The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1259 - 193 - The End Of Normal Days (4)

Julius’s POV

I heard footsteps approaching my cell.

Not the heavy, careless stomp of a guard who hated his job. Not the lazy shuffle of someone dragging themselves through another dull shift. These were soft. Measured. And deliberate. Each step placed with quiet authority, like the stones themselves would apologize for making a sound.

I didn’t need to look up. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

I had memorized every pattern of footsteps that echoed through this dungeon. When you’ve been locked in a stone box for years, you either lose your mind... or you start cataloguing things like you’re building an encyclopedia of misery. I knew who limped. Who dragged their heel. Who wore armor too big for them. Who reeked of cheap liquor before they even rounded the corner.

This one?

Precise. Elegant. And controlled.

It was my mother.

The Queen of Milham.

The woman who ruled an entire kingdom... and couldn’t seem to rule her own son.

"What is it, oh great Queen Mother?" I called out, my voice bouncing lightly off the damp stone walls. "To what do I owe this rare and glorious visit?"

She stepped into view, the torchlight catching the edge of her hair. Even down here, even surrounded by mold and rusted iron bars, she looked untouchable. Composed. And perfect.

And there it was...

That expression.

The same one she always gave me. A faint crease between her brows that never quite turned into anger, but never softened into warmth either. The look of someone staring at a problem they didn’t know how to fix.

It was the same look she used to give Father.

Back when he was alive.

She had worn that expression for years. I used to think it was just her "face." Now I think it’s just her "disappointed in you" face.

Honestly, it annoyed the hell out of me.

"Have you thought about changing your ways, Julius?" she asked.

Straight to it. She didn’t start with a greeting. There was even no "how are you surviving in this damp hole." Just straight to the point.

"Changing my ways?" I leaned back against the cold stone behind me. "Why? Is that really necessary? I don’t recall doing anything that demands some grand spiritual reform."

"You know the reason," she replied calmly. Her voice didn’t rise. It never did. That was almost worse. "You cannot leave this prison unless you show that you’ve been rehabilitated."

Rehabilitated.

That word again.

It sounded so clean. So noble. Like I had committed some unspeakable sin that required purification.

"I don’t believe I need rehabilitation," I said. "I don’t think I’ve done anything that truly warrants it."

She looked down at me through the bars. Not angrily. Not even coldly. Just... tired.

Then she sighed.

That sigh carried more weight than her crown.

"Sadly," she said, "it does not seem that you will be ready to inherit the throne any time soon."

"Inherit the throne?" I let out a small, humorless laugh. "Do you really think I need the throne? I don’t."

What I needed wasn’t carved from gold.

What I wanted wasn’t sitting in the royal treasury.

"What I wanted..." I swallowed, my voice lowering despite myself. "Is something I can no longer have. So why does any of it matter? You can leave me here forever if that makes the kingdom feel safer. Lock the door. Lose the key. I won’t complain."

That wasn’t entirely true. I’d complain. Just not out loud.

For a moment, she just stared at me. Searching my face like she expected to find a crack in the mask. Maybe she hoped I’d break. Beg. Show some ambition.

But I didn’t.

She sighed again. Softer this time.

Without another word, she turned and walked away. The soft rhythm of her steps faded down the corridor. A moment later, the heavy dungeon door closed with a hollow echo that lingered in the air long after she was gone.

Silence returned.

The kind of silence that presses against your ears.

And then—

A shift in the shadows.

I didn’t react immediately. I had been expecting him.

A figure peeled away from the darkness as if the shadows themselves were reluctant to let him go. He was cloaked entirely in black.

I had met him before. Or I think I had met him before. I forgot. The faces had blurred each other over the years, and the darkness of the dungeon only made it worse.

It didn’t really matter if I had met him before or not, though.

I looked at him evenly.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "what exactly do I gain from getting out of here and cooperating with you?"

Before my mother arrived, we had already been speaking. He had mentioned a partnership. Cooperation.

He had said it so casually, like he was inviting me to tea instead of dragging me into whatever shadow war he was playing.

"A cooperation," he had called it.

He still hadn’t explained what that meant.

"There is someone moving pieces from the shadows," he said. "Even from inside this dungeon, I’m sure you’ve heard about the company dominating every headline. Expanding faster than any merchant guild in history."

Information was limited down here, but I still get information.

"Leonamon?" I asked.

"Well done," he replied, almost amused. "Their influence is so vast that even a prince locked away in stone can hear their name."

"Flattering," I muttered. "Now explain why I should care."

He took a slow step forward. The torchlight failed to fully illuminate his face.

"Prince Julius," he said, "you are intelligent. I trust you can connect the dots. Though I suppose even the sharpest mind dulls after years confined to four walls."

I didn’t rise to the bait.

He leaned slightly closer.

"What if everything is connected?" he asked quietly.

"Connected how?" I shot back.

"What if every detail of your downfall—from your imprisonment... to your failure to win the affection of your beloved Charlotte—was orchestrated by one man?"

The name hit like a blade sliding between ribs.

Charlotte.

For a moment, my thoughts stalled. Not dramatically. Not explosively. Just... paused. Like my mind refused to move forward.

He continued before I could speak.

"The Faceless Playwright," he said. "He is behind it all."

Behind it all.

"Everything has been his move," he went on. "This kingdom is merely his board. The death of your father. The loss of the woman you loved. Your disgrace. Your confinement. All carefully arranged."

My chest felt tight.

"All connected to him."

"W-Who?" The word slipped out before I could stop it. I hated that it sounded weak.

He didn’t hesitate.

"The owner of Leonamon."