classifiedscript Chapter 193: A Pulse in the Dark
Chapter 193: A Pulse in the Dark
Olivia turned her gaze toward the soldiers, who stood in a daze, completely unable to process the swift arrest of their comrade. She offered them a slow, calculated nod.
"Thank you for your service in the war," she said, her voice cutting through their confusion. "I am aware this gratitude is long overdue, but circumstances dictated otherwise."
The knights bowed their heads in stiff, profound respect. Despite the lingering resentment in the room, a formal acknowledgment from the Duchess of Locron was something they had never even dared to dream of.
Turning her back to the assembly, her hidden eyes locked onto the head of the garrison. "Follow me, Commander."
"Right away, Your Grace," he replied, stepping into line.
The descent into the dungeons was an agonizing test of endurance. Each step down the damp stone spiral cost Olivia a jagged breath, her knuckles turning white as she leaned heavily on her cane. Kira hovered closely behind, her arms twitching with the urge to support her, but one look at the rigid set of Olivia’s shoulders kept the maid in her place. The rhythmic thud-clack of the wood against stone echoed through the narrow corridor like the steady ticking of a death clock.
Behind them, the Commander walked in absolute silence, the air between them growing heavier with every step into the dark.
When they reached the deepest cell, the air grew thick with the stench of rot and rusty iron. Inside, the captured knight—still stripped of his armor—was chained to the wall. The moment the torchlight cut through the darkness, he raised his head, his face a mask of frantic desperation.
"Your Grace!" he bellowed, the chains rattling violently. "You must listen to me! This is a mistake! I am on your side! I have always been a loyal servant to the House of Tharon!"
Olivia stopped just outside the iron bars. She didn’t answer right away. Bending her knees with agonizing slowness, she sat upon the wooden stool the Commander had hastily brought forward. She smoothed down the heavy folds of her black gown, ensuring not a single inch of skin was exposed, before raising her eyes. Through the dark, translucent mesh of her veil, she stared at him with freezing detachment.
"A loyal servant to Tharon, is it?" Olivia repeated, her voice a low, parched hum that seemed to siphon the warmth from the cell. "And yet, you wear the crest of Locron upon your chest. You eat his bread. You take his coin... Tell me, where were you when dignity and loyalty were distributed?"
The knight stammered, sweat beading profusely on his forehead. "I... I only meant that I respect your lineage, my Lady! With the Duke gone, your father, the Great Duke Roland, will surely oversee these lands. I only wished to ensure a smooth transition of power to you!"
Olivia let out a soft, fractured sound. It wasn’t a laugh, but the phantom remnant of one—a dry, chilling noise that made the Commander’s spine go cold.
She murmured, her fingers lightly trailing over the gold chain hidden beneath her high collar, where her wedding ring rested against her skin. "My father, then... Tell me, rat... how much did Roland Tharon pay you to ensure this ’smooth transition’? Or was it that Cedric Allister instead?"
"I... I never—"
"You cannot lie to me," Olivia cut him off, her tone dropping to a sub-zero chill that brooked no defiance. She leaned forward slightly, the dark veil swaying like a shadow. "You thought because I am a woman, because my eyes were dry at the funeral, that my heart was vacant. You thought I would welcome my father’s shadows and that scoundrel Allister into my husband’s house."
Olivia turned her head slightly toward the Commander. "Commander."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"What is your opinion on what he did, and what do you see as his punishment?"
The Commander’s expression hardened like iron. "High treason, Your Grace. The penalty is execution... by the guillotine."
"No! No, please!" the prisoner shrieked, throwing his weight against the chains. "Your Grace, I am a servant to your blood! Your father will destroy you if you touch me!"
"My father already destroyed the only thing that mattered to me," Olivia whispered, so quietly the words barely stirred the air.
Slowly, she stood up, using her cane to steady her trembling frame. The physical exhaustion was eating away at her bones, but her resolve was an unbreakable anchor. She looked at the groveling man one last time.
