Chapter 32: The Weight of Truth

Words : 853 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

Chapter 32: The Weight of Truth The arena remained utterly silent. Every pair of eyes—Layla’s sharp violet gaze, Noora’s calculating crimson stare, Sasha’s wide, disbelieving ones—locked onto Ashen. But what shocked them most wasn’t his words. It was the unshed tears glistening in his shadowed eyes. "R... you fine?" Layla asked, her usual icy composure cracking for the first time. [What an actor. You just flipped their perception of you in seconds. And that story—how do you come up with this stuff at the perfect moment?] Ashen didn’t respond immediately. He took a shuddering breath, the kind that comes from dragging up memories buried deep. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. ’That wasn’t just some story.’ He clenched his fists, shadows writhing at his feet. ’The burned woman... was my mother.’ A collective gasp ripped through the spectators. His next words were barely above a whisper, directed at the sky. ’Mom... there’s so much I still want to say to you.’ Then he turned to Eren, who still knelt broken in the dirt. "I hope you find your real love someday. Truly. I’ll even pray for it." The words held no mockery—just something dangerously close to sincerity. Noora flinched when Ashen’s gaze landed on her. "Stay by his side," he said quietly. "Maybe you two can actually change the Whitehound legacy." Sasha’s breath hitched as he faced her next. "Remember this—a promise made in my mother’s name is one I never break. Enjoy your freedom. And congratulations..." A ghost of his usual smirk appeared. "You’ve got the pen to write your own fate now." Finally, he glanced at Layla. "For you? Just... thanks for supervising, I guess." The sheer whiplash of his demeanor—from vicious duelist to grieving son to... whatever this was—left everyone speechless. Then, like a switch flipping, Ashen stretched and checked his academy bracelet. "Shit, you guys wasted my time. Only ten minutes left for lunch." He rubbed his neck, the vulnerability gone as if it never existed. "If I’m late, Headmaster Evelyn will fry me ten times over in our next elective." He scooped up his discarded cloak, shaking off the dust. "Guess I’m eating in class. Later." With that, he strolled out of the arena, leaving behind: A prince questioning his entire existence A knight’s daughter clutching her "pen of fate" with trembling hands A student council president reevaluating every assumption she’d ever made about him [That was insanely manipulative. Even for you.] ’Wasn’t manipulation. Just truth with good timing.’ At 5 PM, after "studying" (read: sleeping) through all his classes, Ashen finally left the academy building. The usual elven troublemakers who had been blocking the entrance earlier quickly scrambled out of his way this time—apparently, severed tongues taught faster lessons than words. Just as he stepped onto the cobblestone path, two familiar figures emerged from the shadows. "Hi, Prez. Vice Prez," Ashen greeted dryly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What honor do I owe this royal summons?" Layla crossed her arms, her violet eyes unreadable. "We need to talk. And before you refuse—it’s for your own benefit." "My my," Ashen mused, tilting his head. "People who care about me? How novel. Do enlighten me." "Not here," Layla said, gesturing toward a nearby café. "Follow us." "Fine. Lead the way." Layla strode ahead, her silver braid swaying with each step. Lucielle, however, stayed glued to Ashen’s side like a particularly persistent shadow. After a few minutes of tense silence, she finally spoke. "Why are you ignoring me?" Her voice was low, strained. "You don’t reply to my messages. Mom is worried sick. She told me to protect you—you’ve pissed off every royal and noble family in the academy!" Ashen kept walking, eyes fixed ahead. Lucielle grabbed his sleeve. "You only come back to your dorm at night, and you’ve even banned me from entering. That damn maid of yours follows your orders like a soldier. I just—" "Protect me?" Ashen interrupted, laughing coldly. "Hilarious. Like you protected me back when the entire noble circle bullied me? When Father turned a blind eye? When I was called ’weak’ in every competition, beaten, humiliated?" His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Where were you then, sister?" Lucielle flinched as if struck. "I—I didn’t do anything to you!" "Exactly." Ashen’s smile was razor-thin. "That’s why I changed. Because no one did anything. Not you. Not Mother. Not a single soul." He leaned in. "I was a fool who believed family meant something. Until I learned the truth—blood is just another chain." The air between them turned glacial. Layla, who had been silently observing, cleared her throat. "We’re here." She pointed to the café’s ornate door. "Save the family drama for later." The café was empty save for a single table in the back, where three steaming cups of tea awaited. Layla took her seat with regal poise, while Lucielle slumped into hers, her usual fiery demeanor dampened. Ashen remained standing. "So? What’s so important that the Student Council’s top brass needs to ambush me?" Visit freeweb(n)ovel.com for the best novel reading experience

Chapter 32: The Weight of Truth

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