironically, the only one who really pays attention."

Kael turned his head slightly, now interested.

"Pay attention to what?"

"To everything," Hella replied. "To people. To silences. To consequences. She observes more than she speaks. When she speaks, she chooses her words carefully. She doesn’t try to impress anyone. She doesn’t try to dominate rooms. She... understands."

Kael was silent for a few seconds.

"That’s rare," he said finally.

"It is," Hella agreed. "Especially in that family."

They turned down a narrower side corridor with tall windows and discreet stained glass. The light that entered there was softer, less harsh.

"She knows who you are," Hella added.

Kael stopped walking.

Hella stopped too, respecting his pace.

"Since when?" he asked.

"Since before today," she replied. "Long before. She reads. Asks questions. Puts the pieces together. Unlike her brothers, who are only interested in stories when they involve easy glory."

Kael tilted his head slightly.

"And the Emperor allows this?"

Hella gave a short, almost ironic smile.

"Adriano underestimates everything he can’t directly control. He thinks she’s just... quiet. Fragile. A piece for a future marriage. He doesn’t realize she’s already forming her own opinion."

"And you noticed."

"I pay attention," Hella said simply.

Silence settled between them again for a few steps.

"You seem... different when you talk about her," Kael commented, without judgment in his voice.

Hella took a deep breath.

"Perhaps because she’s not broken yet," she replied. "She hasn’t yet been molded by utter cynicism. She still believes the Empire can be something more than a game of vanities."

Kael chuckled softly, humorlessly.

"That usually passes."

"I know," said Hella. "That’s why it’s dangerous... and valuable."

They reached a double door of dark wood, adorned with ancient symbols of the Empire. Two guards immediately straightened up.

Hella gestured for them to wait.

"Dinner will be in my chambers," she informed Kael. "There we can talk without interruptions. No theatrics."

Kael nodded slightly.

"You don’t protect her just for strategy," he observed. "Protect?"

Hella held his gaze for a longer moment.

"I protect her because someone needs to," she replied. "And because, if this empire has any chance of not collapsing completely... it won’t be because of the eldest sons."

Kael looked away, thoughtful.

"Sixteen years old," he murmured. "Too young to carry that kind of expectation."

"I agree," said Hella. "But expectations don’t ask permission."

She opened the door.

Before entering, Kael spoke again:

"If she really is as you say... make sure they don’t use her like they use the rest."

Hella paused. For a very brief instant, something almost human crossed her expression.

"That," she replied, "is exactly my intention."