Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Itzriel (1)
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Itzriel beamed at the two of them.
“A reunion with a brother more precious than life itself, and it’s this awkward? What good is that?”
Unlike Cracker, who glared at Portin with bulging eyes, Portin couldn’t meet Cracker’s gaze.
It was a meeting he hadn’t wanted either.
Itzriel threw an arm around such a Portin and dragged him closer to Cracker.
“He’s the hero of this victory. He killed Barthen and came here. He’s no longer a mountain bandit—he’s a fine imperial soldier now.”
“……Why? ……Why you?”
Cracker muttered in a daze. Then he bellowed so loudly that the basement rang.
“Why you—!”
Cracker struggled furiously to lunge at Portin. The iron chains fastened to the wall rattled violently, holding him back.
The soldiers watching this approached and beat Cracker savagely with clubs.
“You fucking dog. Do you know where you are, screaming like that?”
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Itzriel laughed merrily as Cracker slumped.
“Now you look ready to talk. This is why I hate mixing words with lowly scum.”
Cracker lifted his bloodied face and glared ferociously at him. Itzriel spoke to Portin.
“Go on, explain to your brother. Tell him everything that’s happened. He’s dying to know, isn’t he?”
Portin’s lips twitched, but words didn’t come easily.
Itzriel shook his head as if pitying the frustrating sight.
“The memories must be too horrific to speak of. Guess I’ll have to kindly tell the tale myself.”
He turned his gaze to Cracker and continued.
“It’s not just your youngest brother’s fault. While you were boozing and whoring up at the bandit lair, do you know how much he suffered?”
Itzriel patted Portin’s shoulder encouragingly.
“……So you didn’t run away.”
Cracker said, looking at him.
Portin had recently gone out on a bandit raid and vanished.
Everyone who’d gone with him had been wiped out.
They’d all thought he was dead.
But two months later, he returned.
And he told them everything. How he’d been captured by the imperial army but barely escaped. How his injuries had delayed his return.
They’d believed that story like gospel until now.
Because he’d said so.
They’d never dreamed Portin had betrayed them.
“You wouldn’t know, but Portin had real backbone at first. He endured the torture like a champ. But a man’s heart changes, doesn’t it?”
Itzriel boasted proudly of the brutal tortures he’d inflicted on Portin. Days so horrific they chilled the bones just hearing about them. He grimaced, pointing at the tools hanging on the wall.
“Take a look at those instruments. Get a sense of how nightmarish the torture is? Far worse than you imagine. Endless agony with no end in sight—how desperately Portin must have wanted to live. A brother should understand his sibling’s heart, right?”
Cracker ground his teeth.
He could tell without seeing how hellish Portin’s days here had been.
He knew the pain all too well.
But selling out his brothers to save himself was unforgivable, no matter the suffering.
Cracker stared at him with bloodshot eyes.
“You should’ve endured. Endured until you died. No matter how painful, you should’ve died that way! How could you sell out your brothers just to live? How could you? How?!”
Blood from his torn forehead splattered his lips like spit. Portin, who’d stayed silent until now, finally raised his voice, unable to bear it.
“Endure? Die like that? Why should I die here! It’s just one life! After slicing meat with a knife and lying on a feather bed, I finally got it! What the hell is Francia worth! Why should I slave away for anyone! What has this country ever done for me!”
“You idiot! We need a country to survive! Why do you think we’re holed up in these mountains! Because there’s no nation to protect us. Francia is what lets us live in the golden fields!”
“That damn golden fields!”
Portin shouted, eyes wild.
“I don’t even want those golden fields anymore! What good is living there? Will that day ever come? It’s been ten years already—ten years! When the hell is it coming? When we’re old and rotting? It’s one life! I just wanted to live easy and enjoy it before dying! Damn it! Should I really have died in this shithole prison!”
“Yes! You should have! Died that way! If you didn’t have the resolve, you should’ve left the lair long ago!”
“What can I do, it’s too late! I only realized what a damn bastard I was after coming here! What do you want me to do! I’m going to live like this! Eat well, live well, and die!”
“What about the brothers who died because of you! Don’t you even pity their deaths! You think you can live easy after selling them out!”
“Yeah! I can live easy! Better than anyone! No regrets!”
Portin spat, foaming at the mouth.
Regret? Now?
Ridiculous.
Every day of torture had been hell.
The agony of sharp metal ripping flesh had no end. He’d screamed until his voice gave out, wishing only for it to stop.
He agonized every day.
If he could’ve killed himself, he would have long ago.
But they denied him even that chance.
They tempted him endlessly with sweet words, and day by day, his resolve weakened.
Then suddenly, he wanted to live.
He sobbed as he sliced meat and ate it.
It was fucking delicious.
Dying now felt like wasting what life remained.
Once his heart turned, he wanted to survive by any means. To live it up in the world they promised.
Portin stared straight at Cracker, who glared back. He knew he’d crossed an irreversible river.
He’d sold the brother more precious than life.
He’d sold the lair’s comrades he’d shared years with.
It was as good as selling his soul to the devil.
Only one path lay ahead now.
