The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 275

Finishing the kills,they returned to the base.

Seeing the people carrying boxes,the people around couldn’t help but marvel.

"It seems we struck rich again."

Inside the dim-lit chamber of obsidian stone, the scent of iron and shadow hung thick in the air.

The floor beneath Vale Raven echoed his every step as he strode in, his coat still dripping faint trails of blood that hadn’t fully dried. Though the fires in the sconces flickered gently, there was no warmth in this place—only silence, discipline, and fear.

As he entered the inner sanctum of the Assassin Tower, rows of cloaked figures instantly fell to one knee.

"The Heir has arrived."

Their voices rang out like a chant, low and reverent. Heads bowed, fists pressed to the ground in unison. The gathered assassins—men and women of all ages, honed and emotionless—held the pose as if under divine command. Even the higher-ranking shadows on the upper balconies offered a slight nod in solemn greeting.

Vale Raven, young in years but old in presence, walked forward with a predator’s grace. His long blue coat swayed with each step, the dried blood flaking off with soft crackles. His hair was a tangled mess from the fight, yet his blue eyes—icy and emotionless—were what truly defined him. He looked like a man carved from darkness itself, bearing the eerie aura of one who lived more in shadow than in light.

Without sparing a glance at those kneeling, he walked straight to the obsidian throne carved with the sigil of the Tower: a coiling serpent through a skull. He swung the coat off with a flick, tossed it to an attendant, and sat down with an air of quiet dominance.

"Report," Vale said, resting his chin on a gloved hand.

A stooped elder, garbed in deep maroon, stepped forward with practiced calm.

"We have received intelligence from the Duchy of Veydrin."

Vale’s eyes narrowed, a trace of interest flickering in them. "Which part of the Duchy?"

"Specifically, around the Grand Duke’s estate... The one where Kael was last seen."

A thin twitch appeared at the edge of Vale’s mouth. "So the brat returns..."

He leaned back in the throne, tapping a finger on the armrest.

"Tsk... Tsk... I was so hopeful Lady Adele would have done the job." He gave a slow, exaggerated sigh. "She had one job—one—and still couldn’t manage to kill him."

His voice, though flat, carried a simmering undertone of mockery.

The elder remained still, knowing better than to interrupt.

Vale’s voice dropped an octave, mocking, "The ’genius’ Kael. Back from the dead. Still walking around like a cockroach."

For a moment, his gaze drifted toward the wall behind the elder where a tapestry depicted a battlefield drowned in crimson. The rules of the Assassin Tower were clear—never target noble houses directly unless sanctioned. But Kael... Kael had crossed too many lines. If not for protocol, Vale would have personally cut the boy’s throat at that party for daring to touch the Lady.

"Pathetic," Vale spat. "She had my support. My resources. But no... she failed."

"My Lord," another voice chimed in from the shadows beside the throne. "The Crown Games approach. That may be the better battleground."

Vale’s expression sharpened with a smile—not of joy, but cruelty.

"Yes... the Crown Games." He stood slowly and walked to the massive table map in the center of the chamber. With a single finger, he traced the route from Veydrin to the Imperial Capital.

"Politics, pride, and blood... A stage worthy of cleaning vermin."

He turned his gaze to the gathered assassins, all of whom waited silently for his next words.

"Begin preparations," Vale commanded, his voice cold and deliberate. "Shadow the Grand Duke’s party. Track Kael’s every move. I want a report on his strengths, allies, weaknesses—everything. If he stumbles even once... we will be there."

A chorus of low acknowledgments echoed back from the chamber.

"We will begin immediately, My Lord."

Vale glanced once more at the bloodied sleeve of his coat and muttered under his breath.

"Let the games begin."

....

Kael sat leisurely on the manor’s central balcony, basking under the warm rays of late morning light. A gust of wind fluttered the long curtains behind him, while perched on his lap was none other than the silvery dragonling—Elfie. The little creature let out an excited chirp as it squatted and jumped around like a playful kitten, before springing up onto Kael’s shoulder with surprising agility.

"Oi—slow down, you rascal," Kael chuckled, catching her mid-leap. Elfie licked his cheek, her forked tongue flicking playfully as she wrapped her tail around his neck like a scarf.

"Gah! Okay—too much affection."

"Papapapapapa!" Elfie chimed gleefully, nuzzling against his face with small spark-like squeaks.

Kael laughed again and rubbed her head fondly. "You’re getting clingier every day."

