BLOOD FOR BLOOD: The Return of Elior Crestfall

Chapter Two: The Military Exile

Darian took a cautious step back, shoulders rigid, voice lowered as if bracing for the worst. “Very well… if you think I’m lying…”

“Fair enough!” Liliane suddenly shouted, voice ringing out defiantly. “That’s what he deserves! My sweetheart is being framed here, and no one here even dares to question it?! Who’s to say there’s even anything wrong with the wine in the first place?!”

A murmur of agreement stirred in the crowd.

Darian narrowed his eyes and snapped, “If you truly believe I'm lying, why don’t you drink the wine yourself, Liliane? Why don't you prove me wrong.”

The room gasped. Liliane’s face paled as she took an instinctive step back and clung to Elior’s arm.

“Don’t mind him, babe…” Elior muttered as he gently cupped her shoulder, clutching tighter. “You don’t need to prove anything to that snake.” His eyes locked with Darian’s, cold and unforgiving.

“You point fingers without proof, ruin my joyful wedding, and now try to use my newly wedded wife as the sacrificial lamb?” he growled. “Is there no limit to your filth?”

Darian turned to the patriarch. “My lord, I didn’t have time to bring the physical proof myself. I prioritized protecting you first. But I ordered my men to deliver it here, any moment now.”

Elior stepped forward, voice hard with mockery, “So you storm my sacred wedding, tarnish my name, and gamble on ‘proof’ that isn’t even in your hands yet? You disgrace not just me but this family’s honor.”

The crowd began murmuring again, the air thick with doubt, fear, and fascination.

Patriarch Godwin's eyes burned like tempered steel.

Suddenly, with the force of a whip, he grabbed Darian by the throat, bringing him to his knees.

Gasps tore across the room.

“You dare stand here, soiling the dignity of the Crestfall heir without solid proof?” Patriarch Godwin’s voice was thunderous. “If this wine holds no poison, then you’ve soiled the Crestfall dignity with your lies.”

His hand tightened around Darian’s throat.

“Then you will wash today’s disgrace away with your own blood.”

Patriarch Godwin seized the wine glass with his free hand and raised it slowly, menacingly, toward Darian’s lips.

The hall plunged into chaos.

“He’s going to kill him?! Just like that?” “He once executed two of his own sons, this isn’t new!” “The old lion shows no mercy… even to his blood.”

Darian thrashed weakly, gasping, tears springing to his eyes as the wine neared his mouth.

“Please… wait… I… I am of course happy to die for the family honour…” he croaked.

“Then, die in honor,” Patriarch Godwin replied, voice cold and tough.

But just as the wine’s surface tilted, a voice roared from the entrance of the hall.

“Please hold your hand, Lord Crestfall!”

Six towering guards in black Crestfall armor stormed in, dragging a bloodied man bound in chains. His face was swollen, lip split. His uniform marked him as one of Patriarch Godwin’s personal stewards.

Gasps rippled again.

Patriarch Godwin froze. His grip on Darian loosened, and the young man collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

“What is this?!” Patriarch Godwin thundered. “That man is my personal steward! To drag him in chains is to spit on my authority!”

The lead guard fell to his knee.

“Forgive us, my lord. We acted under urgent orders… from Sir Darian himself.”

“What?” Patriarch Godwin’s brows shot upward.

Darian coughed, stumbled up, and wiped blood from his mouth.

“Three hours ago, I captured this man on suspicion. I had no time to confirm the full truth, but what he confessed… was enough.”

The steward was shoved forward, landing at Patriarch Godwin’s feet.

Patriarch Godwin stepped closer, still holding the wine glass, and leaned down to the trembling servant.

“Speak,” he said, voice low and deadly. “If you value your life… speak the truth.”

The servant shivered violently.

“I… I was offered gold… and a promotion abroad… to arrange for the wine to be laced with poison”

“By who?” Patriarch Godwin barked.

The servant began sobbing, barely able to breathe.

“It was… it was Sir Elior, my lord…”

A thunderclap of disbelief erupted across the hall.

Liliane covered her mouth, eyes wide with panic. “No… no, he wouldn’t…”

Elior stared at the steward, a mix of betrayal and disbelief washing over him.