“From now on, I’ll live properly as an imperial citizen!”
Portin shouted at Cracker.
That was when the cold blade pierced his back.
Crunch!
Caught up in the moment, he staggered once, then looked down at his chest.
A pale sword blade, stained red with blood, protruded through his chest.
Splurt!
Blood sprayed as the sword withdrew. Portin flailed at the air as if grasping for something, then collapsed to the floor.
“Who permitted you to live such a life, you filthy scum.”
Itzriel sneered coldly at him.
Cracker, stunned by the unexpected turn, stared at Portin without a word.
Itzriel turned to Cracker with a bright smile.
“Traitors deserve death, don’t they?”
He tilted his head at Cracker’s contorted face.
“Why the long face? I thought you’d be grateful.”
Cracker looked at the dying Portin.
He was crying.
Tears of resentment.
How ugly could they make a man?
How deep must they wound before satisfaction?
Why must we endure such pain?
Cracker glared at Itzriel.
He’d devour him whole if he could.
He’d sell his soul to the devil just to tear this bastard limb from limb.
“Itzriel—!!”
Cracker thrashed, screaming at Itzriel.
The chains rattled, blood trickling from his wrists.
Itzriel laughed as if the prison would collapse.
* * *
“What?”
Itzriel’s brows twisted savagely at the report he received right after leaving the torture chamber.
His soaring mood plummeted to the ground.
He glared fiercely at the subordinate delivering the beggar’s news.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I’m s-sorry. That’s what the ones who just arrived said.”
The unit meant to annihilate the enemy stronghold had returned defeated.
Defeated by the might of a single man, no less.
Absurd.
Unbelievable.
He was once a promising knight in Francia’s Royal Guard, the Leonir Lancers.
He still trained diligently with the sword, so he knew exactly what that meant.
For a moment, another report from before arriving here flashed in his mind. Pierre, who’d captured Cracker alive, had said the same. He’d let a masked man escape.
“A white lion mask, you say?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Itzriel’s brow furrowed deeper.
‘Wasn’t it just one guy?’
A white lion mask at both places. Though the appearances were staggered, the distance wasn’t one traversable in so short a time.
It made sense to assume two white lions.
“I’ll have to hear it myself. Send someone who was there to my room to recount the situation.”
“Yes, sir.”
In his office, Itzriel leaned back in his chair, propping his legs crossed on the desk. He closed his eyes briefly, lost in thought.
Soon, a haggard soldier entered.
“Attee—!”
Itzriel waved off the salute and cut straight to it.
“Tell me everything you saw, from the beginning, in detail.”
The soldier, tense-faced, recounted the battle at the bandit lair, swallowing dryly as he reached the turning point.
“……That’s when he appeared.”
He remembered the scene vividly.
A masked man falling from the sky.
At first, he scoffed at the white lion mask. But that scorn turned to terror in an instant.
He couldn’t forget the brilliant aura blazing along the blade.
More overwhelming, stable, and pure than any he’d seen.
Every time those blue flames moved, comrades flew away.
The blazing blue flash devoured the formation in one gulp.
The ground split, and those standing on it split with it.
He no longer seemed human.
When he came to, he was already fleeing the battlefield.
No time to think of anything else.
Just a desperate urge to get far from that man.
Recalling it again sent chills over his body.
He downplayed his fear, blamed the dead commander for his desertion, and defended himself.
Admitting he fled in terror from the enemy wouldn’t go over well with superiors.
A slip here could mean his head.
Finished, he eyed Itzriel, sweating coldly.
“What’s your current level?”
“Mid-level mana user.”
Itzriel nodded slowly.
A mid-level mana user wouldn’t be clueless about auras.
He gauged the situation against himself, an Expert advanced.
Breaking through a tight encirclement instantly, routing three hundred soldiers—neither was easy.
Both men outmatched him.
Especially the second seemed to have surpassed Expert advanced, reaching the peak.
Nearing the pinnacle—where had such power suddenly emerged from?
An uneasy feeling stirred.
If those two came to assassinate him?
Blocking them wouldn’t be easy.
Numbers of regular soldiers meant nothing to such experts.
He needed precautions.
He dismissed the soldier and summoned his adjutant with orders.
“I’ll stay at headquarters tonight. Increase the guard fivefold. And prepare a public execution for Cracker tomorrow morning.”
He’d planned to torment Cracker until he begged for mercy, but circumstances had changed.
The enemy would attempt assassination or rescue.
‘No way they’ll come tonight, right?’
Itzriel bit his lower lip.
Assassination threats aside, fleeing now was ill-timed.
At least after publicly executing Cracker before the citizens tomorrow morning, raising his name high.
Fleeing now could waste all his achievements.
They’d fought a battle too, so they’d be fatigued.
Unlikely to strain themselves tonight.
‘Or maybe that’s even better.’
Exhausted from an all-night battle.
Their edge dulled.
Tonight could be the perfect chance to face them.
It might bring even greater merit.
‘Worst case, escaping with my life won’t be hard.’
Sorting his thoughts, Itzriel smiled in satisfaction, gazing at the setting sun beyond the window.
Night was gradually approaching.