BGFV Chapter 158

Chapter 158 

“Who is behind all of this?” Luciard asked.

“I can’t tell you that yet,” Arthur replied.

Luciard’s eyes narrowed. “Yet? That means you already know, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then why won’t you say it?”
“Because I’m not certain. As you know, I only inherited the title after my father’s death. Before that, I knew very little about what he was doing.”

Arthur explained that his father, Malrus Humphrey, was greedy—wanting money, power, and status—and never shared anything with anyone, not even his own son.
“That means I have no idea what his true intentions were in all of this,” Arthur continued.

“So how did you even suspect the person behind him?”
“My mother hinted at it before she died. That’s all I have to go on, so I can’t say for sure yet.”

Arthur believed that once the crisis calmed down, the mastermind would approach him directly, since they would still have something they wanted from the Humphrey family.
“When that happens, I’ll meet them myself and learn why they started all this, and why my father followed them. So please—give me some time. Once I know everything, I’ll contact you again.”

Luciard tapped the armrest thoughtfully before asking,
“May I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Why tell me the truth at all? You could have lied about where the Ruberu came from, and kept quiet about the illegal entrants. I’d never have known.”

Arthur was silent for a moment.
“You know people are still dying from bloodpox, right? If it’s revealed that this disaster was man-made, the empire and the imperial family won’t let it go. Even if it was my father’s doing, the crime is so great they’d punish me and the rest of the Humphrey family too.”

At first, Arthur had wanted to take the truth to his grave. But when Hestia brought Zephyr’s scarf to him, and he had to lie to her face, he realized he couldn’t live like that.
“I want to be an honest father to my son,” he said firmly.

“And donating the Ruberu?” Luciard asked.
“That’s the best apology I can make right now. Since the herb was on that same ship, I think the mastermind knew it could be used as a cure.”

“Did your father know that?”
“No. If he had, he wouldn’t have died. He had no idea.”

“Who else knows about this?”
“Just you and me.”
“Not even your wife?”
“No. I didn’t tell her.”

After a long silence, Luciard finally spoke.
“I’ll keep this to myself for now. When Hestia returns to the south, speak with her again.”
“You’re not going to report it to the imperial family?”
“You told me because you knew I wouldn’t.”
“Yes. My wife said Winstone never breaks its word. You’ve overlooked things my family has done before.”

Luciard extended his hand. “You did well to come here. Let’s continue working together.”

Arthur’s throat tightened, but he gripped Luciard’s hand firmly.

Two Weeks Later – The North
It had been two weeks since Hestia arrived in the north. Bloodpox, which had once devastated the region, had greatly subsided. This was thanks to her and Sylvester working tirelessly day and night, and to Winstone and the imperial family supplying medicine and resources without pause.

For the first time in two months, Duke Valdemar had free time. Standing by his office window, looking healthier than ever, he watched his disguised grandson “Sly” working outside.
“Sly… I never thought I’d hear that name again,” he murmured, eyes misting.

A knock broke his thoughts. He quickly wiped his eyes. “Come in.”

Hestia entered with a warm smile.
“How are you feeling?”
“Strong enough to take down three bears right now.”
“That’s good to hear. You’ve recovered faster than most younger people.”
“Hmph. That’s because the younger generation is too soft. Back in my day, we went shirtless in weather like this.”

Hestia glanced at her fur-lined clothes, then at the snowy landscape outside. “You’re not doing that now, I hope. Even if you’ve beaten bloodpox, you should still be careful.”

“Enough nagging. Why are you here?”
“I came to report on the quarantine centers. For example, Roman…”

She detailed the latest numbers: from over ten thousand confirmed cases two weeks ago, the number had dropped by two-thirds.
“There are now more recoveries than new infections. At this rate, within a month, bloodpox could be completely gone from the north.”

Valdemar clenched his fist. “Truly the guardian of Winstone. When you first claimed you could calm the north, I thought you were just a foolish child… but you’ve proven me wrong.”
“I’m not just a foolish child, am I?” she teased.
“No. Without you, I can’t imagine what would have happened to the north.”

They spoke about Winstone’s constant production of medicine, and Valdemar admitted, “It’s a shame. If you weren’t Winstone’s guardian, I’d bring you into our family.”

Hestia thanked him, then asked carefully, “Why did you decide to build a refugee shelter here, when so many despise refugees? And hasn’t the north always had bad relations with the imperial family?”

He didn’t answer immediately, so she pressed gently, “Didn’t you once hate the emperor?”

Her question was bold—perhaps too bold. But she had been observing Valdemar for two weeks and noticed something odd. He had reacted with outrage at the idea of the imperial family visiting the north, but when he met Sylvester, disguised as Sly, he had recognized him instantly and said nothing.

“Do you… miss your grandson?” she asked.

Valdemar’s eyes glistened. “He’s the precious grandson born to my beloved daughter. Of course I miss him.”

He admitted he had never met the emperor face-to-face, but had collected a portrait of him every year to hang alongside his daughter’s, visiting the room daily.
“At first, I hated him. I opposed my daughter’s marriage to the emperor because her health was too fragile. A queen’s duties and the expectation to bear heirs would have destroyed her.”

When she refused to give up on love and left him, he was furious. Even though the emperor rejected taking concubines, Valdemar still believed the marriage would kill her. And he was right—on the day Sylvester was born, his daughter died.

At her funeral, he blamed the emperor to his face, uncaring of his status. After that, he shut himself in the north, never meeting his grandson, fearing he might either resent or grow too attached to the boy.

Then, years later, he discovered a box of unopened letters from his daughter. In the very last one, sent the day before she died, she had written:

“Carrying this child for ten months, I’ve come to understand a parent’s heart a little. Father, you must only wish for my health and happiness. I will not die. I’ll give birth safely and come see you. When that day comes, will you hold me like you did when I was little? I miss you, Father.”