Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Edgar Medici, the Fourth Steward of the Medici family, and his elder brother Eamon Medici, were both born into the family, and not just ordinary house-born children. Their parents had served as the previous Third and Fourth Stewards, respectively.

However, such a birth afforded them only limited privileges within the family. In some ways, the Medici family was arguably the most fiercely competitive among the four great families.

It quantified the worth of every member through titles and power. The family's vast roots spread across almost every planet under the empire's dominion. Even though it rarely absorbed fresh blood from outside, and even though the main branch arrogantly only accepted those with an initial talent of B-level or higher into the family mansion on the capital planet, talented individuals still swarmed in endlessly, desperate to climb higher and grasp greater power.

Neither Edgar nor Eamon were exceptionally gifted; they merely scraped by the B-level threshold, just enough to avoid immediate reassignment to subordinate planets.

Their timing was also unfortunate, as they were born during a period of transition among the Eight Stewards. Apart from the Third, Fourth, and Sixth Stewards, who were still held by the older generation, the remaining stewards were newly selected from collateral branches. This power imbalance prevented their parents from securing suitable positions for them directly within the main family.

Fortunately, Eamon possessed a flexible mind. He persuaded Edgar to align themselves with the newly appointed stewards.

"I don’t want to do this," Edgar said. Having grown up alongside the heir, Sparti, during their youth in the main family, he felt distinct from those collateral branch members from subordinate planets—even if they all bore the Medici name. "Their origins are too lowly... I can’t help but look down on them."

"Idiot! Still clinging to your pride at a time like this? If you don’t curry favor with them, you’ll be sent packing to a subordinate planet immediately!" Eamon glared at him fiercely, then slammed the door and left.

But a few days later, Eamon returned, brimming with excitement. Before Edgar could refuse, he cut off his brother’s words, exclaiming joyfully, "Edgar, do you know what happened? I’ve finally found a way to preserve your pitiful self-respect while keeping us in the main family!"

"Did you know? Sparti is getting a fiancée—a lady from a collateral branch," Eamon rattled on. "She is a truly noble lady—excellent, beautiful, and gentle-natured. Although she also comes from a collateral branch, that is by no means her fault. Her radiance is like the moon, pure and lofty. If we could have the opportunity to serve this lady, I swear, it would be an honor for both of us."

Though inwardly disdainful of his brother’s sycophantic behavior, Edgar still met the esteemed fiancée under Eamon’s arrangements. Although the Matriarch had passed away many years prior, the morning he first saw that girl—walking through the corridor with a book in her arms, her silver hair tied with a ribbon, her figure drifting like a light, silent cloud through the Medici’s dust-white marble archways—this scene remained etched in his mind for many years.

To be honest, Lorraine resembled her mother more than Cecil did. Initially, driven by gratitude for the late Matriarch’s kindness and an inexplicable affection, Edgar genuinely devoted himself to Lorraine. Compared to the Family Head, who treated her as little more than a tool for political marriage and otherwise ignored her, Edgar was more like a father to her.

This was also why he later succeeded in poisoning her—the young lady he had nurtured had no defenses against him.

But he, too, had to pursue his own future. Love alone doesn't fill the stomach. Young Master Cecil was also the Matriarch’s biological child. Serving either sibling was essentially the same.

Wasn’t it?

Edgar never expected that someone of Lorraine’s intelligence would fail to discover the truth for so many years. By the time regret began to sprout, it was already too late. Especially during the spiritual assessment, when it was revealed that the deceased Matriarch’s Spiritual State was Mist Cloud Vine, while her daughter Lorraine had awakened with Sky Vine—a lower-tier spiritual state—Edgar felt as though he had been plunged into an icy abyss, chilled to the bone.

He admitted his regret and felt immense guilt toward the young lady. He vowed from that moment on to refuse Eamon’s unreasonable demands and to treat the young lady well, helping her regain her health as soon as possible.

But precisely that night, the young lady discovered the poisoning.

She demanded, for no apparent reason, that the room’s aromatics be replaced. When she looked at him, the young lady said nothing, but the Fourth Steward knew that the trust between them was irrevocably shattered.

And all of this was because of Eve, that collateral branch girl who had become close to the young lady overnight.

The Fourth Steward had never liked her. The decision for her to become Cecil’s fiancée was already a foregone conclusion among the upper echelons of the Medici family. The last girl who had proven the perfect union between the main and collateral branches had died many years ago, and the family needed a new figure.

Equally excellent, beautiful, sensible, and even gifted enough to awaken an S-class Spiritual State, the Fourth Steward always felt as though Eve had come to replace someone. And when Eve effectively replaced him as the young lady’s most trusted person, he could no longer bear it.

The buzzing insect cries, like piercing demonic whispers, poured everything he wanted and didn’t want to hear into the Fourth Steward’s mind.

"If you want to achieve something, you must seize it by any means necessary. If you don’t fight for it, how will good fortune ever come to you?"

That sounded like his brother’s voice.

"If it’s Edgar, there should be nothing you can’t do. After all, you work so hard."

That seemed to be the voice of the deceased Family Matriarch.

The woman asked in her gentle, lively tone, like a flower’s corolla: "So, Edgar, what is it you want to do?"

"I want... I want to kill her. Because no one can replace me, and no one can replace you."

This time, the Fourth Steward heard clearly—it was his own voice.

"Then do it."

Logically, the mental manipulation of a rove beetle should not have been able to affect someone of the Fourth Steward’s strength.

The wind did not move, yet the banner stirred on its own.

What finally snapped the Fourth Steward out of his trance was the Third Steward rushing over, forcibly pressing him to his knees, his head hitting the rough sand with a sudden, sharp pain. The Fourth Steward instantly realized what he had done, his face turning deathly pale.

