When the heavy oak door of the study was burst open, Old Cromwell was staring blankly at the remaining embers in the fireplace.
"Uncle!"
Léonard Cromwell strode in, his silver cloak still damp with night dew.
Not yet thirty, his blonde hair was meticulously groomed, and his jawline was as sharp as a blade. He was a recognized handsome man in Fontaine's aristocratic circles and the only son left by Old Cromwell's deceased elder brother.
"I heard you proposed a foolish plan?"
He didn't even wait to sit down, his voice carrying suppressed anger.
"To frame the Liyue Envoys?"
"How could King not see through such a clumsy trick?"
Old Cromwell did not turn around.
"Lord King's wisdom is unparalleled; of course he will see through it."
Léonard choked for a moment.
"...Then why did you—"
"It is precisely because Lord King will see through it that it must be used."
The old man added a piece of wood to the fireplace. The flames licked up, illuminating half of his wrinkled face.
"Clumsy tricks are easy to investigate—they can be investigated quickly and clearly."
Léonard frowned. "And then?"
"Then he will follow this trail upward."
Old Cromwell finally turned around, looking at the nephew he had raised with his own hands.
"To the one who commanded the Guards, to the one who planned this, to—"
He paused.
"Everyone sitting in this study tonight."
Léonard's pupils suddenly constricted, his face turning pale and then ashen.
"What are you talking about? I don't understand."
Old Cromwell looked at him.
There was no anger, no disappointment, just a quiet gaze.
Just as he had countless times over the past twenty years—watching the boy fall from a horse or scramble up covered in dust from a swordsmanship lesson—he looked at him quietly.
"Léonard," he said, "I have raised you for over twenty years."
Léonard's Adam's apple bobbed as he looked away.
"So I know how many disgusting things you've done."
The wood in the fireplace crackled and popped, sending sparks flying.
Léonard was silent for a few seconds before suddenly letting out a sneer.
"Fine." He curled his lips into a cruel smile. "Even if I did some things that weren't quite by the book. So what?"
He turned back to meet his uncle's gaze.
His blonde hair was gilded with a warm hue by the firelight, but his eyes were as cold as ice.
"King might be able to kill a God with one punch, but he has no evidence. He isn't omniscient!"
"He can't possibly—"
Léonard reached out a large hand and slapped it hard on his uncle's shoulder, emphasizing every word:
"Drag the heir of the Cromwell Family to the Tribunal for no reason, can he?"
Old Cromwell looked down at the slender, fair, and well-maintained hand on his shoulder.
It was the hand of an aristocrat.
A hand that had never held a hoe, never touched soil, and only wandered over wine glasses and women's backsides.
He suddenly remembered thirty years ago.
The infant Léonard had reached out his hand just like this, grabbing his thumb and holding on tight, refusing to let go.
On the night his brother died on the battlefield, five-year-old Léonard stood in the corner of the mourning hall, neither crying nor making a fuss.
It was he who walked over and took that cold little hand.
"From now on, your uncle will take care of you."
He said.
Léonard didn't look at him.
But that tiny hand gripped his so tightly that the knuckles turned white.
I have raised you for over twenty years.
Old Cromwell closed his eyes.
Then he raised his hand.
*Slap!*
He didn't hold back on this slap.
Léonard stumbled half a step to the side, only steadying himself by grabbing the armrest of the sofa.
He kept his head turned, motionless for a long time.
A drop of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the gold-woven carpet and quickly spreading into a small dark red stain.
"...Uncle."
He didn't turn back, his voice muffled.
"You hit me."
Old Cromwell's palm stung with heat.
"Do not address Lord King by his name," he said, his voice as raspy as sandpaper on an iron plate. "And do not underestimate Lord King."
"Even if I hadn't planned this clumsy performance, Lord King would have certainly caught us."
"...Heh, hehehe, hahahaha!!!"
Léonard slowly turned his head, laughing maniacally.
The handprint on his cheek was clearly visible, blood trailed from his lip, and tears welled in his golden-brown eyes but refused to fall.
Like the child in the mourning hall thirty years ago, desperately clutching his finger but refusing to cry.
"Old geezer."
Léonard spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, which landed in his palm along with two broken teeth.
He looked down at them and suddenly laughed.
"You really have grown old."
He raised his eyes to meet his uncle's.
His voice was incredibly calm.
"I know what I've done, and Neuvillette knows these things too. He wants to find the culprit."
"But Neuvillette can't find any evidence. He hasn't even stepped through the gates of my manor."
Léonard casually tossed the broken teeth into the fireplace, and the flames sizzled.
"I admit King is strong—so strong that even with all my might, I couldn't harm a single hair on his head."
He took a step forward.
"But what does that have to do with power?"
He took another step forward.
"Killing requires a reason; the law requires evidence."
"King might be able to kill a God with one punch, but can he kill Fontaine's legal system with one punch?"
Léonard spread his arms, his cloak billowing.
"Come on! Let him come and kill me!"
He laughed wildly, looking like a madman.
"On what grounds would he kill me?"
"Based on those account books burned to ash?"
"Based on those corpses rotting in the cellar?"
"Or is it that you, Uncle..."
His finger, pointing at Old Cromwell, was trembling.
"Are going to betray me??"
Old Cromwell didn't say a word.
He simply raised his hand.
A second slap.
For an old man, his strength was incredibly formidable.
*Slap!*
This sound was crisper, heavier, and more unyielding than the previous one.
Léonard was sent flying, knocking over a floor-standing candelabra and rolling into the shadows by the corner of the fireplace.
He lay on the ground, spitting out five more teeth along with his blood.
His face was no longer recognizable.
He lay there for a long time.
Long enough that Old Cromwell thought he wouldn't get up again.
Then Léonard moved.
He pushed himself off the floor and slowly stood up.
His blonde hair was disheveled, his cloak wrinkled, and his handsome face was swollen like over-fermented dough.
He didn't wipe the blood continuously flowing from the corner of his mouth, nor did he look at the pile of broken teeth on the floor.
He just kept his head down and pulled a short dagger from his waist.
It had a golden hilt.
The Cromwell Family crest was engraved on the blade.
It was a gift from his uncle when he came of age.
"Uncle."
He gripped the dagger tightly, his knuckles turning white.
"You taught me swordsmanship, archery, how to manage the territory, and how to judge people and situations."
He looked up.
"But you never taught me how to be a good person!"
"Why are you criticizing me now, after everything?"
"Why did you wait until everything has happened and everything is irreversible to tell me I was wrong?"
Léonard wailed, rushing forward with tears streaming down his face.
The golden dagger plunged into Old Cromwell's abdomen.
The tip of the blade protruded three inches from his back.
Blood welled out along the fuller of the blade, soaking the dark gray brocade vest and dripping onto the carpet one drop at a time along the folds.
Léonard gripped the hilt, his entire body freezing.
His fingers remained in the stabbing position, his joints stiff and his fingertips cold.
"Uncle, you're clearly so strong... why didn't you dodge?"
His voice trembled, as soft as a sleep-talker's murmur.
Old Cromwell looked down at the dagger stuck in his abdomen, then looked up at his nephew's distorted, swollen face, which still vaguely retained the contours of his childhood.
He reached out his hand.
Léonard flinched in fear.
-------------------------
If you enjoy this story, you can read 70+ advanced chapters on Patreon!
Webnovel will keep getting 1 new chapter every day but Patreon readers can stay far ahead.
Maybe it's not a big deal now… maybe it will be later.
[email protected]/Greyhounds
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"