Chapter 11 Bastard Son

Lady Agatha sat inside her luxurious carriage, a tempest of anger brewing within her. Her once haughty eyes were now aflame with a burning desire for revenge against those who had humiliated her.

Agatha, determined to exact vengeance on all who played a part in her public disgrace, formulated a plan in her mind. Should she poison that maid? Humiliate Aldric? Or perhaps, should she murder those bastard brats? She knew that she needed to strike back with cunning precision.

Hannah, her personal maid, had implored her not to leave the castle. Hannah was assign to Agatha by Aldric after their marriage, this decision infuriated her beyond measure. He was belittling her!

The presence of this personal maid served as a constant reminder of her husband's actions, fueling her resentment.

In a fit of anger, Agatha lashed out at Hannah, her palm meeting the maid's cheek with a sharp crack as Hannah tried desperately to keep Agatha from leaving. The slap left a red mark on Hannah's fair skin, and she recoiled in shock. The pain of the physical blow was nothing compared to the betrayal she felt from the woman she had served faithfully.

"Lady Agatha, perhaps, you could still apologize to the viscount," Hannah suggested.

"Never question me, Hannah!" Agatha hissed, her eyes narrowed with venom. "I will do as I please; now leave me, you useless girl!"

Hannah thought that if she played her cards right, she would be left alone by this horrid woman. She had tried so hard to steer Agatha towards the path of becoming a proper lady of the house, but she was at her wit's end.

Hannah nodded silently. In the face of Agatha's seething anger, she had learned that even the most loyal servants could become targets of her mistress's wrath. It's a good thing she was Aldric's maid; this saved her from being in Agatha's company for longer.

Lady Agatha's carriage had been traveling down the winding road, its wheels clattering against the cobblestones as it carried her away from the castle that had become a source of shame. Her mind was a tempest of vengeance, and she was oblivious to the world outside.

But then, in a sudden and violent twist of fate, the carriage was wrenched off its wheels as if by some unseen force. The entire structure lurched and tumbled, and Agatha was thrown about like a ragdoll.

The world outside became a chaotic whirlwind of dust and debris as the carriage was overturned. Agatha's terrified cries mingled with the sounds of splintering wood and shattering glass.

"What's happening?" she shrieked, her voice filled with panic and confusion.

Agatha found herself dazed and disoriented as the carriage came to a rest, still trembling from the impact. She pushed aside a broken window and crawled out into the open, her clothing disheveled, and her once-perfect coiffure in disarray.

Her hands reached around her head; one would think she was checking for bruises or sore spots on her head, but she was merely assessing the damage to her beautiful hair.

The sight that met her eyes was one of utter devastation. The carriage, once a symbol of her status and power, now lay in ruins. The mysterious force that had upended it remained unseen, an enigma that left her trembling with fear and uncertainty.

"What in Pangea was that?" Agatha whispered, her voice quivering.

But there were no answers, only the eerie silence of the surrounding landscape, as if nature itself held its breath.

Agatha's heart raced as she crawled out of the wreckage of her overturned carriage, her senses on high alert.

As she surveyed her surroundings, Agatha realized that her carriage had been thrown off the well-traveled road and now lay at an odd angle among the untamed foliage. On further inspection, it seemed like the wheels had been burnt off in a blaze.

A rustling in the nearby bushes drew her attention, and her gaze darted toward the source of the sound. Her eyes widened with fear as her mind raced with possibilities. Was this another act of sabotage, or had some natural force conspired against her?

Agatha looked around for something to fend off threats; she first picked up a branch but thought it was too dirty. Next, she spied a shard of glass that had shattered from the carriage. She picked it up and clutched it tightly, ready to defend herself against any potential threat.

"Who's there?" she called out, her voice quivering with a mixture of fear and anger. "Show yourself!"

But the rustling continued, and the hidden figure remained elusive. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as if it too was waiting to see what would unfold.

Agatha's heart pounded in her chest as she contemplated her next move. Stranded in the wild, far from the safety of the castle, she was vulnerable to whatever dangers lurked in the shadows.

With a shard of glass in hand, Lady Agatha tried to prepare herself for whatever was about to happen.

"That's kind of stupid," a voice within the bushes spoke. It was quite young. "What do you expect to do with a useless piece of glass?"

He emerged, clad in a drab robe. Agatha squinted her eyes; this stature looked a little bit familiar. "Wh-who are you? What do you want? Do you want money?"

The figure chuckled. It was a child. A mere boy.

"Wait," Agatha approached the boy cautiously, "you're that bastard!"

They paused, "that's enough of you." The figure raised his hand towards Agatha, and he said something under their breath.

Before Agatha could figure out what they said, her skin turned red. Bubbles began to form underneath her skin; it was like she was being boiled alive! The heat was white-hot, scorching her from the inside. She shrieked like an animal being butchered as flames started to spurt out from her like geysers. The flames engulfed her, devouring her.

She crumpled on the forest ground.

Rohan crouched next to her, realizing that his current body was still weak. Casting spells consecutively took a toll on his malnourished form. It's a good thing he had managed to convince his mother just in time.

He inspected Agatha's lifeless body. She had it coming. Rohan thought he would feel the same as the first time he took a human being's life in his past life. Luckily, he did not vomit. Agatha's death felt satisfying.

He took a lasting gaze over Agatha's charred body. She had it coming.

Bitch.