Without needing further prompting from the Third Steward, he frantically kowtowed and apologized to Cecil, who was striding towards him with a grim expression: "I’m sorry, Young Master, I was possessed—no, I was controlled! That damned insect controlled me! Young Master! I truly didn’t mean it!"

*Smack!*

Cecil slapped him hard across the face. His handsome features twisted with fury. One slap wasn’t enough; he backhanded him with the other hand, infusing his palm with psychic energy. The Fourth Steward’s cheeks immediately swelled up. The Third Steward knelt beside him, sweating profusely, not daring to utter a single word in his brother’s defense.

How important Eve was to Cecil and the Medici family—a rare genius, the future family matriarch—was absolutely beyond comparison to two stewards who didn’t live up to their titles. Even with the insect control as an excuse, the Fourth Steward would not escape the family’s wrath.

It could be said that if anything truly happened to Eve, the Fourth Steward would undoubtedly be forced to accompany her in death.

In the end, it was the commotion caused by Grace’s berserk Spiritual State behind them that forced Cecil to spare them for the moment. He left only with an icy, cutting threat: "If anything happens to her, I’ll throw you to the insects, you worthless trash." There was no need to ask who "she" referred to.

The Third Steward sighed heavily and hurried after Cecil, trying to plead for some leniency. But the Fourth Steward knew it was futile—someone as merciless as the Young Master would never let him off. Whether Eve lived or died, he would die.

In despair, he clutched his head, asking himself when exactly he had started down this path to ruin.

-

That Grace’s Spiritual State was unstable was no secret in the Medici family, which was why she never dared to use her full power whenever she summoned it.

No one could have predicted that witnessing Eve’s peril would trigger a berserk outburst.

Burst Wind Chimes erupted from the earth like weeds, exploding before blooming again into heavy flowers, repeating in a vicious cycle. This frenzied, life-draining assault was too much even for an Advanced Zerg. The Death Worm’s carapace was shattered, revealing dark red, charred flesh beneath. In extreme pain, it tried to burrow back underground but found itself trapped by the Alchemical Cipher Lorraine had laid earlier. The sand had hardened like concrete, pinning its body in place, leaving it unable to move and only capable of futile roars.

But no one paid it any attention now. Grace knelt on the ground, her mecha having retracted automatically due to depleted spiritual energy. Her face was as pale as gold paper; her spiritual power gushed out like a broken dam, transforming into enormous bell-shaped blooms before exploding into nothingness.

Initially, she attacked everyone indiscriminately. Only after Qin Mengde restrained her with golden cords did she calm down somewhat, though her Spiritual State remained berserk, uncontrollable no matter what they tried.

"If this continues, she’ll overdraw her psychic energy and end up either dead or insane," Qin Mengde’s cold voice emerged from behind her mask. "The council of elders is on their way. No matter what, we must hold out until they arrive."

By now, no one cared about the outcome of this damned field exercise. The rove beetle Eve had killed basically decided the match’s victory, and Grace’s rampage had severely wounded another Advanced Zerg. But what did victory or defeat matter now?

Eve’s fate was unknown; Grace was on the verge of madness.

Lorraine and Dick poured bottle after bottle of replenishing potions into Grace, but it was like trying to fill a leaky bucket. Gradually, quiet weeping arose from the Medici side, and even the Cavendish family members looked uneasy.

After all, they were just a group of fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds. This was their first practical experience, and they never expected to face life-and-death situations so soon.

The crying spread like wildfire. Already irritable, Cecil grew even more impatient and snarled, "What are you crying for? The situation turned out like this precisely because you’re all useless."

"If you’re not useless, then why couldn’t you control your own subordinate?" Isabella said coldly. "I heard Eve is one of your fiancée candidates. Good thing it’s only potential—being with a trash like you who can’t protect anyone and only takes out his frustrations on others would be more humiliating than death."

"What do you mean by that?!" Cecil glowered at her.

Isabella snorted dismissively, summoning Gungnir and heading toward the explosion’s center where the Death Worm clung to life. Her words dripped with disdain: "I mean exactly what I said—that you’re trash. Instead of yelling at others, why not go look for Eve?"

"Since there’s no body, dead or alive, I refuse to believe my rival bought it so easily."

"Young lady! It’s dangerous there!" Qin Mengde called out to her but received no response for the first time. Reluctantly, she summoned her own Mythological Mecha and flew after Isabella.

Cecil stood rooted to the spot, clenching his jaw, before suddenly summoning Jason and hurrying after them. The Third and Fourth Stewards also followed, hoping to redeem themselves.

The remaining people could only watch helplessly as Grace was tormented by her Spiritual State going out of control.

"A sigh..."

A soft sigh suddenly drifted over, accompanied by a low murmur: "How did it come to this? If I had known, I would have clued her in earlier."

The moment she heard this familiar voice, Lorraine jerked her head up, her eyes widening slightly. However, it seemed Eve only intended for her to hear the voice, as everyone else looked around in confusion and alarm. Dick hesitated, "Miss...?"

Was she having an episode as well...?

"Wait, don’t speak just yet." Lorraine raised a finger, signaling everyone to quiet down.

The cacophony of crying gradually ceased. In the subdued muttering, Eve’s voice became exceptionally clear, as if speaking right by her ear.

"Listen, Lorraine, I’m fine. First, wipe your tears. And I can help Grace stabilize," her low voice whispered close to her ear, "but I need you to cover for me. From now on, you don’t need to reply to me—just follow my instructions."

"If you understand what I mean, blink your eyes first, alright?"

Lorraine complied, blinking gently.

Eve then gently tucked a stray strand of silver hair behind her ear and praised, "Good girl."