Regressing as the Reincarnated Bastard of the Sword Clan

Chapter 296

The chilling air hung heavily over the central plaza.

Everyone was struck speechless.

It was the moment when the Narsio family, long regarded as the second greatest power in the north and a pillar supporting Ragnar, was cast out.

And it was done so coldly.

The sudden declaration shocked the masses, while the distinguished guests looked on in disbelief, their eyes fixed on Tamuth.

From Ragnar's forces to the Black Moon Knights lined in the center, a suffocating bloodlust began to emanate.

“L-Lord Patriarch... I-I don't know what misunderstanding this is, but it must not be what you think! Our Narsio family would never—”

Tamuth flailed his hands desperately, struggling to find words.

But—

“Did you truly believe I wouldn’t know?”

Theo’s icy voice cut through Tamuth’s excuses like a blade.

“Do you know what I hoped for? I sincerely wished your family would not commit such deeds.”

Theo’s voice deepened, his gaze sinking into an abyss of cold fury aimed at Tamuth.

“I no longer have the will to forgive you.”

That fury turned into a palpable killing intent, piercing directly into Tamuth’s chest.

The gathered crowd struggled to grasp the situation.

What could Narsio have done wrong to deserve this?

Are they plotting rebellion? Surely not?

How long has it been since the Troivan incident...?

There’s no way he would act like this otherwise, right?

Speculations swirled among them. Yet Theo’s stance and tone quickly pushed public opinion to one side.

It’s treason.

It has to be. Ragnar wouldn’t unjustly oppress an innocent family.

Exactly! Remember the Narsio heir? He was branded a northern criminal!

The atmosphere grew increasingly hostile. The crowd’s eyes turned sharper, glaring daggers at Tamuth.

“As you can see, the north shows no mercy to traitors. And so, here and now, I will deliver the first punishment.”

Zzzzzt—

Theo’s form flickered for a brief moment, as though disrupted by static.

And then—

Pop! Pop!

Tamuth couldn’t comprehend what had happened.

Even his eyes failed to follow.

What on earth had just occurred?@@@@

Thud.

Tamuth felt it—an unnatural sensation.

His world began to tilt.

The dull sound of something rolling across the ground.

No sound of slicing reached his ears.

All he could perceive was the warmth trickling down his cheek and the pungent scent of blood rapidly filling the air.

“W-What just...?”

Tamuth’s final sight was the horrified face of Timothy.

Drip. Drip.

Blood flowed down the edge of a cold blade, pooling onto the ground.

It wasn’t just Tamuth, now lifeless, who failed to react.

His headless bodyguards and even Timothy stood frozen, struggling to process what had just occurred.

By the time anyone could take stock, Tamuth and his chief bodyguard’s heads lay on the ground.

He covered that distance in an instant? Without anyone noticing?

It was a strike so terrifying it paralyzed rational thought.

The blade of Caliburn halted near Timothy’s throat.

At the same time, a breeze tousled Theo’s hair.

It was Julius.

Julius’s sword now joined Theo’s, pointed directly at Timothy.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t bother drawing your blade.”

“Indeed. Such things are hard to believe without seeing for oneself. But having glimpsed his movements today, we must leave no gaps in our future plans.”

The Tower Master had come in secret for this very reason—to witness Theo’s abilities firsthand.

To that end, he had even brought a recording crystal imbued with magic.

“Use this to conduct simulated battles. That insolent brat must pay for his audacity.”

Clares recalled Theo’s bold warning from their previous encounter.

He had come to Winterer out of curiosity, but now it was clear that war between the Tower and Ragnar was inevitable.

And—

They are also watching.

Clares smirked coldly as he departed Winterer, leaving the shadows behind.

***

Clip-Clop! Clip-Clop!

Snort!

The sound of galloping hooves echoed urgently through the air.

The horse, utterly exhausted, foamed at the mouth, panting heavily as it raced onward.

The rider, having pushed through an endless journey without pause, could no longer feel his thighs.

But stopping wasn’t an option.

Forgive me for this discomfort, my brother. Just hold on a little longer.

Timothy, clutching a rectangular box strapped tightly to his chest, whispered an apology.

His chest felt like it was being torn apart.

What stabbed deeper than anything else, however, was the guilt—the overwhelming hatred he felt for himself for standing by and doing nothing as his brother was killed right in front of him.

Finally, the Narsio estate came into view in the distance.

“Open the gates! Now!”

Timothy roared at the guards stationed at the main gate, his voice like a lion’s bellow.

It was an abrupt command, but no guard could mistake that voice.

Creeeeak—

The gates groaned open, and his horse charged through the narrow gap.

Reaching the ancestral patriarch’s quarters, Timothy dismounted swiftly, almost stumbling to the ground.

“T-Timothy, sir?”

The butler at the entrance looked up, stunned.

Timothy, drenched in sweat, showed no signs of restraining his frantic energy.

“Is Father inside?”

“Please, come in.”

The voice came from the staircase on the right.

It was Ralph Nagnik, the chief butler.

What could have happened at the succession ceremony?

Even at a glance, Ralph could tell something was gravely amiss.

His gaze shifted to the box Timothy held so tightly.

Without a word, Ralph led Timothy to the room where the ancestral patriarch resided.

Before Ralph could even knock, Timothy pushed the door open himself.

“...I do not recall raising you to be so lacking in decorum.”

The patriarch, Kalen, furrowed his brow at Timothy’s coarse behavior.

Even Ralph, who failed to stop him, received a sharp glare.

However, the suspicious aura emanating from Timothy made Kalen ease his scolding.

His eyes followed Timothy’s movements, landing on the object strapped to his chest.

“What is that box?”

A slow wave of unease began to ripple through Kalen’s heart.

The shape was painfully familiar.

A creeping realization struck—this object had no reason to be here.

The unmistakable, haunting scent of blood began to rise, as if a stone was pressing against his chest.

“I asked—what is it?!”

Kalen’s booming voice filled the room.

Finally, Timothy began to unravel the cloth wrapped around his chest.

With trembling hands, he held the box and stepped toward Kalen.

“It... It’s my brother’s head.”