Episode : 98

Words : 1582 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

In Chapter 100 of "My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!": Chapter : 195 He had said it. The words hung in the air, audacious, incendiary, a... Discover the next events!

Chapter : 195 He had said it. The words hung in the air, audacious, incendiary, a direct challenge to Roy’s authority, a blatant attempt to leverage the tournament, and his son’s perceived current superiority, into a political coup. He was essentially demanding that Roy Ferrum set aside his firstborn, Lloyd, and declare Rayan the heir, based on the outcome of a single sparring match. Lloyd, however, felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. He’d seen this coming, or something like it. Rubel was desperate. His earlier attempt to frame Lloyd had backfired spectacularly. This was his last, desperate gamble, a public power play designed to force Roy’s hand, to exploit any lingering doubts about Lloyd’s competence. He watched his father. Roy Ferrum’s face remained an unreadable mask, but his eyes, those dark, piercing Ferrum eyes, had gone cold. Utterly, terrifyingly cold. The temperature in the Grand Hall seemed to drop several degrees. Every Ferrum present, every guest, even the potted fern (which now looked positively catatonic with terror), knew that Viscount Rubel had just crossed a line. A very dangerous, very final line. They had all inwardly sneered at Rubel’s blatant ambition, his transparent maneuvering. They had seen Lloyd’s unexpected rise, his surprising competence, Jothi’s fierce skill. They had witnessed Roy’s subtle but undeniable shift in favor towards his elder son, his public endorsement of the soap venture, his almost reverent acknowledgment of Lloyd’s ‘instinctive’ awakening of the Steel Blood. Rubel’s desperate, ill-timed power grab was not just audacious; it was foolish. Suicidal, even. Roy Ferrum let the silence stretch, letting the full weight of his brother’s treasonous proposal settle over the hall. Then, he spoke, his voice deceptively quiet, yet carrying a resonance that made the very stones seem to tremble. "Brother Rubel," Roy began, his tone so calm it was infinitely more menacing than any roar of fury could ever be. "Your... concern... for the clarity of the Ferrum succession is... noted." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Rubel with an expression that could peel paint from walls. "And your confidence in your son, Rayan, is... commendable. If perhaps," a flicker of something cold and dangerous entered his eyes, "slightly... premature." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet every person in the hall strained to hear his words. "You propose that the outcome of this single match determine the heirship of this Duchy?" He let the question hang, heavy with unspoken contempt. "You suggest that generations of tradition, of primogeniture, of my own solemn judgment as Arch Duke, be swept aside by the fleeting victory of a youth in a sparring circle?" He shook his head slowly, a gesture of profound, almost pitying, dismissal. "No, Brother Rubel. That is not how the future of House Ferrum will be decided." He straightened, his gaze sweeping over the entire assembly, his voice regaining its full, ducal authority. "My son, Lloyd Ferrum, is my firstborn. He is the heir apparent. That is the law. That is the tradition. That," his eyes flickered briefly, almost imperceptibly, towards Lloyd, a silent acknowledgment of the Steel Blood, the royal investment, the unexpected potential, "is my will." The pronouncement was absolute. Unshakeable. A door slammed shut in the face of Rubel’s ambition. "However," Roy continued, a new, almost predatory, glint entering his eyes, and Lloyd felt a familiar knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach. Oh no. Here comes the 'however'. The 'however' is never good. "Your... enthusiasm... for a clear demonstration of strength is not entirely without merit. And the outcome of this final match will indeed be... instructive." He looked directly at Rayan, who was still smirking confidently, perhaps not yet fully grasping the extent of his father’s public miscalculation. Then, his gaze shifted to Lloyd, and his expression became unreadable, a complex mixture of challenge, expectation, and perhaps, just perhaps, a sliver of something that might have been... hope? "If Rayan Ferrum wins this match," Roy declared, his voice ringing through the suddenly silent hall, "if he demonstrates a clear, undeniable superiority in skill, in power, in Ferrum spirit... then I will... consider... his future potential. I will observe his development closely. I will perhaps grant him... additional responsibilities. Opportunities to prove his worth further." He paused, letting the carefully chosen, deliberately vague, words hang in the air. "But," he added, his voice hardening, his gaze still locked on Lloyd, "that is not a promise of succession, Rubel. It is merely an acknowledgment of demonstrated strength. The final decision regarding the heirship, and the timing of any formal declaration