Chapter 43:

Promise Kept

(Gwen/Narrative POV)

Future generations would come to call it the Battle of the Northshall, but for those who were there that day, it would be known as the Northshall Massacre. There had been no chance of victory for the Noble Faction, even before the Lockwood and Elsworth forces turned on them. The Fairbanks, who had infiltrated the ranks of the Noble Faction forces, were already on Gwen's side. The moment the battle started, they would have waited for the perfect opportunity to trap them between their respective forces.

It was an assured victory for Gwen's forces even before it began. It was just how many losses they would take in the effort of claiming it. Thanks to Madeline, those losses were mitigated when the Lockwood and Elsworth forces turned on the Noble Faction, taking the brunt of the attack. This allowed Gwen to come in and sweep everything up nice and neat, with barely a hundred dead from her own forces, not including those from the Fairbanks Family.

They were gathered, along with their personal belongings, and sent with a small contingent back to Verulia, upon which they would await return to their families. Their names would be forever engraved upon the Stone of Remembrance, a monument Gwen had plans to build once this war was over. The list of names would include those from the Fairbanks family, who had given around two-hundred lives of their own forces in the fight against the Noble Faction.

Gwen paid her respects to the dead on all sides. Solemnly walking among them after they had been gathered and accounted for. It was a somber moment for many. They lost friends, brothers, sisters...and even lovers. She allowed time for all sides to mourn their dead before they began their march once more.

The Lockwood and Elsworth forces left first, with certain...supervision. Gwen's Shadows, and a few of her Mother's, followed them. They were to report on their movements, and if anything went wrong...Gwen would immediately terminate Madeline's life. This alone would be enough to guarantee their cooperation, and their goal was simple. Capture or kill the leaders of the Noble Faction who were too cowardly to appear on the battlefield.

They would go to them as allies, pretending that they were coming to seek aid after the defeat at the Bridge Towns. There, they would rest and be ingratiated into their homes...upon which they would then be captured and all evidence related to their shady dealings would be confiscated and returned to Gwen. Any who resisted were to be killed.

They would continue this through every single one of the Noble Faction leaders and conspirators until not a single one remained. Gwen would use the Queen-Consorts and Noah to round up all those they had conspired with, and in one fell swoop, when all of this was over...she'd expose them to the world and execute them.

This was only made possible because they had not let a single person escape the Northshall conflict. The Noble Faction that gathered there were either dead or captured. Escape attempts were met with swift retribution. Namely, their Achilles tendons were cut.

Thankfully, they didn't have to worry about too many attempts. They were often stopped by other prisoners before they had even happened. Many were still terrified, remembering the visage of Gwen upon the field of battle, and there were whispers of the "Winter Reaper". It was quite the name they had given to Vincent, though there were others.

The Frost of Wisteria. Wisteria's Chill. The Gentle Touch. Winter's Blossom. The Tranquil Dancer. He had more than a few fans who had become enamored with his appearance and the elegant way in which he moved. Coupled with is more prominent use of Ice-Magic, he became the object of many people's affection.

He brought a certain sense of calm to the camp, and to Gwen's life, for she was one of those people who held affection for him stronger than any other. She was not without her own nicknames, besides the obvious of "The Prince". She had earned the name "Raging Phoenix" and "The Phoenix Blade" for her use of aura and the shape it took near the end of the battle. She was the "Eternal Flame" and "Rose of Fire".

Her favorite, however, was the Infernal Dancer. This was often accompanied with many claiming that her aura strikes were like "petals of flame, which cut through the darkness". She liked that, and she believed it fit well with Vincent's own "Tranquil Dancer" whose "frost quells even the most fervid of beasts".

With the epithets upon them, and Gwen's plan in full motion, she moved her army South of the Northshall, further into the Central Plains. There, they made camp to recover and plan their next moves. Along the way, they provided relief for towns that had succumbed to pillaging from the Noble Faction on their way to face Gwen at the Northshall. Able-bodied men and women joined her cause, and her army continued to grow.

