BSGE 68

 “Well, I can’t say it’s entirely impossible, but…” Ather glanced at the dark clouds surrounding him, quickly masking his surprise before continuing.

“Unless one is born with an exceptionally strong beast-kin power, it would be possible.”

“Is that so? Hmm, I wonder if Ritter possessed such formidable power,” Beatty mused aloud.

Catching the unexpected name, Ather inquired.

 “Ritter… you mean His Highness, the Second Prince?”

“Yes,” Beatty replied nonchalantly, seemingly unbothered by her casual reference to the prince. Perhaps it was due to her position as an attendant to the First Prince that she felt comfortable speaking so freely.

Ather pondered, thinking it wasn’t his place to correct such irreverence towards Ritter. If anything, disrespect towards that man should be encouraged rather than admonished.

“As far as I know, Second Prince Ritter’s ability is poison,” Beatty stated with certainty, the sensation of her body stiffening still vivid in her memory.

Noting Beatty’s confident expression, Ather’s face contorted into a ‘How do you know that?’ look, but he refrained from questioning and instead responded.

“Well, the innate abilities of snake beast-kin are typically either elixirs or poisons. It’s not unusual.”

“However,” Beatty continued, “my aunt brought an elixir this time, claiming it was created by the Second Prince.”

“What?” Ather’s brow furrowed, as if he’d heard something peculiar.

“That’s… rather strange.”

“Isn’t it?” Beatty’s face lit up at her friend’s agreement.

“Yes. From what I know, the Second Prince wasn’t born with such potent beast-kin powers,” Ather murmured, recalling the pale-yellow eyes that had once gazed at him with envy.

“Hasn’t he not even awakened yet?”

“Huh?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ather said with a smile, smoothly changing the subject. After listening to the full story from Beatty, he pondered for a moment before speaking.

“In my opinion… why don’t you try this?”

“Oh?” Beati’s expression became intrigued by his specific advice.

*

The underground corridor stretched like a silent tomb, its stone walls absorbing every whispered breath. Firina sat within her cell, her once-pristine nobility now crumpled like discarded parchment. Trembling fingers traced invisible patterns against the cold stone floor, her mind fracturing between desperation and delusion.

“Why am I… why am I here…” she muttered, her voice a ragged thread of sound.

Her once-proud spirit now cowered in fear, broken by the weight of her crimes against the Aslan ducal family’s handmaiden.

“You ungrateful brat! Your aunt is in such a dire state, yet you don’t even come to save her…! As expected of that strange sister’s child. What an odd, mutant-like creature…”

Click, clack. Even as her teeth chattered from the biting cold, Firina continued to mutter curses under her breath.

In the silent corridor, designed to prevent such whispered complaints from escaping, a new sound suddenly resonated:

The air, thick with tension, was abruptly pierced by the echo of approaching footsteps. These weren’t the hesitant steps of a servant or the measured pace of a guard; they were purposeful, authoritative—the kind that demanded attention and respect.

The steady rhythm grew louder, a stark contrast to Firina’s trembling murmurs. It was as if the very building held its breath, waiting to see who would emerge from the shadows of this carefully crafted silence.

Firina’s ramblings died in her throat as she, too, became acutely aware of the approaching presence. The cold that had moments ago consumed her thoughts now took a backseat to a new, more immediate concern: Who could be coming, and what did their arrival mean for her precarious situation?

The footsteps halt in front of Firina’s cell. She cautiously raised her head, only to gasp in shock.

“M-My Lord Duke,” she stammered.

Once, his beauty had been something she coveted above all else. Now, it only filled her with dread. She had come to understand that his expressionless face never changed, regardless of the circumstances.

His inhuman visage remained impassive even when ordering the most brutal tortures.

“The handcuffs,” he stated flatly.

“Yes, my Lord. We’ve reconfirmed that all restraints are secure,” replied a guard.

The Duke paid no heed to Firina’s trembling form as she struggled for breath. He merely sighed after verifying the locks binding the prisoner’s limbs.

A gentle tug on his coat from behind caught his attention.

The Duke nearly smiled at the small hand grasping his garment but quickly shook off the sentiment.

‘My dear I had intended to show you this place when you were older,’ he thought to himself.

While age restrictions on violent scenes held little meaning for Aslan, the Duke found himself wanting to shield the little one from such sights for as long as possible.

His efforts to have the dungeon cleaned of any unsightly traces before the child’s arrival had paid off. The underground prison was immaculate, without a single bloodstain in sight.

Even so, he hadn’t truly wanted to bring the little one here. The problem was that he had already made a promise.It was a predicament he wished he could avoid.

“My dear I’ll grant you anything,” he had said.

“Then, I want to see my aunt,” the child had replied.

In the end, the Duke had no choice but to allow the visit to the underground prisoner’s cell. He insisted on accompanying her, and only after she had fully recovered—despite Beatty’s protests that she was already well.

