The Villainous Male Supporting Character Courts Death Every Day : Chapter 31

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting dappled shadows across the conservatory. Milo sat in a chair, chin propped in one hand, bored out of his mind, teasing a bouncing golden parrot on the table.

“Come here, you idiot.” Milo raised an eyebrow lazily, pinching a small treat and feeding it to the bird’s beak.

The parrot greedily took it, shook its wings, tilted its head from side to side, and screeched shrilly: “Idiot!”

Milo froze for a second, then burst out laughing, golden light flickering in his eyes as he scolded: “You’ve got some nerve.” Yet he gave it another treat.

“Hello! Big nerve!”

“It’s you! You’ve got some nerve!” Milo raised his voice.

“It’s you! Hello big! Nerve!” The parrot strained its throat, hopping around, clawing at Milo’s fingertips with its talons.

Man and bird went back and forth, impossible to tell whether they were teaching or bickering. Milo’s smile never faded, clearly enjoying himself. His fingers moved nimbly, letting the parrot hop from fingertip to forearm to shoulder, then flap its wings a few times and dart to the top of his head, settling firmly in place.

“You really dare climb onto my head.” Milo made a face of disgust, yet his tone was full of smug satisfaction. He reached up to scratch the parrot’s neck. The bird’s feathers puffed up into a little ball and it nestled down into the nest of golden hair.

Milo poked and pushed at it repeatedly with his hand, but it wouldn’t budge. Milo scrunched up his face, complaining nonstop. Yet the boredom and emptiness of being confined with no wine had eased considerably.

When he came back to his senses, he had already fooled around with the parrot for most of the day. Milo’s face stiffened. He shot to his feet, tossed the treats aside, and said: “What a waste of my time.”

The parrot squawked after him at the top of its lungs: “Idiot! Idiot!”

Milo hurried back to his room. The moment he flopped onto his bed, a timed mission alert suddenly rang in his head, a reminder that he had four hours to complete it. The young master snorted and burrowed under the covers.

Kyle wasn’t home right now, so this mission couldn’t be done for the time being. What would happen if a system mission wasn’t completed?

Nothing much, really. Just that the overdue alarm would keep echoing in his head, ringing until his nerves were shot and his head felt like splitting open, until the mission was finally completed.

He glanced at the wall clock. It was nearly dusk. Kyle usually came back before nightfall. If they were early, they would still have plenty of time before the mission deadline.

Milo curved his lips, a sly light flashing in his eyes. How dare he make him wait like a little wife for him to come home. That debt would be settled slowly.

First make him take off his clothes, then do this, then do that.

Milo narrowed his eyes, his golden gaze shimmering like gorgeous sunset clouds. He rolled around on the bed a few times, finally hugging the covers, and drifted off to a beautiful sleep.

—

Sophie had been relieved of her position as the Association’s general manager. Replacing her was a seasoned expert with a financial background, from noble birth, formerly a finance officer at the Ministry of Commerce, well versed in the regulations of major merchant guilds and imperial finance. With him at the helm, the Association’s fundraising immediately carried more weight and credibility.

At the charity lecture, Zabert gave a passionate speech, appealing to emotion and igniting the atmosphere. Then the general manager took the stage, clearly explaining the future operation plans for the donated funds, how they would use local resources in the Northern Territories to fundamentally support the region’s livelihood and economy. The plans were transparent, the data meticulous. The audience was thoroughly convinced, with gasps and applause unceasing.

In a private box on the second floor, Kyle looked down from above, observing Zabert and the new general manager’s performance, nodding inwardly, while also reflecting on his own judgment in selecting and using people.

Sophie was far weaker than she appeared. Fortunately, she had completed her phase of the mission. Zabert, surprisingly, was easier to work with than his daughter.

Twenty years ago, Zabert had no shortage of stages, was arrogant with talent, and could not be bought by anyone. Twenty years later, any stage could buy him.

Some people are bought with money. Some are bought with reputation. For the hollow emptiness of dried up talent, all it takes is cheers and applause.

Now there was no need for Sophie to keep him in check anymore. The scandal with Sophie was more than enough.

The Northern Territories support plan was already in place. All that was needed was the funding. If things went smoothly, the Association could put the project out to bid next week, and the orders would ultimately flow to Layne’s merchant consortium, an established trading group that had been dealing in raw ore and fur with the Northern Territories for many years.

Layne had already brought in research teams and production facilities, beginning to study the snowfield ore, focusing on multiple projects to support the Northern Territories, such as cold weather farming tools, snow terrain wheel axles, upgrades to extreme cold mining equipment, and so on. But these were the names on the surface.

Beneath the surface, what they were truly researching in secret was the refining technology and weapons manufacturing of ice iron. If they succeeded, not only would the Northern Territories’ military technology leap forward, but the economic and civilian potential would be boundless.

As the behind the scenes driving force binding these interests together, he could gain even more.

The supply route to the Northern Territories would become his monopoly on the transport corridor. The economic returns from ice iron would be divided and distributed by him. The growth of the Northern Territories was just around the corner. In time, he could profit even more.

Still not enough…

The morning light was faint. Golden eyes reflected the rosy dawn filling the sky, shimmering with flowing light, breathtakingly beautiful. Kyle’s gaze was deep. He rubbed the watch case, then suddenly gripped it tight.

