Chapter 365: The Defeated General

After Rosemary left, Arthur looked at Cristina with a pained expression—an emotion laced with helplessness, regret, and reluctant acceptance.

“Brother, what are you thinking?” Cristina asked sharply, only to realize the answer as soon as the words left her lips. Her face twisted in fury. “You’re not planning to send me to that madwoman, are you?!”

Arthur struggled with his decision, but Rosemary’s words echoed in his mind—if he delivered Cristina himself, perhaps she would suffer less.

Madilyn, noticing her son’s hesitation, blanched. “They say Rosemary is a lunatic. You cannot send your sister to her!”

“And what do you suggest we do instead?” Arthur asked coldly.

“We don’t send her at all! What can Rosemary really do? I refuse to believe she controls everything!” Madilyn argued.

“I’m not going!” Cristina snapped.

Arthur was at a loss. He turned to Pablo with pleading eyes. “Sir, what should we do?”

Pablo regarded him impassively. “That’s for you to decide. Rosemary is a woman who repays both favors and grievances in full. Cristina insulted her to her face—do you really think she will let it slide? However, Rosemary is also a woman of her word. If she said she wouldn’t harm Cristina, then she won’t.”

“How can you trust a word that woman says? You all want me dead! Once I step into the Bourbon estate, do you think I’ll ever leave alive?!” Cristina shouted in fury.

“And whose fault is that?” Allan scoffed.

Arthur clenched his jaw and snapped, “That’s right. You brought this on yourself. You were reckless and spoiled, and now you must pay the price.”

“If you send me there, I’ll die before your eyes!” Cristina shrieked in desperation.

At that moment, Isolde walked back into the room, chuckling. “Looks like I win. I told Rosemary you wouldn’t dare to go.”

Cristina’s eyes flared with rage. “What did you say?!”

“You act tough, but deep down, you’re terrified of her,” Isolde taunted.

Cristina, proud and headstrong, could not endure such provocation. Her anger flared instantly. “Fine! Send me! I refuse to believe she has the guts to kill me! If I die in the Bourbon estate, you can take the case straight to the King and accuse Rosemary of murder!”

With that, she stormed off. Madilyn rushed after her, and Arthur and August had no choice but to follow. This was now their family’s problem. The Valen family no longer had any reason to intervene.

You didn’t even think to question it? Didn’t even check if you’d been drugged? And you think you’re going to amount to anything? You may as well stay home and leech off Oliver for the rest of your life!”

William’s fists clenched, veins bulging at his temples. Those words hurt worse than any beating ever could. His gaze, filled with burning resentment, landed on Oliver. The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them. “He’s your real son, isn’t he?! The bastard you had with Beatrice! That’s why you protect him so much!”

Pablo struck him hard across the face, his entire body trembling with fury. Without hesitation, he raised his whip and lashed him several times before barking, “Guards! Lock him in his chambers! He is not to leave without my permission!”

William leapt to his feet, defiant. “You’re this angry because I hit the mark, aren’t I? If it’s not true, then why have you favored him all these years? He wouldn’t be where he is now without you pulling the strings! Without you, Oliver would be nothing—less than nothing! Just a pile of worthless trash!”

Pablo pointed a shaking finger at him. “You have no one to blame but yourself for being useless! If you think Oliver is nothing, then prove it. Fight him. If you can last ten moves against him, I won’t punish you.”

“Ten moves?” William laughed bitterly. “Is that how little you think of me? I’ve trained since childhood, and you believe I can’t even last ten moves against him?”

Pablo scoffed. “Ten is me being generous. Truthfully, you probably won’t survive three.”

William’s expression twisted. “Fine! If I hold my ground for ten moves, you will get rid of Cristina.”

Pablo nodded. “Oliver, fight him. Show him his place.”

Isolde doubted William would ever accept defeat, but allowing him to humiliate Oliver was not an option.

Margaret’s gaze softened. The bitterness in her eyes faded, replaced by something more complicated. “Oliver, ever since you entered the Valen family, I have treated you fairly. He is your brother—just a friendly spar. That’s all.”

Oliver stood. “Understood.”

William had trained in the renowned Firing Fist technique, taught by a master fighter. But even the best teachers cannot fix a flawed student. The Firing Fist relied on a solid stance. William steadied himself, planning to launch a rapid ten-move sequence to overwhelm Oliver before he had a chance to counter. His first move was a direct strike to Oliver’s face. But the moment his fist was about to connect, Oliver sidestepped. William lost his balance. Before he could recover, Oliver’s leg swept out, striking his waist. He tumbled, landing face-first at Allan’s feet.

Humiliated beyond measure, William’s vision went red. He shot up, blindly lunging at Oliver with a wild punch. This time, William landed so hard he nearly cracked his spine. He struggled to rise but couldn’t. Instead, he slammed his fist against the ground in frustration, roaring, “Fine! I’m useless! You all think I’m a joke!”

Margaret cast Oliver a resentful glance but ultimately stepped forward to help William.

“Leave him,” Pablo commanded. “If he has any pride left, he’ll get up on his own.”

Margaret lowered her gaze. “Oliver, your skills are truly impressive. A display of sheer dominance.”

Oliver responded flatly, “You flatter me.” He returned to his seat, uninterested in further discussion. He didn’t believe in going easy in a fight. True defeat would either destroy a man or forge his resolve. A warrior without will was nothing. Yet, William was not like him. Unlike Oliver, William had been coddled since birth. Though trained by a great master, Margaret had shielded him from true hardship. He was taught flourishes, not combat. Enough to appease Pablo, but never enough to shape him into a warrior. Margaret had never intended for her son to fight. She had always envisioned him as a scholar, rising in the ranks through politics—not through battle.