Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

Chapter 86 - Grand Duke Forsberg

Athan was back in his private chamber at the Hall of Debauchery, and with how tidy and clean it looked bore great contrast to the last time he saw everything in the room. Every nook and cranny were devoid of filthy items, cluttered objects, and obscene bodies almost filled to the brim.

As much as he indulged with this kind of habit, he never denied the allure of cleanliness and the serenity provided with the room. 

'Damn this curse…'

So many things have happened for the past few weeks that he had to sit on the couch, positioned slightly to the window overlooking the lush-green carpeted lands and arid blue sky that melted into one horizontal line.

'I can't rest just yet—' Then a loud groan escaped his lips with the amount of burden he carried the whole time and the frustration that built up non-stop. Withal, he ruffled his already disheveled hair and glared at the bright sun ahead of him. 

'I'm almost driven to insanity; I need to keep myself awake….'

Unbeknownst to him, his hands twitched in subtlety, and the dark satin curtains—from end to end—slowly met halfway and left a small line, a gap of luminescence with one of his eyes reflected off a bloody gaze.

Without looking at the side table, he reached his hand through one of its drawers, then rummaged for the cigar he needed at the moment.

Picking it up close, he lit it up with the tip of his finger, and from its dried tip of the cylinder was in embers and from it crept a toxic stench of grey that sent adrift into the quiet atmosphere.

He took a deep breath with his muscles and began to relax from the warm sensation that spread inside his lungs. 

Its warmth….

Such bitterness….

The toxic stench that he once thought and got over with it had him crave once more—and even for worse.

His body trembled of wanting to alleviate the sudden stir of emotions and bodily distress that took a toll on him.

Withal,  his head leaned at the back of the couch as he let out a hot, grey cloud puffed with such turbulence that came from his nostrils and mouth.

A lot of things had gone through his mind, bogging him relentlessly as soon as he left Edmund's manor. Their discourse wasn't long, but somehow it left a sour taste in his mouth.

For he only got one of the 'Hymnic Conch' that was Edmund's rightful possession. So far as the negotiation went, only pleaded to take the parchment in an exchange of the artifact, with a condition of not telling the Grand Duke of Forsberg of their secret.

'Nathan Kiel Forsberg…'

It was the name that Marquis of Edelweiss uttered in such a gleeful tone, as he was proud to have such a powerful connection in his arsenal. Yet, no matter how much he recalled, there was none.

None at all…

Though, as much as he wanted to cast doubt of himself that he might've had selective amnesia, too high, or the sort, for a grand and powerful individual to prowl into his territory with only noticing it now was beyond his comprehension.

It wasn't the truth he believed and what he had, after all.

Four individuals ruled over their respective territories and conferred 'Grand Duke' titles: one of which would be his archnemesis, the other would be his confidant, another would be neutral, while the last would've been different.

'Dead…'

From the great lands of Forsberg: a haven against foreign enemies with the disastrous Thousand Isles from further south, and its lush resources. Out of all the four great lands, it was the safest and peaceful territory that the Dysnomia Empire possessed.

There were already up for debates to rule over the southern territory—A huge chunk of slice from a delicious pie which everyone wanted to covet—there were many thick-faced individuals who would tread the path and take it for whatever selfish reasons. 

But out of respect for the man who built it what it was now, either the Grand Duchy Household was either forced to freeze such gigantic possessions, as per Emperors' orders, or made the three remaining Great Dukes manage the Southern Territory equally.

It was apparent how it all went down with the latter, and it was, by far, the best decision.

The Great Duchy of Forsberg was just a skeleton, dressed in fancy clothes and a mask for everyone to revere.

Though he wasn't foreign with the Southern Territory, it was the last refuge of the Dysnomia Empire as it almost hit rock bottom from the flames of war. 

With the cigar's embers consumed its length, his finger tapped over the rim and left its ashes, crumb after crumb, fell to the tray into cold flakes.

Smoke continued to fill up the cold room with its warmth and toxicity.

Athan had snapped out of the trance when the snappy clacks on his ears raked his ears; he scrunched his face, grunting out of annoyance, and turned around.

At the same time, the door barged open—almost unhinged from such impact, and the light outside blazed him as his hand covered a part of his sight out of reflexes.

It was only a voluptuous dark silhouette that carved into such an alluring eclipse, almost something deep in him gave into unimaginable thoughts of temptation, but he sat frozen solid.

He turned grimaced as his foot and back had a sheet of ice crept and molded into thickness. Such frostbite started to burn his skin in a few seconds.

"Just how far do you have to be so rude to me, Violette," he said; frustration was heard through his clenching teeth.

"And Just how much humiliation do I have to take with all of your bullshit?" she retorted, head turned left to right, and hissed at him, "Disgusting tar-stenched room—You ought to bring a lady into this madness?!"

"You? 'Lady' eh?" He smiled bitterly.

With a snap of her fingers, the chandeliers lit up with brightness, and the formation of snowflakes crisped the air with such dazzle and merged into a big snowball on its way to the trash bin. 

Aside from all things, only his cigar, couch, and ashtray went frozen.

Athan caught sight on his hand, encased in ice, and such sleet spread his fingertips with stinging pain.

"Eyes on me."

The sultry voice of her was commanding him, and he gulped hard the need to submit from her.

He hated to admit it; it was hypnotizing.

He craved for her.

"Athan, don't make me wait."

Even her threats struck him differently.

He must've gone so crazy.

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