Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Blindfolded in the Dark
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Beth sat huddled in the corner of a pitch-black room, unable to see even an inch in front of her.
Everything felt hazy.
She had no idea how many days had passed, whether it was day or night, or even if she was alive or dead.
With her eyes bound by a blindfold, there was nothing Beth could do. She had slammed her body against the wall over and over, but the only response was hands dragging her back from it.
Clearly, there was someone else in this space.
Those hands would shove food into her mouth when it was time to eat, and restrain her whenever her bound hands prompted wild struggles.
After getting off the train, they had ridden in a car for quite some time. Her eyes covered, the soft feel of the seats and the faint whiff of perfume were her only clues.
Was this place Nexus?
At that moment, footsteps approaching from afar halted abruptly at the door.
Kiiiek. With an eerie groan, the door swung open, and someone stood there. Beth lifted her head.
"Has your temper cooled off a bit?"
It was a gruff voice.
No answer came, but the man pressed on.
"Take off the blindfold."
Beth flinched back at the approaching presence. She twisted her head side to side, but the blindfold came off easily anyway.
Sudden light made her squint hard. Every time she turned her head to peer through the glaring rays, a heavy headache bore down on her.
"Beth Jens?"
A middle-aged man stood where the voice had come from.
His graying hair bore the marks of time, and the faint wrinkles around his eyes gave a fleeting impression of kindness—but those eyes, alive with predatory sharpness, evoked a beast.
Beth remembered those viper-like eyes.
"Looks like you do. You're shaking like a leaf."
The man barked a short laugh and sank into the sofa opposite her.
"You didn't have a name back then, as I recall. Did you pick it yourself?"
With that, he crooked a finger— a gesture implying he'd forgotten something.
"Forgot you can't speak. Untie her hands and give her a pen."
The command seemed directed at no one in particular.
Yet at his words, someone emerged from the shadows.
It was a boy.
A boy whose delicate features made it hard to tell at a glance if he was male or female, still bearing the softness of youth.
As he untied her hands, Beth realized this was the one who had been feeding and tending to her all this time.
A pen was thrust awkwardly into Beth's newly freed hands.
"Still got that poison in your eyes, I see."
The man tsked and peeled off his leather glove.
Thud. He tossed it to the floor—a casual move, but one practiced at intimidating others.
Beth glared at the man.
"Beth takes over Beth's work. Sounds plausible enough."
The man sneered, one corner of his mouth curling in clear contempt.
"I checked on your mother's well-being myself."
At those words, Beth hurled the pen nib at him like a blade. Caught off guard by the provocation, the man took a long gash across one cheek from the sharp point.
"Damn it!"
Blood seeped slowly from the thin slit. A tiny amount, but enough to rile him further.
A harsh slap whipped her head to the corner. Just a strike to the cheek, but it rang in her ear and skull.
Beth worked her numb lips, no scream escaping.
"What a temper!"
The man's hand rose again into the air.
As the whoosh of wind made Beth squeeze her eyes shut—
"That's enough."
A different voice.
She could feel the heat of the hand inches away, but no pain followed.
Beth and the man's heads snapped toward the source.
"You brought her here because she looks like that woman. What's the point if you ruin her face?"
The speaker, who had entered the room, shed her robe. She appeared around the same age as the man.
"So you're Beth. Neither of us has met you before."
A faint Britain accent colored the woman's speech.
"No time to waste. Get to the point."
She stood by the door, as if unwilling to spend another moment in the place.
The man shot her a displeased glance, his clenched jaw twitching. Then his piercing eyes turned back to Beth.
"You've been getting close to Dever Cliff, I hear?"
He flexed and balled his large hands, as if issuing a threat.
Beth's gaze met his steadily.
"What you have to do is simple. Just like on the battlefield. Do it like you did back then. Like your mother."
Beth's lips began to tremble as she stared him down without blinking.
She bit her red lips a few times, then spat squarely in the man's face.
"You little... bitch."
Mindful of the woman still by the door, he refrained from slapping her again—but his hand shook as he wiped the spit from his face.
Slap.
"Eek!"
The man shot to his feet and struck the boy beside him. The much smaller boy's body tumbled into the corner.
The man's merciless boot came down relentlessly on the cowering figure.
Beth writhed, but with her thighs and feet bound to the chair, she was helpless. The knots in the ropes binding her were out of reach.
