The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 475: Loud silence

The throne room of the Northern Palace had never felt so vast, nor so empty.

The high vaulted ceilings, usually echoing with the bustle of petitioners and the sharp clatter of armored guards, were now filled with a heavy, suffocating silence.

It was the morning before the trial, the eve of a reckoning many years in the making, and the air was thick with the scent of unlit incense and cold stone.

High Priestess Serah sat in a high-backed chair to the left of the dais, her white silk robes draped like fresh snow over the dark wood.

Beside her, the three Senior Magistrates whispered in low, rhythmic tones, their fingers nervously tracing the seals on their legal scrolls.

Caelen stood near the tall windows, his gaze fixed on the grey horizon, his posture that of a man expecting a storm.

A handful of minor nobles hovered in the periphery, their presence more an act of self-preservation than loyalty.

They were all waiting for word that never came.

"Your Majesty," one of the magistrates said, standing with a hesitant rustle of parchment. He looked up at the throne, where Soren sat in a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight.

"It has been four days since the last courier arrived from the North. The Heartland remains silent as well. Not even a magical bird has breached the perimeter in forty-eight hours."

"Perhaps," Priestess Serah added, her voice a gentle, melodic chime in the gloom, "we should consider a delay. If the provincial authorities are hindered by the weather, a trial in their absence might lack the... spiritual and legal weight required for such a momentous verdict."

Soren didn’t move. He sat with his chin resting on a closed fist, his eyes fixed on the far doors of the hall. He looked like a statue carved from the very winter that encased the palace. When he spoke, his voice was firm, vibrating with a low-frequency power that brooked no dissent.

"The trial will proceed as scheduled. At dawn tomorrow, Vetra Nivarre will face this tribunal."

"But the silence, Sire, " the magistrate began.

"I have sent additional messengers," Soren interrupted, his gaze finally shifting to the man, pinning him in place. "Elite riders. Ice mages to clear the paths. We will have our answers soon. Until then, we do not pause. To delay is to admit fear, and I will not show fear to a woman who has already stolen enough from this world."

A ripple of uncertainty moved through the assembled nobles. They exchanged quick, skeptical glances, their eyes darting to the shadows. They didn’t believe the silence was accidental.

They knew Vetra’s reach. But no one challenged him. The aura of cold, absolute command radiating from the throne was enough to keep their tongues stilled. They remained in their places, a court of ghosts waiting for a bell to toll.

While the throne room simmered in political dread, the Academic Library of the Mage Academy was a sanctuary of scholarly dust and yellowed vellum. Here, the only sound was the rhythmic turning of pages and the scratch of a quill.

Eris sat at a heavy mahogany table, surrounded by stacks of books so old their leather bindings smelled of earth and rot. Across from her, Ellyn was buried behind a rampart of scrolls, his face pale and etched with a deep, frantic exhaustion.

Ellyn let out a defeated sigh, dropping his quill. "Your Majesty," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Eris looked up, her violet eyes sharp and knowing. "Nothing?"

Ellyn shook his head, gesturing helplessly at the mountain of research. "I have scoured every text on dragon physiology in the royal archives and the Academy’s restricted vaults. The accounts of the First Age, the journals of the dragon-worshippers... it’s all the same."

He leaned forward, his hands trembling slightly. "The physiology is perfect. The scales are described as nearly impenetrable, woven with primordial mana that deflects conventional steel and most elemental spells. Their breath is the literal source-code of fire, immense, ancient, unstoppable."

"But weaknesses, Ellyn," Eris pressed, her voice low. "Every creature has a cost. Every spell has a counter."

"That’s just it," Ellyn said, his frustration boiling over. "The texts mention the eyes, of course, a vulnerable point, but one protected by a nictitating membrane of reinforced calcium. Others mention the underbelly, the ’softer’ scales where the limbs join the torso. But Your Majesty, these are legends. They are myths written by bards to make a slaughter sound like a duel. There is nothing concrete. Nothing proven. To follow these leads would be to bet your life on a children’s story."

Eris stared at the diagram of a dragon in the book before her. She saw the internal fire core, the seat of the power that was currently eating her alive.

"Keep searching," she said, her voice gentle but possessed of an iron finality. She rose from her chair, the silk of her gown hissing against the floor. "I need to return to the palace. The air is changing."

Ellyn stood quickly, bowing low. "Of course. I’ll continue through the night. If there is a grain of truth buried in this dross, I will find it."

"Thank you, Ellyn," Eris said, offering him a slight, appreciative smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Your dedication won’t be forgotten."

The walk back to the royal chambers was long and quiet. Eris moved through the corridors with a practiced grace, but her mind was miles away, tangled in the theories of dragon-fire and the growing silence of the empire.

As she neared her private study, a nagging sensation began to claw at the base of her skull. It was a persistent, uncomfortable tug, like a thread being pulled from a garment. She stopped in the middle of a deserted hallway, her breath hitching.

What is this? she thought, her hand instinctively flying to her chest. Why won’t it stop?

The feeling wasn’t physical pain, it was an invitation. It was a pull, magnetic and undeniable, drawing her toward a specific point in her room. She recognized the frequency of the vibration. It was her own magic, yet it felt alien.

The grimoire.

She entered her study, the door clicking shut behind her. She went straight to the desk where she had left the book tucked away in a locked drawer. She pulled the handle.

Empty.