I Plotted The World Destruction With The Male Lead - Chapter 31

There was a time when Elena had hidden her own ring in Eleanor’s room and then accused her of stealing it. And sure enough, the ring had been found in Eleanor’s room.

Using that as justification, Elena had attempted to punish Eleanor herself.

But the knights had stopped her—on the orders of the Duke of Armoire.

Had she so much as laid a scratch on Carlyle’s Guide, he would not have let it slide.

The duke had wanted Eleanor to be brainwashed, to be coaxed into forming a close bond with his daughter. He had even entertained the fantasy of bringing Elena into the palace as a consort, calling upon her as a “sister” to the future empress.

It was an impossible dream, but Eleanor had never let that show.

Knowing her father’s true intentions had only made Elena’s resentment grow.

Eleanor. Elena.

Their names sounded almost identical, as if one was just a variation of the other. That alone was enough to disgust Elena. But the thought of a mere commoner becoming empress while she was reduced to nothing more than a consort—it had driven her mad.

And so she had tried to use the ring as an excuse to scar Eleanor’s face.

The Duke of Armoire, fully aware of his daughter’s temperament, had stopped her just in time.

In compensation, Carlyle had gifted Elena an even larger, more extravagant ring. She had worn it like a treasured possession, as if declaring to Eleanor:

‘In the end, it won’t be you who becomes empress—it’ll be me.’

And now, lying at Eleanor’s feet was the very same ring Elena had once falsely claimed had gone missing.

Eleanor took a step back, unable to bring herself to pick it up.

Even the thought of her skirts brushing against it made her skin crawl.

‘Why is this here…?’

She unfolded the letter.

—

My dearest Eleanor,

By now, you must already be drowning in regret over the night you spent. Just as I have suffered through long, agonizing nights thinking of the pain you must have endured.

I have been reflecting on what misunderstanding could have possibly driven us apart like this.

I don’t know what thoughts he has poisoned you with… but surely, you must understand that I could never bring myself to harm even a single strand of your hair.

I was horrified when I realized what he had done. And yet, I couldn’t tell you. At the time, I truly believed that keeping silent was the only way to protect you.

Eleanor, I was a fool.

My foolishness led to your misunderstandings, and in the end, it brought us to this tragic state.

But despite all the betrayal and misunderstandings, I still love you.

I love you, Eleanor.

Come back to me…

—

The overly affectionate tone of the letter made Eleanor let out a small, incredulous laugh.

Had she not recalled her past life in the shock of hearing about the massacre, she might have fallen for this. She might have been confused, even swayed by it.

But she had read the original story.

She knew the raw, unfiltered emotions of Carlyle Javez.

He had always seen himself as a fruit that was luscious and tempting, yet covered in thorns.

Or perhaps, as a liquor so intoxicatingly sweet that just a single sip would leave one fatally poisoned.

Because of his own ambitions, he had dismissed even the lust he felt for Eleanor as something meaningless, whipping himself into denial.

“Once I ascend to the throne, I’ll be able to have as many women like her as I please…”

Damn it all. Eleanor could remember that exact line.

Though her past life’s memories had shattered like fragments of glass, blurred and incomplete, the lines from the original story remained crystal clear—almost as if someone had deliberately etched them into her mind.

She suddenly wondered why she had regained her past-life memories in the first place. This wasn’t the only traumatic event in her life.

She had suffered as a child, too.

Could she say that this was worse than the death of her family? That was a difficult question to answer.

No… she wouldn’t doubt those memories.

Eleanor shook her head.

Doubting her past-life memories or the original novel itself was just an excuse—a desperate attempt to believe in Carlyle.

Perhaps he had loved her.

But only in the way one treasures a prized possession. Like a Guide who belonged to him.

And Carlyle was not the kind of man who would ever forgive the woman who took his throne from him.

How utterly…

Foolish.

How naïve and pathetic of her to even entertain the thought of trusting him.

She wanted to strangle that weak, fleeting moment of hope within herself.

She didn’t even notice that the letter in her grip had crumpled. She didn’t realize that tears had begun to fall.

Then, snapping out of it, Eleanor turned to the maid.

