"Federico said more or less the same thing."
In the Dungeon, Luosang the Second sneered.
"Turnbull dragged the Blood Bottle Gang into the Cavendish Family's infighting, got caught up in the fallout, and brought disaster down on himself—things like that."
And his choice had ultimately led to the disastrous defeat on that rainy night.
Belicia furrowed her brows slightly, then let out a cold laugh.
"Then I'm guessing that exiled young nobleman who supposedly knows the 'truth' also told you this: the old gang leader used to be Viscount Sona's subordinate, loyal and devoted, serving him faithfully—only to be betrayed and ruined by the Old Duke?"
The assassin snorted softly without denying it.
"That young master naturally had his own motives."
Whether it was to bring down his cousin.
Or to clear his father's name and avenge his wrongs.
As for which of the two mattered more—
Even Federico himself probably didn't know.
From an exalted noble to a rebel and criminal, from fine clothes and lavish meals to a life of hardship, from high spirits to barely clinging to life, that young master had been locked in a windowless dark room for too long. He had come into contact with too many monsters wearing human skin and been steeped too deeply in the underground prison, where blood and fragrance mingled. Even his mind had become abnormal.
Amid the daily whispers of evil, he could only persuade himself again and again to believe:
The two were one and the same.
Seizing power meant recovering justice.
Recovering justice meant seizing power.
"But you still chose to work with him."
Belicia watched as the expensive cigarette she had flicked to the ground soaked into the filthy water, growing damp, soft, and black.
Luosang the Second fell silent for a while.
"Those Vampires