Chapter 509: A Scary Possibility

"A curse?" Cherion repeated, his voice dropping into a hush that was barely louder than the soft, rhythmic crackle of the small iron stove in the corner.

He leaned across the table, his fingers instinctively tightening around the cool stem of his glass. His eyes locked onto Derrick’s face. "Derrick, please. Look at me and tell me everything you know. Where did you even hear something so specific? Who said it?"

Derrick hesitated. His knuckles turned white as he adjusted his linen napkin with fidgety, nervous fingers, his gaze darting cautiously toward the thick oak door of the private dining room. He leaned in closer until his shadow overlapped Cherion’s on the polished wood.

"Well... it’s not official, Cherion," Derrick whispered, his breath fanning lightly across the space between them. "It’s just... something I overheard. A few high-ranking nobles were sitting in the study after a private council meeting, drinking wine and discussing the political landscape of the capital. They were mentioning the possibility of the Duke being cursed because..."

Derrick paused, wincing as if the next words were a bitter poison he was reluctant to spit out. He swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing.

"Because?" Cherion pressed, his tone low, calm, and insistently probing. He didn’t blink, refusing to give Derrick an exit. "Because of what, Derrick? Speak freely. I won’t lose my temper."

"Because he’s taken so many lives," Derrick finished in a rushed, hushed breath.

Cherion’s smile faded, and whatever warmth he’d shown a moment ago vanished with it.

Derrick’s eyes widened in immediate panic, noticing the sudden chill in the air, and he quickly held up both hands in a pleading gesture. "Oh, of course it’s complete nonsense! Please don’t take it the wrong way, Cherion! I told my father right then and there that the idea was utterly ridiculous. The Duke has bled for this empire on the frontlines for years! He’s broken enemy sieges and protected our borders from slaughter. Why on earth would he be cursed by the heavens just for slaying the savages and traitors who wanted to tear our homes apart? If God punished a hero simply for doing his duty to protect his people, that would make God completely irresponsible and unjust!"

If only you knew, Cherion thought, a heavy, suffocating weight sinking deep into his chest. His stomach twisted into a tight, uncomfortable knot as he stared at Derrick’s genuine, indignant face. He really is cursed, Derrick. You hit the nail right on the head without even knowing it. Just... not by God, and not because of divine retribution.

The irony was sickening. The court was floating wild, superstitious theories to explain away a condition they couldn’t comprehend, completely oblivious to the fact that dark magic and hidden malice were indeed gnawing at Zarius’s body from the inside.

"It’s just..." Derrick continued, letting his hands drop back onto the table with a soft, defeated sigh. "It’s just so strange and unnatural, isn’t it? The Duke had always been famous throughout the empire for his sheer strength, flawless health, and refusal to back down from anything. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he starts suffering from these mysterious, erratic health turnarounds without warning. And even after all this time, he still hadn’t gotten better."

Derrick leaned his head back slightly, staring up at the ornate wooden ceiling beams in thought. "If you look back at the historical records of the Ducal line, his father, or even his mother, neither of them ever suffered from a sudden, unexplained decline in their prime. The Duke was warrior through and through. So naturally, the old lords in the capital started throwing around wild theories about divine punishment or unholy hexes... though personally, I found the whole idea quite absurd."

Trust me, Cherion thought, forcing his face to remain placid and mildly puzzled while his mind spun at a frantic pace, their instincts are actually terrifyingly spot on. They don’t know the true cause, and they’re assigning stupid moral reasons to it, but they guessed the actual mechanism.

"Even though I find it ridiculous," Derrick added, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, "I suppose when you’re dealing with a man as powerful as Duke Valtrane, a curse is one of those extreme, dark possibilities you end up putting at the bottom of a list when every medical explanation fails."

"A curse..." Cherion murmured softly, letting the word linger in the quiet air between them.

He intentionally allowed his shoulders to slump, adopting an expression of quiet, helpless sorrow. He lowered his eyelashes, letting a shadow of grief cover his face, and reached up to place a trembling hand gently over his heart, maximizing the fragile, pained effect.

"That... that sounds so horrifying, Derrick," Cherion said, his voice laced with a delicate, trembling strain. "Let’s say... just let’s say if that awful, disgusting theory were somehow true... who would do something so monstrous to him? And why? What could anyone possibly gain from inflicting such suffering?"

