novelraw Chapter 350 — Return As A Corpse
Chapter 350 — Return As A Corpse
"Hey, you!" A hitch-pitched voice called from behind.
Vincent halted his steps immediately. He slowly turned, raising an eyebrow.
"Me?" He asked, pointing at himself, raising an eyebrow.
The elderly lady nodded and approached him.
"Are you here to replace Mr. Faie?"
For a moment, Vincent was unsure what to reply. He, indeed, knocked out a man on his way inside the royal palace, changing into that man’s clothes. Was he the man she was talking about?
However, the thought of impersonating him didn’t cross his mind.
Not until now.
"Are you mute?" The lady clicked her tongue, pressing her palm onto his cheek and shaking her head.
Vincent blinked, baffled. The assumptions of this woman were beyond his comprehension.
Can a man not even think about his answer?
"What a shame. You own such handsome features," she sighed, as if it were a problem she felt the need to deal with and not the person who was facing her.
Vincent exhaled, wanting to correct her. He parted his lips only to close them again.
She was not worth his time.
She can just assume I am mute. That way, I won’t need to deal with many people here.
The moment he heard about the crown prince’s wedding, he knew things were going out of control. Surely, the Imperial Crown Prince wouldn’t marry just anyone. Later, he found out more about the groom—a threat to Hianshu. Not the person but the kingdom itself. It possessed strength that Hianshu didn’t have but needed. This alliance would easily make the Empire more powerful than ever before.
A war against Hunashi would barely be a threat to them, if they didn’t fear the weapons created merely for wars against immortals and half-mortals.
"Go to the kitchen."
Vincent stared at the woman for a long moment, unmoving.
The kitchen?
Of all places.
He snorted in disbelief. He had slipped into the palace to stay close to the Imperial Crown Prince—to observe, to listen, to find traces of Raniel if fate allowed it. The kitchens were the furthest thing from influence. Heat, noise, servants too busy to notice anything beyond boiling pots, sharpened knives and plates filled with dishes.
Useless position.
The elderly woman narrowed her eyes. "What are you waiting for? Or do you need me to drag you there myself?"
Vincent lowered his gaze at once, transforming his expression into something blank, something compliant.
Mute, she thinks. Shouldn’t make her notice me too much.
He gave a short nod.
"Hopeless child," she muttered, already turning away. "At least you can follow orders."
Vincent followed behind her through winding corridors, his mind running faster than his steps. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread grew stronger the closer they approached the servants’ wing. Laughter echoed from somewhere ahead—careless, unaware of the storm brewing beyond these palace walls.
The wedding hall was somewhere beyond the hallways.
The alliance that would shift in power. One that would tilt the balance of nations.
If the Empire of Revhara joined hands with Danshin, Hianshu would no longer stand as it once did. Not against them. Not without drastic measures.
And if Raniel truly was here...
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
The woman stopped abruptly before a pair of swinging doors. Steam escaped from the gaps, carrying the clatter of metal and the sharp voices of cooks barking orders.
"Inside," she ordered. "And don’t cause trouble. Or else it will be Mr. Faie and you who will suffer the consequences."
Vincent inclined his head again, obedient.
But as he stepped into the heat and chaos of the kitchens, Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
If he could not watch the Crown Prince directly, then he would watch from the shadows. Servants moved freely through corridors and nobles rarely noticed. They heard secrets no one guarded. They saw doors left ajar.
Perhaps...
Perhaps the kitchen was not a setback.
Perhaps it was an opportunity.
"Hey, you, what are you waiting for? Help me bring these dishes to the hall," one of the servants barked.
Vincent had just begun cutting the vegetables. A faint grin formed at the corner of his lips, but he forced himself to keep a blank expression plastered across his face.
Just as he was about to speak, another servant scoffed.
"You are always bullying the poor newcomers. On my way here, I heard he is mute from the headmaid."
"All the better. He won’t dare complain to the head maid."
Vincent didn’t care. If anything, he was grateful the other servant had stopped him from speaking and risking suspicion.
"Hurry up, take this and go!" they snapped, shoving the plates into Vincent’s hands.
The young man quickly caught them, barely preventing them from crashing onto the floor.
Is everyone here this mean and egoistic?
He clenched his jaw.
"Hah! Are you glaring at me? Get moving!"
Vincent inhaled sharply and stepped out of the sweltering kitchen. He hadn’t come here to deal with petty cruelty.
He stepped into the grand hall, balancing the plates as if that were his only concern in the world.
Music played softly from the far end. Nobles stood at every corner of the hall, their jewels catching the light of the chandeliers. Incense burned near the altar, its scent thick and cloying.
He set the dishes down without a sound.
And then—he looked.
Not openly.
Not foolishly.
Not obviously.
His gaze drifted across the crowd as though he were merely checking where to place the next tray. Over shoulders. Past embroidered sleeves. Between towering figures of armoured guards.
Silver hair.
He searched for long silver hair—distinct, impossible to mistake.
His eyes lingered on every pale shade he could find. A noblewoman with ash-blonde curls. An elderly duke with white strands tied at the nape. A young attendant whose hair shimmered faintly under the light—
Not Raniel.
Vincent shifted, pretending to adjust a goblet while his eyes continued their quiet hunt.
Nothing.
No familiar silhouette. No sharp, cold presence that would make the air feel thinner.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the tray. He couldn’t fail this time.
His mother would not allow it.
Certainly, she would prefer he return as a corpse than without Raniel.
"Excuse me?" A voice came from behind. Soft, yet deep.
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat. He knew this voice too well not to recognize it.
Raniel.