My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 104

Chapter: 207

A collective gasp, sharp and unified, swept through the hall. This was unprecedented. A public, brutal demotion. Rubel staggered back as if physically struck, his face a mask of horrified disbelief.

“Furthermore,” Roy continued relentlessly, “Viscount Rubel Ferrum, you are hereby removed from your position on the Ducal Council and relieved of all command responsibilities pertaining to the Third and Fourth Ferrum Legions. Your access to the Ducal armories, the forges, and the central weapon hall is revoked, effective immediately.”

“You cannot do this!” Rubel finally roared, his desperation shattering his last vestiges of control. “Roy, you cannot! This is tyranny! An overreach of your authority! I have served this family for decades! My loyalty—”

“Your loyalty is to your own ambition, Rubel, and nothing more,” Roy retorted, his voice now a low, dangerous growl. “And you are mistaken. I can. And I have.” He then proceeded to dismantle Rubel’s last defenses with a chilling, almost surgical, precision. “You speak of service? Shall we discuss the ‘service’ you rendered by misallocating funds from the northern timber contracts for your own personal ventures? A fact my bursar brought to my attention last season. Or perhaps the ‘service’ of placing your own loyal, if largely incompetent, cronies in key quartermaster positions, a fact that has led to a documented ten percent increase in equipment spoilage and logistical inefficiencies? Or,” his voice dropped further, becoming almost a whisper, yet carrying to every corner of the silent hall, “shall we discuss the more recent ‘service’ you performed just a few days ago? The one involving the coercion of five innocent citizens to bear false witness against my son? The one where you dispatched three of your household thugs to ambush and assault the heir of this Duchy in a back alley?”

Rubel stared, his face ashen, his mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish. He was exposed. Utterly, comprehensively, exposed. Roy hadn't just been watching; he had been documenting. Waiting. Waiting for Rubel to overplay his hand, to give him the public justification he needed to finally, decisively, act.

“No…” Rubel stammered, shaking his head. “Lies… slander…”

“Is it?” Roy’s voice was like ice. “The witnesses have already confessed to my captain of the guard. The moneylender who held Milo Tanner’s debt has proven surprisingly talkative when faced with charges of conspiracy against the Ducal house. Your foreman at the Guild warehouse, Jorn’s supervisor, has a sudden, remarkable clarity of memory regarding the instructions he received.” He leaned forward. “You are finished, Rubel. Your plotting, your scheming… it ends today.”

He turned away from his broken, defeated brother, his gaze once more sweeping the hall. “In place of the Ashworth branch, I hereby elevate the Ironwood Ferrums. Lord Kyle Ferrum, you will assume the position of Head of the Primary Cadet Family. You will take Viscount Rubel’s seat on the Ducal Council. And you,” Roy’s eyes held Kyle’s, a look of profound trust and immense responsibility passing between them, “will assume stewardship of the central weapon hall and our family’s primary forges. Your integrity is beyond question. Your knowledge, invaluable. See that our strength is maintained, and our legacy preserved.”

Kyle Ferrum, looking stunned but resolute, bowed deeply. “I will not fail you, Your Grace.”

The transfer of power was complete. Brutal. Public. Absolute. Rubel Ferrum was no longer a threat; he was a disgrace, a cautionary tale. The balance of power within the Ferrum clan had just been irrevocably, seismically, altered. And Lloyd Ferrum, the catalyst for it all, stood watching, the ache in his side a dull throb, his mind already calculating the implications, the opportunities, the new, even more dangerous, game that had just begun.

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The Grand Hall was a maelstrom of barely suppressed emotion. The shock of Rubel Ferrum’s public castration was still settling, the air thick with the scent of shattered ambition and freshly reallocated power. Rubel himself stood frozen, a statue of disbelief and impotent fury, his face a ghastly shade of white. He looked from his brother’s implacable face to the solemn, resolute expression of Kyle Ferrum, the man who had just inherited his power, his status, his entire political future. The sheer, brutal totality of his defeat seemed to be slowly, agonizingly, sinking in.

He finally found his voice, a ragged, desperate rasp that clawed its way out of his throat. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head, a wild, cornered look entering his eyes. He wasn't just defeated; he was being erased. "No! You… you can’t make such a decision alone, Roy! It’s… it’s against protocol! It’s against the ancient charters!” He was grasping at straws now, his desperation making him reckless.

