THE HERO'S SON IS A MONSTER-Chapter 43: WILL SHE COME BACK?

It had been several days since the hero had met with the Saint, yet the lingering feeling of having been played still weighed on his mind.There was nothing he could do against that woman. No matter how much he tried to keep his composure, he found himself losing his footing in front of her.

The proof was in how he kept running different scenarios in his head, desperately searching for a way to blackmail her.

"I didn’t even use the quest involving one of the great catastrophes as bait... In the end, I messed up my mission, and now I have a new one on my hands."

On the day he had decided to return, members of the Church had delivered a document to him, containing key findings from their investigation, along with additional information regarding his mission in SunKush.

As he skimmed through the pages, the hero caught a glimpse of the Saint’s true plan. This was far more than just resolving a crisis it was nothing short of a large-scale diplomatic mission.

"So this is how she intends to unify the continent."

And as much as he hated to admit it, her plan wasn’t foolish. In fact, it was the smartest possible course of action. A strategy that, in the long run, would benefit everyone.

Yet, for reasons of his own, the hero still had his doubts.

He was currently in his estate, a temporary residence that had been provided for him. Lying in bed, he was surrounded by several naked maids, their bodies still bearing the marks of the previous night’s indulgences.

What had transpired was so obvious that it didn’t even need to be stated.Rising slowly, he revealed his perfectly sculpted torso, barely glistening with sweat despite the intensity of what had taken place.

Around him, the women lay in deep slumber, exhausted. Naturally, others were already prepared to take over and fulfill their duties for the day.

Without sparing them a second glance, he left the room. Forming attachments was out of the question.

He didn’t even remember their names, despite some of them having served him for quite some time.

Before long, he was on his way to the royal capital.

He had to announce his imminent departure from the Celestial Kingdom.

An official meeting with the Church was also scheduled soon, but it was nothing more than a formality to confirm what everyone already knew: he would not be receiving the sacred sword. And as far as he was concerned, there was no reason to attend.

He had decided to stand the Church up. And he couldn’t care less about what they thought of it.

Of course, his absence would likely deal another blow to the Church’s reputation, but since the Saint herself wouldn’t be attending, he had even less reason to show up. And even if she were there... he still wouldn’t have gone.

Being humiliated in private once had already been more than enough. He had no intention of experiencing it again.

//

The grand hall of the Maxwell manor was shrouded in a heavy silence. The heavy black curtains, hung in mourning, filtered the daylight, leaving only a pale glow to caress the carpets.

The last ceremony had ended long ago, and the final visitors had departed with pitying looks ages since. Now, she was alone. She had spent a long time alone.

That day, Béatrice stood in the center of the room, staring at the flickering shadows of the candles on the polished floor.

She no longer wore the mourning dress dictated by tradition but a simple gray dress, modest and unadorned.

The rigidity of her posture barely concealed the emptiness that was settling within her. For three days, she had received condolences, accepted forced embraces, and listened to compassionate murmurs.

Then, all those people had vanished, and time had continued its inexorable march.

Even the king, who had paid tribute to the late son of the baron, had only stayed as long as necessary before returning to his obligations.

Now, this loss was nothing more than an event relegated to the annals of the past. Today, like most days following the end of the ceremony, there were no obligations left, no role to play. Her gaze fell on the portrait of her late husband, hanging above the fireplace.

It had been painted a few years earlier, when he still exuded vigor and ambition. She approached slowly, letting her fingers glide over the gilded frame.

A sigh escaped her lips. She wished she could feel something more profound, one of those surges of pain that grip the soul and testify to a shattered love.

But all she felt was a strange relief mingled with apprehension and shame.

Most of these feelings faded, but the shame she felt in remembering what had happened could not be erased. She had never truly loved him, at least not at the very beginning.

She had respected him, fulfilled her duty as a wife with diligence, but tenderness, true intimacy, had never found its place between them.

He had been a demanding man, concerned with family prestige, and his affection was measured in conventions rather than sincere gestures. And then there was his obsession with the hero, an admiration that bordered on madness.

