Emperor's harem: Transmigrated with SSS mana talent
Chapter 67: [The hunt begins]

Chapter 67: [The hunt begins]

Not in bitterness or despair.

It was a deep, knowing laugh that echoed across the courtyard like thunder before a storm.

A king’s laugh.

A predator’s.

Selene looked at Kael, confusion creasing her brow.

"Has the Duke... gone mad?"

Kael didn’t answer at first.

Then he chuckled—low and knowing.

"No," he said, eyes never leaving the man in the center of the courtyard.

"He’s just dropping his act."

Selene’s breath caught. "What...?"

In front of them, the Duke—pale, bruised, reeking of incense and sickness—stood.

Unsteady, yes.

But on his feet.

The physician reached to support him.

Renold offered his arm.

And still, the Duke stood taller than he had in days.

All around, there was a shift.

A ripple.

General Morien blinked.

The duchess’s confident sneer faltered.

Aerik’s grin cracked.

Even Veyran’s fingers twitched, as if reconsidering the weight of the sword at his side.

They all suddenly looked... wrong.

As if they were the ones exposed.

Kael leaned slightly toward Selene, voice quiet but cutting.

"They thought they were running this game."

Selene turned her eyes toward him slowly, uncertainly.

"They thought," Kael went on, "they could hold fire in their bare hands... and not get burned."

Selene felt it then.

The shift in the air.

Like the moment before a storm when birds vanish and the sky forgets to breathe.

Kael’s voice dropped to a whisper.

"But they forgot something."

Selene’s skin prickled—goosebumps crawling over her like frost.

"You don’t play with fire," Kael said, eyes gleaming. "You run from it."

And in that moment, the Duke—old, broken, dying—smiled.

"hahaha....HAHAHAHHAHA"

And the whole world seemed to recoil.

Kael’s voice cut through the courtyard like a cold blade.

"Finally," he said, his tone almost calm.

"All the masks are off. All the traitors gathered in one place."

He turned slowly, taking in each of their faces—the duchess pale with shock, Morien frozen mid-breath, Aerik expression unreadable, and Veyran—proud, confused, trembling slightly.

Kael’s lips curled, just a fraction.

His voice dropped to something inhumanly low.

"Now," he said, "the hunt begins."

A silence followed—heavy and absolute.

Then, from behind him, the Duke raised his hand with effort. His voice came weak but sharp.

"Arrest him."

All eyes turned.

"...What?" Veyran blinked, unsure he heard right.

"Are you stupid, old man?" Veyran snarled, forcing a laugh. "I’ve already—"

He didn’t finish.

From either side of him, Cerin and Rael moved—fluid, unhesitating.

Their hands wove symbols in the air, silver and crimson.

Snap.

Crack.

With one final flick of Rael’s wrist, bands of light wrapped around Veyran’s limbs—binding him in mana-sealing chains.

He gasped, stumbling, sword clattering to the stone.

A thin whimper escaped his lips.

"What... what are you doing?" he stammered, turning his head frantically between his once-loyal aides.

"Cerin? Rael?!"

But they said nothing.

The duchess’s mouth hung open, frozen.

General Morien took one step back.

Selene whispered, barely audible, "What is happening..."

Kael answered softly, his voice calm but heavy with meaning,

"They were with Father from the start."

Kael’s voice cut through the courtyard like the first crack of thunder before a storm.

Then, his gaze shifted—calmly, without fear—to the 100-man force assembled behind Veyran.

A disciplined formation.

Robes fluttering.

Rank 2 magicians, each one more than enough to tilt a battle.

But Kael only smiled.

"Not only that..." he said, almost like he was letting them in on a secret.

"This whole army... was his."

Selene’s eyes widened in shock.

She glanced at the Duke, a slow, dawning horror settling on her face.

So he manipulated his own sons all along... Her gaze flickered around the fractured family before her, and the bitter truth hit her hard —

What kind of family is this?

Cerin and Rael stepped forward, their expressions unreadable yet regretful.

"Sorry, young master," Cerin said quietly.

"Looks like our bond ends here."

Veyran’s world shattered completely.

The worst feeling in the world washed over him—the sting of betrayal, the crushing weight of being nothing more than a pawn.

His face twisted in fury and pain as he growled,

"You used me. Like a dog. How dare you..."

Rael moved without a word and struck him hard across the temple.

Veyran crumpled to the stone floor, unconscious.

Silence.

The Duke’s gaze turned slowly—inevitably—toward the Duchess.

The air grew tense. Even the birds outside seemed to quiet.

"I already knew," the Duke said, his voice like a blade scraping bone.

"I knew someone was poisoning me."

He looked at Aerik.

"I thought it was you... like Kael claimed. You had a poison that slipped through every test."

The Duke’s voice turned cruel—calm, but sharp as a dagger’s edge.

"So you know what I did?" he said, eyes locked on the Duchess.

"I stopped eating. Drinking. Everything."

The courtyard froze.

The Duchess stumbled a step, knees buckling.

"W-What nonsense... I was only serving you soup..."

He laughed—low, bitter, hollow.

"Yeah. And every time you left the room, I poured it out. Watched it steam in the garden soil. You think I didn’t suspect you? From the very beginning?"

A terrible silence followed.

Her face drained of color.

She clutched her shawl, as if it could hide the truth unraveling around her.

Selene stared at the Duke, stunned. Her breath caught in her throat.

He knew... all along?

The Duke continued, voice iron-clad now.

"I acted weak. Every day. Pretending to choke. Cough. Fade. I was fishing. Fishing for the bastard holding the poison—and now here you all are."

He swept his gaze across the courtyard.

The traitors.

His family.

"I let the rot think it had won," he whispered. "So I could cut it out clean."

The Duke’s gaze, heavy as stone, turned to Aerik.

His voice was low, but it carried across the courtyard like a death bell.

"So... how do you have this poison, son?"

Aerik froze.

His skin drained of color, as if the blood itself fled from the weight of the question.

Just moments ago, he had stood with the confidence of someone backed by a blade hidden in shadows.

But now—with General Morien fallen from grace, with the Duchess exposed, with all masks torn off—he was naked beneath the sun.

"I... I-I don’t..." he stammered, eyes darting like a cornered rat.

"It didn’t have poison. It was... just wine."

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