BSGE 69

‘It will work out. It has to.’

Beatty drew strength from her friend’s words, steeling herself as she spoke again.

“Won’t you drink it?”

“Wh-what? What are you saying? Why would I drink your medication?”

Her refusal rang hollow. Firina trembled with an intensity that betrayed far more than simple disinterest.

The Duke’s brow furrowed as he observed her strange reaction.

‘Surely not…’

Previous investigations had found no trace of poison. The medical reports were unequivocal—no harmful substances detected. He had even begun to hope, however cautiously, that this might be a genuine remedy for the child’s ailment.

‘Foolish expectations.’

He clicked his tongue, chastising himself. “Bring the vial,” he commanded.

A subordinate swiftly retrieved the investigated medicine. Firina’s eyes widened, a visceral fear etching itself across her features.

“Here, Aunt,” Beatty said, extending the bottle with calculated composure. “Why don’t you drink it?”

Silence hung between them, charged and brittle.

“How peculiar,” she continued, her voice light but precise. “If this were truly a healing medicine, why would you hesitate?”

Firina’s lips pressed together, her body quivering like a cornered animal.

‘No, absolutely not.’

She understood perfectly well that drinking would dispel suspicion. But trust? That was a luxury she could not afford.

‘If I drink this, he might eliminate me without a second thought, even cutting off my tongue.’

Her capture and interrogation were never part of her original plan. The person she knew was a ruthless strategist who would not hesitate to erase any inconvenient witnesses.

Desperation sparked in her eyes. She would find a way out.

“This is the only vial!” she blurted, a frantic edge to her voice. “If I drink it, there’ll be nothing left for Beatty!”

The Duke’s gaze was glacial.

“Oh?”

Her laugh was brittle, almost mechanical.

“Such a precious medicine—I can’t just destroy it, can I?”

Her smile was a grotesque thing, more grimace than genuine emotion. Bloodshot eyes glinted with a manic intensity.

The Duke gestured, signaling his guard to shield Beatty from Firina’s unhinged gaze. The soldier approached, prepared to transfer the vial.

The soldier, following orders, retrieved the bottle from Beatty and approached Firina.

“M-my Lord Duke? Did you not hear just now? This is truly the only medicine I brought for treatment!”

Firina’s eyes pleaded with him, as if begging not to waste such precious medicine. The Duke furrowed his brow in response.

“If it’s truly medicine, we can simply request more from the royal family.”

Even in her disoriented state, Firina’s story about the medicine’s origin remained consistent, leading the Duke to believe it likely came from the royal family as claimed.

“But what if the royal family won’t provide more? It’s incredibly rare, I obtained it with great difficulty-“

Firina continued to make excuses, inching backward as she spoke.

“That’s impossible,” the Duke cut her off sharply.

He knew that even the royal family couldn’t ignore the wishes of a powerful house like Aslan. Moreover, the royal family was already deeply indebted to House Aslan.

Typically, noble houses were obligated to serve in wars for three months. Beyond that, the royal family had to compensate them. During the last great war, the royal family had to pay the Aslan family for the participation fee, and it had piled up, to the point where even the king couldn’t ignore the Aslan family’s feelings.

‘If we offered to settle the war debt with this medicine, they’d jump at the chance,’ the Duke thought cynically.

As the bottle inched closer to her lips, Firina struggled violently. “No! I don’t want to!”

Overwhelmed by fear, Firina finally confessed.

“Fine! I admit it! It’s poison!”

“!”

A ripple of shocked murmurs spread through the room. The Duke’s teeth gleamed, sharp and predatory.

In a moment of pure terror, Firina’s desperate struggle caused the vial to slip, spilling its contents across the floor.

‘I’m alive’, she thought momentarily, before realizing her momentary triumph was fleeting.

“You dared,” the Duke’s voice was silk over steel, “to prepare such lethal poison for a child?”

His golden eyes, brilliant and merciless, locked onto her like steel cables.

‘As expected,’

Beatty watched with remarkable detachment. No surprise, no particular emotion—just the cold confirmation of her suspicions.

Swish

The sound of a drawing blade echoed through the underground corridor.

“Poison is unnecessary,” he murmured, his intent clear. Spilled venom was but a reptile’s crude instruments. When a lion sought to end its prey, it relied on the sharpness of its own claws.

