Chapter 141: Mozart!
The screams of the Capital didn’t stop all at once.
They faded gradually, distance turning the roar of a revolution into a dull, rhythmic thrum, until finally, they were replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustle of wind through the tall grass.
Damien stood on a lonely hill miles outside the city limits. He pulled the silver mask from his face, his fingers trembling slightly.
The metal felt cold and heavy, burdened by the weight of the thousands of lives he had just upended.
From this distance, the fires raging in the Lower Districts looked beautiful, like fireflies trapped in a glass jar, flickering against the obsidian night.
The coup was successful. The Empire was paralyzed. The economy was a corpse, and the armies were retreating to mourn it.
He had won.
But there was no triumphant shout. As the adrenaline of the performance faded, a bone-deep exhaustion crashed over him.
"It’s done," Damien whispered, his voice hoarse. He turned his back on the destruction he had wrought.
He walked into the tree line, where the shadows deepened. A black, unmarked carriage waited there, blending perfectly into the darkness. Alfred stood by the open door, a silhouette of absolute composure amidst a world gone mad.
"A successful evening, Young Master," Alfred said softly. He held out a fresh, heavy wool coat to replace Damien’s silk suit, which was damp with sweat.
"Isabelle and Barnaby have signaled. The transport routes are secured. We are clear to vanish."