Chapter 191: Chapter 190 : A Mother’s Regret
Inside the Imperius family’s main house, the corridors were quiet in a way that felt wrong.
Servants moved more softly, voices lowered to whispers, and the usual arrogant hum of the lineage that ruled Valeria had dulled into heavy silence.
Sylvia Evan Imperius walked alone down one of the long marble hallways.
Dark circles shadowed her red eyes, as if she hadn’t slept properly in days. Her movements were steady, but a careful look would reveal the tightness in her shoulders, the controlled pace of a woman forcing herself to function through sheer discipline.
In her hands, she carried a large silver tray.
It was filled with steaming food: thinly sliced roasted meat, bowls of vegetable stew, fresh bread, neatly cut fruit, and a small cup of medicine placed beside a glass of water. Behind her, two maids pushed a wheeled food cart stacked with extra dishes and utensils.
Sylvia walked a little ahead of them.
At a door, she stopped.
Without knocking or announcing herself, she pushed it open.
The moment the door creaked, a panicked scream burst from inside.
"Who the hell is that?! Close the door this instant—he’ll kill me! Close it!"
Inside the luxurious room, Lucas Evan Imperius sat on his bed, trembling uncontrollably.
The room itself was lavish—gold-trimmed furniture, tall windows draped with heavy curtains, a soft carpet, and shelves lined with books and trophies. But all its grandeur was overshadowed by the boy sitting in the center.
Lucas was wrapped in a blanket up to his neck, as if it were the only shield keeping him alive. His eyes darted around wildly, checking every shadow and every corner. Sweat soaked his hair, and his breathing was shallow.
His missing hand—the one Arthur had severed—was still gone.
He clutched the edge of the blanket with his remaining hand like a drowning man grasping a rope.
His gaze met Sylvia’s.
Hers was filled with disappointment.
His didn’t care.
"Mother, what are you doing just standing there?" Lucas shouted. "Hurry up and close the door! Or that bastard will come to finish me off—to steal everything from me, even my system!"
He shuddered.
"Even Father and Grandfather weren’t able to stop him!" Lucas yelled.
Sylvia’s eyes flickered.
’System...?’ she thought.
But the terror in Lucas’s eyes was too raw. His words sounded more like the delirious ramblings of someone half-broken. She dismissed the term for now as something spoken in panic.
Lucas’s voice rose again.
"WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?!" HE SCREAMED .
"DO YOU WANT ME GONE TOO?! RIGHT, I GET IT NOW. YOU’RE SCHEMING TO KILL ME, YOU BIT—"
SLAP.
A sharp crack echoed through the room as Sylvia’s hand struck his cheek.
SLAP.
A second slap followed immediately, harder than the first.
Lucas fell silent.
His head snapped to the side from the force. He stared at her, stunned, the blanket slipping slightly.
Sylvia’s voice was cold.
"How long are you going to be like this?" Sylvia asked. "Was one single defeat enough to break you this badly?"
Her gaze hardened.
"And you say you want to take over the family."
Lucas’s breathing gradually slowed.
The screaming stopped.
His eyes still trembled, but they were no longer wild. Bit by bit, he calmed down.
Sylvia walked to his bedside and sat down.
She set the tray on the small table beside his bed, then picked up a spoon and scooped up some food. She held it out toward him.
Lucas stared at the spoon.
He swallowed once.
Then he opened his mouth and accepted the bite.
Sylvia fed him slowly.
She had already learned a bitter lesson through Arthur—that dismissing her children as worthless and ignoring them would only push them toward destruction. She understood now that interacting with them, showing them care, was the only way to pull them back from their darkest moments.
And right now, in this state, Lucas needed care.
"Our family is going through great difficulties," Sylvia said quietly. "Your father is nowhere to be found."
Lucas’s throat tightened.
"And because of your reckless plans," Sylvia continued, "half the world has cut ties with us."
She fed him another spoonful.
"It’s time for you to prove yourself again," Sylvia said. "To show that you can lead in your father’s stead. That you have what it takes to become the true heir."
Lucas’s fingers trembled.
In his mind, he could still feel the beating.
The way Arthur had crushed him.
Sylvia knew Lucas had always been undefeated, far too conceited, convinced that everyone else was beneath him.
That illusion had shattered.
The one who broke him was the very person he had deemed worthless—an insect he believed he could crush whenever he wished. Instead, the opposite had happened. The boy he had never acknowledged as family was the one who defeated him effortlessly, reducing him to a joke.
Even with an entire army behind him, Lucas had been utterly humiliated.
Arthur had made him look like the real insect.
The memory had carved itself deep into Lucas’s mind. Even after a month, the terror Arthur inspired remained engraved within him so deeply that merely hearing Arthur’s name made his heart tremble.
The Imperius family had suffered heavy losses as well.
The truth had reached the Council.
They had been forced to pay enormous reparations to the nations involved.
Through it all, Sylvia had been managing everything alone.
Adrian was gone.
Jessica was nowhere to be found.
Arina had already returned to the academy.
The weight of an entire empire rested on Sylvia’s shoulders.
Suddenly, the door burst open again.
A maid rushed inside, breathing heavily.
The other maids immediately moved to stop her.
"How insolent!" one of them snapped. "You cannot rush in like—"
The panting maid ignored them.
