The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 106:On Eve Of Naarat

Kael’s eyes gleamed under the dim torchlight as he turned to Cedric, eyeing him coldly.

"Tell me, Cedric." His grin stretched wider, but there was no amusement in it. "Your life will depend on the answer."

Cedric stiffened. A drop of sweat slid down his temple, despite the freezing air.

"Why didn’t you support rations and troops to the Northern Gate?" Kael’s voice darkened. "You do realize that your ’oversight’ caused its fall?"

Cedric let out a slow, bitter breath and sighed trying to explain.

"My Lord, please forgive us.We are helpless on our own." frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

"Why?"

"Because we ourselves are on the brink of death." His expression twisted, as if the words burned his throat. "My father is very ill, as are many of our soldiers. They’re barely clinging to life."

Kael’s eyes flickered to Reiner, who immediately stepped forward, his fury barely contained. "That’s a lie!" he barked. "How could such a thing happen when we were still guarding the gate?! Hadn’t your Lord met with Commander Robert just weeks ago? He was fine then!"

Cedric’s gaze lowered, his hands clenching into fists. "Yes... He was." He swallowed. "But everything changed on the night of Naarat."

Silence fell over the room. The name alone sent chills down the spines of those who recognized it.

Kael’s grin faded slightly. "Naarat?"

Cedric nodded grimly. "Three weeks ago, on the coldest night of the season, a shadow swept through the city." His voice wavered. "People began to fall ill... not just with fever, but something worse. Their skin turned deathly pale, their veins darkened, and they started coughing up blood ice."

Chris flinched. "Coughing...blood ice?"

Cedric gave a weak nod. "It wasn’t natural. The healers—every single one—failed to cure them. Then, one by one, they stopped breathing." His fingers trembled. "My father was among the first to fall sick. We lost nearly two hundred men overnight. The few who survived... they aren’t the same."

Kael’s fingers twitched. His patience, already thin, was being tested by the second. He felt like every time he solved one problem, another five appeared to mock him.

The difficulty level of this damn mission was rising like hell.

His lips curled into a snarl as he turned to his men. "Great. First, I have to deal with thousands of beasts, and now some cursed plague?"

He exhaled sharply, then looked at Cedric again. "And? What’s causing this? Don’t tell me you have no idea."

Cedric hesitated, then spoke two words that made the air feel even colder.

"Maybe the Ice Devil,"Cedric answered while leading them to Baron quarters.

The grand doors of Lord Fernad’s mansion creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hall lined with tall, withered banners. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, as if something unseen crawled beneath the surface of reality.

Kael stepped inside, and instantly, his instincts screamed. Something was wrong. It wasn’t just the cold—it was the feeling of being watched, of walking into a place tainted by something beyond human comprehension. His fingers twitched toward his sword, but he kept his posture relaxed, following Cedric deeper inside.

The hallways were eerily quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of exhausted servants and knights moving about their duties. Their faces were hollow, drained of life, and many avoided meeting Kael’s gaze. Torches flickered weakly, their flames struggling against the suffocating atmosphere.

Finally, Cedric stopped before a grand door, hesitating for a brief moment before pushing it open.

Inside, Lord Fernad lay on a massive bed, surrounded by thick, dark curtains. The once-mighty ruler of Sparves was now a husk of a man, his skin dry and cracked like old parchment. His veins pulsed with a faint blue glow, and his breath was shallow, rattling in his chest as if every inhale was a battle.

Kael’s eyes narrowed. This isn’t just sickness.

"Father," Cedric whispered, stepping closer. "I’ve brought Lord Kael."

The old man’s eyelids fluttered weakly, barely able to open. His sunken eyes barely focused on Kael before slipping away, as if reality itself was slipping through his grasp.

Kael crossed his arms. "How long has he been like this?"

Cedric swallowed hard. "Since the night of Naarat."

Kael’s jaw clenched as he looked at the man.

’Almost B-rank yet he had been reduced to this.’

He turned to the knights in the room. "Tell me everything. How did this start? Did anyone notice anything unusual before it happened?"

The knights exchanged glances before one stepped forward. A tall man with sharp eyes and neatly combed silver hair—clearly someone of high rank. His posture was composed, his expression unreadable, but there was an air of control about him that spoke of both intelligence and experience.

He bowed slightly. "Lord Kael, I am Valen Drex, Lord Fernad’s steward and right hand. I have been managing the city in his stead."

Kael studied him. There was no hesitation in his movements, no sign of weakness in his voice. A man like this wouldn’t crumble under pressure. That meant if he was worried about something, he had good reason to be.

Valen straightened. "The illness began suddenly, without warning. No common symptoms—just cold seeping into their bones, as if something had drained the warmth from their bodies overnight." His eyes darkened. "And it only affected certain people."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "Certain people?"

Valen nodded. "The strongest men. The knights, the warriors. Lord Fernad. They were the first to fall."

"Normal people aren’t affected.Only the awakened ones.’’

Kael’s mind sharpened. "So it was targeting fighters."

Valen inclined his head slightly, his face impassive. "It would seem that way. Healers and scholars were left untouched. And then, there’s the matter of the sky."

Kael frowned. "What about it?"

Valen exhaled. "On the night of Naarat... the sky turned white."

A heavy silence fell in the room. Even Cedric tensed.

Kael’s gaze darkened. "White?"

"Yes. A white glow, unnatural, spreading across the clouds above the city. And then, in the morning, the sickness began."

Kael glanced at Lord Fernad, then back at Valen. "And no one knows the cause?"

"No," Valen admitted. "We have theories, of course. The Ice Devil is the most popular one."

Kael scoffed, wondering if this was really the job of Ice Devil.

He looked at Gare who also nodded briefly. He too felt this suspicious like it was a set up.

Valen didn’t react. "Convenient, perhaps. But the timing is precise. The Northern Gate falls, and within days, Sparves is struck by a force we don’t understand." He met Kael’s gaze directly. "This is not a coincidence, my lord."

Kael held his stare. Valen was sharp. Too sharp. His words were calculated, his every move precise. There was nothing outwardly suspicious, but Kael’s gut told him something was off.

It wasn’t what Valen said.

Kael tilted his head, letting a slow smirk creep onto his face. "Well then," he drawled. "I guess we’ll have to figure out what’s lurking in your city quickly lest things might go weary."

For the first time, Valen’s lips pressed together slightly, just a fraction of a second too long.

And Kael knew. Something was very, very wrong in Sparves but the Ice Devil didn’t have a hand in it.