Chapter 211: Lainella's Fate is Decided by Lainella (4)
Chapter 211: Lainella's Fate is Decided by Lainella (4)
It was a room devoid of even a single speck of light.
The man who opened his eyes there frowned slightly. He could see nothing.
After blinking a few times, his pupils finally began to accept the faint, dim light. The dark, damp basement exuded a sinister aura all on its own.
His weary gaze drifted toward his own hands and feet.
The man’s limbs were bound in restraints. Between the handcuffs on his wrists and the shackles tightly gripping his ankles, even the slightest movement seemed a struggle.
Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been strange for someone to scream.
To wake up from a deep sleep only to find oneself dragged to a suspicious location with limbs bound—it was a situation where psychological pressure would naturally reach its peak.
However, the man showed no particular reaction.
Those golden eyes still showed only signs of fatigue, and his expression was utterly indifferent. He looked like a man whose very emotions had been severed.
As he unsteadily pulled himself up, the sound of dragging chains echoed through the room.
Iron bars stood before him. Beyond them, he could see a small round table.
A man who appeared to be middle-aged sat there.
His salt-and-pepper hair testified that he was not as young as one might think. However, his sturdy muscles and bold features suggested he was still very much in his prime.
He was dressed in a jet-black uniform.
Color often symbolized many things.
Black represented power and authority, but it carried another significant implication.
Those who blended into the darkness under the cover of night.
The Imperial Intelligence Agency.
The fact that he was wearing a formal uniform meant he was a high-ranking official whose identity was known to the public.
The middle-aged man took a sip of tea from his cup.
As he slightly opened his eyes, an illusion of blue goblin fire seemed to flicker in the air. He offered a low greeting.
"Forgive the rudeness, Ian Percus."
Clack. The teacup was set back down on the table.
As he did so, the middle-aged man adjusted the white gloves on his hands. The expression with which he offered his apology was solemn.
"I hope you understand. You are such an unpredictable person... The more information I gather, the more I find you to be the first person I truly cannot decipher."
The man, who had been staring at the official in silence, eventually let out a faint sigh.
It was a reaction that suggested he now understood the full context of the situation.
Regardless, the middle-aged man continued.
"The Imperial Household views the matter of the 'Dragon Blood Runes' with the utmost gravity. Thus, while we have taken some liberties, we will strive to ensure your safety as much as possible. For your information, this place is—"
"—The underground interrogation room of the Imperial Intelligence Agency's main headquarters."
The words were blurted out suddenly.
But at that single sentence, the middle-aged man’s mouth clamped shut.
In the silence, he glared at the man with a wary gaze.
"The restraints are high-quality, too. And there are hidden agents... one, two... no, three."
As the listless voice continued, the wariness in the official's eyes deepened.
It was exactly as he said.
This was indeed an underground interrogation room located within the headquarters of the Imperial Intelligence Agency, and the restraints were high-end models. Unless one was on the verge of becoming a Master, they wouldn't even be able to move their mana the moment those restraints were applied.
Therefore, it was only right to assume that this man could not use mana.
But how?
The intelligence agents currently concealed here were the elite of the elite. Naturally, detecting their presence should have been nearly impossible.
Even if it were possible, one would at least need to use mana. The presence or absence of mana created that much of a gap.
When the official's silence stretched on, the man asked in an indifferent tone.
"Do you intend to continue this conversation through the bars?"
After appearing to contemplate for a moment, the middle-aged man picked up his teacup with a faint smile.
"At least, that is my intention..."
He took a sip of tea, savored the aroma, and then offered a slight smirk.
"...What do you think?"
At that provocative question, the man showed a faint smile for the first time.
The moment the teacup tapped the table with a clack—
A sharp cracking sound erupted along with sparks.
With a loud clang, the chains binding the man's wrists snapped. It was a feat achieved simply by thrusting his arms outward with all his might.
As the man twisted his ankles, the chains rattled and followed. Immediately after, the man stomped on the chains, sending fragments flying.
They were shards of broken metal.
The process was so swift that for a moment, one might have wondered if it was a pre-arranged script.
Following that, the man unhesitatingly wrapped the broken chains around the latch blocking the cell door. He wound the snapped chains still attached to his handcuffs around the latch and yanked. Something unbelievable happened.
With a sickening crunch, the metal latch began to crumple.
Before long, the chains leading to the man's wrists were glowing white-hot. The mana-reinforced chains didn't just tighten around the latch; they pulverized it.
Snap! The latch, torn in half, spun through the air.
It took only a few seconds for the man to step out from behind the bars.
Even then, the middle-aged man showed no reaction.
He merely twitched an eyebrow as if intrigued. He watched the man with his arms crossed.
As if to see just how far he could go.
Of course, the man was not so naive as to start gloating already.
He spoke a few more words.
"...One above, one on the left, and another on the right."
Though the words sounded like a code, there was no one in this room who didn't understand their meaning.
