NOVEL WEB Chapter 197: Compensation(1)
To Alina, it no longer mattered whether Adlet was alive or dead—he had ceased to exist in her eyes the moment he declared self-exile from the Cindergarde family.
That single act had brought irredeemable disgrace upon a house that had stood proudly for centuries, its name etched deep into the foundation of the Empire's nobility.
In the rigid hierarchy of noble bloodlines, for a noble to abandon their title was akin to a knight casting aside his sacred oath—a betrayal not just of duty, but of identity.
Even among the lesser aristocracy, such as barons or viscounts, the idea of renouncing one's station was nearly unthinkable.
Yet Adlet had done so within a ducal house—one of the Empire's esteemed Four Pillars, whose influence and prestige were rivaled by few.
His self-imposed exile had not merely wounded the family's honor; it had seared a black mark into its legacy, one that would endure through generations.
In Alina's mind, her brother's disgrace was not just a personal betrayal—it was a historical stain, forever inscribed into the chronicles of House Cindergarde.
Alina could still recall, with vivid clarity, the countless occasions her father and mother were compelled to sit through gatherings with their vassals—enduring smiles laced with poison, hollow words veiled in courtly politeness, and thinly veiled jabs aimed at the dignity of the Main Family.
This humiliation persisted despite her father being the Flame Emperor himself—one of the most powerful Ascended in the realm and the sovereign ruler of the entire Eastern Dominion of the Empire.
Yet even a man of his stature, cloaked in awe and fear, could not escape the scorn that came with the blemish on his lineage.
The disgrace Adlet had brought upon them was not a private shame—it was a public wound, visible for all to mock.
Alina vividly remembered how tirelessly her father and elder sister had labored side by side, straining every ounce of their political might to smother the wildfire of rumor before it could spread beyond the Eastern Duchy's borders.
And if Adlet's betrayal wasn't enough to crumble their standing, there was also his mother—another source of dishonor.
The memory of that woman still made Alina's jaw tighten with fury.
How could she forget?
That woman who committed such a sin and was burned—her execution unfolding right before Alina's very eyes.
'Like mother, like son', Alina thought bitterly, her mind boiling with disbelief.
How dare Adlet call himself an orphan?
The sheer audacity sickened her.
He, of all people—one of the very few who had stood among the silent witnesses and even one among the instigators who lighted his mother body and watched as his mother was being consumed by flames—now paraded around, draped in false grief, claiming he had no family.
'Now he walks the world cloaked in lies', she seethed inwardly.
Declaring himself alone and abandoned, when it was he who lit the match that burned everything down.
He, who shattered the very bonds he pretends never existed.
Rage swelled in her chest with such intensity that, for a moment, she imagined tearing the words straight from his mouth—ripping the deceit away with her bare hands.
A short distance away, Elara—watched Alina.
The change in her demeanor had been subtle, but telling.
The moment Adlet had uttered the word "orphan," something inside Alina shifted.
Her eyes flared with a fierce, unspoken fire. Her fist clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white, and her expression twisted, restrained only by sheer will.
Even her shoulders trembled, betraying the storm raging beneath her carefully composed exterior.
Elara's gaze flicked back and forth between Adlet and Alina, keenly observing the silent tension stretching between them.
'What is it about Adlet's family that stirs such visceral hatred in Alina?' she wondered.
It wasn't simple disdain—this was something deeper, something personal.
Elara instincts stirred.
There was a story buried here, and uncovering it might just be her key to gaining leverage—perhaps even to cementing her position within the class hierarchy.
With that thought, Elara decided to ask Maelis, her maid and assistant to investigate Adlet's background.
Secrets, after all, were as good as weapons.
Not far from the others, Ashok had lost all interest in continuing his conversation with Frederick.
He turned to head in his room—until Frederick's mocking voice rang out behind him.
"Brat! What do you plan to do about the thief who nearly broke into your house?"
Ashok's steps came to an abrupt halt.
Ashok turned slowly, his gaze sharp and unyielding. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of absolute authority.
"If by Thief you're talking about the beggar with the twisted legs lying in the dirt like a corpse?"
Frederick let out a bark of laughter. "Hah! I don't know how you came to that conclusion, but that's quite the description," he said, glancing down at the Third Year sprawled on the ground.
