Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 291: Mana Drained

Despite the angry glare from Wyatt, Raith didn't flinch.

The golden light of the grand hall shimmered off the crystal chandeliers, casting fragmented glows across polished marble. But it was too bright for Aster.

He flinched and squinted his eyes, looking down at his lap. His fingers curled against the seat handles as his gaze darted. The crowd, the light, the noise, the attention… he was trying to stay composed, but the overstimulation was too much.

Vyan instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over. He didn't want to bring Aster in front of this sea of monsters. But it was crucial to show the physical proof of his existence and what the emperor had done to him.

His unfocused eyes, trembling limbs, and shattered composure was enough for anybody watching him to know that he was mentally broken. He wasn't the sharp, confident boy who used to proudly stand beside his father and strike up intelligent conversations in the parties. This was a tormented man.

Vyan glanced at Celeste, who understood his subtle look of plea at once. She got down from the dias and gently approached Aster.

As she was a familiar figure with red hair similar to his mother's, Aster visibly relaxed.

She took over the wheelchair from Raith and placed her hands lightly on Aster's shoulders. "Let me take you somewhere where the world is a little quieter, okay, Ash?"

Aster clutched one of her hands tightly like a lifeline and nodded desperately.

"I'll take him from here," Celeste announced.

Vyan gave her a tight nod, slightly jealous of the way Aster responded to Celeste. Perhaps, it couldn't be helped. Their aunt almost looked the same as sixteen years ago. But Vyan didn't. He had grown from a little boy to a tall young man—someone whom Aster didn't recognize anymore.

He bit his bottom lip as he watched Celeste take Aster out of the Grand Hall until he felt a gaze on him. He turned his head and met Iyana's sharp eyes.

She tilted her head, a flat look on her face and a hand on her hip. It seemed like she was yelling, are you serious right now? Focus! You're still your brother's favorite!

Scolded, Vyan composed himself.

"Sir Raith, please come forward and tell everything you know," Vyan spoke up.

The tension simmered again.

Raith stepped forward. His armor still bore the insignia of the Imperial Order, though the gleam of it was dulled, as if in mourning. Without a hint of hesitation, he dropped to one knee before the newly crowned empress.

Althea sat in her throne, the judge of it all, as she watched him with a gaze sharper than steel.

Raith bowed his head low. "As a proud knight of the Imperial Order," he said clearly, "I congratulate you on your ascension, Your Imperial Majesty."

Her tone cut clean through the hall. "The best way to congratulate me will be by speaking the truth against my father, Sir Raith. You were his shadow more than his sword. So, I expect to hear the exact details of his crimes."

Raith lifted his gaze, meeting hers squarely.

"I swear," he began solemnly, "on the honor of my knighthood, I'll not hide a single thing from Your Imperial Majesty."

The nobles listened intently, their hearts thumping. While they had been scared and unbothered of the outcomes of this trial—which was obvious—they were now truly curious.

"Whatever that mage and knight have said is true. It is true that the late Grand Duke and Duchess were framed. There were multiple reasons behind it. But the most prominent of the causes was the fact that Emperor Edgar has always feared House Ashstone. He envied its strength that was far more destructive and powerful than that of the imperial family. He couldn't fathom how their bloodline maintained such vitality and strength when his own mana was mediocre—insignificant by comparison. So he sought power the only way he knew: by stealing it."

Raith's voice didn't waver. "As he feared His Grace overthrowing him, he decided to take him out of the equation. He didn't want to leave anyone from that family alive because all of them were equally a threat. If he were to leave the youngest son alive, he knew that he'd become a threat in the future. That's why he specifically ordered for His Grace, Vyan, to not be spared alive. As for Lord Aster, Emperor Edgar wanted to exploit him. And so, for sixteen years, that boy was kept in solitary confinement. He grew up from an adolescent teenager to a full-grown adult, all alone in a cell with no sunlight or outside air, knowing that his entire family was dead."