"Keep him alive for now, Commander. Do not even feed him. I want him to reflect on how poorly he chose his masters."
She began her ascent back to the surface while the knight’s desperate screams echoed violently behind her, but she did not care.
She made her way back toward the chambers, but her legs suddenly betrayed her, and she felt her body tilt. Just as she was about to fall, she didn’t hit the cold floor.
Looking up, she found Leon holding her. The redness in his eyes was vivid; he was still weeping for his brother even now.
"Leon..."
"Bear with me for a moment, my sister-in-law," Leon muttered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "We cannot have the Duchess of this castle collapsing in front of the servants."
"Very well."
He lifted her carefully, carrying her into her room and placing her gently onto the sofa. They sat opposite each other, the weight of the empty room settling between them.
"So," Leon spoke first, his gaze drifting to her dark attire. "You have decided to fight."
"I want revenge."
"A right choice."
Silence engulfed them for a few moments, heavy and suffocating. Leon’s eyes then drifted down to her stomach, filled with a profound, aching sorrow. "Olivia... may I?"
"What?"
"Can I touch your stomach for just a moment?"
She knew exactly what he meant, and she had no energy left to argue. "Go ahead."
He moved closer, sitting beside her, and placed his palm gently against her stomach. Within seconds, she felt his muffled sobs. He spoke in a fractured, heartbreaking whisper, "Hey there, little one... even if your father is absent, I promise you I will be here. I promise."
"You can cry," Olivia said softly.
"What?"
"You can cry. You don’t have to suppress it."
The dam broke, and his tears fell like a torrential waterfall. To Olivia, he looked like a mere child in that moment. She reached out, stroking his hair with tender comfort. "Who would believe that the one who was motivating me this morning is now crying like a baby?"
Leon let out a watery laugh through his tears. "What can I do? Every time I look at you, the memories rush back like madness." He wiped his eyes and looked at her with fierce devotion. "I promise to protect you and your child, Olivia."
"If Mathias could hear how we are speaking right now, he would laugh," she murmured, a bittersweet shadow crossing her face. "We were always bickering in front of him."
"Yes... if only he could hear us."
Leon fell silent for a moment, his expression turning solemn.
"Olivia," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I think there is something Mathias left behind... something I must show you."
"What?"
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In the suffocating dampness of that subterranean chamber, time seemed to stretch and lose its meaning. The only thing tearing through the heavy, stagnant air was the sharp, medicinal sting of crushed herbs.
Then, a low, agonizing groan dissolved into the darkness.
Nearby, the soft, rhythmic click-clack of boots against the stone floor echoed, a cold contrast to the silence. He slowly shifted his head, his vision blurring as he tried to blink away the heavy, grey fog that clung to his mind. Everything around him was foreign—the damp stone walls, the smell of copper and earth. But as his eyes finally focused, they locked onto a pair of sharp, silver eyes staring back at him through the gloom like two frozen shards.
"Are you awake?" a voice asked. It was entirely flat, carrying a clinical, guarded chill that offered no comfort.
He groaned, his muscles locking as he instinctively tried to sit up, but a sudden, blinding flash of agony ripped through his chest. Before he could even lift his shoulders, the immediate, biting resistance of cold iron bound his wrists and ankles tightly to the stone slab. The heavy chains rattled, a bleak reminder of his helplessness.
"Don’t even try," the voice commanded, sharper this time, cutting through his panic. "Your body is profoundly broken, and you are bound tightly for your own good."
"Emilia..." He muttered, his throat feeling as though it were lined with rough sand.
As his eyes adjusted to the flickering, amber light of the torch, he could finally see her clearly. Emilia was sitting on a wooden chair across from him. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, and her posture was so rigid she looked like a statue carved from stone.
"What... what is happening here?" he managed to ask, his voice cracked and hollow.
Emilia lowered her gaze onto him, her expression a mask of freezing detachment.
"Welcome back from the depths of death, my big brother," she said, her voice dropping like an iron weight into the quiet room. "Has gambling with your life become your new favorite game, Mathias?"