“…Burn it. Light the fireplace!”

Though autumn had arrived, the fireplace had only been prepared for use, not yet lit.

At her command, the maid quickly summoned a servant, and soon, flames crackled to life.

Eleanor clenched the letter tightly until the very last moment—then hurled it into the fire.

The crumpled paper was immediately consumed by the flames, curling and blackening within seconds.

‘You must think I’m a fool.’

To send such a letter after wiping out the entire Armoire family.

If he had truly loved her, he would have taken her from that household.

If he had truly thought about a future with her, he would have offered her an explanation—before he became engaged to Charlotte.

You abandoned me.

You slept with another woman.

You slaughtered my family.

So I will never love you.

I will kill you and erase even the slightest drop of emotion I have left for you—without a single trace of regret.

That would be true revenge.

Eleanor stared at the ashes in the fireplace.

Not even a trace of the letter remained—only the last flickers of crimson flames.

*

It had to be Carlyle Javez.

As Van surveyed the burnt ruins of the estate, the thought solidified in his mind.

The stench of a burned house was nothing compared to the horrific odor of charred flesh.

Had they locked every knight and soldier stationed at the Armoire estate inside before setting it ablaze? The grand hall was filled with completely incinerated corpses.

‘What was he trying to prove with this?’

Destroying evidence of the duke’s attempt to smuggle Guides out of the eastern territories—was that all this was about?

It was excessive.

Even without this level of brutality, the Duke of Armoire would have handled matters himself.

The man was still a duke. He wouldn’t have been so foolish as to leave behind incriminating evidence.

If that were the case, Van would have uncovered the duke’s schemes before even noticing the Grand Duke’s ambitions.

Even if the emperor had launched an investigation, they wouldn’t have found much.

Except for a few traces.

‘Was he trying to erase even the smallest scandal? Or was this something else entirely…?’

Van knew that before Eleanor’s regression, the Armoire family had taken her in as their adopted daughter. But all he had heard were rumors—Duke Armoire had never allowed his first daughter to leave the estate.

People whispered that it was because she was an illegitimate child and that he was ashamed to present her to society.

But Van knew that Eleanor was not related to the duke by blood.

He knew this because after her regression, she had told him so herself.

Eleanor had undergone a Guide examination in the east. She had been told by an official to wait, and a few days later, a representative from the Duke of Armoire had arrived alongside that official.

They had made her an offer—accept a large sum of money and become the duke’s adopted daughter.

It was common for nobles to take in Guides as adopted children, as Guides were often bonded with the imperial family.

Eleanor had hesitated. She knew the nation’s policies well—she could have gone to the capital, received a baronetcy from the emperor, and taken her time deciding her future.

But then her father, Gus, had hastily accepted the money and spent it.

She had no choice but to comply.

To further legitimize her identity, Duke Armoire had not only given their family the surname Themise but had also elevated them to a baronial house.

The duke had needed this arrangement because his ultimate goal was to present the discovered Guide as the fiancée of Grand Duke Javez.

Eleanor had only described her time at the Armoire estate as “difficult.”

She had lived as a shadowy, hidden fiancée, concealing the fact that she was a Guide. Van could only guess how suffocating it must have been.

Now, hearing the soldiers report that there were no survivors, Van clicked his tongue.

He had hoped someone might have hidden in the gardener’s cottage or a side building, but it seemed the perpetrators had been thorough.

“Your Grace.”

A servant approached, whispering something to him.

Van’s expression shifted instantly.

Without hesitation, he informed Ludwig, the lead investigator, that he was leaving and quickly exited the Armoire estate.

*

The ring sat atop a silver tray.

Eleanor considered ordering a maid to dispose of it, but she decided it would be better for Van to see it first.

There was a chance it had been enchanted with magic.

She doubted that Carlyle had cast a spell himself—without a Guide, using magic would be the same as strangling himself.

The only time he used magic was for escape, as he had before. At least until he had a Guide, she was sure he would refrain from using it otherwise.

“Eleanor!”

Van burst into the room, his voice urgent.

Eleanor rose to her feet.

The ring—presumably sent by Carlyle—was the last thing she wanted to look at. She had just placed it atop the dresser.