Not a single movement could be felt. In this sealed room where even the wind did not blow, the only source of sound scraped harshly against his vocal cords.
"You've all been caught, so come at me all at once."
Pitch-black darkness sliced through the air.
It might have seemed like a contradictory statement, but it was the truth. Jet-black blades poured down, instantly creating sonic booms.
These were agents so well-trained that only flickering afterimages could be seen even as they launched their offensive.
Their speed and power couldn't even be compared to the likes of the Academy's newspaper club members. Even Neris would be nothing more than a novice compared to them.
It was an ambush that should have been impossible to react to.
Even if one responded with superhuman reaction speed, enduring the combined assault of these three should have been impossible. These were experts capable of controlling countless variables through repetitive training.
True professionals of slaughter.
Yet, a faint trace of fear now dwelled in their eyes. Because they were skilled, they couldn't help but sense it instinctively.
The fact that this man was a monster far beyond them.
It didn't take long for that unfortunate premonition to be proven true.
Snap. The chains lashed out.
There wasn't even a hint of a telegraph. The moment the man crossed his arms, the chains were already wrapped around the wrists of the two agents lunging with daggers from the left and right.
The agents tried to resist, but it was already too late.
As the man gritted his teeth and threw his crossed arms wide, the distance between the two agents closed instantly. Then, with a heavy thud, the bodies of the two men collided in mid-air.
At the last second, they managed to curl their bodies, avoiding the catastrophe of broken necks.
But that was all. There were no daggers aimed at the man who had created space by stepping back.
This was because the agent plunging from above had been bounced back into the air.
It was a complex feat of acrobatics whose principle was impossible to grasp. Having kicked off the air to avoid the disaster of stabbing his own comrades, he immediately braced against the ceiling and hurled his daggers.
The man responded to the lightning-fast throw by swinging his arms.
Clang! Metal clashed against metal, and the daggers soared back into the air. Regardless, the agent continued to hurl knives in succession.
Whether they were daggers or knives, their tips were gleaming. It meant they were coated in poison.
Since this was an interrogation, it wasn't a lethal poison that would cause instant death, but a potent anesthetic poison.
However, they were currently in the middle of a battle between experts where the margin of victory was razor-thin. That alone was enough to deal a fatal blow.
The agent threw his knives several times, but he found no success.
Every time he threw a knife, the chains struck them down like a whip. Eventually, having run out of knives, the agent decided to switch to close-quarters combat.
The last remaining knife was thrown.
Inevitably, the more projectiles there were, the larger the movements required to deflect them. The chains connected to the man's wrists whistled through the air, knocking the knives aside.
In that brief interval, the agent who had landed on the ground drew a sword from his waist.
With knees bent, he used the elasticity to launch a fierce, immediate lunge.
It was a strike delivered with everything he had.
And yet, it failed to reach.
Just before the agent's sword point could connect, the man's body and the agent's sword path veered away from each other as if space itself had distorted. It was as if the positions of the two people had rotated around a central point in the gap between them.
There's still a chance.
Just as the agent thought that and tried to hastily adjust his stance to trade blows again—
Thwack. A blade sank into his shoulder.
It was a dagger.
Ian had been stripped of all his weapons. That was why he was fighting with things like chains.
Therefore, this dagger had to have come from somewhere else.
The very dagger coated in anesthetic poison that the agent had thrown first.
The blade that had been flying through the air after being struck by the chains had been caught by the chains once more and flung back, piercing the agent's shoulder.
The anesthetic poison began to circulate instantly.
With a tongue that was losing sensation, the agent stammered out a question.
"H-How..."
It was not common for a thoroughly trained intelligence agent to be this flustered.
But no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand.
The man's skill in handling the chains was exceptional. It was a level of mastery one couldn't imagine for someone using a secondary weapon.
That was why it was strange.
No one was trained to use 'chains' as a primary weapon. They were highly inefficient and difficult to handle.
It was far more advantageous to use a whip or a wire.
Even those were only used as weapons by people who underwent specialized training, like the Imperial Intelligence Agency.
The answer to the agent's question was simple.
Whack! A heavy chain struck the side of the agent's head.
He was already struggling to stay conscious due to the anesthetic poison. The agent blacked out immediately.
Another body collapsed onto the ground with a thud, signaling the end of the battle.
The man, who had been watching the scene with indifferent eyes, began to walk again. Toward the middle-aged man sitting at the round table.
Without a moment's hesitation, he sat down across from him, picked up the teapot, and poured tea into an empty cup.
Steam rose from the tea as it trickled into the cup.
The middle-aged man simply remained silent.
Only after a long time had passed did the official finally find his voice.
"...Who are you, really?"
The man, who had just picked up his teacup, stared blankly at the official with weary eyes.
After moistening his mouth with a sip of tea, he replied.
"Ian Percus."
Then, the sound of the teacup tapping the table.
"...A loyal retainer of the Empire."
Only two people remained in the sealed room.