A week passed before they knew it, having recovered to full strength once more, and in that time...two leaders of the Noble Faction were sent to the camp in chains, and the heads of five others were presented to her. Documents detailing each of their crimes were delivered with them, and she promptly through them with the other prisoners.

They protested, of course, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. They would all be dealt with accordingly, but...there was one in particular that Gwen had a personal interest in. That was because Vincent had made a promise, and she would help him keep it. Helena Saville, Duchess of the Saville Family, and Mother to Vanessa Saville.

She was not among those captured, but the Saville territory wasn't far. Taking a small contingent of soldiers, Gwen left the rest of the army to her mother, Lucine, and rode with Vincent to secure the estate. A couple of days later, they arrived on the edge of the Saville Estate, Westgrove.

-----

(Vincent's POV)

"...You know, I once thought I'd never leave this place," Vincent said softly as he rode his horse through the streets of Westgrove, "When Lady Vanessa took me to the Palace, I thought for sure I'd return here...but you had other plans."

He gave a small smile to Gwen, who rode beside him on her own horse. He was grateful for Gwen freeing him. He had been confused and lost at first, but now...it was the best thing that could have happened to him.

"I couldn't just do nothing," she replied, looking around at the city, whose streets were practically empty, "I searched for years and found nothing. To think you weren't so far away...those devious bastards."

She gripped the reins of her horse tightly in her hands before relaxing them and sighing.

"Look at this place..." Gwen motioned with her head to the near-empty streets, "Was it like this when you were here last?"

"...No," Vincent shook his head, "It was once a lively town, despite the taxes imposed. Sometimes, I would be taken into the city to go shopping with her. She'd buy me clothes just down that street. They were a rather impressive atelier."

Westgrove was one of the larger cities in the Empire located about a weeks ride Southwest from the capital of Sol'Valen. Westgrove was not only the name of the city, but also the territory, which held several smaller towns under and cities under their control, but it was the City of Westgrove that the Saville Family made their home.

Westgrove was built in an idyllic countryside. Its high stone walls protected the city, but were left surprisingly undefended. It looked like the Saville Family had truly declined in recent years, and all of their forces had been mustered to march North, towards the Northshall River. The people were hesitant to look at Gwen and the Knight's she had brought with. They were afraid.

"W-Who are you?" a terrified, yet curious voice sounded from a nearby alleyway.

Immediately, her Knights drew their weapons, scaring whoever it was back into the shadows. However, Vincent had caught a glimpse of them...it was a child. Dismounting from his horse, Vincent gave a look to Gwen, who then raised her hand and the Knights put their blades away.

"...It's alright, we're not here to hurt you," Vincent knelt down before the shadows of the alleyway, tilting his head to try and get a better look, "My name's Vincent. The one with hair like fire, she's Gwen. I promise, she isn't scary...unless she needs to be."

He smiled, laughing a bit to ease the tension.

"I'm sorry about the Knights," he told the child, "They were just being protective. You kind of spooked us."

"I-I scared you?" the voice said in disbelief.

Their tone was small, skittish. Vincent knew he had to handle this delicately.

"Indeed," Vincent nodded, "Since you're hiding in the shadows, we can't see you properly. The town is almost completely empty...and you're the first one to approach us. It was a little surprising."

"W-Well...I'm not scary," the child said, slowly stepping out from the shadows.

They wore very basic, if worn, tan and beige clothing. Their shoes were worn through, revealing parts of their toes. Their pants were torn at the cuffs, shortening them to just above their calves, and one sleeve was missing from their shirt. Their brown hair was slightly matted and haphazardly cut. A dirty face, underneath which was pale, freckled skin and grey eyes.

"Oh, I guess you're right," Vincent chuckled, "You don't look so scary after all, but I bet you could be, if you tried, but no one wants that, do we?"

"No..." they shook their head, "A-And, I guess...you're not so scary, Miss."

Vincent heard Gwen stifle a chuckle behind him, and he shot her a playful glare.

"Well, thank you, but..." Vincent rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "I'm actually a boy."

"Really!?" they exclaimed, completely shocked, "But...you look so pretty!"