The boy limbs bent at odd angles, clothing covered in dust, breaths so faint they barely stirred his chest. He truly did resemble a beggar left to rot in the street.
Adlet's earlier words and Frederick's laughter pierced the Third-Year leader like blades.
That broken body belonged to his closest friend—someone who had stood by him through difficult times.
And yet here he was, mocked and dismissed as if he were nothing.
Worse still, he couldn't find it in himself to speak a single word in protest.
His silence was heavier than any insult.
Frederick turned his attention back to Ashok, a curious smirk forming on his lips. "So," he asked, "what do you want to do?"
"What do you mean, 'what do I want to do'?" Ashok asked, his brow furrowed. He genuinely didn't understand where Frederick was going with this.
Frederick let out a long, exaggerated sigh, "Tch. Stupid brat," he muttered. "I'm asking what punishment you want to give him."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.
For a moment, there was silence—dense and suffocating.
Then gasps rippled through the crowd of students below.
Eyes widened in disbelief.
Punishment?
Wasn't the Third Year already punished? Both his legs were broken. He was barely conscious, barely breathing, his body was still twitching in pain. What more was there to give?
A single thought spread into the mind of students
'Why is Frederick asking for another punishment? And why from the First Year—the one who was supposedly the cause of all this?'
Even Ashok found himself stunned, finding this situation going beyond his predictions.
He knew that the broken legs of that Third Year was the work of Frederick but now Frederick was asking him to give another punishment that was something he couldn't understand.
'Did his affinity for me rise without my knowing?' Ashok wondered, his mind racing.
Frederick's question had been too deliberate, too targeted—he wouldn't offer that kind of authority to just anyone.
It felt like a more like a favor.
But that only deepened the mystery: Why?
As far as Ashok could recall, he'd had barely any interaction with Frederick—aside from their brief encounter in the Arts Hall.
Sure, the tale about him rejecting Hamiel might have earned him some affinity points, and today's exchange could have added a few more.
But it still didn't add up.
That level of favor—being handed the right to decide punishment—should have required a far deeper bond.
Something didn't sit right.
What Ashok didn't know, however, was that Frederick's reasoning had little to do with affinity or admiration.
While he did hold a decent opinion of Ashok, it wasn't strong enough to grant him true favor.
The real reason lay elsewhere—buried under pride and guilt.
Earlier, when Adlet had spoken about family, the truth in his words had struck Frederick unexpectedly deep.
A flicker of guilt surfaced—because it had been Frederick who had casually brought up Adlet's sister in the first place.
But a man like Frederick would never stoop to apologize; his pride was too deeply rooted.
So instead, he masked it with action, handing Ashok an opportunity for judgment—not as a gesture of favor, but as a way to ease the discomfort in his own conscience.
'Well', Ashok mused, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, 'I'm not the kind of fool who'd turn down an opportunity by saying, "Hasn't he been punished enough?"
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and walked to the edge of the balcony, placing his hand on the cold iron railing.
His eyes scanned the courtyard below, landing on the battered Third Year sprawled on the stone floor—broken, unmoving, a shell of the person who had stood moments earlier with pride.
Ashok's voice rang out—clear, calm, and commanding. "To what extent will my punishment be accepted?"
A collective hush fell over the crowd.
Dozens of Third Year students turned instinctively toward Adlet, hoping for a flicker of mercy in his response.
But all they found was a pair of eyes—icy, unflinching, and devoid of any warmth.
Cold enough to freeze hope.
'Why?' Leon clenched his fists, teeth grinding.
'Why does he show no kindness? No pity? I know that the Senior was in wrong but haven't he already suffered enough?' The anger in his chest boiled as he glared at Adlet, hoping—desperately—for some shred of humanity behind that gaze.
Gideon, standing nearby, glanced between the Third Year and Adlet with a quiet sigh. 'Mr. Special tends to go overboard sometimes…' he thought. The agonized scream of the Third Year still echoed in his ears.
'His heart is as cold as his eyes', thought Isolde, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Frederick, who had been observing silently from the sidelines, finally spoke—his tone casual, but his words heavy. "Any punishment," he said, "will be accepted... so long as it remains within a fair degree."