Ko-fi shop has been updated, you can find the link at the end of the chapter.
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Diana observed the Crown Prince’s daily life closely, and it was nothing but simple and serene.
Despite being the man who would ascend to the throne the moment the Emperor passed away, he had no interest in the workings of the empire. He didn’t handle paperwork, nor did he get news from the capital. The only sounds Diana heard while going back and forth on the third floor were those of him drinking tea or painting.
During the remaining hours, he would slip away from the palace and disappear somewhere. According to the Butler and the chef, he spent his leisure time at the hunting grounds behind the palace.
Upon reflection, the palace housed only the Butler, the chef, Diana, who did odd jobs, one servant, one stableman, and a handful of quiet guards. There were no aides or secretaries. In other words, the Crown Prince was nothing but an idle man indulging in his hobbies while lounging around the palace.
Contrary to rumors, he wasn’t frail or sickly. For someone supposedly unwell, the Crown Prince had an excessively robust physique. Diana lost count of the times she had been astonished by the density of his muscles while tending to his bare body. Illness? Nonsense!
In conclusion, none of the rumors surrounding the Crown Prince were accurate. He lived a life perfectly disconnected from the worldly affairs of the empire, as if he could discard the heavy title of Crown Prince without a second thought.
Yet, from the way he kept a close watch on Diana, it was evident that he too was wary of his younger half-brother. He didn’t seem like someone with a great desire for power, so what could be the reason?
Diana’s curiosity was soon resolved—at lunchtime.
***
Felix, who was chewing a piece of beeuf bourguignon, let out an irritated sigh.
Diana, who was standing by the wall, was puzzled. Her master, despite his fussy nature, was not picky about food. It was the first time he had shown dissatisfaction with a meal.
Felix picked up a napkin, spat out the piece of meat, folded the napkin in half, and placed it down elegantly. The only sound Diana heard was the spoon being placed on the table.
Then, an unusual command followed.
“Diana, bring a sword from the reception room.”
“Pardon? Yes, master.”
Suddenly? Clueless about the reason, Diana cautiously exited the dining room.
The reception room on the first floor, adjacent to the dining room, displayed various weapons—swords, bows, and spears—that the Crown Prince used for hunting. The swords were neatly arranged by size and length, from the door to the center of the room. The cold, lethal texture of the weapons had startled her when she first touched that wall.
As Felix hadn’t specified which one to bring, Diana picked up the first sword she could reach and returned to the dining room.
“Master, I brought the sword—”
Before Diana could finish her sentence, Felix brushed past her.
With a chilling *shring* sound, the sword suddenly became lighter in her hands. He had drawn the blade from its sheath. Diana belatedly realized the significance of his action.
Her master had unsheathed the sword. Diana’s nape stiffened. They were indoors—inside the dining room, no less. Alarmed, Diana hastily turned around.
“Master? Ah—?”
She couldn’t see what happened next. All she could perceive were the smells and sounds.
“Hiiik! I—I, ahhh!”
The stench of blood, the sound of screams, and the noise of sharp metal tearing through tender flesh and muscle filled the room.
Her master’s voice, now cold and unrecognizable, sent chills down her spine.
“You should’ve stopped while I was being lenient.”
His ruthless tone descended like frost.
Felix tossed the sword aside and grabbed the nape of a man writhing at his feet. The burly man was hoisted up like a ragdoll by Felix’s formidable strength, blood gushing from a sword wound that ran from his chest to his abdomen.
“M-my lord… f-forgive me… I beg you…”
“Forgive you?”
Felix let out a cold laugh. A streak of blood splattered across his temple and cheek transformed his handsome face into that of a madman.
“What do you think I’ve been letting you off the hook for all this time, Harper?”
Diana’s back trembled like a leaf in the wind. The source of the scream was someone she had been familiar with—someone she had grown close to.
“Chef Harper…”
“I tolerated it because a little provocation isn’t always a bad thing. But you’ve overstepped your bounds.”
