The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 60

Chapter 60: Accusation (1)
Argider was certain she hadn’t heard a thing. Not a scuff of boots, not the creak of hinges, not even the faint whisper of breath behind her. The corridor outside Fialova’s room had been empty or so she thought. Perhaps it was her training, that knightly instinct to be something unnoticed, but as she stepped inside, something prickled at the edge of her awareness.

Nothing seemed out of place, not at first glance. The room was still, the shadows deepening with the waning light.

Her fingers tightened around the trinket in her hand—a strange little thing she couldn’t explain holding. Yet Fialova’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, was fixed on it like it might shatter the world.

“F-Fialova, where have you been?” Argider’s voice wavered as she slipped the trinket into the folds of her robe. She stepped closer, her movements cautious. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

“Oh, that,” Fialova gave a weak smile, scratching the back of her head as she nudged the door shut behind her. The lock clicked softly, final. “Sorry. I just… got nervous, I guess. Needed some air.”

The words sounded hollow, the kind of excuse someone throws out when they’ve rehearsed it too many times. Argider’s eyes narrowed. Something about Fialova’s tone, the stiffness in her posture, felt off.

The absurdity of the moment struck her then: standing in little more than her undergarments, still raw and aching after her wives’ earlier “affections.” Their rough play, spurred on by that scheming Empress, had left her a disheveled mess.

And here she was, in no state for a wedding, staring down her bride-to-be, who looked also rather scarced.

“Where’s your makeup? Your hair?” Argider gestured at her own face, her brows knitting. “Didn’t the attendants see to you? You look like you just climbed out of a ditch.”

Fialova brushed a finger against her cheek, her laugh soft but hollow. “Yeah… My bad.” Her words trailed off, her tone growing distant.

Her expression suddenly hardened. The smile vanished, replaced by something cold, deliberate. She stepped forward, each movement a measured threat.

“Say, your Imperial Majesty,” Fialova began, her voice low and biting, each word carved with venom. Her hand slipped behind her back, emerging with a dagger that caught the room’s light like a shard of ice. “How does it feel to be a murderer?”

“W-What?” The word barely escaped her lips. Her pulse pounded, panic searing through her veins. “What are you talking about?”

Fialova didn’t answer. Her grip on the dagger was steady, her approach unrelenting. The air between them grew oppressive and the walls of the room seemed to close in as the light glinted off the blade.

Not this. Not again.

Her thoughts scrambled for reason, for escape, for anything but the chilling inevitability of betrayal.

But Fialova’s gaze burned with purpose, and in that moment, Argider saw no hesitation, no mercy. The specter of death stood before her, cloaked in the form of the woman she was meant to wed.

“M-Murderer? What are you talking about?” Argider’s voice wavered as she circled behind the bed. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, searching for anything—a blade, a stick, even a heavy object—to defend herself. But there was nothing. Nothing but the open balcony behind her, a final, tragic escape if all else failed.

“That’s right,” Fialova roared, the dagger glinting in her hand as she pointed it at Argider. “A murderer. A liar. Scum.”

Fialova matched her step for step, circling the bed with a slow, deliberate pace. Argider’s body turned cold, her warmth leeching away under the suffocating weight of fear. Even her Magic Bestowal was useless for this scenerio, a distant flicker in the face of despair. And her right hand? Useless. Broken. It was no help at all.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Argider’s voice cracked, her words barely audible.

She struggled to remember. Anything. But her mind went blank, unable to conjure the sins Fialova was accusing her of. She couldn’t recall killing anyone, ever. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to kill Denzelle when the System demanded it. The hesitation, the moral agony, it wasn’t in her to take a life.

When she tried to save her mother, she’d spilled no blood. Not a single body count to her name.

Well… except maybe the women she’d bedded. But that wasn’t murder.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t even have the guts to kill anyone!”

“Not yet.” Fialova’s words dripped venom, her lips curling in a snarl.

“Seriously, what made you think I killed anyone?!” Argider demanded, desperation edging into her tone.

“You really want to know?” Fialova’s eyes burned with unrelenting fury.

Without warning, Fialova lunged, launching herself off the bed in an arc that seemed almost otherworldly.

Argider gasped, stumbling over her own feet and nearly falling onto her rear. Her gaze darted frantically, landing on a vase perched on the bedside table. Instinct took over. She grabbed it and hurled it at Fialova, aiming for her face.

But Fialova didn’t even flinch. She shattered the vase with her fist, shards of porcelain scattering like jagged stars.

“Ack!” Argider squealed, the sound ripping from her throat as Fialova landed with the force of a thunderbolt, driving her down.

The dagger struck the floor, the blade embedding itself mere inches from Argider’s most vulnerable area. She froze, her breath hitching as terror clawed up her spine.

“This is injustice!” Argider shrieked, scuttling away on her elbows and heels. Her thoughts raced wildly. Was this really happening? On her wedding day? Accused of murder by the very woman she was supposed to marry? It was madness.

Fialova ripped the dagger from the floor and lunged again, her strikes merciless. Argider saw the blade flash, its edge gleaming as it descended toward her face. She twisted desperately, narrowly avoiding the blow. The blade sliced her ear instead, and a hot gush of blood followed.

“Gods!” Argider clapped a hand over the wound, her fingers slick with blood.

“You killed my family!” Fialova’s voice roared over the pounding of Argider’s heart. “My friends, everyone! You ruined everything! You burned down my home, my life! You took it all! You’re nothing but a selfish disease!”