Chapter: 208

He took a stumbling step forward, his voice rising, becoming shrill, almost hysterical. “The reorganization of the primary cadet branch! The stewardship of the central weapon hall! These are not mere internal family matters! They affect the military balance of the entire Duchy! The stability of the realm! Such a momentous decision… it requires… it requires royal assent!” He stabbed a trembling finger towards the dais, not at Roy, but at the wider implications of power. “The King! The King must approve such a change! You cannot act unilaterally, Roy! You have overstepped! I will appeal to the Crown! I will appeal to King Liam himself!”

He had played his final, desperate card. An appeal to the highest authority in the land, a challenge not just to Roy’s decision, but to his very authority to make it. It was a move born of utter desperation, a last-ditch attempt to bog the entire process down in the bureaucratic mire of royal court politics, to buy himself time, to sow doubt among the other nobles. He was betting, foolishly, that the King, ever cautious about concentrating too much power in any single vassal, might hesitate, might call for a review, might question Roy’s motives.

A murmur went through the assembled guests. He had a point, however tenuous. A shift in the military command of a powerful Arch Duchy like Ferrum was indeed a matter of royal interest.

Lloyd watched the drama unfold with a kind of detached fascination. Rubel, even in his death throes, was still a political animal, still lashing out, still trying to find a weakness to exploit. It was almost impressive, in a pathetic, reptilian sort of way.

But then, Lloyd glanced at his father. And any fleeting admiration for Rubel’s desperate gambit instantly evaporated. Because Arch Duke Roy Ferrum was not looking concerned. He was not looking angry. He was not looking worried.

He was smiling.

It was a small, almost imperceptible smile, a mere twitch at the corner of his lips. But it was there. A smile of such profound, almost cosmic, amusement, of such absolute, crushing certainty, that it was infinitely more terrifying than his earlier fury. It was the smile of a man holding not just a royal flush, but the entire deck, the table, and the deed to the casino.

“An appeal to the Crown, Brother Rubel?” Roy inquired, his voice laced with a dry, almost pitying, irony. “A fascinating suggestion. You believe King Liam would find my decision… questionable?” He let the question hang, then his gaze shifted, moving from the sputtering Rubel to the dais, to the handsome, unassuming nobleman seated beside him. The man who called himself ‘James’. “What say you, my lord… James?” Roy asked, his tone perfectly pitched, a subtle invitation. “You are an honored guest, a man of considerable influence and, I suspect, a keen understanding of the… delicate balance of power in these realms. Do you believe I have overstepped? Should this matter be brought before His Majesty for formal review?”

Every eye in the hall snapped to the mysterious ‘James’. Who was this man, that the Arch Duke himself would solicit his opinion on such a momentous, internal family matter? What influence did he hold?

King Liam “James” Bethelham, who had been observing the entire drama with the engaged, slightly amused air of a man enjoying a particularly well-staged theatrical performance, sighed dramatically, as if roused from a pleasant reverie. He took a delicate sip of his wine (he’d wisely avoided the tea), and then slowly, deliberately, rose to his feet.

He didn't move with the overt, commanding power of Roy Ferrum. He moved with a quiet, easy grace that was somehow even more compelling, more authoritative. The charming, slightly eccentric ‘Lord James’ persona was still in place, but beneath it, a new layer was emerging – a subtle, undeniable aura of absolute, ingrained authority.

“Arch Duke Roy,” James began, his voice smooth as aged velvet, carrying easily through the suddenly silent hall. “You honor me with your question. And you, Viscount Rubel,” he turned his gaze towards the now-trembling Viscount, his eyes holding a flicker of something that was not quite pity, but a kind of weary disappointment, “you raise a valid, if perhaps… ill-timed… point of protocol.”

He took a step forward, towards the edge of the dais, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Ferrum clan. “It is true. The stability of a great house like Ferrum is indeed a matter of profound interest to the Crown. And any significant shift in its internal power structure, particularly one involving military command, does, traditionally, require a degree of royal oversight. An affirmation, if you will. To ensure the continued peace and prosperity of the realm.”