Modi left, but he gave Via a seed the size of a soybean. He called it a revolutionary seed. If Via wished, he could activate it and receive the baptism of the revolutionary flame.
Via did not throw the revolutionary seed away. He put it away carefully, with a feeling that he might need it before long.
The next day.
In the basement of another mansion not far from Via's residence.
Several shrewd-eyed old men were whispering among themselves.
Though they were in a secret chamber, certain no one outside could hear them, they still dared not raise their voices. After all, they were discussing the murder of the King.
"Lord Descartes, are we really going to do this?" a trembling middle-aged man asked worriedly. "Murdering the King..."
The old man named Descartes was hale and vigorous, dressed in splendid clothes. His fat body leaned back in a chair as he stared darkly at the wallpaper opposite him and sneered. "So what if he's the King? Bill has crossed the line this time. The nobility is the foundation of the Kingdom, yet he's slaughtering nobles in all but name. Does he want to imitate that bitch next door?"
"Duke Descartes, watch your words. I have no wish to cause a diplomatic dispute," warned a tall, thin nobleman in gold-rimmed glasses.
"Yes! That woman... she's ruthless." Another middle-aged man thought of Cyrabelle's brutality and shuddered, even though she ruled a neighboring country. He had relatives in the Lorenzo Kingdom. All seventy-eight members of their lineage had gone to the gallows. The thought alone sent a chill down his spine.
Duke Descartes realized he had misspoken. He grunted and fell silent.
"What happens in other countries is none of our concern. Let's focus on our own affairs," the man in gold-rimmed glasses