"So I've been told," Vincent smiled, "I don't mind. Being pretty isn't exclusive to girls. What about you?"

"Me?" they asked, then proudly pointed their chest with a thumb, "I'm a bonafided boy!"

"Ha, is that so?" Vincent chuckled at their mispronunciation of Bonafide, "And what is your name?"

"Gareth!" he said proudly, holing up seven fingers, "And I'm seven years old!"

"Seven, huh? Wow!" Vincent's expression became one of mock surprise, "You're almost a man!"

"Nuhuh!" they shook their head, beginning to warm up a little more, "I'm not that old!"

"Oh, so I'm old, now?" Vincent feigned being hurt, "Ouch!"

The child giggle, now completely relaxed. After a moment, however, the child furrowed their brow and tilted their head.

"Have I seen you before mister?" he asked curiously, "You lookeded familiar."

"Maybe," Vincent grew a little pensive, "I used to live here...but I don't any longer. Can you tell me what happened here?"

Gareth thought for a moment before nodded.

"Mhm!" he pointed into town, towards the large mansion off in the distance, "The scary lady told the guards to take everything and go there."

"Take...everything?" Vincent tilted his head, curious, "What do you mean?"

"Hmm, mostly food," Gareth said, holding his stomach as it suddenly growled, "Mama says we'll be fine, but...she hasn't eaten in three days."

Vincent looked up at Gwen, who immediately nodded, motioning to several of the Knights who dismounted and began taking out off packs from their horses.

"Gareth, these Knights are good people," Vincent motioned to one of them who took off their helmet to reveal the face of a kind man, followed by another and another, each revealing their faces to the child.

There were men and women among them, and Gareth looked at them with wary, yet curious eyes.

"They have food," Vincent explained, "Could you take them to your mother? They'll help, I promise you."

"I-I don't know..." Gareth shifted a bit, nervous now, "Mama said that people in metal were bad people..."

"Look at me," Vincent got his attention, giving him as kind and disarming of a smile as he could, "I promise you, Gareth. They're good people. We're here to help. The bad people in the big house up there...we're here to get rid of them."

"R-Really?" he looked at Vincent in awe before determination filled his eyes, "Okay! Mama is really weak, so you have to be careful!"

The Knights all murmured there agreement, and a few of them began to follow him as he ran off. The others began to disperse into the city to find others who were in need of help. Vincent stood, mounting his horse once more and turning towards Gwen.

"...It seems they've given up on their people," Vincent's jaw clenched for a moment, then he took a deep breath and urged his horse into motion, "Remember...watch where you're fighting. Don't let it spill into the gallery. That's in the West Wing of the manor. You'll know it."

"I'll be careful, Vincent," Gwen assured him, "We'll subdue the guards while you take care of the Duchess."

Vincent nodded, and with the full rest of the Knights, made his way towards the Saville Manor.

-----

(Vincent's POV, Cont.)

The Saville Manor was a large, three-story mansion near the center of the town. It had several auxiliary buildings separate from the main manor. A wall with elegantly designed fixtures along the top of it surrounded the manor grounds.

There were guards stationed at the gate, who became alert the moment Vincent came into view. Many of them recognized him, looking quite confused, and almost excited...thinking that he had returned with Vanessa, but then they saw the fiery red hair of Gwen and dread filled their faces.

They didn't have time to react as the Wisteria Knights flew into action. Their horses galloped ahead, and with incredibly deftness, leapt from their saddles towards the guards. Midair, they drew their swords and incapacitated them within seconds. Vincent was always impressed with how efficiently the Wisteria Knights moved.

With no one to stop them, the way to the manor was clear. Making their way up the main roadway was when they began to come into resistance. Guards began to rush out from some of the auxiliary buildings, but were met swiftly by the Wisteria Knights and Gwen.

"Go on ahead, Vincent," Gwen urged, "I'll catch up with you soon!"

