Chapter 370 - Three Hundred And Sixty Nine

Chapter 370: Chapter Three Hundred And Sixty Nine

Miles away, the atmosphere at the grand main estate of House Benson was different.

The sky was gray and overcast in this part of the city. A black travel carriage rolled smoothly up the long, expansive gravel driveway leading to the main mansion. The carriage was pulled by four large, strong black horses. The iron-rimmed wooden wheels crushed the small stones beneath them with a loud, continuous crunching sound that echoed sharply through the quiet, tense air.

The carriage ground to a halt right in front of the grand stone steps. These wide steps led up to the towering double entrance doors of the Benson building.

Inside the main foyer of the mansion, the household staff was already moving, doing their work. A sharp, loud knock echoed against the wood of the front door, making several maids jump in surprise.

The old head butler immediately straightened his back. He smoothed the front of his vest with trembling hands. He walked quickly across the polished marble floor toward the entrance, his polished shoes tapping lightly.

He unlatched the iron bar, turned the handle, and pulled the front door open wide.

Outside on the wide stone porch, the scene was busy. Several footmen, dressed in fine blue uniforms, were already hard at work. They were busy lifting heavy travel trunks down from the back of the carriage, carrying them carefully toward the porch.

A tall, distinguished man stepped out of the dark carriage.

His polished, knee-high leather boots hit the gravel driveway with a sharp, heavy crunch. He stood tall, his posture rigid and proud. He lifted his chin as he looked up at the towering stone facade of his family’s building, his eyes scanning the architecture as if judging its worth.

This was Duke Collin.

The man wore a tailored travel coat. Silver embroidery lined the lapels and the cuffs, showing his high status and immense wealth. He raised his hands, which were covered in fine white gloves. With slow movements, he carefully adjusted the high, expensive silk cravat wrapped neatly around his neck.

His physical features were sharp and intimidating. His dark hair was combed back neatly, streaked with silver at the temples, showing his mature age and experience. But it was his eyes that truly defined him. They were cold, calculating, and completely devoid of any human warmth or kindness.

He walked smoothly up the grand stone steps toward the open doorway, his boots making a slow, rhythmic thud against the stone.

The head butler immediately dropped his head low. He bowed deeply from the waist, bending almost in half. His old heart was beating fast with nervous surprise and fear. The entire household had been told the duke would arrive soon. Everyone was expecting the week to come.

"Welcome, your grace," the butler greeted respectfully, his voice trembling slightly despite his years of professional training. "We weren’t expecting you this soon."

Duke Collin did not pause. He stepped over the stone threshold and into the grand foyer. The moment he entered, his presence instantly filled the spacious entryway. He carried an aura of authority and dignity that made the surrounding maids hold their breath and lower their eyes to the floor.

Duke Collin spoke as he walked further into the grand foyer, his voice smooth, deep, and chillingly calm. "The weather was in my favor, so I came home earlier than expected."

He did not look at the butler as he spoke. He paused near the coat stand in the corner of the room. He removed his coat and hung it on the coat stand then slowly began to peel the fine white gloves off his fingers, taking them off one by one with deliberate slowness.

He handed the discarded gloves to the bowing butler without ever glancing in the old man’s direction.

"Where is father?" Duke Collin asked.

As he asked the question, his eyes swept slowly across the empty foyer. He looked at the tapestries, the sweeping staircase, and the closed doors. He was taking in every single detail of the quiet mansion, searching for anything out of place.

The butler held the white gloves carefully in both hands, treating them like fragile glass. He answered quickly, making sure to keep his eyes fixed firmly on the polished marble floor.

"The old duke is in his room with Mr. Murry, your grace," the butler explained smoothly, his voice tight with nerves. "He hasn’t woken up yet."

Duke Collin nodded his head slowly. He did not frown, nor did he gasp in worry. A brief flicker of calculation passed through his eyes, but his sharp face remained emotionless. He did not ask any further questions about his father’s failing health. He did not ask what the doctor had said, and he did not express a single ounce of worry for the old man’s fragile condition.

To Collin, his father’s illness was merely a change on the political chessboard.

"Any news on my nephew?" He asked.

The butler shook his head. " Nothing, your grace." He said, choosing his words carefully. " With how quiet the general’s mansion is, I think he won’t make it."