What you gain is never enough. You always want more.

Victor sat across from Kyle, carefully reviewing the contract in his hand, quietly drawing in a sharp breath. Kyle wasn’t asking him to invest “a little.” This was basically asking him to bleed bone dry.

Victor felt sick. The news of Charlotte heading to the Northern Territories had transformed the count’s daughter from “the greatest beauty of Orsay” into “the goddess of Orsay,” and he had benefited from the reflected glory. But that didn’t mean he agreed with this.

His niece was graceful and beautiful, naturally possessing her own pure and refined elegance. But her worldly reputation had, after all, been built up by his own efforts to add flowers to brocade.

He had invested a great deal in Charlotte. His expectations for her were absolutely not a fleeting legendary story, but something more long term and more solid.

But a card that cannot be controlled, what investment value does it still have?

He could not control Charlotte. But the man before him could manipulate her. Victor looked up, quietly sizing him up, a dark flash passing through his eyes.

He was not sure whether this black haired man truly valued Charlotte. Whether he really had the Northern Territories’ war situation at his fingertips, or whether he simply did not care about a woman’s life at all.

“How heartless.” Victor curved his lips in a smile, placed the contract on the table, and did not pick up the pen. Instead, he leaned back on the sofa in a deliberately relaxed manner, complaining in a half joking tone: “I show such good faith, and Mr. Kyle only gives me 2% of the shares. That’s so harsh it chills my heart.”

“Mr. Victor misunderstands. In our first round, we are only releasing 10% total. For you to secure two tenths of that already makes you an important friend of ours.” Kyle picked up his wine glass, a smile at his lips but none in his eyes. “If the research goes smoothly, there won’t be a second round. What you are investing in now is not surface returns, but a first entry ticket.”

Victor leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling. His fingers tapped slowly on the armrest, as if weighing Kyle’s words, as if calculating the layout of his business empire.

In business, there are no eternal enemies, only eternal interests.

His battle with Kyle in the court of public opinion had already taught him a deep lesson about the other’s skill. There were not many opponents who could take him down. Such a person, rather than being an enemy, was better seated at the same table as a friend. That was the purpose of his reaching out.

He admitted that this time, what he saw was not profit itself, but a person worth betting on.

“In that case, I want to be the most important one!” Victor sat up straight, leaning forward like a leopard coiled to strike, a hunting light flashing in his eyes, his smile sharp. “I want 5%.”

Then Victor picked up his red wine and confidently raised his glass to Kyle. “Adding to my subscription.”

Kyle smiled, raised his glass, and they touched with a crisp sound, like a clap sealing a deal, like a test of wits from two people each harboring their own schemes.

—

Declining Victor’s dinner invitation, Kyle left through a hidden side door.

The charity lecture had just ended, followed immediately by an afternoon tea banquet. The hall was even more boisterous and lively. Kyle kept his head down to avoid attention. He was in a hurry to get back to the villa to attend to the young master’s dinner.

He had just stepped down the stairs when a servant approached him in the stairwell. His posture was extremely elegant, his tone low and gentle: “Mr. Kyle, please follow me.”

Though respectful, he offered no explanation.

This servant was impeccably dressed, his fine fabric embroidered with intricate and elegant patterns. The brooch at his chest was a gilded double eagle. Even his shoes were studded with tiny crystals. The whole person was like a delicate porcelain doll.

Kyle’s mind sharpened, instantly understanding somewhat, secretly surprised and suspicious, yet he reined in his expression and followed.

The servant led him through long corridors, past layers of guards and attendants, finally stopping before a plain, unadorned wooden door.

The servant knocked three times. The door slowly opened. Another servant stood there, his clothing even more magnificent, gold and silver threads woven into exquisite patterns, pearls sewn into the cuffs, a sash hanging at his waist inlaid with a full row of glazed stones, tinkling as he moved like a beautiful musical sculpture.

He bowed to Kyle with a gesture so elegant it was almost theatrical, then silently led him to the sitting room. With a gracefully curved gesture and bow, he indicated for Kyle to proceed.

Kyle quietly drew a breath and walked slowly into the sitting room, his posture respectful and humble. On the sofa sat a magnificent young man.

The young man wore a white military dress uniform with gold patterns. The fabric was like snow, the embroidery spreading from his chest in the radiance of the morning sun, simple yet solemn. Over his shoulders hung a gilded griffin cloak, the lining faintly shimmering with starlight brocade that rose and fell with his breathing, as if the northernmost sky had been brought into the mortal world.

At his waist hung a short sword in a pure white scabbard with gilded edges, sacred and elegant, as if the entire empire’s majesty had been condensed into this single object.

Most dazzling of all was his platinum blonde hair, as if sunlight were reflecting off frost and snow, giving off a faint, barely visible halo. His pale golden pupils were like glazed glass, bright and luminous, both cold and radiant.

That was a color not of the mortal world. It was a noble color belonging only to the bloodline of the Orsay royal house. The light of platinum.

Black eyes contracted sharply. Light and sun combined. The heir to the empire’s supreme bloodline. The empire’s future.

Lucian Solaris.

Kyle bowed his head deeply.

“Greetings, Your Highness the Prince.”