My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 20

Chapter : 39

He met Ken's steady gaze. "I appreciate the offer, Ken. Sincerely. And your loyalty." He drew a breath. "But no."

Ken's expression didn't flicker, but Lloyd sensed the silent question.

"This isn't just about satisfying my father," Lloyd explained, his voice low but intense. "This is about perception. About control. About sending a message."

"A message, Young Lord?"

"Think about it, Ken. If I rely solely on your word, what will the whispers be? 'Of course the Duke's man backed the heir.' 'Power protects its own.' 'Maybe the boy did provoke them, maybe he did go too far.' Rubel will spin it that way. Doubts will remain. My authority, my credibility, will still be questioned in every shadow, every corner of this court."

He started walking again, forcing Ken alongside him. "That's unacceptable. I won't let Rubel sow those seeds. I won't let anyone think I acted unjustly or hid behind my father's shield." His fist clenched unconsciously at his side. "They accused me. They brought false witnesses against me. I will dismantle their lies piece by painful piece, publicly, and leave no shred of doubt." His voice dropped further, laced with cold determination. "It's about ego, yes. But it's also about establishing dominance. Rubel needs to understand that attacking me directly, even through pawns, has severe consequences beyond mere physical injury. He needs to understand that his games won't work."

Ken absorbed this, his impassive face giving nothing away, but Lloyd felt a subtle shift in the man's stillness, an understanding passing between them.

"Understood, Young Lord," Ken said finally, the subtle weight back in his voice. "You intend to make a public demonstration."

"Precisely," Lloyd confirmed. "And for that, I need ammunition." He retrieved the folded parchment from his tunic again, the list of names feeling heavier now. "The witnesses. Rubel chose them for a reason. Find that reason." He handed the list over.

Ken scanned it quickly, his eyes missing nothing. "Standard background reconnaissance? Financials, affiliations, known vulnerabilities?"

"Everything," Lloyd commanded. "Debts, gambling habits, sick relatives needing expensive care, grudges against the Arch Duke, secret allegiances, land disputes, illicit affairs… any potential lever Rubel might have used. Focus especially on any connection, however faint, to the Viscount himself or his known business interests and associates. I need to know who was bought, and who was squeezed."

"Timeframe?" Ken asked, tucking the list securely away.

"Before sunrise," Lloyd stated flatly. "Discreetly. I need that information laid out, analyzed, potential pressure points highlighted."

"It will be done, Young Lord," Ken affirmed. The certainty in his voice was absolute. "My resources are yours to command for this task."

"Thank you, Ken," Lloyd said, relief mixing with the cold resolve. Ken Park's 'resources' were legendary within the estate – a network of eyes and ears, access to records both public and private, and the skills to extract information others couldn't. "With that data, I can craft the counter-narrative."

He turned towards the wing housing the estate's extensive records archive. "Now, phase two. While you handle the human intelligence, I'll handle the paper trail. Guild registries, property deeds, tax records… sometimes the most damning connections are hidden in plain sight, buried under mundane bureaucracy."

Ken nodded once more. "I shall proceed immediately." And with that, he seemed to flow backwards into the deeper shadows of the corridor, vanishing as completely and silently as mist dissipating in sunlight.

Lloyd watched him go for a moment, then turned towards the archives, his mind already racing, sifting through strategies, planning his approach. Twenty-three hours. The clock was ticking, but the board was set, and the pieces were beginning to move according to his design. Rubel thought he was setting a trap. He was about to discover he'd merely provided Lloyd with a stage.

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The heavy oak door of Arch Duke Roy Ferrum's study swung inward, revealing a scene thick with calculated tension. Sunlight streamed through the tall, imposing windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced like oblivious sprites in the charged air. The very atmosphere felt compressed, heavy with unspoken accusations and simmering animosity. The rhythmic ticking of the grand clock on the mantelpiece seemed unnaturally loud, each measured beat marking the passage of the twenty-four hours Roy had granted.

Chapter : 40

Lloyd Ferrum stood before the immense mahogany desk, a picture of calm composure that felt utterly at odds with the storm brewing within him. Beside him, a silent monolith in dark livery, stood Ken Park, his presence a quiet counterpoint to the drama unfolding. Lloyd had slept, surprisingly, not peacefully, but with the focused intensity of a soldier preparing for battle. The sofa, his unwanted kingdom, had offered little physical comfort, but the clarity of his plan, bolstered by the mountain of damning information Ken had compiled before dawn, provided a cold, sharp certainty that felt better than any rest.

