Chapter 164: Family Secrets

The crystal chandelier behind the Viscountess cast trembling shadows; her fingertips gripping the silk scarf turned slightly pale, her gaze blazing as she stared at her husband's bandaged arm: "Did the mechanical sea monster suddenly appear in the capital?"

Before the words finished, the silver‑thread‑embroidered hem of her skirt rushed forward with hurried steps, "Thomas, you'd better tell the truth—what romantic escapade of yours caused this trouble?"

Viscount Wilk leaned on the carved armchair and let out a helpless sigh. He was about to explain, but his wife cut him off sharply: "Don't use political conspiracy as an excuse! Back then, your dancing with the western Countess was also brushed off as 'diplomatic necessity'?"

The Viscountess suddenly flung the silk scarf onto the table, shaking the gilt candlestick, "Now look, you almost risked your life; if Allen weren't a Legendary Knight, you might have had to answer for your life in the capital!"

Robin stood in the corner, silently polishing the Broken Sword, its blade reflecting the silhouettes of his parents.

Since Robin surpassed the Legendary Knight, the Viscountess—his stepmother—changed her attitude toward him, as if he were her own child.

His father's flushed face as he defended himself, contrasted amusingly with the Viscountess's hands‑on‑hips questioning stance, and for a moment it seemed to dispel the gloom brought by battle.

Until the Viscountess caught sight of the scorch mark on Robin's coat edge, her eyes reddened, and all her questions turned to a choking sigh: "Can't you two father and son spare me a little worry?"

Robin's mouth twitched uncontrollably, his gaze silently drifting to his father, his eyes filled with urgent "save the situation" desperation.

Viscount Wilk, flustered by his wife's tear‑filled eyes, hurriedly propped himself up, but let out a muffled groan as the movement tugged his wound.

"Hey, don't move!" the Viscountess rushed forward to support him, her tone still laced with lingering anger, "You're injured yet still trying to act tough!"

"It's all my fault for making you worry," Viscount Wilk said, grasping his wife's hand and gently rubbing with his bandaged thumb, "This time it's not some romantic debt; someone is trying to frame the Wilk family. Robin—"

He turned his head toward his son, pride filling his eyes, "Thanks to him this time, he used the Order Power he hasn't fully mastered yet to save me."

The Viscountess was startled, turned to Robin, her previously stern gaze softening instantly: "You've had it tough." She reached out to touch the scorch on his coat, but hesitated, fearing the wound; her hand hovered, trembling slightly, "From now on, no matter what happens, protect yourself first, understand?"

Viscount Wilk's cough rang sharply in the quiet sitting room; he placed a hand on his chest, looked at his wife, his eyes heavy with gravity.

Viscountess Allen instantly understood, rose gracefully, her silk skirt sweeping over the Persian carpet; as her fingertips brushed the wall, a faint glow emerged, and a light blue sound‑dampening barrier rose like a water curtain, enveloping the entire room.

Robin straightened his back, his palm silently covering the sword hilt.

Mining mithril veins has always been a borderline‑illegal taboo; over the years the family barely survived by covertly tapping old stores, and now with his father returning gravely wounded, it seems they can no longer keep it hidden.

The fireplace flames crackled, deepening the wrinkles on his father's face, and the fresh scar, flickering in the light, resembled a blood‑red warning.

"Allen, we can't keep hiding any longer," Viscount Wilk's voice rasped like sandpaper, "The recent attack in the capital was, ninety‑percent, linked to the veins." His gaze shifted to Robin, "Child, the power you displayed in battle might become the key to turning the tide, but first you need to know what our family truly bears."

"Back when I first arrived in the western frontier, I only had two Knights with me; we were truly destitute—let alone developing territories, even maintaining the current lands was extremely hard…"

Viscount Wilk's fingers absentmindedly traced the carved armrest, the flickering firelight stretching his shadow long across the floor.

"That year, the snow in the western lands fell especially fierce," his voice seemed wrapped in ice, "the fief's granaries were empty, refugees clogged the castle gates, and even the Knights' armor had to be pawned for food."

Recalling those hard years, Viscount Wilk's face showed a painful expression.

"Duke Hoke's carriage appeared then," the Viscount's Adam's apple bobbed, "He lifted the carriage curtain, a gold‑threaded brocade cloak sweeping the snow, followed by a convoy laden with grain. I knew right away that this was not charity, but a trade."

A flame suddenly burst into a spark, startling the Viscountess into a slight shiver, "The Duke wanted mithril, that rare metal capable of forging divine weapons—my fief lies at the north‑west border, exactly where the coveted veins lie."

Robin clenched his fists; mining mithril is a capital crime under the law—those who do it privately face confiscation of their homes at best, or whole‑family execution at worst.

No wonder the family has acted so low‑key these years; from the start they embarked on a thorn‑strewn perilous path.

Viscount Wilk leaned against the chair back, his eyes full of fatigue and anger. "All these years, for this clandestine business, I've been cautious, always on guard." He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening, "I never expected that old scoundrel to try to discard the mill and kill the donkey!"

Robin's mouth twitched, a flash of anger in his eyes. "He's gone too far!" he said through clenched teeth, "All these years our family has risked our lives for him, bearing countless dangers, and now he pushes us into the abyss!"

The Viscountess let out a soft sigh, her eyes full of helplessness, "Back then, to keep our lands alive, we had to accept his terms." She shook her head, "These years we've lived in the shadows, carefully maintaining this fragile balance. I never imagined we'd end up here."

Robin pondered briefly, his gaze steady as he said, "Father, Mother, we cannot sit idle and await death. Now I have some strength, and I will find a way to make Duke Hoke pay, restoring our family's honor!"

Viscount Wilk looked at his son, a hint of pride in his eyes, "Good! You truly are a descendant of the Wilk house!" He patted Robin's shoulder, "We can't just be slaughtered; it's time to strike back!"

The Viscountess nodded in agreement.

Then the three spoke in unison, "So what good plan do you have?"

Robin's mouth twitched slightly.

"Both of you claim you want to change the status quo, yet you have no preparation at all?"

The Viscountess was about to nod when Robin's retort stopped her cold, her silver‑threaded glove unconsciously tightening the hem of her dress.

Viscount Wilk's cough turned again in his throat, his gaze drifting to the oak outside the window, a tree he had planted himself to mask his embarrassment.

"Isn't a solution already at hand?" Viscount Wilk cleared his throat, his fingertip tapping Robin's Broken Sword at his waist, "You're now a quasi‑Legendary Knight who can touch the Order Power, endorsed by Guardian Knight Baron; that old Hoke, no matter how omnipotent, wouldn't dare strike you openly."

(End of Chapter)