Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: Torment Beneath the Palace
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The royal palace of Brussels in Shurton was the Aslan Kingdom's crowning architectural achievement, a masterpiece infused with the realm's ancient history and culture.
Facing the cataclysm known as the Great Flood—a demonic scourge—outsiders from other continents naturally imagined it as a fortified bastion.
Yet those who actually laid eyes on Brussels Palace couldn't help but gasp in awe at its splendor.
The palace's breathtaking beauty stood as irrefutable proof of the Aslan Kingdom's unyielding strength against the savage lands of the Great Flood. It was a source of immense pride for the kingdom's people.
"Gaaahhhh!"
Deep beneath that magnificent palace—a place whose very existence was unknown to most citizens—a agonized scream echoed through the underground chambers.
"Guh... guh..."
A blood-soaked figure—not quite human anymore, more like a lump of meat—let out continuous groans.
Drip!
In front of it stood a burly, hairy man with his upper body bare, setting down an iron rod of unknown purpose as he wiped his hands.
"Whew! In all my years, I've never seen a freak like you. Look, friend, there's an easy way out here, so why keep putting yourself through this needless suffering? Just tell me one thing, and I'll let you go painlessly. Promise."
Whoosh!
The hairy man leaned in close to the lump of meat's ear, his eyes filled with what seemed like genuine sadness for an old friend's poor choices.
"Not some boring, cliché question like 'Why'd you do it?' Nah. Just one simple thing: where are you from? Say that, and I'll make it quick right now."
It was a voice as sweet as honey.
Impossible to believe it came from the man who had just pounded a living person into this bloody pulp.
That made it all the more grotesque.
"Ugh... ugh..."
Was it overwhelmed by the sheer dissonance?
The lump of meat, which had been groaning nonstop, finally parted what was left of its mouth.
"Oh, oh! That's it, come on. Changed your mind?"
Clang!
Reacting differently this time, the hairy man dropped the tool he'd been about to pick up next to the iron rod like trash and opened a vial instead.
Pop!
A clear, refreshing fragrance instantly filled the basement.
He carefully poured the vial's liquid into the lump's mouth, and fresh flesh began sprouting almost immediately over the bloodied ruins.
"Smart choice. You think I enjoy this? It's all orders from above—I have no choice. Friend, I'll make it real quick, so spill it. I don't want to keep torturing you anymore, honest."
At the hairy man's gentle words, the lump of meat finally spoke.
"You..."
"You?"
The hairy man's mind raced, piecing together information from that single word.
'Something starting with "you"? There are groups in Osela on the Western Continent with weird accents. Maybe from there?'
Various guesses flashed through his head, but the lump—Adam—dashed them coldly.
"You... fuck your mother, you bastard. Heh heh heh!"
"...!!"
The friendly expression on the hairy man's face froze into an icy glare in an instant.
Thud!
He picked up the mysterious tool again.
"Looks like... my friend here wants to spend a little more time with me."
Let's see who breaks first.
"He still hasn't talked,"
the adjutant reported to Count Gilbert, head of Eagle Eye, shaking his head.
"Heh heh, still holding out? No one's ever lasted a day in that hairy bastard's hands. Must've bruised his ego pretty bad."
"In my whole life, I've never seen guys with guts and grit like this. To pull a stunt right in the heart of the Aslan Kingdom's capital—targeting the princess, no less. And he's still holding on after all that? 'Strong will' doesn't even begin to cover it. A week of the hairy one's torture... most would've shattered a hundred times over by now."
The adjutant shuddered, recalling the hairy torturer's methods.
His interrogations went far beyond ripping flesh, severing tendons, or pulling nails—child's play by comparison.
He wielded divine power and healing potions freely to inflict tortures beyond human imagination, without hesitation.
Gouging out eyes and stuffing them with maggots, melting tongues and sealing the holes with wax... the hairy one had devised countless horrors too vile to describe.
"Well, who knows. People can surpass their limits when protecting something dear. His endurance might be a clue in itself."
"Ah! Could be."
Even as they discussed unspeakable atrocities, their faces remained impassive.
It was only natural.
These were the scum who'd dared to mess with the king's only daughter.
They deserved far worse than this—no one was shedding tears for Adam's rights.
But a wrinkle had appeared in their plans.
The captured prisoner, Adam, refused to crack—no matter the brutality.
"Still, this can't go on. Ian Lichtenauer asked for updates, and we've got nothing after a week. Our reputation's on the line."
Count Gilbert clicked his tongue, rubbing his temples, then paused as something occurred to him.
"Speaking of which, what’s the Lichtenauer clan's Second Young Lord up to now?"
Ian Lichtenauer had been the hero who thwarted the incident in central Shurton.
Rescuing a nation's princess and repelling the shady group that shook the capital had skyrocketed his prestige—even in the capital itself.
"He's in a private audience with His Majesty, as far as I know. I knew he exceeded the rumors, but damn, he's the real deal."
Flip!
The adjutant flipped through Ian's file on the desk, whistling in admiration.
"The halfwit they called him? Who'd have thought he'd be this good. Marquis Paon has every reason to boast. At this rate, he's surpassing what Alex the Grand Young Lord was at his age..."
"Heh heh, you're surprisingly naive yourself."
Gilbert cut him off with a chuckle.
Was it the oddly cold edge to that laugh?