“M-my lord, Your Highness, the Crown Prince! I—I wasn’t trying to… I was—th-threatened, yes, threatened…”
Felix dragged the chef, shoved his face into the bourguignon dish, and snarled.
“Is it acceptable to serve food unfit for your master?”
Harper thrashed and gurgled like a madman. Felix released his grip on his nape and pressed down on his back with his foot.
“Finish it all. Not a single drop of broth left.”
Harper shook his head wildly. He mumbled apologies and excuses, incomprehensible and frantic. Blood pooled beneath the table where he lay.
Diana stood frozen, still clutching the sword sheath, like a pillar. The now-quiet dining room echoed with the beastly sounds of Harper slurping the bourguignon. However, he didn’t even manage to eat half before rolling his eyes back.
He coughed violently, as if choking, and let out one final gasp. Slumped on the table, he slid off his blood-soaked chair. Even without seeing, Diana could picture the scene.
The Crown Prince’s chef, who prepared all three of his daily meals, had laced the food with poison. It was an assassination attempt.
Could it be that Chef Harper was also one of Prince Aizen’s men…?
Harper’s massive body fell perilously close to Diana. Standing dumbfounded as she tried to grasp the situation, Diana was roughly shoved aside by an indifferent hand, forcing her to retreat backward. Harper’s body sprawled out exactly where she had been standing moments ago.
The master was nearby. He pushed Diana toward the window with little care and raised his sword vertically, driving it straight down. Thunk—! The sword pierced the back of the fallen head chef. It cut through the tough leather and muscles, embedding itself firmly into the chair.
The foul smell returned. It was similar to the stench that had permeated the air when Diana first arrived at the Crown Prince’s palace and on the day Emel, the Butler, had disappeared.
The stench of corpses and death.
Felix crossed through the center of it all as if nothing had happened, leaning against the windowsill.
“The composition is excellent.”
“……”
“Go fetch the canvas and easel, Diana. With my appetite ruined, I might as well start with a rough sketch.”
Diana moved her trembling legs toward the door. She forgot to respond to the order or even bow in respect.
A painting. He had said he was going to paint. The unresolved mysteries she had been harboring began to fall into place like pieces of a puzzle.
Now, she understood why Butler Emel hadn’t appeared for nearly two weeks. That day, too, the Crown Prince had been painting.
Diana could now imagine what kind of scenes had been captured on his canvas, the ones she’d been vaguely curious about. She also realized what colors had been made with the paints she had prepared until now.
Finally, she understood the Crown Prince’s true hobby.
***
Diana couldn’t carry the heavy easel up and down the stairs by herself. Guards appeared from somewhere and carried the easel and canvas to the first floor. Diana carried charcoal and other tools necessary for sketching and descended to the dining hall.
The nauseating mix of blood and food odors remained.
“I brought them, Master. Should I… clean up?”
“Stay still.”
The master was likely leaning diagonally against the windowsill, gazing down at the canvas from an angle.
There was no chair in front of the window, and he hadn’t instructed anyone to place one there. Diana approached the windowsill and waited for further orders. However, even after a long while, the master didn’t say a word.
Instead, a short sigh could be heard.
“……?”
Felix spoke irritably.
“Hand it over.”
It seemed he was reaching out for the charcoal. Diana, unable to interpret the vague signal, stood still.
He snatched the charcoal from her as if taking it by force. Diana reflexively murmured, “I’m sorry.”
Scratch, scratch. The charcoal began to scrape against the canvas.
Diana wandered uneasily beside the easel. Perhaps her lingering presence annoyed him, as Felix’s voice grew sharper with irritation.
“What is it?”
At last, she had a chance to speak. Diana seized the moment and asked the question.
***
The portrait of Pride has opened a ko-fi shop with 5 advanced chapters. Ko-fi shop will be updated with each update in website. Here is the: LINK
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