beyond what tradition already dictates, remains mine. And mine alone." Chapter : 196 He then turned his full attention to Lloyd, and the weight of his gaze was almost physical. "And you, Lloyd. You have shown... glimmers. Unexpected glimmers. Today, you will show us more. You will fight. You will demonstrate the full extent of this... awakened talent. You will prove whether these recent displays are mere fleeting sparks, or the first true flames of a worthy Ferrum heir." He leaned back in his chair, his expression once more an unreadable mask of ducal authority. "Let the final match commence. And let the outcome... inform us all." He looked across the sparring circle at Rayan Ferrum, whose earlier confident smirk had been replaced by a look of furious, frustrated determination. Rayan hadn't gotten what he wanted, but he still had a chance to prove his superiority, to humiliate Lloyd, to perhaps still sway the Arch Duke’s 'consideration'. He would be fighting with the desperation of a cornered wolf. Lloyd took a deep breath. The potted fern suddenly seemed like a very distant, very inadequate, hiding place. This was it. The final. No more tricks. No more subtle ankle-trips. This would be a true test. And he had a feeling it was going to be a hell of a lot harder than making rosemary-scented soap. --- The weight of Arch Duke Roy Ferrum’s pronouncements – his reassertion of Lloyd’s heirship, his subtle but undeniable challenge to both Lloyd and Rayan, his cryptic allusions to ‘future potential’ and ‘instructive outcomes’ – had left the assembled Ferrum clan in a state of breathless anticipation. The final match wasn’t just a contest of skill anymore; it was a high-stakes political drama, a public audition for the future of their house. Lloyd Ferrum stood near the edge of the sparring circle, trying to project an aura of calm, focused readiness while his internal monologue was currently cycling through various panic-induced scenarios, most of which involved him tripping over his own feet and accidentally setting fire to Rayan’s remarkably flammable-looking hair with an ill-timed steel spark. He could feel Rayan’s furious, predatory gaze burning into him from across the circle, a tangible pressure promising pain and humiliation. Kongor, Rayan’s obsidian bear spirit, paced restlessly beside its master, its red eyes glowing with savage anticipation, its massive fists occasionally pounding its chest in a display of brute, impatient force. This is it, Lloyd thought, taking a slow, deliberate breath, trying to channel the eighty-year-old pragmatist and push down the nineteen-year-old who was currently contemplating the strategic advantages of feigning a sudden, debilitating case of the sniffles. No more easy wins. No more subtle tripwires. Rayan knew about the wires now. He’d be expecting them. He’d be prepared. This was going to be a real fight. Against a stronger, more aggressive opponent, fueled by years of resentment and a burning desire for vengeance. Fun times. He was just mentally reviewing the weak points of a silver-backed gorilla (were there any? Besides, perhaps, a sudden, inexplicable craving for bananas?) when a figure approached him, moving with a quiet, determined grace that cut through the surrounding buzz. Jothi. His sister stopped a few paces away, her dark eyes, so like their father’s, fixed on him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. The earlier shock and shame of her own defeat had receded, replaced by a cool, almost analytical, intensity. She wasn't offering sympathy, nor was she radiating her usual dismissive disdain. She just... observed him. Like a particularly complex, potentially volatile, alchemical experiment she was trying to understand before it either exploded or turned lead into gold. Probably the former, in his case. “Brother,” Jothi began, her voice low, carefully neutral, devoid of the sharp, cutting edge it had held earlier that morning. There was a weariness in her tone, yes, but also a flicker of something else... something that might have been grudging respect, or perhaps just profound, almost weary, confusion. “You... you are in the final.” She stated it as a fact, a still-baffling, almost unbelievable, fact. Lloyd offered a small, wry smile. “So it would seem, little sister. Apparently, my talent for tripping people with invisible things is more... developed... than previously anticipated. Who knew? Perhaps I should open a school. ‘Ferrum’s Finishing School for Graceful Gravitational Misunderstandings’. Catchy, don’t you think?” Jothi did not smile. Her gaze remained fixed, probing. “How, Lloyd?” she asked, the question blunt, direct, cutting through his attempt at levity. “How have you done this? Last time I saw you, you were... you were as you always were.” (The unspoken ‘a disappointment’ hung heavy in the air between them). “Today... you defeat Kenta, Mike, others... with an ease, a control... it is not the Lloyd I know. The Steel Blood... Father says you awakened it yourself. Without the Truths. How is this possible?”

Episode : 98

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