As he looked across the room, his gaze caught Lyria’s. Her dark amethyst eyes looked drained but composed as always.

Kael smiled slightly, then murmured to her, "It must’ve been tough."

She sighed wordlessly, as if one breath was enough to tell the entire story.

Of course it had been tough. Elfie had grown more energetic by the hour—biting pillows, chasing birds, and throwing tantrums over the wrong kind of meat. Lyria had nearly lost her mind trying to keep the beast calm, fed, and hidden. The dragon was still a baby, but a baby dragon was no less chaotic than a thunderstorm in a glass house.

Before Kael could comfort her further, a voice echoed from the hallway.

"My Lord, Sir Gare is back and awaiting your presence in the hall," a servant called.

Kael gave Elfie a final pat on the head and tried to rise, but the little dragon clung to him tightly.

"Papa...Papa...Papa...!"

Kael gently peeled her claws from his chest. "Be good, Elfie. Papa has to go do work."

"Wuhhh... Work?" Elfie whimpered, eyes starting to well with tears again.

"Yes, work. You like delicious roasted lamb, don’t you?"

"Meat!" Her eyes sparkled.

"Well, Papa needs to earn money for that meat. So if you want more food, let Papa go, hmm?"

She paused, thinking hard in her tiny dragon brain. Then, with great resignation, she released him, giving a final soft sniff. "Elfie wait... for Papa meat."

Kael chuckled, rubbed her head once more, and stood. "Good girl."

He walked out and made his way toward the estate’s hallway, where Gare stood at attention.

"Caught them?" Kael asked without pause.

Gare nodded with a grim smile. "Yes. We have plenty. Some nasty ones too."

Kael gave an approving glance. "Lead the way."

Soon, they arrived at a side estate—one Kael had quietly purchased and turned into a private prison. It was a silent, damp place with thick walls, locked chambers, and all the tools needed for "persuasion." Within, the air was filled with the musky scent of sweat, dried blood, and old metal.

Inside the cold stone chamber, a group of savage criminals sat chained in the center, their hands bound behind their backs with magic-suppressing shackles. Most of them were burly, scarred men—bandits, slavers, and mercenaries who had preyed upon the weak, only to find themselves hunted by the Blue Knights.

As Kael stepped into the room, their eyes widened. A white-haired young man with a slick smile and warm-looking features stood before them, seemingly harmless. He looked like a rich noble’s pampered son—not a man who could have any authority in this place.

One of the bandits whispered, "The hell’s this? Looks like a damn perfume seller."

"Maybe he’s the son of the guy in charge?"

"Heh. If this guy’s in charge, then we’re walking out of here tonight."

Kael smiled, overhearing them clearly. He gave a glance at Gare, who silently nodded and left the room, sealing the heavy door behind him.

Now, only Kael and the bound criminals remained.

A bandit barked, "Who the hell are you?! What do you want?!"

Another roared, "Why the fuck did you bring us here?! If you want ransom, we can pay—just say the word!"

Kael smiled wider, his expression curling into something far darker.

"It doesn’t matter who I am," he said calmly, walking toward them. "The real question is..." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

He extended his hand forward, fingers slowly closing.

"...What’s going to happen to you all?"

Dark purple wisps emerged from Kael’s fingertips. The temperature in the room dropped. A thick, crushing pressure blanketed the chamber.

"No—what’s that?! What’s he doing?!"

"Don’t let him cast anything!"

"Help! Help—aaARGHH!"

Kael’s activated devour.

From his outstretched hand, a vortex of pure dark energy began to draw from the bound men. The first to scream was the loudest—their life force pulled violently from their bodies. Their veins glowed dark as their energy was wrenched away.

The chains rattled violently, and one of the bandits began to convulse, eyes rolling back in terror.

"Nooo! Stop! Please—"

Kael walked forward slowly, the devouring aura flaring behind him like a reaper’s wings. "All of you have lived by taking from the weak. Now, you will give something back."

The vortex grew more intense, and one by one, their screams turned hoarse... then fell silent.

Kael’s aura flared to its peak—his eyes glowing momentarily as he absorbed their essence. Then, the room fell still, with only the sound of dripping chains and the eerie stillness of death.

Kael exhaled slowly, looking at the lifeless husks before him. Not even ashes remained.

"Criminals... just another form of currency," he muttered, then turned toward the door.

Time to get back to work and use devour for real.