Chapter 21: Crooks Are All the Same
“Spare me! I’ll answer every question you ask! Please, just spare my life!!”
Cardor wailed ceaselessly, hanging upside down behind the saddle, snot and tears streaming down his face. It was a pathetic sight that made his grand title of Aura Expert seem laughable. Facing that unidentified martial art that had pierced his aura-reinforced body like paper, such a reaction was only natural.
Cael furrowed his brow at Cardor’s noisy cries.
“Shut up. I’ll take you somewhere quiet and question you thoroughly, so keep that trap closed until then.”
But Cardor, gripped by extreme terror, couldn’t read the mood and kept thrashing and begging.
“I know who’s behind it all! I’ll tell you everything, so please untie this rope… Mmph!”
“Tch. Not listening when spoken to nicely is a universal bad habit.”
Cael irritably flicked his fingers toward Cardor’s torso and nape.
Thud-thud—
With dull thuds, the energy from Cael’s fingertips precisely struck Cardor’s pressure points. In that instant, Cardor’s flailing, screaming body went rigid. His mouth froze half-open, not even a groan escaping his throat.
The mute point and movement seal point. A acupoint strike that controlled movement and silenced the voice.
“……???”
Ella and Roben Banis watched the bizarre scene with wide eyes.
“Y-Young Master! What was that just now?”
Ella asked in wonder. Cael averted his gaze and replied shamelessly.
“Oh, nothing much. I saw it in an old medical book—stimulating certain blood vessels and nerves in the body causes temporary paralysis. Got bored and tried it out.”
“You just tried something from a book…?”
Ella asked incredulously, and Cael nodded brazenly.
“Yeah. Want me to explain the theory?”
“Wow! Can I learn it too? I’d love to shut Weger up when he’s being a pain!”
Cael chuckled dryly at Ella’s innocent curiosity. Acupoint strikes were actually advanced techniques even in the martial world. They required precise insight into qi flow and the ability to pierce resistance with exactly the right amount of internal energy. For a novice, it either did nothing or crippled the target—a dangerous art.
“Well, with steady practice, you might manage it someday. But at your level? No chance.”
“Aw… You mean I gotta train hard? I’ll do my best!”
Ella pouted but replied spiritedly.
Roben, who had been silently listening, swallowed hard.
Impossible…
A technique that sealed a person’s body and mouth perfectly with a mere finger flick—he’d never heard of or seen such a thing. It was utterly physical and alien, different from high-level binding spells cast by elite mages.
The eldest young master… Just what kind of person is he!?
Awe and respect for Cael swelled uncontrollably in Roben’s chest. He sensed that following Cael was the greatest stroke of luck in his life.
The group recovered Marie’s family and left the slums, arriving at the heart of Vollex Territory by dusk. Bustling markets, sturdy stone buildings, and patrolling guards on the walls stood in stark contrast to the outskirts’ squalor.
Cael scanned the area from horseback and spoke.
“Hmm, not a small territory. The market’s lively, security seems decent—why leave a slum like that on the outskirts? Who rules this place?”
As Ella racked her brain to answer, “Uh, the lord was…”
“Viscount Frank Leshold!!”
Roben jumped in thunderously. As a Vollex native, he knew the territory inside out.
“Frank Leshold, eh…”
Cael stroked his chin with a wry mutter.
Should’ve studied the local nobles’ lineage before coming.
Since possessing this body, Cael had focused solely on restoring his poison-ravaged flesh and rebuilding his martial prowess. Naturally, he hadn’t studied the noble families or power dynamics a duke’s heir should know.
With my memories intact, it’s no wonder I know nothing.
Rationalizing inwardly, Cael ordered the group.
“It’s getting late, and we’re worn out. Grab an inn, rest well, and visit Viscount Leshold tomorrow.”
Ella, Weger, and Roben’s faces filled with horror.
“What!? Sleep at an inn? No way, Young Master!”
Ella protested, hopping mad. The heir of a grand duchy sleeping in some dingy rural inn?
“Young Master, think of your dignity! Head straight to the lord’s castle instead. No noble in this duchy would dare turn away the eldest son of House Restis, even this late!”
Cael chuckled at her outburst.
“Haha, what’s the big deal about an inn? It’s fine—find one.”
“B-But…”
Ella’s worry wasn’t just about face. Cael saw right through it.
“Don’t worry. As long as they’re under me, no one will hold you accountable. Got it?”
His reassuring words. But Ella’s response caught him off guard.
“No, it’s not that… Inn rooms are cold and beds are hard—not comfy at all. What if you get sick again…”
Her eyes reddened, voice trembling. To her, noble scolding meant nothing. She feared only for his precious health, dreading another agonizing sickbed and blood-vomiting episode.
Cael stared blankly at her face, then smiled softly.
This girl worries only about me, from start to finish.
A fragment of memory from the martial world flashed by. In the bloody rivers of the Central Plains, a woman forced to bury her heart behind the unbridgeable wall of righteous sects and demonic cults. Lian Hwa-ryun. She who always prayed alone for the Heavenly Demon’s health and safety.
Does she know of my death by now…?
For some reason, the country maid stomping before him overlapped with that distant woman’s face. Cael couldn’t fathom why.