As the Duke sighed, recalling the events following the child’s request for a letter, Beatty peeked out from behind him.

“You!”

Firina’s expression changed dramatically. She had been trembling like a mouse before a lion in the Duke’s presence, but now her demeanor shifted entirely.

Beatty, familiar with her aunt’s expressions from past punishments, greeted her without a hint of emotion.

“It’s been a while, Aunt.”

“There’s no need to address a criminal so politely,” the Duke interjected, deliberately correcting her.

Firina bristled at his words but swallowed her anger, her lips quivering as she attempted a smile.

“Have you… have you come to set me free?”

The Duke didn’t deign to respond to Firina’s hopeful question, laced with desperation.

Beatty, witnessing her aunt’s uncharacteristic submissiveness for the first time, felt a twinge of discomfort. She swiftly steered the conversation to the matter at hand.

“I heard you have the medicine?”

Firina’s eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and desperation.

“What? Oh… Yes, that’s right! The medicine! I brought medicine for my niece’s treatment!”

Firina, her composure shattered by days in confinement, exclaimed with eyes wide and desperate, as if grasping at her last lifeline.

“Your Grace! You can’t do this to me. Do you know how precious this medicine is? I… I begged the royal family… They only gave it to me because it was me.”

Her stuttering and mumblings made those watching furrow their brows in discomfort. As Firina continued to ramble, seemingly losing her grip on reality, Beatty took a step closer and spoke.

“Is it really medicine?”

“What?”

“For all we know, what you call medicine could be poison.”

“Ha! The Duke’s household would have already tested it thoroughly. Did they find any poison?”

Even in her distress, Firina’s lips curled into a sneer at Beatty’s words.

Beatty glanced up at the Duke, as if seeking confirmation. The Duke, his brow furrowed at Firina’s words, nodded slowly.

Seeing the Duke’s affirmation, Firina’s lips twisted into a smirk.

‘Hehehe. They said it would never be detected by ordinary poison tests.’

Of course, she had anticipated thorough testing for any substance destined for a noble family, especially the Duke’s direct line.

‘An assassin lying dormant until the master’s order comes…’

She recalled her mother’s proud expression as she had explained, her nose held high.

The secret poison, she’d said, would remain inactive until the royal family’s command. Then, in an instant, it would spread throughout the body, potent enough to fell even an elephant-kin.

“I see. So it’s not poison…” Beatty mused.

“Ha, haha. That’s right! It’s medicine I brought for you. See how much I care for you, my niece? Now, quickly, get me out of-“

“Then you wouldn’t mind taking it yourself, would you, Aunt?”

“What…?”

Firina’s face froze instantly.

Observing her aunt’s exaggerated reaction, a memory flickered through Beatty’s mind.

A conversation from the previous night, spoken in hushed, strategic tones. Her friend Ather’s advice resonating with cold, calculated precision: “If it’s truly medicine, she should have no problem taking it herself.”

*

“Tell her to try it herself.” Ather suggested with a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Huh? The potion?” Beatty’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes. If it’s truly as beneficial as they claim, there shouldn’t be any problem, right?” Ather’s tone was light, but his eyes held a challenge.

Beatty hesitated. “But… isn’t it a rare and precious potion? We only have one.”

Ather’s lips curved into a subtle smile as he reminded her of her position. “For the daughter of Aslan, that’s hardly an issue.”

Beatty’s cheeks flushed pink, still unaccustomed to hearing others refer to her connection to Aslan.

“Didn’t you say it came from the royal family? There’s nothing the Aslan family can’t obtain within this kingdom,” Ather reassured her, his gaze softening as he observed her round, dark eyes.

Inwardly, Ather pondered, ‘A potion created by Ritter…’

He didn’t trust the words of the viscountess who claimed to be Beatty’s aunt. If Ritter, still young, had awakened to his unique ability, his mother – who cared more about her husband’s child than her own – wouldn’t remain this quiet.

‘Then, it must be Father’s…’

Ather knew of his biological father’s, the king’s, unique ability: time-delayed poison. An ability specialized in scheming, allowing toxins to lie dormant in the body until the caster wished to activate them.

‘How fitting for Father,’ Ather thought cynically.

Turning back to Beatty with a warm smile, he advised, “If it’s truly medicine, you can always request more from the royal family. Don’t worry.”

“Will the royal family provide it again?” Beatty asked, uncertainty in her voice.

“Of course. With no more battlefields to send us to, how could they ignore a request from the Aslan family with its elite forces?”

Beatty blinked, seemingly still unaware of her family’s true influence.

“Don’t worry,” Ather reassured her, his voice taking on an almost mystical quality. “Everything will unfold as you wish.”

Anything you desire, he thought to himself.

As Ather murmured these words, he appeared as mysterious as a spirit capable of granting wishes, his presence both comforting and slightly unsettling to Beatty.