Wicked Husband-Chapter 176 - 175

As soon as he stepped into the bedroom, Leon lightly frowned.

Despite Leon’s insistence that Cesare remain in bed and rest, Cesare was clearly seated on the sofa, waiting for him.

"It seems the Duke won’t even obey an imperial command. I told you to rest..." Leon grumbled, taking a seat across from him. Cesare responded with a faint, fleeting smile, which Leon mirrored without realizing it.

"Where’s Eileen?"

"I asked for her understanding. I wanted to speak to you alone."

"I thought Lady Farbellini was also coming."

"I sent her away too—for the sake of our brotherly time," Leon quipped with a shrug, his tone light. Cesare didn’t press further, leaving Leon to gaze at him pensively.

"How’s your shoulder?"

"It’s fine."

The brief response darkened Leon’s expression. He let out a long sigh.

"So, you ruined your shoulder taking down Count Bonaparte. Did you at least get what you wanted?"

"Not as much as I’d hoped," Cesare admitted, his red eyes fixed on Leon. "But it wasn’t entirely meaningless."

For a moment, the brothers simply looked at one another. Though they were twins born of the same womb, they were as different as night and day—in appearance and temperament.

As Leon regarded his brother, memories of playing the piano resurfaced. His fingertips tingled, recalling the keys beneath them.

"Brother," Cesare said, his crimson eyes capturing Leon completely. Even in his calm demeanor, he couldn’t entirely hide the bitterness of jealousy that occasionally surfaced.

"Do you remember what I asked of you when I left for Kalpen?"

"Of course," Leon replied without hesitation.

Cesare had placed him on the imperial throne and left for the battlefield without a second thought, entrusting Leon with a single request.

Leon swallowed slowly. His throat felt parched, as though the act of swallowing was the only thing preventing his voice from cracking.

"Why bring that up now?"

"I was just curious."

Cesare leaned back against the sofa, his posture deceptively relaxed, and added in a low voice, "I know my brother wouldn’t lie to me, but as I piece things together, there are fewer people left to suspect."

Leon had a fleeting vision of a piano string snapping, followed by the discordant sound ringing in his ears. It couldn’t be. Cesare couldn’t have found out—it had been a single mistake. Leon furrowed his brow and forced a laugh.

"What are you talking about, Cesare?"

"Do you still play the piano?"

It didn’t seem like Cesare was expecting an answer, as he immediately changed the subject. Leon tried to read his brother’s intentions, but Cesare’s words were too opaque to decipher.

"I’ve been thinking of picking up the violin again. My hands have gotten stiff, so I’m not sure how well it’ll go."

Leon tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, feeling as though a heavy stone had settled in his gut.

"Let me see your wound," he said.

"It’s almost healed; you don’t need to worry about it."

"How could I not? I’m your brother." Leon’s tone carried a hint of sternness.

"You were shot, Cesare. Which reminds me—I sent the Grand Duchess to the temple today."

At the mention of the temple, Cesare’s face hardened instantly.

"...What?"

Startled by the sudden change in his brother’s demeanor, Leon hurried to explain.

"I asked her to pray for your recovery. You can’t keep opposing the temple forever. Since you won’t go, I thought she could..."

Before Leon could finish, Cesare sprang from his seat.

"Cesare?"

Leon called after him, but Cesare didn’t look back. He strode across the room and flung the door open with such force that the hinges creaked under the pressure.

"Sonio!"

"Yes, Your Grace," replied the ever-dutiful Sonnio, who had been waiting just outside. Without needing instructions, Sonnio handed Cesare a set of car keys.

Donning the coat that Sonnio quickly offered, Cesare descended the stairs rapidly. A military jeep waited outside the mansion.

Although the driver was ready, Cesare got behind the wheel himself. The engine roared to life, and with a sharp press on the accelerator, he sped off immediately.

Within the city limits, there were strict speed regulations, but Cesare paid them no mind, driving recklessly through the streets.

Pedestrians leaped out of the way, startled by the roaring jeep. With razor-sharp precision, Cesare maneuvered through the city and reached the temple.

He screeched to a halt, sending bystanders scattering in panic. When Cesare stepped out of the jeep, their fear quickly turned to astonishment as they recognized the Grand Duke of Erzet.

Ignoring the gawking crowd, Cesare didn’t even bother to shut the car door. He made his way straight to the grand entrance of the temple.

A massive statue of a winged lion loomed above him, its base adorned with offerings of flowers. The air was thick with their fragrance, but Cesare didn’t spare them a second glance.

As he approached the temple entrance, the guards instinctively raised their weapons. But when they saw who it was, their faces slackened in shock.

There was no time for explanations. Cesare pushed open the temple’s massive doors—usually a task requiring several guards—effortlessly on his own.

Inside, the scene came into view: a woman stood before the altar.

"Eileen!" he called, his voice raw with urgency.

Golden-green eyes, lifted toward the ceiling, slowly turned to him. Her gaze was a mix of surprise and joy.

Her clear eyes gave Cesare a fleeting sense of relief, calming his wildly racing heart for just a moment. He prepared to pull her out of this wretched place.

"C-Cesare..." Eileen’s voice trembled, and at that exact moment, the temple began to collapse.

Massive chunks of marble rained down, enveloping her in an instant.

Cesare stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the ruins of the shattered temple.

In the deafening silence that followed, a sound teased his ears—a cruel mockery.

The ticking of clock hands.

***

Everything was ablaze.

The sacrificial altar was engulfed in roaring flames, consuming everything in its path. Smoke choked the air, but the sharp, metallic tang of blood was even more overwhelming.

The stench made Eileen dizzy. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind, and blinked rapidly. When she looked up, her vision was still hazy.

"Wh-what...?"

Before her stood the grand temple of the capital, tall and unscathed, as if nothing had happened.

But just moments ago, she had been buried beneath its collapse—or so she had believed.

Reality and illusion blurred together. Her eyes wandered, unfocused, before landing on a massive altar before the winged lion statue.

It was much larger than the one she had seen during the hunt. The flames rose higher, not as an offering, but as if they were meant for something far darker—a macabre execution.

Blood covered everything—the lion statue, the altar, the surroundings. The statue, drenched in crimson, appeared to weep tears of blood.

What... is this?

As she hesitated, studying the grotesque scene, she spotted a familiar figure. Her eyes widened.

"Cesare!"

She called his name, her voice filled with relief. But it seemed as though her voice didn’t reach him. Cesare didn’t turn toward her; he kept walking forward.

Then Eileen noticed the man he was dragging—a middle-aged man, weeping as he was hauled along like a lifeless sack.

In Cesare’s other hand was a sword.

His face was terrifyingly void of expression, illuminated by the flickering firelight. Only his crimson eyes burned fiercely.

Cesare stopped in front of the altar and raised his sword. The blade, already stained with blood, gleamed with the reflection of the flames.

In a single swift motion, the man’s head was severed. It fell to the ground with a thud, rolling like a ball. Blood spurted from the neck, but it wasn’t enough to douse the flames.

Eileen’s entire body trembled. She couldn’t even part her lips to call his name again.

"Oh, my god."

Cesare said, his voice curling into a twisted smile.

"Tomorrow, I’ll sacrifice a hundred lives."

***