Chapter : 1015
The morning after Rosa’s cryptic, infuriating, and magnificent gift, Lloyd was summoned to a formal audience. The request was not from the soft, pragmatic hand of Mina, but from the authoritative seal of the head of the house himself: Viscount Jason Siddik. The meeting was to be held in the estate’s Grand Council Chamber, a vast, intimidating room of dark, polished marble and severe, high-backed chairs. It was a place designed not for family discussion, but for matters of state.
Lloyd walked into the chamber, his posture calm, his expression a mask of polite neutrality. He was no longer the wounded patient, but the heir to the Arch Duchy of the North, a man representing a power that could shatter kingdoms.
Viscount Jason Siddik sat at the head of a long, polished table. He was a man forged not from steel, but from ledgers and contracts; tall, thin, his face a sharp, intelligent mask of aristocratic calculation. His eyes, the same dark, intelligent eyes as his daughters, were those of a master strategist who saw the world as a series of perfectly balanced equations.
When Lloyd entered, the Viscount rose, a gesture of respect not just for a son-in-law, but for the house he represented. It was a formal, correct, but still coolly distant acknowledgment. “Lloyd,” he said, his voice the dry rustle of old parchment. He gestured to the chair directly to his right, a position of honor and intimacy. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”
Lloyd took the seat, the initial tension of the room immediately lessened by his father-in-law’s correct, if not warm, protocol. The silence that followed was not one of intimidation, but of two powerful men taking each other’s measure.
Finally, the Viscount spoke, dispensing with pleasantries. “My daughters have informed me of your… extraordinary efforts on my wife’s behalf. To retrieve not one, but two mythical ingredients, and to do so by facing legends that have terrified lesser men for centuries…” He paused, a flicker of something—not emotion, but a profound, analytical respect—in his eyes. “Your father’s house has produced a worthy heir. For the service you have rendered my family, you have our absolute, and eternal, gratitude. The House of Siddik is in your debt.”
It was the cold, formal acknowledgment of a grandmaster recognizing a brilliant move on the board. There was no heartfelt thanks from a desperate husband, but it was a declaration of allegiance, a bond forged in a miracle that was, in its own way, more powerful than any emotional outburst could have been. Lloyd simply gave a single, polite nod of acknowledgment, accepting the debt.
The Viscount, his formal duty discharged, then moved to the true purpose of their meeting. The Great Game.
“Your time in the capital,” he stated, his sharp, intelligent eyes now fixed on Lloyd with a new, intense focus. “You have the King’s ear. You are a member of his advisory council. Tell me, what is the mood? What is the true political temperature of the court?”
This was not an interrogation. This was a council of war between allies.
“The King is concerned,” Lloyd answered, his words now frank and direct. “He is a man of vision, and he sees the rising power of the Altamiran state not as a simple rivalry, but as an existential threat to the peace his father forged.”
“And his war hawk, Hosen?” the Viscount pressed, his fingers drumming a soft, impatient rhythm. “Is he still whispering of pre-emptive strikes, of a glorious war to put the upstarts back in their place?”
“The minister’s voice is a loud one,” Lloyd conceded. “And many of the younger nobles find his songs of glory intoxicating. He speaks of a swift, decisive victory to secure our borders for a generation.”
“He is a fool,” the Viscount stated flatly, his contempt a palpable thing. “A war with the Altamirans would not be swift. It would be a long, bloody, and catastrophic war of attrition that would bleed this kingdom dry. Their power is not what it was a generation ago.”
He leaned forward, his eyes now burning with a cold, fierce intensity. “My own intelligence network,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper, “confirms a massive, covert military buildup along the entire Altamiran border. It far, far exceeds any normal patrol rotations. They are not preparing for a skirmish. They are preparing for an invasion.”
The information was a cold, hard confirmation of his own father’s grim assessment. The drums of war were not just beating; they were reaching a deafening, terrifying crescendo.
