Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 261: Always Replaceable

The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the garden, punctuated by the occasional scrape of boots against gravel. Myke swung his sword in a not-so-fluid arc. His breaths were huffy and uncontrolled, clearly signs of not being used to regular sparring—until Vyan stormed into the training yard like a coming storm.

Vyan had forced Althea to go get ready to greet the foreign delegates, that they shouldn't let the grand scheme of things be ruined, and assured her that he would bring Clyde back to her safely. While he was deeply afraid inside, he couldn't let it be shown outwardly.

Iyana would soon be here with her officers as well to arrest the culprit. Before that, Vyan had to confront Myke and get the truth out so that it wasn't too late.

On the other hand, Myke didn't stop, didn't even look at him, and continued swinging his sword. "Judging by your looks, I don't suppose there is any update on my brother," he noted.

Vyan didn't bother with pleasantries and got up on the training ground. "Yes, not yet. But now, I will. So, don't waste any more of my time and spill it. Where is Clyde?"

Myke raised a brow, lips twitching as if he were trying not to laugh. "How would I know that? I might have been the last person to see him running out of the house, but that doesn't mean I would know where he ran off to. Perhaps he was finally tired of playing the role of your noble sidekick."

The words barely left his mouth before a force slammed into him like invisible chains. His body seized, limbs locking in place.

"Don't play dumb, Myke. You might have had us fooled for a bit earlier, but now I know that there was no infiltrator, no forced entry. In fact, Clyde never ran out of his office after someone. It was you who lied about everything."

For a moment, he held Vyan's gaze, still playing the role of a man with nothing to hide. But then Vyan took a step forward, and yet, Myke didn't seem afraid. Vyan couldn't understand what it was that was making Myke so fearless. He was always easily one to cower before power.

"You drugged him, didn't you?" Vyan's voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was suffocating.

"Tch. You are so dramatic, Your Grace. I won't be able to talk if you put a restraining charm on me." At that, Vyan loosened the spell on him, and he rolled his shoulders, still trying to keep the illusion of ease. "Fine, then. I suppose I have no choice but to break it down. But too bad you can't prove anything. So, what if, say, someone happened to mix sleeping pills into Clyde's dinner last night?"

"And then what?"

He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "A servant might have then helped that someone carry him out."

Vyan took another step closer, eyes unblinking. "And the fingers?"

"It might have been real," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

A threatening aura surrounded Myke as Vyan asked, "Where is he now?"

"Does it matter? He should be dead by now."

Vyan stilled. The air grew thick, humming with the promise of fire. "Say it. What did you do to him afterwards?"

Myke flinched. "That someone—"

"Say you. You did it. If you are going to have the guts to commit a crime, own up to it."

"Okay, fine, fine. I put him in a coffin, okay? Mana-restraining cuffs and all." His voice was still nonchalant, but his words were spilling faster. "Then I threw Clyde into the waterfall. By now, he is—"

He was instantly cut off by a sharp punch to his face, which staggered him to the ground, making blood spew out on the gravel.

"What are you doing?!"

Lincoln and Clara came rushing in, their faces painted with panic, their steps urgent. Clara clutched her chest, her eyes wild, while Lincoln threw himself in front of Myke, barely holding back the urge to shove Vyan away.

"Are you trying to kill the only heir left of my family?!" Lincoln shouted, his voice raw with desperation. "Haven't you taken away enough from me?"

Vyan's head snapped toward him, his wine-red eyes alight with pure, unfiltered rage. "No, clearly not! I should have taken your life and thrown the rest of your family into jail after the day you poisoned me! If I had simply done that, I wouldn't have to be dealing with this mess today!"

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"Whatever I did doesn't give you the right to hurt my son," Lincoln protested.

"That's what you care about? About a measly punch thrown to your youngest child's face? Not the fact that he killed your other son?" His fingers curled into trembling fists. "But no, of course, why would you care now? Because you never did. To you, Clyde was just a scapegoat. As long as you had one son left to carry your pathetic name, he was disposable, wasn't he?"

"I—uh," Lincoln couldn't come up with anything to say. He had no idea Myke had done such a thing or that he was capable of doing this. Myke might have been bratty or irresponsible, but what would he stand to gain from killing Clyde?

As for Clyde, As much as he and Clyde didn't see eye to eye on many things, Clyde was still his son—his eccentric child who was perfect in everything, whether it was his morals, his magic skills, his social skills, or his sense of responsibility.

The weight of Vyan's words sent a ripple of silence through the garden, a suffocating stillness.

And then, in the midst of it all, Myke had the audacity to laugh as he stood up. A dry, mocking chuckle.

"Isn't he disposable for you as well, Your Grace?" His voice was smooth, lazy. Myke tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something vile. "I am sure you can always find another aide. Clyde has always been someone who is replaceable, after all."

Everything inside Vyan snapped.

Without a second thought, he seized the nearest sword. The metal hummed through the air in a deadly arc as he swung straight for Myke.

Myke barely had time to lift his own blade, blocking the strike at the last second, but it was a smooth block nevertheless. The surprise force of it sent him staggering, his arms trembling under the sheer weight behind Vyan's attack.

Sparks flew as the swords clashed, but it was obvious—Vyan was overpowering him with his rage.

Vyan didn't relent. He pressed forward, each blow heavier than the last, forcing Myke backward with every strike. The air around them crackled with heat.

"Watch what you say," Vyan snarled, voice low and seething, as Myke fell on the ground, his weapon thrown aside. "Or they might just end up being your last words."

With that, Vyan raised the sword, aiming to strike Myke, who cowered and shut his eyes. Just then, a voice interrupted them.

"Hey, are you just going to give such an easy death to my brother?"

Vyan paused, his eyes widening. He looked over his shoulder, and there stood his annoying, grinning, gray-haired best friend.

"Or you know what? I would prefer you don't kill him at all. He is young—" Clyde stopped talking as he saw Vyan approaching him. "Aww, are you coming to give that hug you regretted not giving me the last time—" he chirped, only to be taken back by a punch to his face.

"You fucking dumbass! What took you so long to come back?" Vyan shouted.

Clyde held his cheek as he stared at Vyan. "Dude, is this the welcome you give to someone who just came back from the dead?"

"Yes, because that's what you deserve, you moron." And saying so, Vyan hugged Clyde in relief.