Chapter 167.2

Chapter 167.2

Smoke was rising from his grandfather’s cherished silver pistol. His father bared his bloodied teeth and howled like a beast.

He crawled across the floor, using his elbows, reaching out with arms that could not touch his wife. Then, at some point, the writhing movement came to a halt.

It felt like a horrific nightmare. In the face of an unbelievable scene, something inside him twisted and fell apart.

His father had died, having vomited blood until his shirt was completely soaked red.

All he had done was drink a cup of black tea poured by his grandfather… just that…

It was the first moment he realized that the once-proud mansion was merely a vessel for someone’s stomach.

The breath that his parents had given him felt suffocating, his pride crumbled, his affection shattered, and his trust splintered. It was later that he learned it was a purge.

“Yuri, happy birthday.”

His grandfather stood up, wiping his hands and mouth with a napkin.

“Ivan!”

His grandmother, who had been calling out his son’s name, collapsed.

Every night, she would scream like a madwoman until she was sedated and finally fell asleep.

His grandfather faced that hatred without flinching, silently reinforcing the mansion’s security.

At the funeral, an Orthodox archbishop came to pray, and the black suit the boy wore fit him perfectly, like a private school uniform.

Relatives whispered that he didn’t even cry despite his parents’ death, but when he recalled that day, it was his legs that froze before any tears could fall.

“He’s always been an odd one… Ivan went to medical school without consulting the Prime Minister. The house was in such an uproar back then.”

“Wasn’t he a bit reckless?”

“He got scammed a lot. Always talking about investments and stocks, and ended up losing all his wealth… And he didn’t even take care of his only son, just wandering abroad.”

“Then who becomes the heir?”

“Shh! Be quiet!”

The Solzhenitsyn family lawyer handed over a box that contained the belongings left by his parents. People showed interest in the heirlooms Ivan had left behind, but then they turned away with a chuckle.

The only things left for Yuri were a wedding photo and a stethoscope.

The stiff suit that constricted his body, the tie, and the shoes all felt suffocating. He couldn’t bear the Winter Castle, nor his grandfather’s two-faced demeanor.

The boy simply wanted to wear his skates and race across the ice until sunset.

If his cheeks froze and his skin cracked… yes, then perhaps he would feel a little freer.

He fled the mansion and ran to the lakeshore.

Gasping for breat, the lake he reached was still blue and transparent. A vast ice surface with no one dancing upon it. The boy grasped the skate blades without realizing he was cutting into his own flesh.

“Hooh….”

At that moment, an unwelcome shadow loomed overhead. A man wearing black leather gloves turned to the boy, raising an eyebrow.

An intruder, yet someone who could not be unknown to any Russian.

“You must be Maxim’s grandson.”

He was an old friend of Maxim Solzhenitsyn and a ruler of this country. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, yet his eyes shone brightly.

“It would have been better if you learned to hunt instead of skate. Such a waste of a blade attached to your feet.”

The boy knew that this man was a close friend of his grandfather. Countless photos of them together from childhood filled his grandfather’s study. Still, as he opened his eyes cautiously, the man smiled.

“Child, don’t blame your grandfather too much.”

“…!”

A wave of nausea washed over him, recalling the stillness of his grandfather on that day.

“Believe it or not, Maxim is a pitiful man. I once gave him a very difficult assignment.”

Yet, contrary to the notion of pity, the man was laughing joyfully.

“A high position is a chair for those who must make choices. It’s a seat where only the hardest and most dreadful decisions are made. Therefore, one must study a great deal and bear the burdens of others’ worries. Aren’t you paying a hefty tuition to reach that position yourself?”

He moved his tight leather gloves a few times and spoke slowly.

“Little Solzhenitsyn, would you like to try to unravel this?”

He lightly patted Yuri’s cheek.

“Your grandmother funded the Chechen rebels, and your parents embezzled Russia’s wealth.”

The boy’s fingertips turned cold. Even at just eight years old, he was not ignorant of the ongoing wars with Chechnya.

Last year, a terrorist attack led by Chechen rebels had caused the collapse of apartments and theaters in Moscow, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of Russian citizens.

Yet, Chechnya continued to demand independence, and ultimately, the Russian government dispatched troops once again, marking the beginning of the second war.

“It’s treason; this is treason. How could the family of a beloved Prime Minister…”

He frowned.

“So, I gave Maxim the choice directly. Who would he make an example of? Executing the entire family would be too cruel for my old friend Maxim.”

He looked around at the mirror-like clear lake and asked, “Child, whose neck would you have brought back?”