Chapter 64: ⁶⁴under The Gaze of The Heir

​The silence in the room felt freezing.

The kiss was finally broken.

Isolde von Rosenberg took a step back. Her breath came in ragged, greedy gasps for air. Her red lips were swollen from the forceful, yet intoxicating kiss.

Her platinum blonde hair now hung in a tangled mess, covering half her face. Tears streamed heavily down the Archmage’s cheeks.

Having lost her support, Isolde stood unsteadily. Her legs trembled so violently she nearly collapsed. Her navy-blue silk gown was incredibly wrinkled around the collar.

On the other side of the bed, Miya Evarett froze.

The Elf girl’s purple eyes widened. Her pointed ears stood rigid. Her brain purely failed to process the obscene madness that had just erupted right before her eyes.

And upon that giant bed... Kurt von Rosenberg witnessed everything.

Ethan shifted his gaze away from Isolde. He casually smoothed out his shirt sleeves.

"Resume the healing, Miya," Ethan commanded. His baritone voice was as cold as ice, slicing through the suffocating silence. "Your task is not yet finished."

Miya’s petite shoulders flinched hard. She hurriedly swallowed, looked away from the trembling Isolde, and bowed her head again to stare at Kurt’s chest.

Miya closed her eyes, squeezing out her remaining mana. The Crimson Radiance ignited once more.

The dark red magical light flowed from the Priestess’s palms, illuminating Kurt’s pale face. This follow-up therapy wasn’t an intensive circuit repair, but rather a stabilization. The light was dimmer, flowing slowly to soothe the patient’s heartbeat.

After a moment, Miya’s voice sounded softly, almost like a whisper.

"Young Master... please don’t tense up. Your circuit still needs time to stabilize."

Kurt did not answer.

Ethan let Miya work for a few minutes. Then, he turned back to Isolde.

"Come closer, Isolde," Ethan ordered softly. A verbal demand that could not be refused.

Isolde’s body went stiff. Her sanity screamed at her to run, but the Lust Brand on her back pulsed fiercely, hijacking her motor nervous system. With trembling steps and a bowed head, the Duchess walked over to the Demon Lord.

As soon as Isolde was within reach, Ethan stepped behind her back. He extended both his arms, embracing Isolde’s body from behind.

Ethan’s chin rested comfortably, almost touching Isolde’s trembling shoulder.

Slowly, the young man’s large hands began to move over the surface of the navy-blue silk gown. Pressing into the Duchess’s waistline possessively, then creeping upward, tracing the curves of her body, heading toward her upper chest.

"M-My Master... hic... please..." Isolde whispered in despair, sounding almost like a whimper. Her tears fell, dampening the back of Ethan’s hands. "Don’t... don’t do this in front of him... I beg you..."

Ethan didn’t stop. His hands kept moving. "That is exactly the point, Isolde. Let him know who you belong to."

Isolde choked. Her knees went weak. "You... you truly are a devil..."

Ethan ignored her.

His touch wasn’t rough or rushed in the slightest. Very slow. Rhythmic. Full of an aura of ownership. Every stroke of his hands on Isolde’s body wasn’t merely to satisfy lust, but rather a ritual of power designed to crush the woman’s noble ego right in front of her own flesh and blood.

Isolde bit her lower lip. Her wet eyes cast an agonizing glance toward the bed. She tried to move her lips to call Kurt’s name, but her voice caught in her throat.

The woman’s face now became a mixed portrait of burning shame, sorrow, and biological submission.

Beside the bed, Miya was enduring a torment of her own.

The Elf girl kept her hands hovering over Kurt’s chest. She kept her face bowed desperately even though her cheeks were as red as boiled crabs. Her ears kept twitching, catching every sound of rustling silk and stifled moans escaping Isolde’s lips.

Miya didn’t dare to leave. Didn’t dare to utter a single protest. Her fingers trembled violently, yet her mana circuit remained stable, channeling life energy into the youth whose mind was currently being destroyed.

Beneath that dark red light... Kurt von Rosenberg plunged into the hell of his paralysis.

His body wouldn’t respond to his commands. His muscles were numb. Only his icy blue eyes could move—feeling stinging and dry.

From behind half-open eyes, Kurt watched his mother.

The mother who always appeared perfect. Who always demanded perfection. Who never deigned to show a single speck of weakness... was now in a condition that shattered his sanity. Weak. Submissive. Crying and moaning in the embrace of Ethan Valen.

That sight triggered an inner turmoil that tore at Kurt’s soul. His despair spun wildly, forcibly dragging his childhood memories to the surface.

In his blurring vision, Kurt remembered the first time he awakened his Aura. He was so proud because he managed to manifest a Fire Aura, hoping to be acknowledged.