The adjutant fell silent, meeting Gilbert's gaze and swallowing dryly without realizing it.
The count's eyes were piercingly cold.
"We're Eagle Eye, the kingdom's top intelligence outfit. And we misjudged a key figure from a martial clan? You think that's acceptable?"
"...I'll correct it."
"Too late for that reaction. Information slips once, and you're always playing catch-up. Don't you agree?"
Tap!
Gilbert placed a gentle hand on the adjutant's shoulder, flashing a smile.
The adjutant found that smile utterly terrifying.
"It's not just the Second Young Lord. Dig up everything on the new strike team that came with him—their backgrounds, abilities, the works. Analyze scenarios for their growth over the next five, ten years."
The workload alone was suffocating.
But refusing was out of the question.
"...Understood. How much time do I—"
Smile!
Gilbert, still smiling, murmured softly.
"I'll give you a generous three days."
"......"
"Too much? Two days enough?"
"N-no, that's fine!"
As Gilbert left the room, the adjutant dropped the files limply, realizing he'd be lucky to see home for the next three days—with the entire Eagle Eye mobilized.
A week had passed since Princess Isabel was attacked in the heart of the capital.
Down below, Adam's horrific torture continued unabated, but up in the reception hall, unrelatedly, Ian and King Demure were enjoying tea.
Slurp!
"......"
They drank in complete silence—not a single word exchanged.
King Demure savored his tea leisurely, while Ian watched him quietly.
No matter his status as a direct heir of the prestigious Lichtenauer Patriarch, staring down a king was rude.
Yet somehow...
The relaxed king and Ian's steady gaze matched in a strangely harmonious way.
Of course, there was plenty of protocol to nitpick if one wished.
"Pfuhahaha!"
But instead of rebuking Ian, King Demure burst into laughter.
"Good grief, one more sip and you'll bore holes right through me."
Clink!
Meeting Ian's unwavering stare, Demure set down his teacup quietly, waving his hands in surrender.
"You're wound way too tight, lad. Got a lot on your mind? Speak freely."
"Since Your Majesty insists, I'll be direct."
Ian cut straight to the chase.
"Your Majesty... did you deliberately delay dispatching the knights and guards?"
"Ho, intriguing. What makes you say that?"
Demure countered with a smile, unfazed by the bold question.
"The royal intelligence is top-notch, but the knights moved too sluggishly."
The crown had already identified Shurton's shady elements, even tailing suspects with agents.
For such experts to arrive after him? Unthinkable.
Tia had assumed she'd shaken them off using Isabel's magic in the slums.
Maybe.
Of course, Tia must have been impressed by how the net closed in within an hour across vast Shurton—proof of the Aslan royals' prowess.
Ian just scoffed inwardly.
The crown knew every suspicious figure in Shurton.
With that intel, predicting the intruders' target—Princess Isabel—would've been child's play.
Hell, they might've even known she was using a separate magic circle.
For them to dawdle an hour meant they'd let it play out on purpose.
Demure didn't deny it.
"Heh heh! Letting it slide... spot on."
"May I ask why...?"
Ian couldn't fathom it.
King Demure's love for Isabel Aslan was legendary.
Yet he'd knowingly let danger come to her?
"Heh heh! Right, you're a Lichtenauer direct heir too. No need to hide it—I'll tell you."
Gulp!
Demure took another sip and continued.
"It's about the ties between your Lichtenauer clan and the Magic Tower."
He repeated what he'd told Count Gilbert.
"The Great Flood is one of the few lands across the Southern Continent—no, all of Agera—untouched by human hands. To protect this nation from those ferocious beasts, the martial clans, Magic Tower, and crown must stand united. If anyone—even after centuries of ironclad alliance—tries to fracture that bond... unforgivable. Even if it's my own beloved daughter."
Demure's face hardened with resolve.
No mercy befitting his title as the Present King.
"Heh heh! Maybe I said too much. You're still young for this—"
"I see. Understood. That makes perfect sense."
"Heh heh! Yes, for someone your age, it's—wait, what?"
Demure blinked in surprise at Ian's response, then leaned forward.
"You understand? My decision?"
"Of course. Ah, so that's why you asked me to investigate Shurton specifically. Father must have requested it."
Ian nodded as if it all clicked.
"A dramatic rescue of Princess Isabel mends fences with the crown in one stroke. Even failure paints the Lichtenauer heir nobly risking it all for the princess."
"...!!"
Demure had no retort to Ian's crisp analysis.
But Ian's mind was already racing elsewhere.
'If I'd failed and died? Eh, that would've been it, then.'
What a ruthless clan. This damn Lichtenauer martial house.
"Doesn't... bother you at all?"
"Hm? Not sure what you mean..."
Ian tilted his head, puzzled.
"Using you and the princess to patch up alliances. Truly, no issue?"
"No, of course not."
Ian nodded—what was the big deal?
In Aslan, the Great Flood was an existential threat demanding the nation's all.
Facing that, what better way to excise internal rot?
'Oh, right—they sealed the capital. Might as well ask.'
Ian turned to the dazed king.
"Your Majesty, have all the foreign guests departed?"
"Hm? Ah, not yet. As you know, this mess happened smack in Shurton's center. We found more spies from abroad besides the basement rat—perfect excuse. Borders closed, everyone's held while we uproot them all."
Good.
Swish!
"Your Majesty, if it's not too much trouble... might you grant a small request of mine?"