"Lady Sylvia, it’s urgent!" she shouted.
Sylvia sighed softly.
’Another country refusing business,’ she thought tiredly. ’Lately it’s been happening far too often...’
The maid swallowed hard.
"It’s about Young Master Arthur," she said.
Lucas flinched.
The spoon froze halfway to his mouth.
The tray slipped from Sylvia’s hands and crashed onto the floor, plates shattering as food spilled across the carpet.
Sylvia stood abruptly.
She crossed the room in three quick steps and grabbed the maid by the shoulders. The maid winced at the force of her grip, but Sylvia didn’t loosen it.
"What’s the news?" Sylvia demanded. "He hasn’t contacted me since that day, even though he promised he would reach out after twenty-four hours."
The maid took a deep breath.
"A girl came to us," she said. "She... she told me to inform Young Master Lucas that Arthur Celestian had died, along with Sakura and Bobby... inside a tomb."
The maid’s voice trembled.
"She also said her name was Olivia," she added. "After delivering the message, she disappeared."
The words struck Sylvia like lightning.
Her vision blurred.
Tears welled up before she could stop them.
Arthur hated her.
She knew that.
He had every right to.
But the thought of her child being dead still twisted something deep inside her chest. Part of her blamed herself—knew that her neglect and cruelty had played a role in everything that had led to this.
"Milady, it could be false news," one of the other maids said quickly. "Please... try to calm yourself."
A loud laugh cut through the room.
Lucas.
He laughed with a manic expression, his eyes wide and unhinged.
"He’s dead," Lucas shouted. "The bastard is finally dead!"
His laughter grew louder.
"Sakura—it must have been her!" Lucas yelled. "She finally did it!"
He clenched his remaining fist.
"I’m safe," Lucas whispered, almost sobbing with twisted relief. "I’m finally safe."
He turned toward Sylvia, an ugly grin spreading across his face.
"Mother, why are you crying?" Lucas asked. "You should be happy. I’m safe now. We have to hurry and secure the artifact in which father is trapped."
He laughed again.
Sylvia stared at him.
For a moment, something like horror and exhaustion flickered together in her eyes.
She couldn’t bear it anymore.
Without saying a word, she turned and left the room.
Her footsteps were hurried now, no longer measured.
She walked through the halls, ignoring the servants’ stares and whispered conversations, heading toward only one place.
Arthur’s room.
She reached the door and pushed it open.
Inside, everything was exactly as he had left it on the day he was exiled.
Sylvia had personally forbidden anyone from entering the room or touching anything inside.
The bed remained neatly made.
The desk was still scattered with a few notes.
The shelves held trinkets and books.
A quiet, frozen room.
She stepped inside slowly.
Her fingers brushed across the edge of the desk before moving to a drawer.
She opened it.
Inside lay a simple photo frame.
She picked it up.
The picture inside was old but clear.
A thirteen-year-old Arthur stood slightly off to the side, holding a second-place trophy from a drawing competition, his expression shy and embarrassed.
In the center stood Sylvia.
She smiled brightly, one hand resting on Arina’s head and the other on Lucas’s shoulder.
Arina, around twelve years old, proudly held the trophy she had won for taking first place in a swordsmanship tournament.
Lucas held up a badge—the symbol that he had cleared his first trial assigned by the family elders.
Sylvia smiled at both of them.
Arthur stood at the edge of the frame.
He wasn’t touching anyone.
He looked toward Sylvia, as though waiting for her to glance at him... to acknowledge him, even once.
That was how the picture had been taken.
Sylvia and her prodigious children in the center.
Arthur at the side.
On the back of the frame, written in childish handwriting, were the words:
"Maybe next time she’ll look at my achievements too and praise me a lot. Maybe if I had gotten first place too..."
A tear landed on the glass.
Sylvia stared at the picture, her hand trembling.
She still remembered what she had done after seeing that photo for the first time.
At first, she had been certain there had to be more.
One single picture couldn’t possibly be all they had.
She had searched the entire manor.
Even her own bedroom.
She had opened every drawer, every cabinet, every old photo album she could find.
Again and again, she searched, convinced she had simply overlooked them.
But no matter how hard she searched...
She never found another photograph of herself and Arthur together.
Not one.
That picture...
It had been the only one.
She still remembered the disbelief that had washed over her as she stared at it.
Had she... really treated him that badly...
Without ever realizing it?
Had she ignored him so completely...
That in all those years, they hadn’t shared even a single moment she thought worthy of preserving?
Only that one photograph.
And even in it...
Arthur hadn’t been part of the center.
He had simply been...
There.
Alongside a few other small belongings—a worn book, a dried and broken bouquet of flowers, and a half-finished drawing—remnants of a boy who had spent most of his childhood being ignored.
"I’m sorry..." Sylvia whispered.
Her voice broke.
"I’m sorry," she repeated, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I am a terrible woman."
She clutched the frame tighter.
"I can only imagine the pain you went through," Sylvia said. "Please... don’t die like this."
Her shoulders trembled.
"At least give me a chance to properly apologize," Sylvia begged. "Please... don’t die. If you do, I’ll never be able to forgive myself."
Outside, rumors spread.
Across the continent, the news spread like wildfire.
Arthur Celestian was dead.
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