With that, she urged her horse forward, breaking apart the guard's formation and sending them tumbling. Vincent urged his horse onward, galloping towards the Manor and arriving there within a mere matter of moments. The main entryway was a paved circle around a glorious fountain depicting two herons in an intricate dance, their wings extended. From them, water flowed into the basin. The fountain itself was surrounded by well-kept tulips.

Dismounting his horse, Vincent stood before the manor, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. It's grand design had been imposing when he first arrived here. He could remember being in absolute awe of such grandeur. Made of white marble stone and wood, its eaves swooped elegantly and protected the double oak doors leading into the main foyer.

It was...surprisingly quiet. All the fighting came from behind him, which made Vincent suspect a trap, but as he spread out his senses...he felt none. He took a moment for himself at the point. His feet wouldn't listen to him. They refused to take another step forward.

This place...it held many memories for him, most of which were unpleasant. However, there were some that had he had actually grown...fond of. The cherry trees behind the manor were one of them. Vanessa loved to paint back there, and she would haven't ask him to be her model.

He had obeyed at the time, for he had no choice, but now...he wished he could be her model one more time, but that was not possible. He remembered Vanessa at her worst, and also at her best. Knowing what he knew now, he could only lament her loss. This place...it had been a prison for the both of them.

With his thoughts settled, Vincent took the first step towards the front doors. It was difficult at first, but with each step, it became easier. This wasn't his home anymore. It wasn't his prison. It was his destination, and the Duchess's last stop. He was here to deliver her the justice that she deserves...and finally lay to rest his own past.

He came before the intricately carved oak doors, a heron upon each, facing the other. The Saville Family crest was that of a Heron. It was a bird that was often found in the territory of Westgate. To the Saville Family, it symbolized elegance, prosperity, and unity. It had long since lost its meaning.

Reaching for the door, Vincent turned the handle and pulled it open. Stepping inside, he was created with the grand, twin staircase that led to the second floor. Its marble elegance was elaborated upon by the beautifully designed crimson rug that hugged its steps. A grand crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling and illuminated the interior in its brilliant golden light.

The first thing he heard upon entering the grand foyer, was the shattering of what sounded like expensive porcelain. Turning his attention towards the sound, he saw a woman in a maid's uniform standing there completely in shock. On the floor were the pieces of a tray and a bowl, along with all the contents it had held. It looked to have been food for someone.

"Was that for the Duchess?" Vincent inquired, tilting his head in her direction, "You're...Julia, right?"

She was a young woman about in her mid-twenties with auburn hair tied in a neat bun and held back by a maid's bonnet. She had slightly tan skin and hazel eyes. Her hand shook as she held them up to her mouth.

"V-Vincent?" her voice quivered, "Y-You've returned. I-Is the Young Miss with you?"

Vincent felt his heart tense at the mention of Vanessa, his face becoming rather stoic. Closing the door behind him, he adjusted himself and shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Julia," he answered solemnly, "Though...she is at peace."

"W-What do you mean?" Julia began to shake, completely terrified, "Vincent...she's safe, right? The Duchess...she's been wracked with worry ever since she left. It's been a mess without you here. Sir Byron, he's-"

"Julia! What was the noise?" a loud voice boomed across the foyer, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls.

From the same direction that Julia had come, came another person dressed in a butler's uniform. Vincent's face hardened when he saw him, for he knew the man well. Byron St. James. A son of the St. James. They were below the Saville Family in rank and served them. He had come here around ten years ago to serve the Saville Family.

He had been in his twenties around then, and now was well into his thirties. Everything about him was prim and proper, from the way his dirty-blonde hair swept back to the posture in which he held himself. His fair skin was unblemished his cool grey-blue eyes looked upon everyone with an inflated sense of self. As if everyone else was beneath him.

He rose quickly in rank, but always had it out for Vincent. He was jealous of him, hating that Vanessa obsessed over Vincent. Byron always tried to win her over, but she was adamant in her disdain for him. When Vanessa wasn't around, he would often beat Vincent, and due to the slave mark, he was unable to do anything about it.

