Anna never even saw Karl move.
One moment she was still screaming, her face twisted with hysteria and spite, and the next a tearing, explosive agony detonated across her right cheek. The force was so sudden and overwhelming that her mind went blank.
Several yellowed teeth, flecked with blood and saliva, burst from her mouth and scattered across the floor as her body spun sideways. Her feet left the ground, balance utterly lost. She staggered once, twice, then crashed heavily onto the cold stone floor with a dull, bone-jarring thud.
Pain roared through her skull. Her vision swam, her ears rang, and for a moment she couldn't even scream.
Tamara, who had been clutched tightly in Anna's arms only seconds earlier, had already slipped free during the blow. The child lay a short distance away, staring in frozen shock before her fear finally caught up with her. Then she began to wail—high, piercing cries filled with pure terror.
Karl remained expressionless.
He bent down calmly, as though the scene before him were nothing more than an inconvenience. With one hand, he hooked a finger into the collar of the sobbing Tamara and lifted her effortlessly off the ground.
Without even glancing back, he casually tossed the child toward Dalton, who stood rigidly by the door.
"Take her outside," Karl ordered in a flat, cold voice. "Calm her down."
"Yes, my lord!" Dalton responded instantly.
He caught the still-crying Tamara against his chest and immediately turned his body to block her view of the blood-soaked room. With quick steps, he kicked the broken door fully open, slipped outside, and pulled it shut behind him with a sharp thud, sealing the chamber and cutting off the child's screams.
Silence fell—thick, oppressive, and heavy with the stench of blood.
Seeing his daughter removed from the scene, Philip's trembling shoulders finally relaxed a fraction. He looked at Karl, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with an emotion so dense it could hardly be put into words.
"Thank you…" Philip rasped hoarsely. "Lord Karl."
Karl waved him off dismissively, already turning his attention elsewhere.
Anna had managed to push herself into a sitting position. Her right cheek was swelling at a speed visible to the naked eye, grotesquely puffed and already bruising purple and red. Blood trickled continuously from the corner of her mouth, dripping onto her stained dress.
She glared up from beneath disheveled hair, her eyes flickering with hatred, fear, and disbelief.
Karl regarded her coolly.
The woman's shamelessness had once again redefined his opinion of the lower-class women of this era. Caught red-handed in adultery, she had shown not a shred of remorse. Instead, she had tried to twist the situation, using his authority as a weapon to strike back at her own husband.
Disgusting.
Karl shifted his gaze to Philip.
Philip's hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword. His knuckles were white, his arm trembling violently—not from weakness, but from the immense effort it took to restrain himself. Rage and conflict warred openly across his face.
"Philip," Karl said calmly, his tone almost gentle, "I'm sorry this happened."
Philip's breath came out in harsh, uneven gasps.
"Tamara is no longer in the room," Karl added. "She didn't see what comes next."
Philip drew in a deep breath, as though making a decision that would seal his fate forever. When he exhaled, something inside him seemed to shatter and then harden.
He nodded.
The last trace of hesitation vanished, replaced by ruthless resolve.
"No! Don't! Philip! Please don't kill him!"
Anna shrieked as she saw Philip begin to walk toward the dying man on the floor—the adulterer who had been stabbed earlier and now lay barely conscious, blood pooling beneath him. Philip's sword dripped dark red as he moved.
Screaming hysterically, Anna scrambled across the floor and threw herself over the man's body, spreading her arms wide as if she could shield him with her frail form.
Her effort was meaningless.
Philip didn't even slow his steps.
He stepped around her with chilling precision, lifted his sword, and drove the steel down into the man's chest.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"Thud. Thud."
The wet, sickening sound of blade piercing flesh echoed through the room. The man's body jerked weakly, his final unconscious groans bubbling out through blood-filled lungs, before he finally went still.
Life left him completely.
With the adulterer dead, some of the madness drained from Philip's face. His breathing steadied, though his eyes remained cold—empty, like frozen steel.
He turned toward Anna.
She sat beside the corpse, pale as ash, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. For a brief moment, hesitation flickered in Philip's gaze.
After all, this was the woman he had once loved.
The woman who had borne his daughter.
At that moment, Karl raised his hand.
A cluster of leaping orange flames erupted in his palm with a sharp whoosh, heat instantly filling the room. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent the fire flying onto the dead man's body.
"Whump!"
The flames spread instantly, hungrily devouring flesh and cloth alike. Fire crackled as it wrapped around the corpse, lighting the chamber in flickering orange and casting grotesque shadows on the walls.
The stench of scorched flesh rose thick and nauseating.
Philip stiffened.
Karl watched his still-hesitant expression and curved his lips into a mocking, icy smile.
"Philip," he said quietly, "look at her face."
Philip followed Karl's gaze.
Anna's hair was wild, her face grotesquely swollen with clear handprints. Her eyes were fixed on the burning corpse, wide with horror, grief, and hatred so intense it was almost tangible.
Karl continued coldly, "Do you think that after all this, she'll ever thank you for what you've done?"
"Do you think she'll forgive you for killing her beloved?"
"In her heart," Karl said, his voice merciless, "you—her husband—matter far less than the man lying there, the one who gave her a moment's pleasure."
"Those tears aren't for you," he finished. "They're for him."
Philip's body jolted as if struck.
Anna turned then, glaring at Philip with naked venom. She dared not curse Karl—she knew he would strike her again—so she poured every ounce of malice she had onto her husband.
"I hate you, Philip!" she screamed hoarsely. "Why did you kill him?!"
"He treated me and Tamara far better than you ever did!"
"He cared about us! He stayed with us!" Her voice cracked with hysterical fury. "All you ever cared about was your lord and your duty!"
"You don't deserve to be a husband!" she shrieked. "Or a father!"
"I'll divorce you! I'll never forgive you—even if I die!"
Each word was like a poisoned dagger.
They pierced the last shred of mercy and illusion in Philip's heart.
The hesitation in his eyes burned away, replaced by something utterly cold and final. Love, guilt, and lingering affection were incinerated in an instant.
Without another word, Philip strode forward.
He grabbed Anna by the hair and slammed her head mercilessly against the floor.
"Ahhh!" Anna screamed.
Philip's eyes were empty as he raised the blood-soaked sword.
"No! Don't! Philip!" she sobbed suddenly, terror finally overwhelming hatred. "I was wrong! I know I was wrong!"
"Please don't kill me! I really know I was wrong!"
Only when the cold blade touched her skin did death's terror finally wrench her back to reality.
Tears and snot smeared across her face as she wailed incoherent pleas.
Karl watched, lips curling faintly.
She didn't know she was wrong.
She knew she was about to die.
Her repentance had come far too late.
Philip ignored her cries completely.
Steel flashed in swift, ruthless arcs.
Anna's screams faded—from shrill desperation, to weak sobs, and finally to silence.
Her wide, lifeless eyes stared upward, frozen in disbelief that Philip had truly killed her.
When it was over, Philip seemed drained of all strength.
The sword slipped from his fingers and clanged loudly against the floor.
He staggered back and collapsed onto the cold stone, staring vacantly at the two corpses.
Karl watched for a moment, then flicked another flame onto Anna's still-warm body.
Fire consumed her as well.
He stepped toward the dazed Philip, offered no hand, and spoke quietly:
"Enough, Philip."
"Stand up like a man."
"A woman like that doesn't deserve a single worthless tear from you."
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