"How dare you butt in!"
The boy's body jerked a few times before going limp.
Beth's face paled as she watched it all. Intermittent breaths escaped her trembling lips.
"That's on you."
The woman chided him smoothly.
"Look at the consequences of your insolence."
Thin fluid trickled from the boy's mouth. Too dark to make out the color, but it was surely blood.
"Now you're ready to talk, right?"
The man bared his teeth in a grin and picked up the pen from the floor. Beth stared blankly at the one now pressed into her hand.
"Let's have a little chat, then."
Dever left the castle before dawn even broke.
Of last night's guests, fewer than half had made it back. The rest were surely passed out in some alley of Brent's protection district.
"Your Grace, are you sure you should go alone? Shall I send men to fetch the guests?"
"It's fine. They're all the type to care about face."
Dever offered a simple excuse to preserve his friends' dignity.
The banquet hall, which had looked like it took a bombing run, had just been cleared. Yet Dever stood before the servants impeccably groomed, as if he'd never touched that muddy revelry.
He even looked more vibrant than when he'd first arrived in Wayne.
"If any other guests from Wayne show up, tell them Duke Cliff is too drunk to think straight."
He said as he fastened his shirt cuffs.
"I have my dignity too. Better than being spotted in the protection district at the crack of dawn."
He sauntered over, grabbing his coat.
"I'm going alone."
Snatching the car keys from the waiting driver's hand, Dever sped away from the castle.
He'd only been to Brent's protection district once before, but now every detail felt vivid.
Dever clenched his free hand into a fist and pressed it hard against his chest.
Was that old woman really Ellie Jet Bomber?
Maybe Beth wasn't even there.
If all she had to return to was a dump like that, why did she leave me?
Was I no better than that filth?
Doubts and questions had kept him up all night. He should have scoured every room in those ant-hole alleys instead of wasting time grilling the old woman. He should have been looking for Beth.
That regret now drove him with frantic urgency in the pre-dawn gloom.
Drifters sprawled on the ground scowled at the luxury car pulling up to the protection district.
Dever plunged right in without hesitation. A few who didn't recognize him approached with belligerence, only to be hurled to the dirt by brute force.
"Hah. Hah."
His breaths came rough from deep within, uncharacteristically ragged.
A familiar stench.
The closer he got to the room where he'd met the old woman, the thicker the revolting odor grew.
"Y-Your Grace!"
The man who'd dealt with Dever last night came rushing from the alley's end.
"The old woman."
"Uh, well. Gack!"
The man's throat was suddenly in Dever's vise grip. The duke's merciless hold was no different from the night before.
"The old woman."
"Guh! She, she just— suddenly d-died—"
"Died?"
The man hit the ground, clutching his neck and coughing.
Dever felt ice water pour from his crown, chilling his blood cold. His pulse, elevated just moments ago with excitement, now stilled.
"Died...?"
The man eyed Dever warily.
"Yes... She was on her last legs anyway. Not surprising whenever it happened."
"How."
"How? She just died."
"Who was guarding the room."
"Told one of the guys downstairs..."
"Where's that bastard."
"The one guarding the room?"
The man hemmed and hawed. Even in this lowly protection district, there were rules. He might be the boss here, but he didn't know every small fry's name.
"J-Just some guy who eats and sleeps around here...?"
"Find him."
"Ugh!"
Dever seized the man by the hair. The underlings' terrified faces were plain to see as their boss suffered the humiliation.
"Bring every soul in this protection district before me. Not one missing. The old woman's corpse too."
His voice ground out the words, laced with murderous intent.
"Miss even one, and I'll slaughter this whole alley."
"Q-Quick! Hurry!"
No one would mistake the duke's words for a joke.
The madman rumors were true. Hair gripped tight, the man waved his men on frantically, face twisted in misery.
The underlings scattered with disciplined haste, bursting into rooms and dragging people out.
Soon the narrow alley brimmed with bodies piled like corpses: guests, pimps, passersby riffraff. Even some Wayne nobles still too drunk to stand were among them.
Finally came the white-shrouded bier.
Dever trampled the sprawled humans like fallen leaves en route to it. Lifting the cloth revealed the old woman from last night, eyes closed in repose.
"What convenient timing."
A faint smile ghosted across Dever's expressionless face.
"Dying right on schedule."