Hearing that, some of the empathetic noble ladies lowered their heads, feeling bad for the poor child. Nobody deserved such terrible treatment. How horrifying it must have been for Aster to stay like that for sixteen whole years.

Raith continued, "On top of that, during this entire period, his mana was siphoned, drained day by day. His Imperial Majesty paraded the power as his own, while Lord Aster was used like a living vessel."

"But that's not all." Raith swallowed, eyes darkening. "Before Lord Aster, there were others—mages, many of them. In a way, you could say that he has saved those countless mages from being captured, used, and broken while he was being sacrificed every single day. Because the mages before him were drained of mana until their souls cracked like glass. Every week, His Imperial Majesty would use a new mage to siphon their mana since… none of their mana circuits could withstand the toll for more than a week."

A stunned silence engulfed the court. The horror was palpable. The proud noblemen glanced at each other, some paling, others shaking their heads in disbelief.

"Lord Aster… it's a miracle his mana circuit didn't shatter. Maybe it's thanks to his bloodline. Or, maybe it's just pure will. Or luck. Anyhow, I have a list—names of the ones who weren't as lucky."

A sharp voice snapped from the other side of the hall.

"You kept a list?" Wyatt pushed aside the knights surrounding him and stormed forward, fury etched into every line of his face. "How dare you? Were you always planning to betray us?"

Raith turned to him slowly, the weight of years behind his stare. "I didn't betray anyone. I remembered. I became a knight to protect people, Captain. I'm sorry you forgot how to do the same. I couldn't kill my conscience like you did."

Wyatt's fist trembled, his face reddening. "You—!"

Before the next syllable left his mouth, a blade pressed to his neck.

A single drop of blood slid down from where the tip barely nicked his skin.

Iyana's sharp gaze made him shudder. "Scream again, and I'll rip apart your throat."

Wyatt grit his teeth, jaw locking.

Meanwhile, as the hall remained wrapped in a heavy stillness, Raith stepped forward, holding a thin, leather-bound scroll in both hands. The parchment trembled ever so slightly as he unfolded it and offered it to Empress Althea.

She took it silently.

Her fingers tightened around the edges as her eyes scanned down the list. Names. Row after row of names.

Familiar ones.

Too many.

Some crossed out. Others left with grim little notes—"deceased," "incomplete extraction," "unknown burial site." Her throat constricted.

"How many…" her voice broke slightly, barely audible. "How many were treated like this?"

Raith bowed his head. "One hundred sixty-six. Documented."

Althea's shoulders stiffened. She stared at the ink-stained list in her hands as if it were soaked in blood. He never told me. She glanced at Vyan from the corner of her eye. He knew. He knew all along. But he never told me.

And yet, how could she blame him? The weight of this… it was unbearable. Her father truly was a despicable man.

To him, mages weren't people. They were batteries. Fuel. Dispensable tools for his empire.

Did he never think that his own children too were mages?

Then again, who was she kidding? Many of these names belonged to the children of his own vassals—his loyal devotees.

"Count Jordan," Althea called out, her voice a touch of sorrow and regret. "Did you know that your son actually didn't die in a lab explosion seventeen years ago at the Tower of Mage but was used as my father's fuel for a week?"

The said count's face paled, his face twisting, as if he wanted to throw up. His wife covered her mouth, a sob racking out of her chest.

"Viscount Simon, your daughter too. She wasn't kidnapped and killed off by a mugger; she was taken in by my father."

The viscount and viscountess looked like the ground had slipped beneath their feet.

"Lord Jeremy and Lord Henry, your elder brothers were victims as well."

Their reactions were visceral. Towards the former emperor.

Why would they not be? They were his most loyal supporters. And that's how he had repaid them.

Even Marquess Fremen who had died. His wife had also fallen victim to this. She used to be a renowned mana researcher.

Despite the submitted proof, a voice rose from the nobles' crowd, sharp and skeptical.

"How can we be certain Sir Raith isn't speaking under the pressure of the Grand Duke?"