However, his father, Duke Alaric, merely stared at him as cold as a glacier. His father was disappointed that the heir of the Ice Rose awakened fire instead, then turned and walked away without a single word.

Then, a second memory hit him. He remembered his mother. When little Kurt came crying seeking an embrace, Isolde actually froze his small hands with ice magic. His mother’s blue eyes radiated deep disappointment because Kurt cried like a weak child.

My mother never had any weaknesses, Kurt’s inner voice screamed in agony. She is the untouchable Archmage of the North!

However, those memories faded, forcibly ripped away by reality.

Kurt stared at that exact same mother, but now completely shattered, being groped by the youth he once oppressed. Kurt’s emotions were churned into a horrifying maelstrom. He was terribly confused. He was so angry he felt like killing. But he was also deeply sad and overwhelmingly exhausted.

He wanted to leap out of the bed, strangle Ethan Valen’s neck, and scream at the top of his lungs. But his body was nothing more than an empty shell.

A single short sentence finally managed to escape Kurt’s pale lips.

"M... other..."

Isolde turned her head. "Don’t... don’t look at Mother, son..."

Kurt just stared. "Why... Mother..."

Isolde couldn’t answer. Ethan answered for her. "Because I desire it."

An overly cruel irony. Isolde tried to emotionally protect her son by telling him to look away, but her submission to Ethan at that exact same second became the very sledgehammer that demolished the foundation of her son’s sanity.

Isolde’s body grew even limper in Ethan’s embrace. Her awareness that Kurt was constantly watching multiplied her shame to the point of madness.

Feeling that surrender, Ethan took the psychological torture to its absolute peak.

Without the slightest hesitation, the movements of Ethan’s hands pressed against the curse points beneath the woman’s gown. Intense and calculated.

Under the pressure of pure Sin Mana, Isolde’s defenses crumbled without a trace.

"Nnggh... Ah..."

Small, humiliating moans laden with lust escaped uncontrollably from the Duchess’s lips.

Ethan brought his lips close to her ear. "You’re wet, Isolde. Even in front of your own son."

Isolde cried even harder. "Don’t... don’t say that... Kurt... don’t look at Mother..."

Hearing that voice, Miya nearly lost focus. The Crimson Radiance light flickered unstably. She bit her lip, suppressing her own racing heartbeat so the patient under her hands wouldn’t be affected.

"I-I... don’t know where to look..." Miya whispered in panic, her eyes cast down.

Ethan cast a brief glance. "Focus on your patient, Miya. You don’t need to look over here."

Meanwhile, Kurt was unable to tear his gaze away from that scene.

His pair of icy blue eyes, which previously radiated anger and confusion, gradually turned completely hollow. The light of life and his ego were extinguished. His stiff and gaunt hands could only grasp the blanket with his final remaining slivers of strength.

The few minutes that felt like a century of agony finally ended.

Ethan suddenly released his embrace.

Losing her main support, Isolde stumbled forward, nearly kissing the wooden floor. The Duchess’s appearance was in tatters. Her blue gown was open at the top, exposing her smooth shoulders. And on her slender neck, reddish bite marks from the Demon Lord were clearly printed.

Ethan calmly readjusted his clothing. His aura instantly changed back to being cold and authoritative.

"That’s enough for today’s treatment session," Ethan decided, putting an end to the torture. He glanced at Kurt. "We will continue his healing therapy tomorrow."

Hearing that instruction, Miya immediately severed her flow of magic. The light faded. The Elf’s face was flooded with exhausted sweat, blushing completely to the tips of her ears. She stood up with violently trembling knees.

Without daring to utter a single word, Miya bowed her head and hurried to trail behind Ethan, who was walking out of the room.

Click.

The carved wooden door was closed from the outside. Returning the room to silence.

Now, only Isolde and her son remained.

With wobbly steps, Isolde approached the bed. She touched Kurt’s forehead, feeling his heat, then hugged him tightly. Her face was buried into her son’s chest. Her silk gown and Kurt’s shirt were soaked by a mixture of merging tears and sweat.

Inside the violently trembling embrace of his mother, Kurt remained deathly silent.

The youth’s face was completely blank, devoid of any expression. His eyes were wide open, staring straight at the ceiling without blinking. His ego was dead.

After a long silence, Kurt’s right arm finally moved. His fingers grasped the fabric of Isolde’s gown soundlessly.

Not a single dialogue was spoken. No judgment, no questions.

Only the heartbreaking sobs of a mother, and the absolute silence of a son whose soul had been shattered to its very roots.

Outside the room, dark shadows crept along the corridor walls.

Ethan Valen walked down Granderer’s stone hallway with calm, steady steps. While Miya Evarett continued to trail behind him.