100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 336: Chapter 335- County’s Movement

PRESENT

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

’”It appears that Count Redwood have finally lost his sanity.”’

Celeste’s voice carried that particular blend of pity and dismissal reserved for men who’d outlived their usefulness. Her greyish eyes swept over Count Redwood with clinical detachment, one hand still resting on the pommel of her bloodied sword.

Behind her, the lead knight shifted his weight. The other Ktorian soldiers exchanged glances—uncomfortable, uncertain. Baron Hartfield’s headless corpse continued bleeding across the expensive carpet, but no one paid it any mind anymore.

Count Redwood didn’t react.

He simply sat there propped against his pillows, that piece of parchment still clutched in his weathered hand. His face remained expressionless. Eyes fixed somewhere past Celeste’s shoulder.

For a long moment, silence.

Then his head moved.

Slowly. Deliberately.

A shake. Left to right. Just once.

Celeste’s eyebrow arched. ”Oh? You disagree?” Her tone was light, almost amused. ”Then please, enlighten me. Explain how the Eldoria Kingdom—a nation that’s stood for three centuries—is suddenly going to ’divide’. What grand vision has possessed you to make such a—”

Count Redwood moved.

It wasn’t dramatic. No sudden burst of energy or theatrical gesture. Just a simple, deliberate motion—he set the parchment aside, threw back the covers, and swung his legs off the bed.

His bare feet touched the cold stone floor.

Celeste’s words died mid-sentence.

The man who’d been ”bedridden” for weeks stood. His movements were stiff, yes. Slow. But there was strength there. Purpose.

He wore simple nightclothes—a loose white shirt, dark trousers. Nothing grand. Nothing noble. But the way he carried himself...

Celeste’s hand tightened on her sword hilt.

Count Redwood walked past her without a word. Past the corpse. Past the pooling blood. His footsteps echoed against stone as he crossed the chamber toward a large oak dresser positioned against the far wall.

The lead knight stepped forward instinctively. ”Count, if you’re feeling unwell—”

”I’m fine.” The first words Count Redwood had spoken since ordering Baron Hartfield’s execution. His voice was rough, gravelly from disuse, but firm. ”Stand down.”

The knight hesitated, then obeyed.

Celeste watched with narrowed eyes as Count Redwood reached the dresser. He gripped the brass handle of the bottom drawer, pulled.

’Scrrrrape.’

The drawer slid open with the groan of wood against wood.

Inside—

Papers. Dozens of them. Scrolls, parchments, sealed letters stacked in neat rows. But Count Redwood’s hand moved with precision, bypassing everything else to reach toward the back corner where a small bundle lay wrapped in cloth.

He pulled it free.

Unwrapped it.

Three letters. No—four. Four pieces of parchment, each folded and sealed with plain wax. Nothing fancy. No noble crests or official markings.

Just... letters.

Count Redwood turned. His eyes found Celeste’s.

And he walked back toward her.

Each step deliberate. Measured.

He stopped an arm’s length away, close enough that Celeste could see the exhaustion carved into his features. The dark circles under his eyes. The way his jaw clenched with suppressed pain.

This man had been poisoned. Recently. Repeatedly.

And yet he stood.

Count Redwood extended his hand. The four letters held between weathered fingers.

”Here,” he said quietly. ”These are the letters that I am gaining from Viktor for the last few days.”

Celeste’s eyes flicked from the letters to his face.

”Read them,” Count Redwood continued, his voice carrying an edge now. Something sharp beneath the exhaustion. ”And then tell what you see in them.”

Silence stretched.

Celeste didn’t move. Her expression remained neutral, but her eyes—those sharp greyish eyes that had seen battlefields and political maneuverings—assessed. Calculated.

Then, slowly, she reached out.

Her fingers brushed his as she took the letters.

The parchment was surprisingly fine quality. Smooth. Well-maintained despite being carried by messenger bird. She could feel the texture beneath her fingertips as she held them up to the dim candlelight.

Four letters. Each addressed in surprisingly elegant handwriting—’Father’.

Celeste’s thumb broke the wax seal on the first one.

Unfolded it.

And began to read.

’

The chamber fell into absolute silence.

Not the comfortable kind. The kind that presses down on your chest. Makes breathing feel deliberate.

Celeste’s eyes moved across the parchment. Left to right. Line by line.

Her expression didn’t change at first.

