100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids Chapter 4 - A Heroine’s Ego

Viktor knew this mont. He’d lived it before.

In the previous tiline, he’d screwed Elena up.

Of course, he had made sure to show her how it feels to be cornered like a cat by using her own accusations against her.

It was simple; he said he did that because Elena told him he could revive his mother back from the dead.

Everyone knew how he regretted killing his own mother—more like everyone blad him without him caring much about all that—added to Elena’s father’s recent struggle in a business deal with Count, Viktor had screwed over Elena and her family pretty well here.

But Elena’s obsession had only grown worse and deadlier after this defeat.

Her family, alongside her being baron-level nobles against the Count, got crushed, and she survived all that and ran away to the Empire, beginning her own whatever story Viktor didn’t care for until the division of kingdoms, the rise of the Empire, and what all things happened at the hands of the new Emperor with his harem.

And the next ti he t Elena was on the battlefield as a harem mber of the protagonist of this world while she pierced her sword into him.

Kind of a plot where he wasn’t involved but got dragged in.

’Again, sa nonsense?’

Viktor pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Helena’s gasp of concern. His legs wobbled under his own weight, but he forced them to hold steady. He t his father’s eyes directly.

Tired. He was so fucking tired of this world. Tired of the gas. Tired of pretending. Tired of the cycle.

Naturally, he was more tired of the fact that no matter how much brain he used, against absolute power, he was going to inevitably lose.

So fuck this shitty world; he better just die.

"Yes, Father," Viktor said, his voice cold and clear as winter ice. "It was . I was attempting to summon the Demon King to this world."

Silence.

For one heartbeat, the entire chamber went perfectly, utterly silent.

Then it exploded.

Chairs scraped. Soone scread. The nobles erupted into shouting, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of horror and outrage.

"He admits it!"

"Demon King?!"

"Madness! Complete madness!"

Elena’s eyes went wide—and for the first ti, Viktor saw genuine shock on her face. Not the fake surprise she’d practiced. Real, unfiltered disbelief.

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

Even the knight who’d slapped him stumbled backward, his hand instinctively going to his sword.

"Viktor!" His father’s voice cracked like a whip, trying to restore order. He was on his feet now, his face pale as death. "What are you saying? Stop this at once!"

Viktor didn’t stop. He couldn’t. A cold smile spread across his face as he continued.

"I admit everything," he said, his voice eerily calm against the chaos swirling around him. "Every charge. Every accusation. The ritual circles. The forbidden texts. The blood sacrifices." He spread his arms wide, embracing it all. "All of it true. I am guilty."

The chamber descended into complete pandemonium. Nobles shouted for guards. Advisors argued over procedure.

Lord Marsten demanded imdiate execution. Elena stood frozen, her carefully constructed facade completely shattered as if she didn’t expect all of this.

And Helena.

Viktor’s gaze found his nanny. She stood a few feet away, tears streaming down her weathered face. Her lips moved, forming words he could barely hear over the noise.

"Young master," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why?"

Viktor just smiled.

Because fuck this world.... He wasn’t living here for a single second now.

If this world wanted him dead anyway with no power—it would get it.

"SILENCE!"

Count Aldric’s voice bood across the chamber, cutting through the chaos like a blade. The room didn’t quite settle, but the shouting reduced to furious whispers and hissed argunts.

The Count’s face was ashen, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles had gone white. He stared at Viktor like he was looking at a stranger.

"Viktor," he said slowly, each word asured. "Do you understand what you’ve just admitted to? The Demon King? Do you have any idea—"

"Execute him!" Lord Marsten shot to his feet, his jowls quivering with rage. "Imdiately! We cannot allow such evil to—"

"Agreed!" Another elder stood. "This is beyond dark magic! Beyond forbidden rituals! He’s confessed to attempting to bring ruin upon the entire kingdom!"

"The boy has clearly lost his mind," Advisor Crowe interjected, though his eyes glead with barely concealed satisfaction. "But madness is no excuse for such cris."

The knight who’d slapped Viktor earlier had his hand firmly on his sword now, looking to the Count for orders. His face was pale beneath his helt.

Viktor watched it all with detached amusent. The panic. The outrage. The fear.

Good. Let them be afraid.

"Father." Viktor’s voice cut through the noise, calm and steady. "You asked for my defense. I gave it. I’m guilty. So what now? Are you going to kill your only son?"

The chamber fell silent again.

Count Aldric looked like he’d aged ten years in the past few minutes. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. No words ca out.

"Lord Aldric." Lord Marsten stepped forward. "I understand your position, but we cannot—"

"Wait!"

Every head turned.

Elena stood frozen in place, her face a mask of genuine horror. Her carefully constructed facade had completely crumbled. The handkerchief slipped from her trembling fingers.

"Wait," she repeated, her voice breaking. "Please, I beg the council—do not kill him!"

Murmurs erupted. Several nobles exchanged glances.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. What was she playing at?

"Lady Elena," Lord Marsten said carefully. "You are the one who brought these charges. You witnessed his cris. Surely you understand—"

"I understand!" Elena’s voice rose, genuine tears streaming down her face now. Not the fake ones from before. These were real. "I understand what he’s done, but... but he’s..." She choked on the words. "Viktor is disturbed. Clearly unwell. Sothing is wrong with him. But he is still the Count’s son!"

She stepped forward, addressing the entire council, her voice desperate.

’No, no, NO! Will he die rather than submitting to !’ The re thought of realizing that she might have just pushed too far into all this where she thought he might get punished and then he would crawl back to her and drop that fake attitude of his to act tough in front of her.

"Execution is too severe. I never wanted... I never ant for him to..." She took a shuddering breath. "I propose banishnt. Send him away from the capital, away from civilization. Strip him of his titles and rights to inheritance, but spare his life. Let him live out his days in exile, where he can harm no one."

The chamber erupted again, but this ti the tone was different. Debate rather than outrage.

"Banishnt?" Advisor Crowe frowned. "For confessing to summoning the Demon King?"

"She has a point," another elder said slowly. "The boy is clearly mad. Look at him—standing there smiling like it’s all a joke. Perhaps exile is more fitting than a clean death."

"A living death," soone else muttered.

Viktor understood now. Elena’s twisted logic. She hadn’t wanted him dead—she’d wanted him broken. Humiliated. Forced to co crawling back to her, begging for forgiveness, for rcy, for her hand in marriage.

Death was too final. Too clean. It didn’t satisfy her wounded pride.

Count Aldric looked between his son and Elena, his expression torn. Viktor could see it—the desperate hope in his father’s eyes. Any option that didn’t end with his son’s execution.

"The Redwood frontier territory," the Count said suddenly. "It’s desolate. Barely civilized. If Viktor is banished there, stripped of his noble rights..." He looked at the council. "Would that satisfy the charges?"

Lord Marsten scowled but nodded slowly. "It would be... acceptable. As long as he’s never allowed to return to the capital."

"Agreed," another elder said.

One by one, the council mbers voiced their approval. Not everyone was happy about it—several still argued for execution—but the majority leaned toward banishnt.

Elena’s proposal had given them a way out. A compromise. And in noble politics, compromise was everything.

"Very well." Count Aldric’s voice was hollow. Empty. "Viktor von Redwood, you are hereby stripped of all noble titles and rights to inheritance. You are banished to the Redwood frontier territory, effective imdiately. You will leave within the day. You are forbidden from ever returning to the capital or any major city within the kingdom. Do you understand?"

Viktor t his father’s eyes. He saw the plea there. The unspoken question: Why?

He said nothing.

"Take him to his chambers," the Count ordered the knight. "Allow him to gather minimal belongings. Then escort him to the gates."