12.

The role of a lord is to live and to die

Thelo had stopped thinking Dominic would ever return from the fog the day after he went into it. On the second day, he signed the papers presuming him dead. On the third, the viscount finally announced he was back to full health, and would come by to have a chat.

He waited in his study for the old, experienced executioner as always.

A knock resounded against the door around noon.

“Come in,” he said.

A maid opened it and let his father in. He was dressed in his long, impressive robes again, head held high, the image of good health. Dominic had done his job well. The door closed behind him, and Thelo’s gaze met his.

The viscount was smug. His smile was gentle, but there was no denying the look on his face. It radiated an aura of victory. I’ve won, child.

“Are you not going to welcome me, son?” he said.

Thelo turned away.

“Do you need to be welcomed into your own house?” he replied.

The viscount chuckled.

“I suppose not.”

He glided over to the table by the window and took a seat across from Thelo.

“You played quite a funny prank on me,” he remarked, feigning amusement.

“I’m glad you found it enjoyable, father,” Thelo replied, smiling along.

“It’s a relief I managed to sort it out,” the viscount said. “That healer boy showed up at just the right time. It’s a shame he left for home so soon, though.”

No sane person would refer to going into the fog to die as ‘home,’ but Thelo’s relaxed expression didn't waver at the inappropriate comment. He had heard much worse.

“Without him, we don't have a proper healer in the house anymore,” he continued. “If either of us were to be hurt…I suppose there would be little we could do.”

“Ha ha, what a terrible thought that is.”

“Indeed.”

The viscount smiled and snapped his fingers. The doors swung open again, a couple maids stepping inside with trays of tea.

“Shall we chat over tea?” he asked, even though the servants were already setting the cups down.

“Sure, father,” Thelo agreed.

They poured out the tea, the green liquid steaming as it filled their cups, then bowed and retreated back out into the hallway.

“I decided to try a new blend today,” the viscount said. “It took me quite a while to procure.”

“What’s the secret ingredient?”

“The name is difficult to say. It’s a…specialty imported from the northern jungle.”

He smile coldly.

“It was hard to get my hands on it, you see,” he said, “since there are so many teas you’ve already tasted before. So I’d appreciate if you drank up gratefully.”

Thelo glanced down at his cup. There weren't many poisons left that he hadn't trained an immunity to. It seemed like his father had found one.

“What should I expect this to do to me?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t worry, son,” the viscount replied. “It'll work quickly. I’ve heard half a minute is all it takes.”

“What will you do without an heir?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Who knows?” he said. “Thanks to the healer boy, I feel like I have quite a few more decades left in me. That’s enough time to sort it out.”

“You’ll just pop out a new one?”

He shrugged.

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” he replied. “You were a mere replacement too, son. And now I’m just replacing you.”

He smiled as his gaze landed on Thelo.

“This time, I’ll make sure I get one that won’t play such funny pranks and anger me so.”

He spoke so calmly about playing with the lives of his children. But Thelo couldn’t even muster up anger towards him anymore. He had long exhausted those kinds of emotions—blocked them off so he wouldn't burn himself to ash. The viscount gestured towards the tea.

“Drink up, son,” he said.

Thelo wrapped his fingers around the cup and nodded.

“Of course, father.”

He raised it to his lips and drank. Only a sip slid down his throat, but he knew that that would be enough. His father would undoubtedly ensure that any amount, no matter how small, would do its job properly.

“How is it?” the viscount asked.

He managed a smile as he felt his skin go cold.

“It’s delicious.”

Thelo immediately lurched forward, his body curling inwards, his muscles contracting violently. The cup of tea was knocked over, the remaining liquid pouring out onto the table and dripping to the floor. The silverware clattered as the table shook. His lungs were tightening, constricting, making it impossible to breathe. He wheezed for air, but his body wouldn't let any in.

The viscount sat there, smiling calmly as he watched his son dying across from him.

He convulsed violently. Thelo’s forehead eventually hit the table and came to a rest there, the hands that had clenched at his chest falling limply away. There was no movement after that. The slack body remained slumped over, motionless.

The viscount rose from his seat, satisfied, and turned to the door.

He had only taken one step towards it when he heard a muffled laugh.

He whipped his head around. Thelo’s face had turned to the side, and he could see the cunning smile spread across it. His eyes widened. Breathless chuckles leaked out of his lips, crescendoing, turning into full blown laughter.

“You—how—” he stuttered in shock.

Thelo pushed himself up from his position hunched over the table and grinned terribly wide.

“Oh, father,” he said, completely relaxed, no signs of the poison remaining. “How long I’ve waited to see you make that face.”

“There’s no way,” the viscount mumbled to himself. “Was the tea not poisoned?”

“Who knows?” Thelo replied mockingly.

He took his cup and held it up, swishing around the last few unspilled drops at the bottom.

“Want to check?”

“No, it must have been,” he continued, grinding his teeth. “I made sure of it. Then, the poison was fake? But I tested it…”

“Poor things. How many servants did you kill this time?”

“Shut up!”

His gaze snapped back up to meet his son’s.

“This is impossible,” he snarled. “What have you done? What kind of trick is this?”

Thelo calmly kept smiling, then rose from his seat.

“It’s no trick,” he replied, approaching his father. “Or at least, it’s no trick of mine.”