She had never understood why he placed this man above all else. She had supported him out of duty, never sharing in that fascination. Now that he was gone, she was free. Free from a weight she no longer considered a burden.

But at what cost? A door opened behind her, making her start.

It was Ymina, her faithful governess, carrying a silver tray on which rested a still-steaming cup of tea.

"You should sit down, madam," she murmured gently.

Béatrice offered a sad smile before nodding and taking her place in the large armchair near the fireplace.

Ymina set the tray down on a small table and remained still for a moment, as if hesitating to speak.

"What will happen now?" Béatrice finally asked in a calm voice.

The governess lowered her eyes before answering:

"The family council is to meet tomorrow. They will discuss the succession."

Béatrice nodded. Of course.

The fortune of Baron Maxwell would not remain in limbo for long. Already, the cousins, uncles, and influential members of her husband’s family must be calculating, weighing opportunities, seeking to secure a piece of the estate.

"And me, Ymina? What do they expect from me?"

The governess hesitated before replying:

"They expect you to remain in the background, madam. A widow must... observe a certain discretion."

Béatrice let out a slight bitter laugh.

She had anticipated this. They saw her as a decorative piece, a woman whose role ended with the passing of her husband. But she had no intention of conforming to their expectations.

"I will not be a shadow, Ymina."

The governess looked up, surprised by her mistress’s determination.

"Do you have plans, madam?"

Béatrice turned her gaze toward the window.

Beyond the manor’s park, a world still existed. A world where she could perhaps, at last, detach herself from the chains of her past.

"It is time to take my life back into my hands," she murmured.

A silence settled between them.

Then Ymina slightly bowed and responded with a knowing smile:

"In that case, madam, I am at your service.

Béatrice took a deep breath, savoring the bittersweet taste of this emerging freedom. For the first time in a long while, she would take an initiative. But Ymina did not yet know that it would be the last time she saw Béatrice.

It had been a long time since Béatrice had set foot outside. Taking advantage of the quiet of the night, she decided to allow herself a solitary outing. Without a sound, she slipped out of their small manor nestled in the heart of the capital, evading the vigilance of the governess.

With no particular destination in mind, she walked wherever her whims took her, letting her steps guide her through the deserted alleys. The city, under the cloak of night, revealed an entirely different face. Some corners were swallowed in darkness, while others were bathed in the flickering glow of lanterns. The silence was broken only by the whisper of the wind and the distant echoes of nocturnal conversations.

After wandering for a long time, she stopped in front of an unremarkable house, similar to so many others. Yet, an adjacent barn caught her attention. Driven by curiosity, she slipped inside discreetly and discovered a horse tied up within. She raised an eyebrow, surprised. In this city, few could afford such a steed.

A mischievous smile formed on her lips. Without hesitation, she untied the animal and led it out of the barn. Strangely, no one seemed to notice what was happening, as if the owners were either deep in sleep or under the influence of a drink too strong. Of course, she had no intention of stealing it. Well... not exactly. She planned to return it later—with proper compensation. But for now, this horse was her ticket to freedom.

She mounted and, with a gentle nudge of her heel, set the animal in motion. The cool night air whipped against her face as she advanced through the silent streets.

When the first light of dawn began to appear, she reached the city gates. A group of guards stood watch, monitoring those who came and went. Béatrice slowed, scanning their positions. She couldn’t afford a thorough inspection—not with a horse she wasn’t supposed to have.

Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the reins and pretended she belonged. As she reached them, she put on a weary, hurried expression.

"Another urgent delivery?" one of the guards asked, yawning.

Béatrice didn’t slow down. In a clipped tone, she replied,

"Yes, sir. I’m expected on the other side before sunrise. A private matter for Baron MAXWELL."

She had no idea what her stepfather was up to at the moment, but it was always useful to drop an important name. The guard hesitated. He likely didn’t want to risk facing a noble’s wrath so early in the morning.

"Do you have papers?"

She reached into her cloak, pretending to search for a document.

"The messenger already presented them to the previous watch. You’re wasting your time—and mine."

Another guard shrugged.

"Let her through, it’s not our problem."

Without waiting for them to reconsider, Béatrice urged her horse forward and passed through the gates.