Chapter : 1016
The Viscount then delivered the final, and most chilling, piece of the puzzle. “And that is not the worst of it,” he said, his voice now barely a whisper. “My agents in the southern provinces, the wild, untamed lands that border the Blighted Territories… they speak of new, and far more terrifying, incursions. The Devil Race. They are no longer the random, chaotic raids of mindless beasts. They are coordinated. They are strategic. They are… probes. They are testing our defenses, mapping our weaknesses, preparing the battlefield for a larger, more organized assault.”
He sat back, the full, horrifying weight of his intelligence laid bare on the table between them. The conversation had transformed into a war council between two powerful allies, their families the northern and southern pillars of the kingdom, both now facing the same, terrifying, and world-altering storm.
Lloyd’s own personal, desperate quest for a cure, which had felt like the most important, most all-consuming thing in the universe, was now revealed for what it truly was. A single, frantic, and perhaps ultimately insignificant, battle in a much, much larger, and far, far darker, undeclared war. A war that was about to consume not just their families, not just their houses, but the entire, fragile, and now terrifyingly vulnerable, kingdom. The shadows were not just gathering. They were massing on the borders, and the tide of a new, and very, very dark, age was about to be unleashed.
The weight of Viscount Siddik’s revelations settled in the vast, silent chamber, a chilling premonition of a coming age of fire and shadow. Lloyd, who had walked into this meeting expecting a tense, familial confrontation, now found himself at the strategic heart of a geopolitical crisis that dwarfed his own concerns. The Viscount was not just sharing intelligence; he was seeking confirmation, aligning his own considerable resources with the greater power of the North.
“Your father’s house stands as the Warden of the North,” the Viscount continued, his sharp gaze never leaving Lloyd’s face. “His legions are the shield that protects the heartland from the traditional, predictable threat of Altamiran steel. But this… this is a new kind of war. A two-front war. A war against an enemy of ambition and an enemy of shadow. A war that cannot be won by shield walls and cavalry charges alone.”
He was not just stating a fact; he was reaffirming their alliance, one born not from the fragile bonds of marriage, but from the cold, hard necessity of mutual survival. He was acknowledging that the North and the South, the two great pillars of the kingdom, must now act as one, or they would both surely fall.
Lloyd met his gaze, and he saw not just the cold, calculating accountant, but the worried, pragmatic, and deeply patriotic lord beneath. Jason Siddik was not a man of passion or honor, but he was a man who loved his land, his people, and his kingdom, in his own cold, logical, and unsentimental way.
“The King is aware of the full extent of the threat,” Lloyd stated, his own voice now a calm, steady instrument of strategic reassurance. He was no longer just the heir; he was an emissary, a direct link between the three most powerful entities in the kingdom: the Throne, the North, and the South. “He is not the fool that his minister, Hosen, would have him be. He is playing a longer, more subtle game. He is moving his pieces, shoring up his defenses, preparing for the storm he knows is coming.”
It was a masterful, if slightly embellished, statement. He was painting a picture of a strong, unified, and prepared kingdom, a picture designed to solidify his father-in-law's resolve and reinforce his own position as a key, and knowledgeable, player.
The Viscount seemed to relax, just a fraction. A small, almost imperceptible easing of the tension in his shoulders. “Good,” he said simply. “Then there is still time.”
He stood up, a clear, formal signal that the audience was at an end. “You have given me… much to consider, Lloyd. Your insights into the mood of the court have been… valuable.” He walked to the door, his movements stiff, formal. He paused, his hand on the ornate, iron handle.
“You have my leave to remain at this estate for as long as your… work… on my wife’s condition requires,” he said, his back still to Lloyd. “You will be afforded every courtesy. My household is at your disposal.”
It was not a warm invitation. It was a formal granting of status, an acknowledgment of his new, elevated position within their house.
He then, without another word, without a backward glance, opened the door and was gone, leaving Lloyd alone once more in the vast, cold, and silent chamber.