Byron was always smart not to touch Vincent's face, though he had come close one time, threatening to burn it with a hot poker from the fire. He had gotten in severe trouble, with Vanessa banishing him from the house. It took the Duke and Duchess several months before they were able to smooth things over. Vincent recalled that they had Vanessa drink a lot of tea at the time...for her health, they said.

Vincent now knew the truth. That tea was laced with substances that allowed her to be subtly manipulated. It couldn't force her to do anything, but it did open her up to suggestion. He remembered that Byron had to personally, and publicly apologize, followed by several gifts before she could be persuaded to allow him back as a servant.

Byron never forgave Vincent for that. He was angry that a mere slave was being thought of higher than the son of the St. James Family. Now, here he was, once more before Vincent.

"S-Sir Byron, I was just-" Julia began to explain, but before she could, there was a resounding smack as he slapped her across the face.

Byron's right hand glowed with a familiar sight, and a mark upon Julia's chest began to glow. She grimaced in pain, clutching her chest. Vincent's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing in. Julia, just like Vincent had been, was a slave. She was not the only one either.

However, Vincent wondered...since when was Byron able to hold the control mark? Things really did change after Vincent had left. He now understood why Julia was so afraid. She had always been a surprising ball of sunshine, but now was reduced to quivering in fear before Byron.

"Clean this mess up," Byron ordered, then his eye finally caught Vincent, and his expression changed to one of smug surprise, "Well, well. If it isn't you. New look?"

He let out a short, dry laugh. He was attempting to mock Vincent's hair, but it didn't faze him. Instead, Vincent tilted his head, staring Byron down. Byron's expression quickly changed to one of disgusted anger.

"You're giving me quite the glare, little doll," he mocked, sneering, "Did you forget who your betters were? If you're here, then the Young Miss can't be far."

He chuckled, shaking his head before shrugging.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Byron turned his attention towards Julia, his look lecherous, "Things have changed around here. The Saville's don't have as much power as they used to. I can't touch them, but..."

He smirked, beginning to bring his hand towards Julia's backside. Vincent had seen enough. Mana surged through him, charging him with energy. An icy aura shrouded him before, in a blink of an eye, he appeared in front of Julia, his hand clenching Byron's wrist.

"Don't touch her," Vincent threatened coldly.

"L-Let go of me, Slave!" he struggled, but his wrist was already frozen in Vincent's grasp, "When the Young Miss hears of this, you'll-"

"You seem to have missed the memo, Byron," Vincent said coolly, bringing his other hand up towards Byron's face, "I'm no slave."

All it took was a single finger to the center of Byron's head before he became encased in ice. A frozen statue of who he used to be. With a simple push, Vincent sent Byron tumbling backwards, his body shattering upon the marble floor.

By now, several other maids and butlers had appeared, several of them slaves. They all looked on in shocked horror. Many of them didn't know what to do, for they had just seen Vincent, someone they knew of as a slave, kill someone with a control mark.

"Julia...are you okay?" Vincent inquired, turning his attention to her.

Brushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, he was gentle with her. Her face was flushed and eyes filled with awe.

"Y-You killed him..." she muttered, absolutely terrified.

"Yes, I did," Vincent nodded, giving her a small smile.

The moment he did, her face became flustered, her eyes flitting around as if unsure where to look.

"I...didn't know you could smile," Julia chuckled nervously, "You said before...you're not a slave, is that true?"

"It is," Vincent said, taking a step back and looking around at those who had begun to gather, "Who has the Master Mark for all of you?"

He asked to all those present, much to their surprise.

"Uhm, the Duchess does," Julia answered, looking at him quite curiously, "Why are you here, Vincent? You said...the Young Miss is at peace? Is she...dead?"

There was fearful hesitance in her voice. Vincent took a deep breath, his expression solemn as he nodded.

"Yes," he told her, and there was a collective gasp from everyone, "She felt no pain, in the end. It was...peaceful."

"Were you there with her?" one of the servants inquired.

"...I was," Vincent told the truth, for he did not feel like lying, "Her last request was to right the wrongs she and her family have committed. Where is the Duchess?"

There was a collective understanding, all eyes turning towards the frozen corpse of Byron, scattered upon the ground. Julia reached for his sleeve, tugging it pleadingly.