Neutral. Professional. The face of a knight who’d read countless reports, intelligence briefs, strategic assessments.

But then—

Her eyebrow twitched.

Just slightly. A barely perceptible motion.

She continued reading.

Behind her, the lead knight shifted his weight. His armor clinked softly—the only sound in the room besides the faint crackle of candles and the distant drip of blood hitting carpet.

Count Redwood watched her. Said nothing. His arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.

Celeste finished the first letter.

Folded it back up with mechanical precision.

Reached for the second.

Broke the seal.

Unfolded.

Read.

This time, her reaction was more visible.

Her eyes widened. Just a fraction. The kind of widening that happens when your brain encounters information it wasn’t prepared to process.

She blinked.

Read the passage again.

Her lips parted slightly. Closed. Parted again as if to speak—then pressed into a thin line.

The third letter.

Her hands moved faster now. Less methodical. More... urgent.

’Crinkle.’ The parchment rustled as she unfolded it.

Her eyes scanned.

And stopped.

Her entire body went still.

The lead knight noticed. ”Commander Celeste?”

She didn’t respond.

Her eyes were locked on a specific section of the third letter. Reading it once. Twice. Three times.

Her free hand slowly—’so slowly’—lifted to her mouth. Fingers pressing against her lips as if physically holding back words.

”...no,” she whispered. So quiet it was almost inaudible. ”That’s not... there’s no way...”

Count Redwood’s expression remained stone.

The fourth letter.

Celeste’s hands trembled slightly as she broke the final seal.

The parchment unfolded.

She read.

And her face—

’Drained.’

All color. All composure. Every carefully maintained mask of professional detachment crumbled.

Her grey eyes went wide. Pupils dilating. Breath catching in her throat with an audible hitch.

”What...” The word came out strangled. Hoarse. ”What the ’fuck’...”

The lead knight stepped forward immediately. ”Commander, what does it—”

”Viktor Redwood.” The voice came from the doorway.

Everyone turned.

One of the younger Ktorian knights—a man with a scar across his cheek and sharp brown eyes—stood at attention. He must have been observing the entire time, listening.

His voice carried across the chamber with military precision.

”Does that kid really have the awakened ability to see future?”

The words fell like a bomb.

’Silence.’

Complete. Absolute. Suffocating silence.

Every knight in the room stopped moving. Stopped breathing.

The implications crashed down like an avalanche.

’Future sight.’

One of the rarest, most dangerous, most ’valuable’ abilities in existence.

Kings killed for it. Nobles imprisoned seers in gilded cages. Entire wars had been won or lost based on a single prophetic vision.

And this kid—this nineteen-year-old ’boy’ who’d been banished for supposedly poisoning his own father—possessed it?

The lead knight’s hand drifted unconsciously toward his sword hilt. Not threatening. Instinctive. The motion of a man whose entire worldview had just been shattered and was reaching for something familiar to steady himself.

Another knight—a woman with blonde hair tied in a severe bun—took a step back, eyes widening. Her mouth opened but no sound emerged.

A third soldier, younger, barely past twenty, whispered under his breath. ”Holy... holy shit...”

The atmosphere in the room ’shifted.’

What had been professional detachment—soldiers executing orders—transformed into something else entirely.

’Focus.’

Raw, predatory focus.

These weren’t just knights anymore. They were apex predators who’d just caught the scent of something impossibly valuable.

Celeste’s hands clenched around the letters. The parchment crinkled, edges digging into her palms hard enough to leave marks.

She lifted her head.

Looked directly at Count Redwood.

And spoke through gritted teeth.

”Is this true, Count?”

Her voice was steady. Too steady. The kind of forced calm that comes right before violence.

”Does that kid ’really’ have awakened ability to see future?”

Count Redwood met her gaze.

Held it.

And smiled.

Not a happy smile. Not victorious or smug.

Just... tired. The smile of a man who’d been carrying an impossible weight and finally found someone else strong enough to bear it.

”You already know,” he said quietly, ”the information given in those letters are classified.”

Celeste’s jaw clenched.

”And he specifically knew you will be coming here,” Count Redwood continued, his voice gaining strength, ”and told me what to tell you to believe, as you can already see in that letter.”

He gestured toward the fourth parchment—the one still clutched in Celeste’s trembling hand.

Her eyes dropped involuntarily.

The words she’d just read burned in her mind.

’’Tell Aunt Celeste exactly this—’’