"Get a fresh pot of ink and some quality paper," Duke Collin commanded firmly, his tone dry, sharp, and entirely businesslike. "I have some urgent letters that need to be sent out immediately."

"Yes, your grace," the butler bowed low once more, stepping back respectfully. "I will bring them to your private study right away."

Duke Collin turned on his heel, he walked toward the grand staircase, his boots clicking rhythmically against the marble, heading straight to his study.

Later that evening, the sun finally set, and a deep, dark night fell over the capital city of Daril. While the Benson estate was busy with the return of its master, a terrifying, tense atmosphere hung heavily over the Reed estate.

In his study, Lord Reed sat still behind his wide desk.

The room was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles placed on the edges of the desk.

A quiet, hesitant knock sounded at the door.

Lord Reed did not speak, but the door opened slowly. A trusted senior servant stepped into the dim room, holding a small silver tray in his hands. Resting exactly in the center of the tray was a single paper envelope. The envelope was sealed securely with the large, official wax crest of the great houses.

"My Lord," the servant said softly, his voice full of caution. "An urgent letter just arrived from the main Benson estate."

Lord Reed closed his eyes for a second. He reached out a trembling hand and took the letter from the silver tray. He dismissed the servant with a weak, tired wave of his hand. The servant bowed and quickly left the room, leaving Lord Reed alone in the flickering candlelight.

Lord Reed picked up a sharp silver letter opener from his desk. He slid the blade under the flap of the envelope, slicing open the red wax seal with a soft tearing sound. He pulled out the yellowish parchment, unfolded it with shaking fingers, and began to read the elegant, formal script written sharply across the page.

As his tired eyes scanned the lines of dark black ink, his breath hitched painfully in his throat. His chest tightened. A look of shock, followed instantly by sudden, crushing horror, washed over his pale face.

The letter was a formal summons.

The four great houses of the Daril kingdom were officially scheduled to meet together in exactly a week’s time.

Lord Reed’s fingers went weak. The parchment dropped from his hands, fluttering down to land flat onto the center of his desk.

He leaned back slowly in his padded leather chair, his hands shaking slightly as he stared blankly at the written words on the desk. He did not need anyone to explain the situation to him. He was a seasoned minister, and he already knew exactly what this sudden meeting meant.

Duke Collin was officially back in the capital, and he was violently taking total control of the board.

Duke Collin was not calling this meeting to discuss how to save General Howe. He was not going to stand up and defend General Howe against the royal court. Instead, He was actively organizing the four great houses to cut General Howe off completely.

"They are going to abandon him," Lord Reed thought, his mind racing with terrifying speed. "They are going to strip Howe of his military rank. They will frame him as a single, rogue traitor who acted entirely on his own crazy ambitions. They will leave him completely isolated to shoulder the entire blame before the furious royal court."

By doing this, the great houses were going to exclude themselves from the crime. They would sacrifice General Howe to satisfy the king’s wrath, perfectly saving their own houses and their own wealth from being destroyed.

It was literally throwing the sheep to the slaughter, and General Howe was the sheep.

Lord Reed let out a long heavy sigh. The sound rattled deep in his chest, echoing in the quiet study. He raised his hands and rubbed his face hard, closing his eyes tightly.

He felt drained. He felt hollow inside. He felt utterly defeated. He was already so immensely tired of this endless plotting that has cost him so much.

His mind wandered to his beloved family. His daughter was still locked away in the royal dungeon, stripped of her freedom and facing brutal interrogation. And now, his stepbrother, General Howe, was about to be publicly executed to satisfy the bloodlust of the royal trial.

Yet, as the head of House Reed,one of the great houses in Daril, he was powerless to stop it. If he stood up at the meeting and tried to defend his brother, House Reed would be immediately be accused of betraying the great houses and they will make sure he is charged with treason alongside his stepbrother. The king’s army would march on his estate, and his entire bloodline would be wiped off the face of the earth before the week was over.

He had no choices left. He had to play the game Duke Collin was setting up, or he would truly lose everything.

Lord Reed sat up slowly in his leather chair, his bones aching with stress. He reached out with a trembling right hand, picked up his quill pen, and dipped the metal tip deep into a fresh pot of ink.

He pulled a small, clean sheet of paper toward him. With slow strokes, he wrote a short formal response stating clearly and without argument that he, Lord Reed, would be in full attendance at the emergency meeting of the four great houses in a week’s time.