"What will happen to us?" she asked what all of them were thinking, "Since Byron got the mark, he's been...well..."

"Shh," Vincent hushed her, taking her hand in his comfortingly, "He'll never touch you, or anyone again. Is there anyone else here like him?"

She nodded, and each person who had gathered in the foyer pointed down one of the halls.

"They're gathered in the East Dining Hall," Julia whispered, absolutely terrified, "Th-The Duchess...she's in the third floor conservatory. She's been there since the Duke and Young Miss has left. She's let Byron and the others do whatever they want..."

"Rest easy," Vincent patted Julia's hand, speaking softly, "Gather everyone and take them outside. You'll want to look for a woman with fiery red hair. Don't be deceived by her looks. She's quite handsome. She'll keep you safe until I'm done."

"But, the mark, it-" Julia began but Vincent simply shook his head.

"With her death, you will be free," Vincent told her simply.

Squeezing his hands, she nodded in understanding. She quickly turned and gathered everyone together. They whispered to each other before dispersing. Julia took one last look at Vincent before disappearing as well. He knew they were going to gather everyone else, and Vincent...well, he made his way to the East Dining Hall.

------

(Vincent's POV, Moments Later)

Eleven frozen corpses all in a row. Vincent gave them a fighting chance. He allowed them to draw weapons. He danced among them. Toying with them.

He didn't know when he became like he was, but something within Vincent loved playing with them. He frustrated them. They couldn't touch him. The angrier they got, the more pleased Vincent became.

Before the last of them became an ice sculpture, they spilled everything that has happened in the last two months. The Duke became paranoid. The Duchess abused the servants and slaves. And Vanessa...she secluded herself in her private wing ever since she returned from the Palace almost a year ago now. The only visitor she had was the First Imperial Princess, Madeline, but that was a long time ago now.

This left most of the Manor, for the past two months, completely under Byron's control. It grew worse when the Duke left with Vanessa. The fact that Byron had a control mark, given to him by the Duchess, told Vincent that it was the Duchess who had always been in charge of the slaves. Since Vincent had been the personal slave, servant, and companion to Vanessa, he had never paid much attention to the intricacies of the rest of the Manor.

He had only known enough to know that there were other slaves, and that he was below even them in rank. It wasn't his responsibility to know who controlled them, only that he obey Vanessa, and when it was necessary, her parents. Otherwise, he took no other orders except from Vanessa, despite her only having a control mark. Christopher Evergreen, the one who placed the Slave Seal upon Vincent, had retained the Master Mark.

That was, until he transferred it to Vanessa, causing the fiasco which lost her a hand. Well, it didn't matter to Vincent now. The past was in the past, and Vincent had come here to lay it to rest. Just the mere fact that Vincent now knew that the Duchess held a Master Mark was enough for him. He would fulfill Vanessa's request...and his own.

Leaving the East Dining Hall, he found the stairs up to the third floor. Through halls filled with splendor. Everything was over the top and extravagant. The Saville's, despite their recent decline, continued to spend with abandon. Vincent walked these halls as if he had made the journey a thousand times...because he did.

The third-floor conservatory was situated in the South Wing of the Manor and overlooked the gardens below. It was often a popular sitting room that Vanessa used to host tea parties. It was a beautiful greenhouse with a paved pathway lined by flowers of many kinds. It was like a small garden itself, complete with thin trees and twisting branches filled with lush green leaves.

The doors to the conservatory were intricately carved with apple trees and painted white with gold accents. Reaching towards the door...Vincent opened it and stepped inside. There, on the far side of the room, was the Duchess. He could see her sitting in a garden chair, her back to him as she looked over the estate. Her violet hair, now graying, tied in a high bun.

"...She's gone, isn't she?" her voice carried to him as he made his way slowly inside, "My little flower...the blossom we wilted."

"It's a bit too late for regrets, Duchess," Vincent told her in his typical tone, "You threw yourselves in with the Noble Faction...and she paid the price."