Cherion gazed up at Derrick with wide, glossy eyes, looking like he was barely holding back tears. "I know how people view him from afar. I know Zarius might look cold, terrifying, and completely unapproachable from the outside to those who don’t know him... but he is sincere, Derrick. He is a good, noble man who bears the weight of this empire on his shoulders without complaining. He never wants harm or misfortune to be inflicted upon anyone."

Derrick looked at Cherion with profound, visible sympathy. Seeing the usually composure-bound noble showing such raw vulnerability clearly moved him. He reached across the table, hovering his hand over Cherion’s before settling for a gentle, reassuring tap on the wood near his sleeve.

"I know, Cherion. I truly do," Derrick said softly, his voice full of genuine pity. "I can see how much you care for him, and I respect you for standing by his side. But unfortunately, the imperial court doesn’t operate on sincerity or goodness. Just because a man is righteous doesn’t mean the others around him won’t find a thousand petty reasons to hate him. Power, bloodlines, and military authority always breed bitter enemies. There are plenty of people in the capital who would sleep much better at night if the Duke were out of the picture."

Cherion took a deep, shuddering breath, playing his part to perfection as he pulled his hand back into his lap, smoothing down his dark wool trousers. "Did they... did your father or those nobles talk about anything else? Did they drop any specific names? Or mention where such a dark rumor might have originated from?"

"No, nothing concrete, only those broad speculations," Derrick answered, shaking his head regretfully. "They were mostly drinking and throwing around ideas. But I’ll admit... hearing them talk about it so casually got both me and my mother feeling quite uneasy afterward. If someone out there in the high districts is actually messing around with prohibited dark arts or unholy curses... it’s bloody terrifying. Curses aren’t something to be played with. There’s a reason the Imperial Temple outlawed those ancient texts centuries ago."

"Yes," Cherion agreed in a subdued whisper, staring down at the dark, ruby-red surface of his wine. "Just hearing the word sends a chill down my spine."

Derrick winced slightly, looking genuinely remorseful as he cleared his throat. "Heavens, I’m so sorry, Cherion. Look at me... I invited you out for a pleasant afternoon to clear your head, and instead, I bring up such a dark, upsetting topic over lunch. I really shouldn’t have opened my mouth about court gossip."

"No, please don’t apologize," Cherion said quickly, forcing a small, remarkably soft smile onto his lips as he looked up. "Honestly, Derrick, it actually helps to hear these things from a friend. It’s much better to know what people are whispering behind closed doors than to walk around completely blind. You did me a favor by telling me."

Yes, Cherion added internally, his inner thoughts turning sharp and cold as steel while he maintained his gentle smile. You gave me a piece of the puzzle I desperately needed. Now I know what narrative is circulating among the high lords. It gives me a clear thread to pull on. I can cross-reference Count Avery’s political circle with Yerel’s faction and narrow down exactly who is pushing this information into the open.

A heavy, contemplative silence settled back over the room. The waiter hadn’t returned, leaving the two of them in secluded quiet.

Cherion subtly shifted his posture, turning his gaze toward the large bay window beside their table. As he stared absentmindedly at his own reflection in the glass, his mind suddenly flashed back to the moment right before they had walked up the restaurant stairs, the tall, cloaked figure standing in the shadow of the alleyway across the street.

That gaze, Cherion thought, a cold shiver creeping up his spine and settling in the small of his back. I didn’t misread it. That wasn’t just the mild disdain of a noble or the curiosity of a commoner recognizing my face. Whoever that look was meant for, they were clearly hated to the core.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting out an imperceptible breath. With the OG Cherion’s atrocious history in the capital, it really was no surprise that his presence still provoked such intense hostility. He had spent years acting as an arrogant, cruel, and utterly unbearable tyrant to everyone below his rank and a bitter scheming rival to everyone above it.

You don’t just erase years of toxic harm and public humiliation overnight simply because you saved someone from choking at a banquet or tied yourself to the most powerful military figure in the land. To many people, he was still the same treacherous villain he had always been.

Cherion opened his eyes and glanced at the reflection behind him. Derrick’s personal guards were stationed in the corridor just outside the door.

Hell, Cherion realized with a grim, heavy weight settling in his chest, forget about strangers in the street or old court enemies. Even Derrick’s own guards probably look at me with deep suspicion. To them, I’m still the volatile, dangerous snake who could snap and ruin their master at any second. I’m walking on a thin wire, and every eye on me is waiting for me to fall.

Cherion kept his smile in place, nodding attentively and making small, pleasant remarks as Derrick launched eagerly into his story.