Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 91: Judgment Beneath the Ancestral Vault

Judgment Beneath the Ancestral Vault

In Valemont’s upper circles, wealth and superstition walked hand in hand.

It wasn’t even subtle. The more money a family had, the more desperate they became to control what couldn’t be seen. Incense coils burned day and night behind sealed doors, their smoke curling into quiet prayers no one dared speak aloud. Servants walked softer in those halls. Conversations dropped to whispers after sunset.

And the estates—the truly grand ones—felt different. Heavier. As if the walls themselves were listening. Those were the places where masters of Black Magic and geomancy weren’t just welcomed... they were revered. Paid fortunes to keep unseen forces "in balance," whatever that meant.

If Evan truly secured the title of Valemont’s foremost Black Magic remover tonight, his status would soar overnight. Invitations. Donations. Influence. Respect.

Doors that once stayed politely closed would swing open without hesitation. People who had ignored him yesterday would be lining up to greet him tomorrow, smiles stretched just a little too wide, voices just a little too eager.

People would stop calling him by name.

They would call him Master Evan.

And to be fair—

When it came to Black Magic, he did possess real skill.

Not the cheap tricks or hollow theatrics most of these so-called experts relied on. No, Evan understood patterns—how energy twisted, where it pooled, how it fed. He could feel disturbances the way others felt a change in temperature. Subtle. Precise. Real.

After all, as the favored son of a feel-good novel’s author, he knew everything—medicine, combat, finance, metaphysics.

It was almost absurd when you thought about it. Like someone had stuffed an entire library into one person’s head and said, figure it out.

Everything except perhaps sprouting five spiritual roots like some mythical cultivator.

He’d tried to joke about that once. It didn’t land well.

Fingers barely touching the wheel, Julian D’Aurelius moved his car along empty roads after dark.

Fog curled around streetlights, painting the pavement in dull gold and deep gray. Lights blinked above storefronts, tired eyes in a sleepless face. A car sat running, its sound smooth, trying to calm things down - yet thoughts inside stayed sharp, restless. Stillness came from metal and motion, never from within.

"How should I expose this bastard?"

Fragments of speech slipped out, edged like glass in the stillness between them.

A thought kept turning, sharp above him. It would not land.

Each path he looked at finished in chaos, danger, noise. Nothing felt okay.

Confront him publicly?

Julian let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "Yeah... and sign my own death warrant while I’m at it."

Impossible.

Breaking that rule meant trouble. Survival demanded vanishing into the shadows, moving without sound, keeping out of sight at all costs.

Only pain taught him that lesson. Truth, if too loud, gets stomped on. Quiet power hates being named.

A single insult spoken to the Obsidian King could spark chaos no one sees coming.

Calling it unpredictable simply made death sound nicer.

The pressure in his hands rose briefly against the wheel before easing off. Out came his breath, long and steady, pushing the noise in his head into stillness.

After weighing it carefully, Julian narrowed his eyes.

"No... there’s a cleaner way," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

The only clean method... was to privately inform the Valquin household.

Not an accusation. Not a spectacle. Just... information. Carefully placed.

Let them investigate.

Let them doubt.

Let the seed grow.

—

Far off, inside the De Dominicis home, Bianca waited upright in the central room.

Frozen stars hung low, their light spilling from the ceiling’s glass flowers.

"Everyone," she said, her voice calm but edged with command, "please gather in the ancestral vault. There’s something I need to discuss with you all."

Old bones didn’t rest inside a carved box thick with burning herbs and narrow plaques.

A vaulted ceiling of carved stone arched overhead, built like old Europe. Stained glass showed ancestors, their faces lit by shifting light. Marble figures stood along the edges, watching silently. Shadows stretched wide from bronze fires that glowed near the ground. The family symbol lay beneath, etched deep into cold stone.

A spot where promises take root.

A place of judgment.

An elderly man with a hoarse voice frowned.

"What’s going on, Bianca? Why must we gather in the vault?"

When a household convened here, it meant only one thing—

A matter of gravity.

Every pair of eyes turned to her.

Ryan De Dominicis, standing near the edge of the gathering, felt his throat tighten.

He hadn’t expected Amara to cure the patriarch.

Didn’t she say it was impossible earlier?

If Bianca called everyone here—

Did someone discover what he had done?

His palms grew damp.

But he forced himself to breathe evenly.

No.

Impossible.

The method Young Master Evan taught him was subtle. Undetectable. Clean.

"It concerns the life and death of our household," Bianca said coldly. "Please. All of you."

She turned and walked first.

The marble floor echoed faintly under her heels.

One by one, the family followed.

Murmurs. Unease.

What could possibly threaten the life and death of the De Dominicis household?

Ryan swallowed.

"It’s fine," he reassured himself silently. "Even if she suspects something, she has no evidence."

When everyone stood beneath the vaulted ceiling, the air felt heavier.

An elder stepped forward.

"Bianca, we’re all here. What is so serious that you summoned us to the ancestral vault? Speak. We will face it together."

Bianca nodded slowly.

Then—

Her gaze hardened like frozen steel.

She lifted her hand and pointed directly at Ryan.

"Ryan. Kneel before our ancestors."

The words struck like a blade across stone.

The room erupted in whispers.

Ryan’s heart slammed violently against his ribs.

His mother rushed forward, panic rising in her voice.

"Bianca, what are you doing? Why are you suddenly making your brother kneel? Did he offend you somehow?"

Ryan forced a bitter smile and stepped forward.

"Yeah, sis... is there some misunderstanding?"

His voice trembled despite his effort to steady it.

"Misunderstanding?" Bianca’s tone dropped to ice. "You colluded with outsiders and betrayed this household—and you call that a misunderstanding?"

The bronze braziers crackled faintly.

"The recent new thermal power project with Shin Cooperation nearly caused us catastrophic losses," she continued. "And today—Grandfather’s curse. That was your doing, wasn’t it?"

Ryan’s face drained of color.

He shook his head frantically.

"No, sis! You must be mistaken! How could I ever do such a thing?"

His breathing grew uneven.

"The Shin project—yes, that was my mistake. I admit it. But Grandfather? Even if I were heartless, I wouldn’t go that far!"

His mother clutched his arm.

"There must be some misunderstanding!"

Another relative spoke hesitantly.

"Bianca... do you have evidence?"

The room wavered between disbelief and suspicion.

Ryan had always appeared obedient. Polite. Ambitious, yes—but not monstrous.

Bianca did not blink.

"I’ll bring the witness."

She clapped her hands once.

The sound echoed sharply beneath the stone arches.

From behind the heavy oak doors, footsteps approached.

Slow.

Measured.

The tension inside the ancestral vault tightened like a noose.

Ryan felt a cold bead of sweat slide down his spine.

For the first time—

Doubt began to creep in.

Had something... truly been exposed?