"Feeling like talking now?"
A frost giant warrior knelt before me, his entire body trembling with humiliation.
The ferocious hatred rising from Borin's empty eyes only brought me joy.
You should have given up and run away.
He'd had several chances. When his comrade died.
And when I started fleeing.
The last one was when I fell into this stone chamber.
If only he'd given up searching for me right then.
If only he'd turned tail and bolted without looking back.
At least he wouldn't be in this state.
Too late now, though.
"You... kill me... Don't shame a warrior any further!"
He rasped the words from his cracked throat.
I got it. Frost giant warriors prized pride above all else.
For them, nothing was worse than living in servitude without honor—far beyond mere death.
But.
"Kill you? Nah. You're going to be very useful from now on."
Sadly, I had no intention of killing him.
At least not for a while.
"Kill m—!"
I flicked his chin up with my toe.
Bam!
"Guh!"
"Bounce back over here."
Veins bulging on his forehead, plain as day.
His killing intent screamed that he'd tear me limb from limb if he could.
Whatever.
I crooked a finger at him as he staggered toward me.
"As ordered... Aagh!"
Bam!
"Bad attitude. Again."
"You fucking... Guh!"
Thud!
"Watch your mouth. Again."
I looked down at Borin, sprawled on the floor once more, as I hammered some discipline into his unbroken spirit.
At the same time, one nagging question lingered amid my整理ed thoughts.
Frostfang Imir.
Why was she after a mere B-grade artifact in this backwater forest?
And why send a tribesman to infiltrate while fighting the kingdom's army?
Based on what I knew, Imir wasn't the type with a hobby for collecting artifacts—that madwoman.
"Hey."
Smart enough guy, at least.
After a few rounds of repetition training, Borin had calmed down considerably, so I asked what I wanted to know.
"Your chieftain, Frostfang Imir. Why's she after an artifact in a dump like this?"
This was the biggest mystery.
Her actions were the first deviation from the original story—the world's initial variable.
"...Tch."
Borin bit his lip, refusing to answer.
Practically begging for death. Cold sweat poured as he clenched his fists tight.
"Not talking?"
"...Like I'd tell a dog like you Imir's great purp— Aaaargh!"
"Gotta feel the whip every time?"
Before he finished, the soul-binding contract activated again.
Defying the master's command meant your soul burned from within.
It was a fine system—self-disciplining without me lifting a finger.
Watching him writhe on the ground, I inwardly admired the Black King's magic.
Who knew it could craft such a perfect auto-training setup?
If the guy were here, I'd give him a standing ovation.
Sizzle...
Black smoke poured from his body in spasms until he finally broke under the endless agony.
"I-I'll talk! Please, stop it!"
"Should've said so sooner."
I gestured, and the torment ceased.
Panting, he looked up at me with eyes now laced with utter terror.
+ +
Rumble...
Anna swallowed dryly as she cautiously walked the corridor.
On the small cart she pulled steamed a pot of warm stew and freshly baked bread.
Since that horrific incident days ago, the quality of Evan's meals had noticeably improved.
Not because he ordered it, of course.
No matter how much his demeanor had changed, orders came from the family head, Count Dreadnote.
The guy could only vent stress on the servants anyway.
What got into her all of a sudden?
No one in the mansion took the bastard's side.
When Young Lady Celine summoned him, everyone figured he wouldn't come out unscathed.
Somehow, he'd sweet-talked her.
Afterward, the head butler relayed her order: "Pay more attention to the eldest son's meals."
The kitchen had flipped out. Still nowhere near what the main house got, but leagues better than before.
Decent food now headed to the annex.
What if that scoundrel tricked the young lady somehow?
...She shook her head, dismissing the thought.
Everyone knew Celine Dreadnote's prowess.
Any funny business, and her neck would roll before he blinked.
So what changed her mind?
Incomprehensible, but orders were orders.
Rumble...
At Evan's door, her tense face exhaled a silent sigh before she knocked lightly.
Knock knock.
The old Anna who faced Evan Dreadnote was gone.
Thinking of her former self was pathetic, almost laughable.
She knocked as deferentially as possible.
"Young Master? Are you inside?"
"..."
No immediate reply, as expected.
The room felt empty—no sound at all.
Not even breathing when she pressed her ear to the door.
"...Young Master?"
About to turn away, assuming he was out.
"Come in."
A low voice pierced the silence.
Shoulders jumping, Anna gripped the handle with trembling hands and entered.
Evan sat by the window, reading a peculiarly charred black book.
"...?"
Plenty of normal books around—why that one?
She shook her head slightly, not about to ask.
"Your meal, Young Master."
"Seems decent lately."
He hadn't even glanced at her when she spoke.
She knew what he meant without him spelling it out.
His barbed compliment made her flinch inwardly, but she kept composed.
Setting the tray down, she clicked her tongue silently.
Just wanted out of there ASAP.
"...I'll be going now."
No reply—just a dismissive wave.
She bowed, slipped out, and shut the door.
Slam.
Perfect silence returned.
Evan's shadow writhed, a humanoid shape rising.
A massive man emerged fully formed—Borin, kneeling silently toward Evan.
"Hey. I said don't come out till I speak."
Evan spoke coldly, eyes still on his book.
"S-Sorry, my lord!"
Thud!
A prideful frost giant warrior bowing like that—his tribesmen would faint.
Days of soul-searing discipline had burned away even his deepest pride.
Satisfied with his obedience, Evan mused that the whip was indeed the answer.
"Fine. Any news from Tundra?"
Evan turned a page.
First thing after leaving the chamber: reviving Tundra's corpse, just like Borin.
"Wha? I died..."
"Brought you back."
"You bastard—!"
Recalling his dumbfounded stare and smile, then the harsh lesson for charging blindly.
Now Tundra served as a spy infiltrating the barbarian camp.
"Still crossing the mountains—no major updates. But..."
"But?"
"Imir... apologies. Imir says she'll hand over the Warrior's Ring you lent once contact's made."
Thud!
Evan slammed the book shut.
The Dark Grimoire's black cover shattered the silence with a heavy thud.
"Good work. Keep reporting her movements through Tundra. At least until she bites the bait."
"As you command, my lord."
Borin vanished fully into the shadow.
Only then did Evan exhale long, leaning back.
Exhaustion hit, but his mind raced clearer than ever.
"Bait's laid out, anyway."
His murmur echoed softly.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he caressed the Black King's Ring on the other.
Cold, solid texture against his fingertips.
Tundra would deliver the Warrior's Ring to Imir—now just wait.
I figured she wasn't after the ring anyway.
Unless The Glory's lore had changed, the item from defeating her in the kingdom invasion event wasn't the Warrior's Ring.
"How to reel her in so word spreads I did it right..."