A.N. So, there might be something called 'torture' in this chapter, so read at your own caution. But I bet your masochist ass can enjoy it to no end.
"Shall we go rat hunting then?"
Nyx called out casually, eyes fixed on the witch hovering overhead like gravity had politely decided she wasn't worth the trouble. His expression twisted into a blend of annoyance and envy.
'Oii, sys, order me a flying skill. I'm not letting this floating circus act show me up.'
[Not enough points. Why not beg her for a lift? Might even get a cuddle out of it.]
'Tch. Just give me one on credit. I'll repay you later.'
[You sure?]
'Yeah. Just shut up and hand it over.'
[Here~ Hope you don't splatter on takeoff. Wouldn't be the first time.]
Nyx caught the red crystal as it materialized midair, ignoring the system's smug tone. He crushed it without a second thought.
In an instant, knowledge slammed into his head—mana surged, and his body responded like it had been waiting its whole life to fly. His boots lifted off the ground as wind curled beneath him, his coat flapping like a war banner.
Sylvia twitched.
She'd spent a decade mastering that spell. A decade of blood, sweat, and self-immolation. And now this brat just floats up next to her like it's a weekend hobby?
She didn't say anything. Just narrowed her eyes. Quiet fury.
Nyx glanced at her and smirked.
"Let's go."
---
"What did Father say?"
In the far reaches of the kingdom, First Prince Elric Ironhart paced his gilded study like a mad dog in a cage.
"Master, King Aldric hasn't responded to your request," the cloaked man said, bowing low. "It seems he's... preoccupied with the rebellion."
Elric froze. Then twitched.
"Why? Why? Why?!"
His voice cracked as he tore at his hair. "I removed that whore and her damn mother from the palace! I did everything—EVERYTHING—to sit on that throne. So why—why won't things go my way?!"
He was unraveling fast. Every day without Aldric's backing chipped at the illusion of control he'd clung to like a drowning man.
"Yeah… yeah, that's it. Send someone. Kill that bitch," he muttered, eyes wild. "If she dies, Father'll take me back. He has to. He has to!"
The guard hesitated. "B-but, Master—if we—"
SMASH.
A vase shattered against the man's skull, sending him sprawling.
"Are you disobeying me?!" Elric screamed, eyes bloodshot. "Fuck you all! Worthless COWARDS!"
He spiraled into a frenzy, throwing books, glass, whatever he could grab. The room became a whirlwind of splintered furniture and paranoia.
Up above, floating lazily over the manor like a disappointed deity, Sylvia watched with contempt.
"Looks like the rat," she said flatly. "Go get him."
Nyx hovered beside her, arms crossed, brow raised.
"What? Not gonna dirty your boots for once?"
"I don't want filth anywhere near my shoes."
She turned midair, bored.
"Tch. Fine."
Nyx dipped in altitude—and then blasted forward, shattering through the manor window like a missile.
CRASH.
He landed in the middle of Elric's tantrum, glass falling like confetti.
The prince spun around, pale as death.
"Y-You!? How—how the fuck are you here?!" Elric stumbled backward, tripping over the wreckage of his own madness.
Nyx stepped forward, fire arrows forming around him like floating executioners.
"I don't have time for your bargain-bin villain monologue, rat."
With a casual flick, the fire arrows shot out—piercing every single person in the room except Elric.
Screams cut short. Silence followed.
Then Nyx was there, grabbing the prince by the collar before he could even finish his next breath.
"Let's talk somewhere quieter."
And with that—they vanished.
---
Back in the capital—inside the manor's forge—Vin was, as usual, hunched over steel, sweat, and soul. Sparks flew as he finished tempering yet another blade, the clang of metal ringing out like war drums echoing through the coming storm.
He wiped his hands on a grimy rag and headed toward the storage to grab more metal. Routine. Normal. Predictable.
Until—
"AAAAHHHHHHHH!!"
Vin flinched like he'd just been gut-punched by a ghost.
"The fuck—?!"
He threw open the door—and instantly regretted it.
There, suspended upside down by a rope, was a man—bloody, bruised, and gagged, head dunked repeatedly into a barrel of water, body convulsing from the torment. He was tied so tightly the veins on his arms looked ready to explode.
Vin staggered back, nearly dropping his tools.
"YOU OLD HAG!!!"
He didn't need a divine revelation to know who was responsible.
From behind, a voice cooed like a child admiring their latest finger painting.
"Calm down, old man. Can't you appreciate the art?"
Sylvia stepped into view, holding a pair of rusted pliers in one hand like a trophy. She twirled them with elegance entirely unfit for the occasion, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Art?! ART?!" Vin's voice cracked somewhere between fury and disbelief. "That's a whole person, damn it—not a pig at the butcher's!"
He pointed at the scene, eyes twitching. "Even wild dogs don't get tortured like that!"
Sylvia tilted her head, then slowly, deliberately, placed the pliers against the poor bastard's toe.
"Well… Commander Nyx said to keep him alive until he gets back. Said I could 'loosen him up a bit.' So I'm just doing my civic duty."
The man convulsed as she pressed the pliers.
"ARRRRGHHHH—GULGH—!"
His scream died into a watery gurgle as his face dunked again, bubbles rising like a last gasp for mercy.
Vin just stared. Exhausted. Disgusted. And somehow… not surprised.
"…I swear," he muttered, massaging his temples, "between you and that crazy bastard commander, one of you's gonna be the death of me."
"Better you than him," Sylvia smiled sweetly, pliers still clenched.
Vin let out a long sigh.
"…Next time I open a door in this place, I'm wearing armor."
---
"Ruby went to accompany her."
Valon's voice was quiet as he shot one last glance down the corridor, watching Ruby disappear toward Samantha's room. The sound of her footsteps faded into silence.
Then he turned.
Nyx stood still—shoulders tense, eyes lost somewhere far past the room they were in. He wasn't blinking. He wasn't breathing hard. He was just... waiting. Until—
"Tell me, Valon."
His voice was low. Steady. But laced with something heavy—something that refused to be swallowed anymore.
"Everything. Everything that's happened with Sam… until now."
Valon's brows knit in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Not now. But when he saw Nyx's face—really saw it—he understood.
The calm had cracked.
Valon turned toward the window, the moonlight spilling across his face. His fists clenched as he looked out over the sleeping city.
"What will you do to that bastard?" he asked, his voice gritted between his teeth, like he was barely holding back the fire crawling beneath his skin.
Nyx didn't move. Didn't blink. His answer came plain. Cold. Final.
"He—every last one of them—will be brought to her feet. And what happens next… will be her decision."
Valon didn't reply.
He just stared out at the moon—quiet, distant. The light was pale, but it felt sharp tonight. Like judgment waiting to fall.
"…Fine," he muttered after a moment.
"I'll tell you everything."