"We had no choice," she stated with a sigh, "The Noble Faction was stronger then. Your...Army of the Phoenix, didn't exist. The Princess was just a child."

"Your daughter was just a child," Vincent shot back, a sharpness to his tone, "Hell, I was just a child. My father sold me...and you sold her. You may not want to believe it, but you know it's true."

"...When they gave us the offer, we couldn't refuse," the Duchess defended, "We started almost immediately. She loved beautiful things. She trusted us. Getting her to drink the tea...it was easy. Little did we know how effective it was."

Vincent came to a stop just a few feet from the Duchess. There was nothing between them except distance.

"She genuinely fell in love with you," the Duchess lamented, shaking her head, "Our little angel...falling in love with a commoner."

She practically spit the word from her mouth. She was disgusted by the thought.

"Well, we wanted her happy, of course..." she shrugged, motioning with her hand, which Vincent saw held a glass of wine, "I urged her to place a Slave Mark on you. Had that...what was his name? Lord Evergreen place it on you, then give her control."

She scoffed, taking a sip of her drink.

"It was easy to convince her," she sounded proud of it, "She wanted you. What better way than to use a Slave Mark? The Noble Faction got what they wanted...and so did my precious little blossom. Little did we know...the claws had already been dug in."

"Please, you weren't that stupid," Vincent scoffed, shaking his head, "You knew the moment you agreed to bring her to Amberhold...they already had their claws in you."

"...You don't have to be so loud about it," the Duchess clicked her tongue, "Yes, you're right. We knew. We sold our daughter to the Noble Faction's plans. We used her to keep you in check, so that they could hurt that thorn in their side. Princess Gwenevere....ha."

She scoffed once more, taking another sip of her wine.

"They asked for more from us," she continued as if lost in a daze, "We had to persuade her to let them use you. She hated thinking of you being hurt...and we made her hurt you. No amount of tea could make her enjoy it, but...we found out that we could...adjust certain things."

"...You're fucking vile," Vincent stated coldly.

"Heh, please, spare me your judgement," the Duchess said with indifference, "We latched onto her jealousy. We found that we could turn her jealousy into anger. That anger...we could use to force her to hurt you. Keep you in line. The Noble Faction was happy, and we earned benefits, but..."

She shook her head, downing the rest of the wine before tossing the goblet away in anger. It clattered to the floor, and Vincent followed it with his gaze. He saw in the few drops which spilled out something quite familiar...a violet-blue, iridescent hue.

"Those benefits stopped when you were taken," the Duchess began shift in her chair, as if adjusting to something in her body, "She fell into despair. That bitch took her hand. It was our fault. Why did she have to pay!? Why!?"

Vincent felt the power surge within the Duchess, but he wasn't going to give it the chance to fester. He didn't care for her reasons, or what she told herself to sleep at night. Rushing forward, Vincent placed his hand upon the Duchess's head, channeling his mana into it.

"Because..." Vincent said coolly, "You failed to take responsibility. Manifested your own greed and fear into what you should have instead protected...cherished. Just as I was made into something I should have never been."

She attempted to harness the unstable energy coursing through her body, but it was obvious she wasn't used to it. Vincent's hand upon her head acted as a focal point, the mana he had poured into it drew in the rampant energy. Much like with Vanessa, Vincent harnessed it all within himself, but this time there wasn't as much, and he had greater control over it.

"I promised her I'd make this quick..." Vincent held the Duchess's head steady, "I pray that she's able to forgive you, for I do not."

The unstable energy flowed through him, crackling through him into his free hand. There, it gathered into a condensed form of violet-blue lightning over his middle and forefinger. With a quick strike, he brought it down into the Duchess's neck. The shock ran through her body, instantly frying her system...killing her on the spot. Her body went limp in the chair, and Vincent sighed.

"With this, there's only one thing left to do..." he muttered to himself, a sense of apprehension washing over him, "...The Gallery."

Vincent wasn't sure he was ready, but it was now or never, and he had made a promise. Her name would be known for her art...and nothing else. Everything she had done, everything she had been made to do, had died with her.

-----