“H-hiii…”

Firina’s mouth went dry, a thin line of saliva tracing her lip as pure, unfiltered malevolence radiated from her assailant. Each breath felt like the final moment before the blade would find her throat. The duke’s arm was already poised, a fatal strike mere heartbeat away.

Just as the blade seemed poised to strike, Beatty’s delicate touch halted his arm.

“Wait,” she said, her fingers light as down against his muscle.

It was Beatty, her delicate hand resting on the Duke’s arm, stopping him with nothing more than a feather-light touch.

Firina’s reaction was not gratitude, but a twisted mixture of shame and fury. Her eyes, instead of showing relief, burned with a humiliation that ran deeper than the near-death experience.

“My dear,” the Duke said, concern lacing his words, “this criminal doesn’t deserve your mercy.”

“Indeed,” Beatty replied, her voice a clinical instrument of judgment.

The Duke worried that his tender-hearted ward might be swayed by misplaced compassion, but Beatty had no such intention.

‘Mercy? What a luxury!’

The thought danced in her mind like a bitter joke. No softness resided in her heart—only a cold, calculating precision. Her fingers began to enumerate, each tap a hammer of condemnation:

“First. Embezzlement of child support.”

“Second. Document forgery.”

Firina’s face transformed with each accusation, her aristocratic composure crumbling like fragile porcelain. When Beatty’s final finger folded—”And now, attempted assassination”—the silence became a tangible weight.

“… … .”

“So?” Firina’s voice dripped with defiance. “Are you telling me to get on my knees and beg you?”

“Are you not?”

Beatty’s head tilted, a hint of sardonic amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’re already on your knees. Aren’t you?”

“Ugh!”

Crimson flooded Firina’s cheeks. The undignified sprawl, the desperate escape from poison—all laid bare in this moment of brutal revelation.

From her golden acorn-shaped bag, Beatty extracted a meticulously folded document. Her fingers smoothed each crease with clinical precision, scanning the contents with a merchant’s keen eye.

‘Real estate… titles… noble pensions… Good, it’s all here,’ she thought, inwardly praising herself in an imitation of her friend’s voice.

Composing herself, Beatty adopted the demeanor of a ‘competent, rational, and intelligent’ merchant – the persona she excelled at – before speaking.

“Aunt, I’ll be collecting compensation in gold coins for all the crimes you’ve committed up until now.”

After all, the world had conveniently established the excellent system of damage reparations.

There existed in this world a remarkable system of compensation—a principle of justice that demanded one make amends for their wrongs. Empowered by this fair mechanism, Beatty had diligently calculated the reparations owed by Firina over the past few days.

‘His Majesty Ather helped me a lot.’

He was a special person who came to offer help first, perhaps because he was my brother’s friend.

“My brother was there for me, too.”  she thought.

While working through reports and documents with Prince Ather, her brother had been present, though his actual contribution to the paperwork was minimal—yet his mere presence was comforting.

‘My brother didn’t really help with the paperwork… … but he was there for me anyway!’

As Beatty reminisced about the support she’d received, Firina, who had been looking bewildered, suddenly burst into mocking laughter.

“Gold coins? Ha! Are you short on money? I didn’t realize the ducal family was in such dire situation,” she sneered, her words a direct insult to the respected Aslan family.

The knights around them darkened with anger at her disrespect.

“So, how much do you want?” Firina responded, her eyes wide and piercing. “If we resolve this, I’ll immediately open the treasury of the city manor for you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Ah, about that,” Beatty said, her voice crisp and calculated. “It seems the viscount’s financial situation isn’t quite what you thought. Your family’s gold coins in the Count’s safe won’t cover the compensation.”

Firina’s mocking smile froze.

“Let’s start with the town house in the capital,” Beatty continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “And those plots of land in the suburbs, the country villa, the basic noble pension…” She methodically listed off properties, revealing assets that Firina herself had forgotten.

“And then there’s your viscountcy,” Beatty delivered the final blow.

“What?” Firina’s voice cracked.

“You’re no longer a noble,” Beatty repeated, this time with deliberate clarity, facing her stunned aunt.

For Firina, who had always been obsessed with her noble status, these words were like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Her eyes widened in shock, unable to process the devastating revelation.

“What? … No, that’s impossible. It can’t be.”

An ominous feeling crept up her spine, sending a chill down her back.