Heh, then and now. The walls of status are different, yet eerily similar.
Shaking off the thought, Cael gently patted Ella’s head.
“Alright, alright. But if we go to the castle now, we take him along?”
He nodded toward Cardor, still paralyzed upside down on the horse, eyes rolling wildly.
Logically, dragging a restrained criminal to a noble’s home late at night was beyond rude.
“Oh… Yeah, now that you mention it…”
Ella finally noticed and smiled awkwardly.
“So let’s call it a night. Find the biggest, best inn in the territory—book the nicest room. That ease your worries?”
Cael compromised with a smile, and Ella’s face lit up.
“Yes! Got it, Young Master! I’ll scout the best inn right away!”
The finest inn in central Vollex Territory. Following Cael’s orders, the group paid handsomely and rented the entire third floor for rest. Marie’s family sank into deep sleep in warm rooms, as did Ella, Weger, and Roben in theirs.
But in Cael’s spacious suite, a different scene unfolded.
Thud—
Cael dragged a heavy wooden chair to the room’s center, sat with a stoop, and glared down. At his feet knelt Cardor, trembling.
Wh-What the hell is this guy? I’m an Expert! One of the top sword Experts in the organization! Yet a single finger flick pierced my aura and paralyzed me!?
Cardor stared at Cael’s toes, barely breathing. The power gap defied his understanding. This youthful duke’s heir was a devil in human skin.
Cael leaned back casually, eyeing Cardor with interest.
“Let’s see… What to do with this scum…”
“Mmph! Mmmph! Ngh!”
Cardor strained, muffled groans escaping.
“Hmm, you’re making throat noises—acupoint loosening? Or forcibly squeezing out aura to resist?”
Cael observed, sensing an odd incongruity. From the slum fight, Cardor’s crude swordplay and energy control didn’t match his absurdly vast aura reserves—what this world called total aura quantity.
Hmm, tied to this world’s environment…?
Cael recalled the fantasy continent’s nature: qi so pure and abundant it dwarfed the martial world’s barren, turbid energy. That overwhelming difference likely granted even third-rate enlightenment holders like this vast auras.
Then what of this world’s true elites?
Did they rely solely on sheer aura mass, crushing with brute force despite poor control?
No. It just means the baseline for this world’s warriors is abnormally high.
Even among Experts, skill in swordsmanship and energy mastery created vast gaps. That was this fantasy world.
In a way, it might be far more dangerous and tricky than the martial world. There, building internal energy was grueling asceticism, impossible without spirit herbs. Here, proper breathing and circulation yielded first-rate martial levels effortlessly.
In short, even idiots with no skill packed unignorable destructive power. If the internal energy gap was too wide, you couldn’t pierce protective aura. But if their technique was third-rate yet aura massive?
A moment’s carelessness, and even a master could fall to a blind swing.
A world of freakish hybrids: third-rate swordplay, first-rate destruction. And if they swarmed in numbers?
Hmm, can’t underestimate their potential. No room for complacency.
Finishing his mental power balance calculations, Cael snapped from reverie and fixed on Cardor.
Cardor was on the verge of madness. For over ten minutes, the duke’s heir had him kneel while lounging arrogantly, staring with cold eyes—no words, no questions. The silence crushed him.
Then Cael clapped, grinning brightly.
“Decided. Scum like you always resort to tricks.”
Fantasy or martial world, criminals were cut from the same cloth. Predictable thinkers. And Cael had dealt with countless.
Cute compared to those guys.
Cael circulated internal energy, erecting a thick qi barrier over the room. No screams or impacts would leak out.
Leaning forward, Cael tapped Cardor’s jaw.
“Alright, releasing the mute point. Spill whatever you want.”
Flick—
No contact this time. Cael’s energy bullet hit the points, freeing him instantly.
Gasping, Cardor slammed his head on the floor.
“Spare me! Ask anything—I’ll answer fully! I swear!!”
The moment he looked up—
Crack—!!
“Gahk!? K-Khuk!!”
Cael’s merciless kick smashed Cardor’s jaw. Shattered teeth and blood splattered the floor.
Cardor gaped up in confusion. Why? I said I’d answer everything!
Cael rose slowly, smiling coldly.
“Wrong answer.”
“Wh-What do you…”
Thud—!
“Gaaah!!”
Cael’s fist plunged into his gut before he finished. Cardor curled, tears streaming from twisted agony.
“Wrong again.”
Cardor wailed insanely at Cael’s dry words.
“Spare me! What’s wrong!!”
Crunch—
Cael’s shoe ground his hand brutally.
“Aaaah!!”
“Idiot. Third wrong answer. You’ll die before spilling. Eh, catch another.”
Looking up at smiling Cael, Cardor shuddered. That pretty face, expression unchanging as he tortured? Executioner-level work.
D-Devil. He’s a devil!
No questions—just violence demanding self-confession. In three blows, Cardor sensed organs rupturing, bones breaking. A few more, and he’d die.
“I-I’m a mid-level black market broker for Legnum! Slaves, stolen goods, organs—anything for profit!”
Foaming blood, Cardor spewed info frantically, glancing fearfully. Trembling, expecting another hit.
Cael withdrew his fist, clasped hands behind back, nodding satisfied.
“Continue.”