“You bloody liar,” he muttered, stepping forward to him furiously. “Aren’t you the steward that I risked my life to save his son from the border raid in Carvon City? Is this how you repay me?”

The guards all surged toward Elior and brought him to his knees.

The steward only wept harder, trembling as his voice cracked like dry branches.

"Sir Elior said… if I refused, he’d destroy my family. I had no choice, please… spare me, my lord!”

The room turned to ice.

The walls, the guests, the thousand golden lights—it all blurred for Elior. Ten years of building this family’s empire…

Ten years of surviving foreign storms, fighting for their prosperity… All of it, crumbling in seconds.

Liliane stepped forward, “Elior… please… say something. Tell them it isn’t true.” She said, voice shaking.

But Elior stayed silent. Not because he was guilty but because he knew that nothing he said now would reach their ears. Not with that look in his grandfather’s eyes.

Patriarch Godwin's expression was unreadable—until suddenly, he lunged forward.

With brutal force, he seized the steward’s jaw, pried it open, and poured the wine down his throat.

A heavy silence hung like a noose. Then the steward coughed, choked, sputtered blood… and then dropped on the floor.

Screams and gasps ripped through the hall.

"The wine… he really poisoned it!” “That man is a monster!” “Then… was the accusation true…?” “Gods… so it was really Elior…”

Patriarch Godwin slowly rose, his shadow long and grim under the chandeliers.

"Enough!” His voice cut through the panic like a blade. "By the authority vested in me as Patriarch of the Crestfall Dynasty, I hereby revoke Elior Crestfall’s succession rights. Effective immediately.”

The crowd exploded in disbelief.

"What?!” “Heirless?!” “This can’t be real, he’s the face of the Crestfall name!”

Liliane’s voice broke through the noise, sharp and desperate. "What?! Just like that?! Elior, say something!”

“They’re burning away everything you’ve done for them—your battles, your victories and your sacrifices! Elior, please!”

Patriarch Godwin raised a hand, silencing all.

“But I will not spill blood on a wedding day.” He said, then turned slowly, gaze colder than winter steel. “Instead… he shall spend the rest of his life atoning for his sins on the Eastern War Front. Effective starts tonight!”

A hush fell, followed by an uproar of murmurs and disbelief. “The Eastern front? That’s a death sentence!” “No one survives there—not even warlords.” “This is madness!”

Elior’s eyes widened. His voice cracked with shock. “You’re banishing me to war on my wedding night?! For something I didn’t even do?!”

The guards moved in, seizing him roughly.

He thrashed against them, veins bulging, rage boiling. “Is this some kind of prank?! After all I’ve given, everything I’ve done for this family, this is how you reward me?!”

He lunged forward, but they dragged him back like a criminal. “Do you even remember who I am?! You called me the empire’s sword! I was your pride! And now I’m just disposable?!”

No one responded. Lord Whitmore finally stood, face curled in disgust.

“You’ve disgraced me enough for one lifetime, Liliane.” His voice was low but sharp, like a knife against porcelain. “Of all the men in the empire and in this city at large, you chose this filth? A criminal disguised as a nobility?”

He turned his eyes on Elior, sneering, “Look at him. The so-called golden heir is now but a dog in chains.”

Liliane stepped forward, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Please… please beg them for mercy. He’s innocent. He’s being framed and you know it!”

She reached for his hand but Lord Whitmore jerked his arm away as though her touch burned him.

“Don’t touch me. You’ve already dishonored me enough.”

Patriarch Godwin’s voice cracked through the air once more, “Bundle him into the convoy. Send him to the Eastern War Front… now!”

The guards tightened their grip. Elior kicked and resisted, but there was no escape.

“Liliane!” he shouted, voice hoarse with betrayal. “Liliane—!”

She tried to rush toward him, but two guards grabbed her arms.

“Let go of me! Elior!! Don’t take him, please don’t take him!”

He was halfway through the door when a mocking voice coiled behind her ear.

A hand tapped her shoulder.

She turned—and saw Darian, smirking.

“Tsk, tsk,” he whispered. “You should have said yes to me, Liliane. I would’ve given you everything. You waited ten years for him? Look where that got you.”

She stared at him, broken, shaking, then collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

He then leaned in closer. "Now that you're alone, where do you think you can possibly hide?” He whispered to her ears coldly.