Chapter 66: The Seed
When news of the baron's illegitimate son's death reached the capital, Lucian recognized immediately that this was something he could use.
It didn't require much.
Only a small amount of false rumor woven into a true event.
Lies and truth braided together were how you made something that felt real.
Rain tapped softly against the sitting room window.
Lucian sat in the chair closest to it, his black tea cooling at his elbow.
He was looking out at the street, blurred by rain, his brow faintly creased, as though he were still sitting somewhere inside the shadow the news had cast over him.
"This was the work of the Spreading Death Company."
His voice was quiet, but in the small sitting room it carried with unusual clarity.
Sebas sat across from him, both hands resting on his knees, back perfectly straight. At those words, a slight crease came to his brow, but he said nothing.
"Such a waste." Lucian lowered his gaze to the tea in front of him, no longer steaming. A bitter line settled at the corner of his mouth. "If I had moved against them sooner, perhaps this tragedy would never have happened."
He said it softly, almost as though talking to himself.
Those pale green eyes held something that looked like self-reproach.
The kind of reaction that comes naturally to a person who is used to carrying responsibility. Brow slightly knotted, lips pressed into a line, shoulders carrying just a little more weight than they had before.
He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. His fingertip traced absently over the glazed surface of the teacup, as though the faint warmth still left in it offered some small comfort.
"I had heard about that young man."
"Illegitimate or not, he managed his village with real ability. Never turned away anyone in the village who needed help."
He paused and lifted his gaze to the grey curtain of rain beyond the window.
"A person like that, honest and decent, should have had a better ending than this."
Lucian kept his eyes on the window. The rain traced winding lines down the glass and softened the edges of his profile.
Sebas watched him in silence.
The rain filled the quiet between them.
No.
Sebas reached that conclusion privately.
This was not the work of the bandit company Mr. Lucian intends to bring down.
The timing was wrong.
Sebas knew this. That mercenary company had already been wiped out by Shalltear. When Shalltear destroyed the Spreading Death Company, the baron's illegitimate son had still been alive and well.
A bandit organization that had been completely eliminated could not simply reappear several days later to murder a nobleman's son.
It was the second son who arranged it.
Sebas's gaze settled and grew slightly heavier.
The baron's second son, clearing the way to inherit the title and the estate without complications.
He had killed his own brother.
Humans.
Sebas let out a quiet, internal sigh.
Such a capable species, in so many ways.
Why would they do this to each other for such small gains.
Looking at Lucian's expression of self-reproach, Sebas hesitated.
"Perhaps," he said.
His voice was steady, carrying its usual quietness.
"This may be a dispute over the title."
Lucian looked up at him.
Sebas's expression hadn't changed. Warm, composed. But something heavier than usual had settled into those pale grey eyes.
"Mr. Lucian need not blame himself."
A brief pause.
"There may be more to this than meets the eye."
He said it carefully, in the tone of someone gently easing a kind-hearted young man away from unnecessary guilt.
Lucian looked at that face, lined and steady.
He held down the corner of his mouth.
That corner could not be allowed to lift right now. This was a solemn moment.
He absolutely could not smile.
Lucian drew a slow breath and arranged his face into something measured and quietly thoughtful, several degrees older than twenty.
He lifted the tea, cold all the way through, and didn't drink it. He held it in both hands and let his gaze rest on the thin mist condensing against the inside of the cup.
"You're right."
Lucian's voice was soft, but it carried a weight that didn't belong to someone his age.
"The nobles of this kingdom are always fighting over scraps of power and advantage. Openly or otherwise."
He raised his head and looked past Sebas to the grey wall of rain beyond the window. The fine lines of rain fell at an angle, weaving a dense net that seemed to cover the entire capital.
"For control of a territory." His voice was slow and measured, as though turning each word over carefully before setting it down. "Even brothers will destroy each other to have it."
He paused and brought his gaze back to Sebas.
"It's the same everywhere."
A bitter curve settled at the corner of Lucian's mouth.
"I imagine the Empire, where Mr. Sebas lives, is no different."
Sebas didn't answer immediately.
It's the same everywhere.
He repeated the words in his mind.
And then a thought surfaced, without effort.
No.
He said it to himself.
At least this kind of thing would never happen in Nazarick.
The moment that thought appeared, Sebas's attention drifted of its own accord.
He thought of Lord Ainz.
That great ruler. The absolute sovereign of the Great Tomb of Nazarick.
No.
Sebas corrected himself.
Lord Ainz was indeed Nazarick's supreme authority, but that lord had never placed himself above the other Supreme Beings as though they were beneath him.
In Nazarick, among all the Supreme Beings, this kind of ugliness had never existed. Even when there were disagreements, they stayed at the surface.
They trusted each other.
Entrusted things to each other.
Regarded each other as genuine companions.
"Mr. Sebas?"
Lucian's voice pulled him back.
"Mr. Sebas?"
Sebas blinked. Something crossed that deeply lined face, rare and brief, an unmistakable moment of being somewhere else entirely.
"My apologies."
He gave a slight inclination of his head, his voice steady, though slower than usual by half a beat.
"I was thinking of something else."
Lucian looked at him. A faint curve came to the corner of his mouth.
"Is that so." His tone carried a note of gentle curiosity but didn't press further. "It's rather unusual to see Mr. Sebas distracted."
Sebas offered no explanation.
He simply straightened in his chair and returned to the composed bearing that suited a head butler.
Lucian let it go. He set down the tea, long since cold, and leaned back in his chair, the weight lifting gradually from his expression until he was back to his usual ease.
That was enough.
He had what he needed. Sebas's "perhaps a dispute over the title" was said carefully, but Lucian could hear what was underneath it: Sebas had already concluded the second son was responsible.
And that line about "the same everywhere" Sebas hadn't responded to it, but he had drifted.
Drifting meant the words had landed.
Plant the seed and leave it. Nothing more was needed.
"Well then." He looked toward Sebas, his tone lighter now. "Was there something you came to see me about today, Mr. Sebas?"