Salvation Through Delusion C51

Chapter 51

“My lady.”

Solongo’s first instinct was to study her master’s face.

Is she all right?

The matriarch was frail enough that even a small shock could send her collapsing. After she’d met her new comrade, she had seemed invigorated—alive again—and Solongo had been quietly proud to see her rediscover a will to live.

“Lady Lantua, should I summon the healers—?”

“No. I can still endure.”

Though her face was as pale as death, Lantua Adeye—Dr. Kim—clenched her jaw and refused to falter. In her wide eyes, fierce emotion swirled like a storm.

Ah. Something must have happened to Lord Rue. And whatever it was, there would be no quiet way through this.

Solongo, despite knowing her master’s temper, spoke carefully.

“If we cause a commotion searching for Lord Rue, the traitor’s eyes will turn toward us. No matter how much Rue has changed, he’s still the brother who fell from your favor.”

“No matter how far he’s fallen from grace,” Kim hissed, her fists tightening, “no one in this family would abandon a brother who’s survived death by a monster.”

Her voice dropped to a deadly calm.

“Go. Find out what happened—yourself.”

“So we’ve finally captured Adeye Rue.”

Borhumi Zab smiled for the first time in weeks. The report had reached him the moment he stepped into the 13th Month Club. Who would have thought it would take this long to catch Adeye Rue—the same man who seemed to appear at every den of vice across the continent?

Finally, he’d be able to trace the whereabouts of Baron Ewik.

He’d already ordered that if necessary, they were to extract results through torture. Lantua Adeye’s brother or not, the woman was famous for treating that wastrel like a stranger.

She’d likely assume he’d run off with another man again.

He wasn’t worried for Rue’s safety in the slightest. But the name Adeye still carried weight, and he intended to move quickly.

He’d make an appearance at the club, then head straight to question Rue.

With that plan in mind, Zab lengthened his stride—only to freeze when he heard the next words.

“And Grand Duke Koon is currently in the club.”

Who?

The most detested name in existence turned his gaze sharp and cold.

“Tyroc?”

“Yes, my lord. He’s been inside since this afternoon.”

“That bastard’s lost his mind? Of all places to show his face… Where is he now?”

The aide hesitated before whispering nervously, “The first floor—Gold Room.”

“The Gold Room?” Zab’s voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “That arrogant bastard.”

The Gold Room—the most exclusive chamber in the entire club. Even on invitation days, non-members were never permitted entry.

And yet he, who wasn’t even a member, had walked straight in?

A thought sparked. If he wasn’t a member, that meant Zab could throw him out.

A slow, delighted grin spread across his face.

From birth, Tyroc Koon had been his rival—a thorn in his side, a shadow he could never outshine. Even now, though Zab’s position was far superior, he never once felt like he’d truly won.

The man was a venomous snake.

Even stripped of his divine beast’s power, Tyroc had clawed his way back, becoming a Swordmaster, reclaiming his ruined estate, and earning back everything Zab had worked to destroy.

No matter how much he tried to crush him, Tyroc always survived.

But now—finally—tonight, the chance had come to crush him properly.

To drag him out before all the members, humiliate him, and strip that insufferable smile from his face.

The thought made Zab’s blood sing as he strode toward the club.

“Lord Zab, but the Grand Duke—”

BANG.

The doors slammed shut behind him before his subordinate could finish.

Zab didn’t care. His long, sleek blue hair swayed like a whip behind him as he stormed through the halls.

But his anticipation lasted no more than five minutes.

Inside the Gold Room, people had gathered in a circle around a single man.

At its center sat Tyroc Koon. His golden eyes gleamed with polite boredom, yet everyone around him looked desperate to speak to him—to bask in his presence, to earn a single glance.

Pathetic.

Zab’s expression twisted. These were the same nobles who acted so lofty toward him—yet now they were mesmerized, orbiting around Tyroc like moths to flame.

Someone once said that when Tyroc entered a room, people turned toward him like flowers seeking the sun.

And it was true. Even now, a passing joke made Tyroc’s lips curl slightly, and the entire circle seemed to hold its breath, captivated.

Even Zab, for one dangerous heartbeat, found his gaze snared by that effortless, devastating smile.

But he tore his eyes away first, fury seething in his gut.

“Tyroc.”

At his entrance, everyone rose, bowing slightly. Everyone except Tyroc, who didn’t even glance his way.

Only those golden eyes flickered lazily toward him before drifting off again.

You arrogant bastard.

Good. Keep acting high and mighty. It’ll make watching you fall all the sweeter.

“It’s been a while,” Zab said, his voice deceptively light. “What brings you here?”

“Not your concern.”

The curt reply made several onlookers tense. Zab was known for his temper, but instead of snapping, he threw back his head and laughed.

“Fair enough. No need to explain. After all, you won’t be here much longer. In fact, you’ll be escorted out.”

He flicked his gaze toward the back, and armed guards immediately stepped forward.

“Duke Borhumi, what are you doing?”

Altan, one of the few with enough history to speak up, moved between them.

Zab cut her off coldly.

“What am I doing? Even on invitation day, we don’t allow non-members into the Gold Room! What are you waiting for? Drag him out!”

At the order, the guards stepped closer. Altan’s brow furrowed.

“My lord, you must be mistaken. None of us invited the Grand Duke. But there’s no need—”

“Altan,” Tyroc interrupted, his voice smooth as silk, his smile curling faintly. “Let him be. I’m curious to see how far he’ll go.”

If Zab had been thinking clearly, he might’ve recognized that tone for what it was—mockery. But not tonight.

This was his domain, and everyone here answered to him. He wouldn’t lose face now.

“What’s the matter? Think I can’t throw you out? Oh, that’s right—you’re a Swordmaster now, aren’t you? Too mighty to fear my guards?”

Tyroc’s gaze drifted over the guards before settling on Zab again.

“The only thing laughable here is you.”

The lazy contempt in his tone made Zab’s jaw twitch. And those damned eyes—those golden eyes that marked the Koon bloodline—radiated effortless authority.

It was infuriating.

Even stripped of his divine beast, Tyroc still looked like a man born for the throne.

And that was unbearable.

Zab’s temper, usually coiled tight, snapped.

“Tyroc Koon,” he spat, raising his hand, “did becoming a Swordmaster rot your judgment along with your vanished beast?”

At that provocation, everyone’s attention shifted to Tyroc. The fall of the Koon family—brought on by the extinction of their divine beast—was common knowledge across Tuvine.

But Tyroc didn’t flinch.

Which only made Zab more unhinged.

“Oh, right,” he sneered, “you’ve probably forgotten what true divine power even looks like by now. Shall I remind you?”

Laughter edged his words as a ripple of energy gathered at his palm, condensing into a shimmering sphere of water.

CRASH!

Chairs screeched as people jumped up, startled.

Altan was the first to move, stepping in front of him.

“Duke Borhumi, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think?” Zab hissed. “Do I need to spell it out for you, idiot?”

“No one’s asking what that is. We’re asking why you’re using it here!”

“Silence! How dare you raise your voice in my presence!”

“The one who needs to shut up,” came Tyroc’s low, cool voice, “is you.”

His tone wasn’t loud, but it cut through the air, sharp and clear—ringing in every ear like the strike of a blade.