Standing face to face, Thelo suddenly felt more imposing than he ever had been before. He was taller than the viscount, broader, and it was hard to see him as the same delicate young master who sipped tea and flipped through books by the window of his study.

He put a hand on his father’s shoulder.

“I must admit that I agreed with something you said,” he remarked, expression smug. “That healer boy…”

His eyes shined with vigor, as if he’d been given a dose of pure strength.

“…he really works wonders.”

By the table at the window, the viscount suddenly felt a rush of mana, appearing as if from thin air. He looked over, and his eyes widened in rage and shock.

Dominic was there, sitting calmly in the seat he had vacated, watching the two of them.

The lord pointed a shaking finger towards him.

“You, when did you—”

“He’s been here the entire time, you old fool,” Thelo said, chuckling. “You came in here so brazenly, and I had to act along knowing he was here all the while. Really, I had such a hard time holding it in.”

Dominic looked over the two of them calmly. The viscount was quivering with rage, but even Thelo wouldn’t have noticed his presence with his mana withdrawn if he hadn’t purposefully gotten his attention when he arrived back in Helwin.

“Thelo,” Dominic called. “Can you leave us alone for a moment?”

Thelo nodded and lifted his hand from his father’s shoulder.

“Sure, Dominic. Take care of the old man for me.”

He slipped out into the hallway, the sound of his laughter receding. Dominic glanced at the viscount, who was glaring at him with all he had.

“Sit, viscount,” he said.

The lord reluctantly plodded over to the seat across from him—where Thelo had been moments earlier—and sat down heavily.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Dominic ignored him and glanced down at the untouched cup of tea on the table. He calmly picked it up and took a sip.

The sour, powdery taste of poison immediately spread through his mouth. He felt his muscles seizing up like they had for Thelo, his lungs contracting, making him hiccup.

“…Heal.”

His body calmed back down in an instant. A confused expression spread across the viscount’s face.

“Why would you…” he mumbled, confused by Dominic’s actions.

He had ingested poison knowingly. Even though he was a healer and couldn't be killed with it, it made no sense to go through that pain of your own volition. There was nothing to gain.

Dominic had just wanted to see if he recognized what the ingredient was, but he hadn't. There was no need to tell the viscount that, though. He ignored him again.

The demon let out an irritated huff.

“Just tell me, boy,” he said, “what do you want? I can pay you anything, so take it and leave this place for good.”

“I don't want anything from you.”

“Then this conversation is over.”

He raised his hand and snapped to call the servants, but the moment the sound rang out, it suddenly seemed to slow, turning muffled, as if buried under a layer of water. The way he summoned them was not through the bare sound of his fingers snapping, but through a signal sent and amplified with mana. But Dominic had flooded the room with his mana, layering it out densely, interrupting the transmission.

It died out before it could get anywhere. Nobody would be coming.

Clear threads appeared, wrapping around the viscount’s wrists and binding his arms to the chair. He strained against them, and they began to slice into his skin.

“Heal.”

The minute cuts sealed back up cleanly. He couldn’t leave blood here. If he was satisfied with doing a messy job, then he wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble to create the alibi of being a dead man.

He raised his hand. From the center of the viscount’s chest, a thin, purple thread of mana sprouted. It was slack and sticky, almost like a cobweb, and it extended to the tip of Dominic’s finger.

“What are you doing?” the demon spat, rage still filling his voice.

Dominic glanced over at him momentarily.

“Viscount, do you know why I complied with healing you even though I hated every second of it?” he asked.

“You needed to,” the viscount said. “My orders were absolute, and you had nowhere else to go.”

He wasn't entirely wrong, but there had always been another reason in there.

If there was a way for healers to give life, then there was a way for them to take it. It was the same thing he had done to the people tailing him and Aster. Healing was simply the first step. It had given him insurance. A way to grasp the demon’s life in his hands.

Dominic looked back down at that line of mana, pulsing purple that grew from the end of his finger.

“I guess you don't,” he murmured.

He began to draw his hand away. The thread thickened, stretched, and oozed. The viscount struggled to escape, but it was no use.

“You—!” he shouted, getting nervous as he felt the mana change. “Did you not have something to say to me?!”

“I didn’t.”

“Why did you ask my damned son to leave if not to speak to me alone?!”

Dominic formed a fist with his hand, the viscount gasping as he felt the thread of mana pull something within him.

“I just couldn’t let Thelo see this.”

He whipped his hand outward. The purple string attached to the viscount’s body stretched and snapped violently.

He died instantly, without a word. The old demon’s body sagged over with his wrists still bound to the chair. Dominic released his threads, letting the corpse settle limply onto the table. The purple mana still left in his palm swirled for a moment, gathering and crackling as if trying to cling to his skin. He clenched his hand, and it dissipated in a shower of sparks.

He stood and turned to the window beside them, undoing the latch and pushing the pane open. The fresh air hit him with a gust of wind. The scents of the mansion—dirt and stone and morning dew and tree roots—filled his senses. The chill that had blanketed the entire estate was gone, no trace of it remaining. Thelo must have realized already. All the servants must have known too.

The lord was dead.

Dominic took a deep breath of the warm summer air.

“Ah.”

Straw hats and clipped grass and clean laundry and armor polish. He sighed in relief.

“That’s much better.”