Chapter 53
Ah. Finally.
Joy surged deep within Carlos. The elation of finally crossing the line made his lower body swell with satisfaction. He pulled his mother’s timidly resisting body—barely even attempting to push him away—tightly into his arms.
Feeling the transfer of blood onto his own clothes, he explored his mother’s mouth without restraint.
Her soft lips. Her neat teeth. Her saliva-slick tongue.
There was nowhere inside her that wasn’t lovely, nowhere that wasn’t sweet. Like a ravenous child suckling greedily, he devoured his mother, his desire renewing with every taste.
If merely stirring her mouth felt this rapturous—how sublime must it be to stir her lower depths instead?
At the thought, a fierce hunger seized him. He withdrew from her mouth, which he’d been plundering at will. Then, savoring her disheveled breath—tinged with a hint of arousal—he whispered:
“You must be exhausted. Let me comfort you, Mother.”
“Please—I—”
“I wanted to see the face you made beneath my brother ten years ago… beneath me.”
“…”
Her eyes went wide as she finally realized: her son’s memory of her stretched back far longer than she’d anticipated. Carlos, smiling playfully, kissed the corner of her eye. His hands moved deftly, pulling down her blood-stained clothes halfway.
“Don’t worry. My c**k won’t disappoint you, not compared to my brother’s.”
“Please, Carl. I am your mother.”
“I’ve been practicing on other women, waiting for this day. I hope you enjoy it even more than when you were with him.”
Somehow, Carlos had already laid his mother on the bed. He smiled beatifically, like an angel. Looking down
And at that very moment—
“Stop.”
When had the door opened? A voice—one they had heard before—cut through the air in warning.
Brunhilde and Carlos both turned toward the sound. There, standing in the doorway, was Heen, Franz’s shadow, with her face hidden behind a mask.
“Step away from the Madam, young master.”
“With that much blood loss, he should be teetering on the brink of death by now. You’re quite attentive with my brother.”
“If you don’t withdraw, I will draw my weapon.”
“Ah… how tiresome.”
For a fleeting instant, a chilling cold flickered through Carlos’s violet eyes—eyes that were usually so mild—before vanishing again. Half-undressed, he leaned down and pressed gentle kisses to his mother’s forehead and tear-streaked eyes.
“Just wait a moment,” he whispered softly.
Ignoring how her face crumpled further in grief at his words, he straightened.
With a faint look of regret, Carlos stepped down from the bed and came to stand before Heen.
“Leave the Madam and return to your quarters, young master.”
“I’m in a rather bad mood right now.”
“If you refuse, I will use force—”
“A bug that can swing a blade a little… and yet it dares to interfere with me on the most important day of my life.”
Heen flinched.
For a split second, her eyes froze as she met his gaze. Though he had yet to come of age, the sharpness in his eyes was no different from that of her master, who had once rampaged across battlefields like a demon.
Calm as a predator facing its prey, Carlos asked lightly,
“You said you’d draw your weapon?”
“……”
“In front of a Brandt, no less?”
Ah.
Even before the fight began, Heen understood.
Instinctively, she knew that the boy was already a monster. Even unfinished, he was something no human could hope to oppose.
A bloodline born with divine talent for the sword—there was no way someone like her could defeat him. The very thought of victory was absurd. How many exchanges could she last? How many seconds? Could she even block the first strike?
And yet—
Even as every muscle in her body locked with tension before this overwhelming predator, Heen did not retreat. Quietly, she slipped her hand into her coat and drew her weapon.
Even if her head were to fall before she so much as brushed his collar, she would not step back. Her master had ordered her to protect the Madam.
“I see. Loyalty is one of the few virtues your kind possesses.”
Carlos smiled again, as innocently as ever, and grasped the sword at his side.
Shrring—
The blade slid from its sheath with a soft, whispering sound. And just as his expression changed—just as he stepped forward to strike—
“My child… please…!”
Brunhilde, who had somehow left the bed, seized his arm.
Her face, clinging to him as though she might collapse, was completely soaked with tears. They streamed endlessly, soaking not just her face but running down her slender neck and into the hollow of her chest.
Carlos glanced at the hand gripping him.
His mother clung to him, too distraught even to cover her bare chest, her pale skin flushed red and white, trembling before him. The sight cooled his head for a moment… or perhaps it simply stirred the desire he had momentarily set aside.
He quickly weighed what mattered most. Then, gently stroking her hair, he murmured,
“Do you want my brother’s shadow to live?”
“Don’t do this… please… why…?”
“But she was the one who interfered first and even drew her weapon.”
As if Heen no longer existed, Carlos leaned toward his mother with ease, brushing his fingers over her tear-drenched cheek.
“Today… I was finally going to fulfill a long-cherished wish.”
“My child…”
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