Chapter 173: How Many More Must You Kill?

Steven arrived on horseback, and Geoffrey ordered a servant to fetch the horses. He casually asked, “Garrett’s back, but what about Natasha?”

“She’s back as well, along with several generals,” Steven replied.

Geoffrey, however, harbored a secret dread of Natasha. She wasn’t strict with him—not in the least. In fact, she treated him as if he were her own son. But that maternal tenderness, that soft warmth—it was something Geoffrey couldn’t bear. After Prunella’s death, Natasha had never once reproached him; instead, she’d comforted him, even when her own heart was breaking. But every time he saw her sitting alone in the hallway, her face filled with quiet sorrow, it twisted something deep inside him. It was a feeling he couldn’t escape. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand her grief.

As they rode towards the Sharp family estate, Geoffrey thought, She must want to see me. Back in Argentum, Natasha would summon him for anything, even something as trivial as a good meal. She always made him feel like part of the Sharp family. But now, looking at Steven and the two aides behind him, the atmosphere was far more serious than he anticipated.

The Sharp family estate was a short ride from the Duke’s mansion. By the time they arrived, Garrett’s entourage had just reached the estate gates. Geoffrey quickly dismounted and moved forward to help Garrett off his horse. Garrett shot him a quick glance and grumbled, “I’m not that old, Geoffrey. I don’t need help just yet.”

Geoffrey gave a nervous chuckle. “Garrett, you come back and don’t even bother letting me know? At least so I can meet you at the gates.”

“How could I trouble you, Geoffrey?” Garrett snorted.

Geoffrey straightened up, his expression neutral. He knew very well that Garrett had never liked him. From the day Prunella had decided to marry him, their relationship had been fraught with tension. It was only out of respect for Prunella that they managed to tolerate each other.

Natasha, supported by a few attendants, slowly descended from the carriage. Geoffrey hurried forward. “Natasha, I hope the journey hasn’t been too tiring for you.”

She looked at him kindly, her eyes soft with emotion. “It’s been many years, Geoffrey. How have you been?”

Geoffrey’s heart tightened, and he answered in a choked voice, “I’m fine… I’m fine.” Seeing her again was a reminder of Prunella, a wound that would never heal. Sixteen years had passed, but a mother’s heart never forgets. Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes as she studied him. She reached out and patted his hand. “Come inside. Harlan has been hurt. We found him on our way back to Argentum.”

Geoffrey froze. “Harlan… hurt?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Natasha gave him a sharp look. “You just said you didn’t need help, now you’re complaining?”

Garrett waved his hand dismissively. “Get her inside first,” he grumbled.

Natasha looked at Geoffrey. “Come to my room later. I have something for you.”

“Yes, of course,” Geoffrey said numbly.

Once Natasha entered, Garrett’s voice became cold and sharp. “I found Harlan in Wamond Vale. He said Snowy—Isolde—fell off the cliff. Do you know where he was taking her?”

The mention of Snowy made Geoffrey’s blood run cold. He already knew it was Isolde they were talking about. The thought of her falling from the Wamond Vale cliff hit him like a thunderclap, a freezing wave of horror. His heart pounded as he gritted out, “Where is Harlan now?”

“He’s badly injured. He’s unconscious,” Garrett replied.

As Harlan was carefully carried inside, Geoffrey walked over, his steps slow and heavy. The air smelled of blood. Harlan was pale, his face drawn and lifeless, his body covered in deep cuts and bruises. His hands, face, and even ears were marred with small but vicious wounds. It was clear he’d been through a savage battle.

“How did this happen? How…?” Geoffrey whispered, his mind racing with questions, each one darker than the last.

The images came fast. A knife wound—meaning something had happened along the way. Had they been ambushed on their journey back? The sheer brutality of the attack made it clear—it wasn’t a robbery. Wamond Vale was too close to the King’s domain for that. This was personal. It could only mean one thing—enemies. And Isolde had enemies—Wolf Mountain’s bandits and the remnants of Milton’s gang were still active.

She was truly a curse. Even Harlan, her closest ally, was now nearly dead because of her. Geoffrey’s chest tightened with grief and rage. Thirty years had passed since Harlan had stood by his side. They’d fought together, lost everything together—now Harlan lay dying, a casualty of the very woman Geoffrey had been forced to accept.

Isolde… He wanted to scream. You’ve even killed Harlan!

“Garrett, send him back to the Duke’s estate,” Geoffrey said, stepping forward to intervene.

Garrett’s voice was gruff. “With wounds like this? I have military doctors with me. Do you think I should just cart him around like a sack?”

Geoffrey, reluctantly agreeing, followed Garrett inside. The army medic explained Harlan’s condition: “He’s lost too much blood. His breathing stopped for a moment, but the Consumption Pills should keep him alive for now. However, the wound is too deep, and he’s lost too much blood. He may still die.”

“Have you caught those responsible?” Geoffrey asked, his voice low and tense.

Garren fixed him with a steely gaze. “Funny. Since you entered, you’ve asked nothing about Snowy’s condition. Harlan was taking her somewhere. Do you even know what happened?”

Geoffrey’s eyes flared with anger, a bitter sneer on his lips. “Harlan was taking her back to Windermount. On the way, they must’ve been attacked by her enemies. That woman, Snowy—she’s the one who killed him. She’s a curse.”

Garrett’s face went ashen. “Say that again.”

Geoffrey looked up, his face pale but coldly resigned. “Isn’t it true? She killed her own mother and now she’s killing Harlan. How many more must die before she’s satisfied? Isn’t she a curse? Don’t you hate her?”

With a roar of fury, Garrett swung a chair and hurled it at Geoffrey. Steven quickly stepped forward to block it, catching the chair with ease and setting it down.

“Calm down,” Steven urged, gripping Garrett’s shoulders and guiding him to sit. Garrett’s chest heaved, his breaths shallow and rapid as he struggled to regain control. He stared at Geoffrey, his rage boiling over. “You bastard. How dare you call my granddaughter a curse? Do you even know what she’s been through? Why did she go back to Windermount? What did you do to her?”

Geoffrey’s face remained cold. “You don’t know anything, do you? You’re so eager to defend her. Have you ever asked what she has done? What monstrous things she’s caused?”

Garrett slammed his fist on the table. “No matter what she’s done, she’s Prunella’s daughter! She’s my granddaughter, and I’ll protect her with my life. No one touches her—no one!”

He continued with an icy glare. “And you—you left her in that manor for fourteen years. I was ready to confront you when I returned, but Natasha convinced me to let it go, to let her live in peace. Now you’ve made her fall off a cliff. You’ve brought her to this. You… you’re going to kill Natasha with your stupidity!”

“What?”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Natasha staggered in. Her eyes were wide with horror, tears streaming down her face. She looked at Geoffrey, her voice trembling. “Snowy… has she really fallen from the cliff? Is it true?”