Across the expanse of polished wood and expensive rug, the opposition was assembled. Viscount Rubel Ferrum, Lloyd’s uncle, stood radiating an aura of solemn gravity that barely concealed the smug triumph glittering deep in his calculating eyes. Beside him, practically mirroring his father’s smugness but adding a layer of arrogant disdain, stood Rayan Ferrum, Rubel’s heir. Rayan’s gaze flickered over Lloyd with open contempt, a sneer playing at the edges of his lips.

Clustered near them, looking wretched and terrified, were the five witnesses from the previous day. They huddled together like sheep sensing wolves, their eyes darting nervously between the imposing figure of the Arch Duke, the smooth menace of Viscount Rubel, and the unnerving calm of Lloyd Ferrum. They twisted worn caps in their hands, shuffled their feet incessantly, and avoided eye contact at all costs.

Adding a grotesque element of theatre to the proceedings were two figures slumped in chairs placed strategically for maximum visibility. Swathed head-to-toe in thick, stained bandages, leaving only small, dark openings for eyes that darted about wildly and mouths that emitted periodic, muffled groans of pain, they were tangible props in Rubel’s carefully staged accusation. Two of the three 'loyal employees'. Their suffering, whether entirely genuine or significantly exaggerated, was meant to underscore Lloyd’s alleged brutality.

But it was the final figure, standing apart near the shadowed bookshelves, that drew Lloyd’s attention most acutely. Rosa. His wife. Dressed in a gown of striking emerald green, she was a figure of cool, almost unsettling stillness amidst the rising tide of emotion. Her face, framed by dark hair, was an exquisite mask of indifference, her posture erect, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the immediate drama. Why was she here? A summons from Roy? Morbid curiosity? Or something else entirely, something inscrutable unfolding behind those obsidian eyes? Her presence was a silent question mark in the room, an unpredictable element that Rubel, Lloyd noted with grim amusement, seemed to interpret as advantageous. The Viscount shot a subtle, almost proprietary glance her way, a flicker of possessive pride suggesting he believed her presence somehow validated his position or signaled Lloyd's isolation. Fool, Lloyd thought. You understand nothing about her.

Arch Duke Roy Ferrum surveyed the assembly from behind his desk, his face an impassive granite cliff face. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, missed nothing – the witnesses' fear, Rubel's confidence, Rayan’s sneer, the victims' groans, Rosa’s stillness, Lloyd’s calm. He gestured curtly towards his brother, a silent command. "Viscount. The deadline has arrived. Present your case."

Rubel Ferrum stepped forward, his movements smooth, practiced, projecting sorrowful duty. "Your Grace," he began, his voice resonating with carefully modulated sincerity, pitched just loud enough to fill the study. "It is with the heaviest of hearts that I stand before you again on this grim matter. Justice, however, demands no less."

He turned slightly, encompassing the witnesses and victims with a sweep of his hand. "Yesterday, we heard the clear, corroborating testimony of five impartial citizens who witnessed Young Lord Lloyd's unprovoked assault." He paused, letting the accusation hang. "Today, Your Grace, the picture becomes even clearer, even more distressing."

"Milo," Rubel addressed the first witness, the thin man with shifty eyes. "Step forward. Tell His Grace precisely what you saw near Weaver's Alley two days prior. Speak plainly."

Milo shuffled forward, swallowing nervously, his gaze fixed somewhere on Roy’s imposing desk rather than his face. "Y-yes, Excellency, Your Grace! I… I was just goin' about me business… when I saw the young lord… Lord Ferrum, that is." He licked his lips, sweat beading on his brow despite the room’s coolness. "He come stormin' down the alley like… like a thundercloud! Didn't say barely a word!"

"Barely a word?" Rubel prompted gently, subtly reinforcing the narrative.

"N-no! Just… anger! Pure anger on 'is face! And then… then he just lashed out! Hit poor Davin there," Milo gestured vaguely towards the bandaged figures, "right in the face! Sent 'im sprawling!"

"And the reason for this attack?" Rubel inquired, his tone implying the answer was obvious.