Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 87: The Night the Patriarch Fell

The Night the Patriarch Fell

Valemont — De Dominicis Household.

Ever since Amara Ravenswood had come to treat the patriarch last time, the old man’s condition had steadily improved.

Fresh pink touched his skin again. Food tasted good to him now. A bit of calm had slipped into his usual grumpiness.

Later that evening, once the meal ended, the old man found a spark of energy pulling him toward calligraphy - work he hadn’t touched since winter.

The study was quiet.

A whisper of sandalwood curled through the air, cut by the sharpness of fresh ink. Over the dark grain of the desk, light settled slow and thick. Tall windows rattled faintly - winter’s breath tapping, always tapping.

With slow fingers, the old man gripped the brush, back straight even after so many years.

The first stroke descended.

Halfway through the character—

The brush slipped from his hand.

It clattered against the desk, splashing ink across unfinished paper.

His fingers curled inward violently.

Then his hand shot to his chest.

His breathing turned ragged.

His entire body began trembling.

The caregiver beside him froze in horror.

"Patriarch!" she cried.

His lips had already turned pale. Sweat rolled down his temple. His vision blurred.

Within seconds, he was helped onto the nearby bed. The caregiver’s hands shook as she dialed the private physician.

"Come quickly! It’s urgent!"

—

The De Dominicis household stirred like a disturbed hive.

Within minutes, footsteps echoed through marble corridors. Doors opened. Voices overlapped.

The family’s private doctor arrived first, his expression grave as he began examining the patriarch.

By then, the household members had gathered.

Bianca De Dominicis pushed through the crowd. Her red hair fell over her shoulders, her red eyes sharp with fear she tried desperately to suppress.

She had just begun stabilizing the company. Just begun stepping into power.

And now this.

The patriarch lay motionless on the bed, his breathing shallow, face drained of color.

His health had only just begun to improve.

So why—

Minutes passed, tight and quiet, then Bianca moved ahead.

"Doctor," she said, voice tight though controlled, "what about my grandfather?"

For a moment, the doctor stayed quiet.

Frowning, he paused with his gaze stuck on the tiles like silence could delay what came next. A line cut across his forehead, deeper by the second, as though thought alone pressed down hard.

Then he exhaled.

"I..." He took off his glasses, one hand moving to press at the space between his eyes. Then he looked up again. The old man’s body was weakening fast. Some systems inside him were starting to shut down

A weight settled in my chest. The sentence hit harder than fists ever could.

A hush hit the air - sudden, jagged, thick with shock. From the shadows, a voice let out a faint "No..." almost like it slipped free by mistake. A figure near the wall shifted backward, as though moving away might undo the words hanging in the space.

Bianca didn’t move.

A flicker in her gaze held steady on the physician, scanning each line of his expression - no need for answers, just a sign. A breath. Even silence.

"But I cannot pinpoint the cause."

That was worse.

Now the doctor’s calm showed cracks, a shake of his head giving it away. Grip on his glasses grew firmer, knuckles hinting at what words left unsaid.

"I’ve reviewed everything - bloodwork, scans, neurological responses... nothing aligns." His voice dropped, quieter, more unsettled. "It doesn’t make sense."

Confusion didn’t even cover it.

He was shaken.

"I suggest calling Miracle Doctor Amara immediately."

That name cut through the tension like a blade.

The room fell silent again, but this time it was different—heavier, desperate.

He was a nationally recognized expert. Decades of experience behind every decision he made. He had seen rare conditions, impossible recoveries, cases that defied logic.

Yet this—

This was something else.

The deterioration was severe. Rapid. Unforgiving.

But the source?

Invisible.

Bianca inhaled slowly, steadying herself. Panic clawed at her chest, but she forced it down, locking it behind sheer will.

"Then we don’t waste time," she said, her voice low but firm.

She stepped aside, already pulling out her phone.

Bianca wasted no time.

She dialed Amara Ravenswood directly.

Her fingers trembled only once before she steadied herself.

After confirming the location, she ordered the private helicopter prepared.

"Bring her here immediately."

—

The roar of rotor blades cut through the night sky.

Amara arrived swiftly, stepping out with her small leather medical case. Her long brown hair fluttered in the wind as she walked briskly inside.

Her hazel eyes sharpened the moment she saw the patriarch.

Without delay, she began examining him.

Pulse. Breathing. Pupils. Nervous system response.

She moved methodically, calmly.

Time stretched.

Minutes passed like hours.

Finally, she straightened.

And for the first time since arriving—

Confusion crossed her face.

The patriarch’s condition was extremely critical.

Yet she could not identify the source.

"Amara..." Bianca stepped closer, unable to hide the tremor in her voice now. "What’s wrong with my grandfather?"

Around them, the De Dominicis household members waited in suffocating silence.

The De Dominicis household with the patriarch was invincible.

Without him—

The power structure would shift overnight.

Amara inhaled slowly.

"I can’t find the problem," she admitted. "But his condition is indeed critical."

Her voice dropped slightly.

"If it isn’t resolved within a day... I’m afraid..."

She did not finish the sentence.

She didn’t need to.

The room fell silent.

Bianca’s fingers tightened into fists.

If even Amara couldn’t find the cause—

What hope remained?

—

At the back of the room, partially obscured by others, Ryan De Dominicis stood quietly.

His expression remained solemn. Concerned. Appropriate.

But in his eyes—

There was relief.

When Amara had arrived, his heart had nearly stopped.

He had feared she might discover something.

Fortunately—

She could not.

Last time, he had cooperated with Young Master Evan to freeze the household’s liquid assets.

The plan had been simple: push Bianca out of the core decision-making structure and claim leadership for himself.

For reasons he still did not fully understand, the plan had failed.

Bianca had detected irregularities.

She had even turned the situation against Young Master Evan.

That episode had shaken him.

But seeing that Bianca had not openly targeted him, he convinced himself it had merely been coincidence.

His identity remained hidden.

As for tonight?

This time was different.

This was no financial maneuver.

This was decisive.

Direct.

After Young Master Evan’s first plan failed—

He had provided another idea.

If you cannot weaken the branches...

Cut the root.

Ryan’s gaze drifted toward the patriarch’s frail body on the bed.

Yes.

Tonight’s situation was entirely his doing.

And now—

All he had to do... Was wait.