Jack was shell-shocked by the news. He knew his marriage would be, more or less, political. He wasn't some romantic living under the illusion that he would only marry upon finding his soulmate or something—thinking that way, for someone of his status, was pure delusion.
He remembered one of his lessons on noble etiquette, where his teacher, Mr. Smith, had once said something that resonated with him now:
Nobles are granted power by society—worldly riches, fame, and dominion over land—but any noble who takes those for granted meets an untimely demise. A noble must live and die as a noble.
Jack didn't agree with most of that, but one thing he did understand: his life, as a noble, was not his alone. Let's say he refused the marriage—what would happen then? Their relations with the Capital, already strained, would worsen. That much, at least, his limited understanding of the political world told him. And if that happened, the royal family would find it even easier to interfere in the duchy's affairs.
Still, Jack wasn't foolish enough to accept or reject anything on his own. This was a decision for the court. It was up to his father, the Duke, and the officials who guided the duchy.
Yet, the court officials and nobles didn't react as strongly as Jack had expected. Most of them wore stoic expressions. Some frowned, but none openly resisted or supported the proposal.
The Duke gave Jack a sharp side glance.
For a fleeting second, he noticed something—nervousness. A subtle twitch of the eye, the stiffening of shoulders. But he also saw something else.
Determination .
He chuckled.
"Haha, you are right, Prime Minister. It would indeed be an honour for Her Royal Highness to become my daughter-in-law…""But this decision is not mine alone to make."
He gestured toward Jack with a subtle wave of his hand.
"As for the matter at hand, I believe my son would appreciate some time to think it through. A decision of this magnitude should not be rushed.""In the meantime, allow us to offer the Royal Delegation the finest hospitality Ignis has ever shown. You are our guests, after all."
William gave a courteous bow, his lips curving into a quiet, knowing smile.
With a slight wave of the Duke's hand, servants stepped forward to escort the delegation out of the hall and toward the designated guest palace.
The grand courtroom fell into silence.
Every eye turned to Jack.
Some were curious. Others, calculating. A few, quietly amused.
Then, the Duke raised his hand once more.
A firm clap echoed through the hall, signaling the end of the court session.
One by one, officials, nobles, and ministers bowed and made their way out—whispers and mutters trailing behind them like mist.
As Jack stood still in the fading echo of formal voices, his personal guard, Captain Garren, approached him. The man wore a half-smirk and crossed his arms.
"Must be nice…" he muttered sarcastically. "Marrying into royalty, huh?"
Jack didn't respond.
He simply rose from his seat with a measured calm, the polished expression still resting on his face. Without looking at Garen, he walked off—his footsteps echoing across the emptying hall.
The domed ceiling of the castle's Grand Library arched overhead, its vaults hushed by rows of towering shelves and the metallic scent of old parchment. Jack sat alone at a long oak table, a single book open before him:
Human Relation .
For two days he had pored over its pages, intrigued by the notion that emotion—so often derided by nobles—was in fact the hidden architect of every alliance and betrayal.
He was turning a page when soft footfalls broke the stillness. Jack closed the volume, rose, and bowed as Duke Joshua entered. The librarian withdrew, leaving father and son facing each other across the polished table. Dust motes drifted through a shaft of afternoon light. Silence ruled for a breath.
The Duke spoke first, voice calm but brittle."Tell me, son… your thoughts on the king's proposal."
Jack's eyes lingered on the book's title for a moment. Then he raised his gaze, steady but somber."Father, I am a nobleman's heir. Liberty of choice is a luxury I do not possess. I will do what best serves the duchy and its people."
A faint smile—half pride, half sorrow—touched Joshua's lips.
"No parent wishes to see his child forced to mature too soon," he said softly. "Yet you did, Jack… and remarkably so."He drew a slow breath, as though freeing a weight from his chest. "Since you are grown, you deserve the truth I have carried alone."
Jack stiffened.
"You remember the day your mother died," the Duke continued, voice lowering to a near whisper. "We investigated in secret. The culprits were the royal family itself—and of their faction . Their motives remain unknown , but the massacre was no accident. It was part of something larger."
The words thudded into the quiet like stones.
Joshua's hands curled on the table."And this marriage they now propose? It is another move in that unseen game. As Duke of Ignis I cannot reject a royal decree merely on suspicion, yet every part of me wants to ."
He looked directly into Jack's eyes—dark with pain, but unwavering."This union will go forward. It will not be pleasant, but it is… necessary. I need you to understand, Jack. Understand—and prepare."
Jack's jaw tightened, but he gave a slow, deliberate nod."I do understand,Father "
For a moment neither spoke. Jack did no demand how royal family was involved in his mother demise what was conspiracy or why his mother had to die he was not ready for the answers .
Only the clock at the far end of the library ticked, marking the fragile peace between truth and duty.
After his father's footsteps faded into the distant corridor, silence reclaimed the Grand Library.
Jack remained seated, unmoving .
A flicker of light caught his eye—the book still lying open where he had left it. Human Relations. He leaned forward, slowly turning the page.
A new chapter.
The title was written in bold, stark letters:Chapter XV – Revenge.
The word lingered in the air like smoke, whispering to something ancient and buried in Jack's chest. He stared at it, not blinking, as memories surged unbidden—
The screams in the air
,The crimson pool beneath his mother's body
,The smell of burning wood and the metallic stench of blood.
Her final gaze —warm, then gone.
Jack ran a hand across the page, as if to test whether it was real.
He began to read.
"Revenge is not born of hatred, but of imbalance. It is a reaction to justice denied, to peace broken. It is not a desire—it is a debt."
Jack's eyes narrowed, following every line. The words didn't burn—they calculated. Cold. Rational. Precise.
"The intelligent do not seek revenge in passion, but in patience. The purpose is not punishment—it is correction. Restoration. Recalibration of power."
He leaned back in his chair, heartbeat steady.He finally understood.
The marriage proposal. The smiling Prime Minister. The dead mother. The empty justice.
It was all part of a structure. A game where loyalty was a mask, and peace, a veil over knives.
Jack closed the book slowly.
No fury, no madness stirred in him. Only clarity.
he closed his eyes and thought to himself
What is revenge?
Is it a roadblock in one's grief?Or is it a path—dark, winding, and uncertain—meant to wash away the bloodstains of one's fallen kin?
Is it a sin?
Can all revenge be cast as sinful, born from hatred, destined to consume?
Or is it justice?Retribution?A heavenly punishment disguised as human will?Or… is it something else entirely?
"Revenge is a dish best served cold."A phrase immortalized in countless books and whispered among the young with admiration. It sounds clever. Even righteous.
But then there is another saying:"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."
So which is it?
Should one take revenge for a grave injustice—or let it go in the name of peace and progress?Will turning the other cheek end the suffering… or will it simply invite another blow, a deeper scar, one that bleeds behind a smile?
Revenge is a territory unknown.
History tells both tales.There are those who took revenge—and found peace, clarity, even justice .And there are those who turned the other cheek—and died miserable, forgotten, their pain swallowed by silence.
There are those who took revenge—and lost themselves in the fire they lit.They gained blood, not peace .And there are those who turned the other cheek—and found peace in letting go.
So what should one choose?
There is no answer carved in stone.No prophecy to follow.Only questions.
And a choice.
He whispered, "If they sowed this... I will harvest it."
And from that moment, he was no longer a boy reading about the world.He was a man rewriting its rules.