Chapter 145: Assasination [3]
The chain bit into Alaric’s wrists as the figure jerked his arms behind his back, locking them tight.
Alaric flashed the man a cold glare, his jaw tightening.
But then—
[Ding!]
A familiar cyan panel shimmered before his eyes.
[Side Quest: House Risvolk Corruption Completed!]
[Rewards: +150 EXP | 300 DP]
Perfect timing Selene.
His lip curled to a grin.
[Ding!]
[You ranked up, host!]
The bindings cut into his skin, but Alaric’s focus snapped to the flood of notifications scrolling past.
His pulse quickened. For a moment, he almost forgot the rough grip at his back.
[STATUS]
Name: Brandon (Past Life: Alaric Noir)
Race: Human
Age: 19
Title: Slave, Model Servant, Prince of Blackthorn (The Fallen King)
Essence Path: The Path of #$#&##@##
Sub-Path: Flame
Essence Rank: D+ → C-
EXP: 8,460/9,400 → 60/12,000
Stats:
STR: 110 → 115
AGI: 110 → 115
END: 110 → 115
WIL: 110 → 115
CHA: 110 → 115
INT: 110 (??) → 115 (??)
Free stat points: 340
DP: 7,800
Skill Tree:
Intermediate Fire Spell (F): Fireball, Flame Arrow, Burst Step
Scorchblade Arts (S):
1st Form – Flame Blade
2nd Form – Flame Slash
3rd Form – Blazing Mirage
Dominion’s Gaze (A)
Regnant Strike (B)
Scanner
Shop: Advanced Tier Items
Obedience Meter: 1 (70%)
Loyalty Meter: 1 (80%)
DP Exchange: Available
Daily Quest: Completed
Quest: House of Cards [Objective: Annihilate House Valtair] (In Progress)
System Level: 3
Next Upgrade: 10,000 DP
??? (System Level 4 required)
Alaric closed the panel with a flick of his mind.
The chain at his wrists jerked tight as the man yanked him along with the others.
Alaric stumbled forward once, then steadied himself, his face unreadable.
Step after step, he let his pace slacken, forcing the guard behind him to tug harder.
System. Max out my stats.
He said internally.
[Ding!]
[Stat Allocation Confirmed.]
Stats Updated:
STR: 115 → 130 (Max)
AGI: 115 → 130 (Max)
END: 115 → 130 (Max)
WIL: 115 → 130 (Max)
CHA: 115 → 130 (Max)
INT: 115 → 130 (??) (Max)
[Free Stat Points Remaining: 340 → 250]
A subtle rush burned through his veins, muscles tightening, senses sharpening, his body humming with restrained energy.
Alaric slowed his pace and one of the younger figures broke formation and moved up to yank at his bound arms.
"Keep moving," the youth hissed, giving him a hard shove.
Alaric winced, doubling slightly, his expression twisting with discomfort. "My stomach..." he muttered, voice hoarse. "It’s aching... can’t walk too fast."
His face tightened with a pained grimace, the act convincing enough to draw a scoff.
The younger figure clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Pathetic. Fine, just keep up" He turned away, dismissing him with a sneer.
They pressed on, and when the path narrowed, the procession squeezed past a dark alley.
In that moment, Alaric staggered deliberately, veering just enough for the young captor to move close again.
Without warning, Alaric twisted, his movements sharp and predatory. He slammed his shoulder into the youth’s chest, spinning him into the shadows of the alley.
In the same motion, he drove his bound hands upward, the chain between his wrists ramming into the boy’s throat with brutal precision.
A strangled gasp tore from the youth as Alaric’s strike crushed against his vocal cords.
He seized the advantage, looping the chain around the boy’s neck and yanking it tight.
The figure’s heels scraped against the stone as he flailed, dragged deeper into the alley, away from the eyes of the others.
The muffled sound of choking echoed in the narrow dark, swallowed quickly by the roar of chaos still raging outside the barrier.
The figure clawed weakly at the chain, boots scraping against the cobblestones. His muffled attempts to scream came out broken, caught in his crushed throat.
Alaric’s eyes stayed cold, his grip unrelenting. The struggling grew weaker, the kicks less frantic, until finally the boy’s body sagged, limp and breathless.
With a quiet exhale, Alaric eased the corpse down and propped it against the wall. He worked quickly, stripping the dark cloak from the body and tugging off the gloves.
Draping the cloak over himself, Alaric pulled the hood low, tucking the gloves onto his hands.
Then, without a sound, he slipped from the alley back into the open streets and slid back into the column of captors and prisoners as if he had always been there.
The dead man’s cloak and gloves masked him well, the hood shadowing his face.
His grip found Elina’s chains, tugging them sharply.
"Don’t slack," he hissed, his tone roughened, deeper than usual, yet not so altered that she couldn’t recognize him.
Her steps faltered for the briefest second. Elina’s eyes darted up at him, then back toward where she’d last seen her brother walking a few paces away.
Her heart skipped.
She glanced at him again, and her eyes widened as realization hit her.
Still, she curled her lips into a faint sneer and snapped back, "I’m walking just fine."
Her voice was sharp enough to play the part, but her eyes lingered on him an extra heartbeat, just long enough to say, I know.
Alaric gave the chain another tug, masking the faint twist at the corner of his mouth.
********
The room was dim, lit only by a few lanterns hanging from the walls. Shadows stretched long across the stone floor.
A hooded figure sat on a chair in the center, leaning back with his legs propped on the table.
His posture was lazy, but the air around him was heavy.
Several other hooded figures stood close by, silent and waiting.
On the ground in front of them a middle-aged man lay sprawled.
His hands and legs were tied tight with ropes. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, dripping onto the floor as he groaned in pain.
The man lifted his head weakly, only to be shoved down again by the boot of one of the hooded guards.
Then a sharp cry rang from the side of the room.
"Father!"
A small girl, no older than eight, squirmed against the ropes biting into her wrists.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to reach the man on the floor.
Beside her, a middle-aged woman—her mother—sat bound, her face pale and streaked with sweat. Next to her was another girl, older, maybe sixteen, with the same frightened eyes as her sister, her lips pressed tight to keep from screaming.
The hooded figure on the chair raised his hand lazily.
"Oi." His tone was playful. "What do you think you’re doing?"
The guard who had just kicked the man froze.
The leader tilted his head toward the little girl. "Don’t you see? There’s a child here."
His voice dropped into a mock scold, soft and drawn out like a parent chastising a misbehaving pet.
"How careless of you... really now."
The guard stiffened and lowered his boot, muttering a nervous apology.
The leader chuckled, shaking his head as if the whole scene amused him.
The hooded figure sighed, then pushed himself up from the chair.
His boots clicked against the stone floor as he crossed the room.
The little girl shrank back when his shadow fell over her.
He crouched in front of her, lowering his hood just enough for his sharp grin to show.
With one gloved thumb, he brushed the tears from her damp cheeks.
"There, there," he murmured, voice low and coaxing. "No need for all that."
His hand rose, ruffling her tangled hair as if he were some doting uncle.
"You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Good kids don’t cry."
The girl bit her lip, trembling, her wide eyes fixed on him.
Behind her, the older sister strained against her ropes.
"Don’t touch her!" she shouted, her voice breaking.
The leader chuckled softly, ignoring her. His smile stayed on the little one.
"See? Even your sister agrees. No tears. Just be good."
The hooded man’s fingers spread against the girl’s small cheeks, tilting her face up so she couldn’t look away.
"We’re your daddy’s friends," he said smoothly. "Just playing a little game."
He jerked his chin toward the bleeding man sprawled on the ground.
"See? He’s only acting. Nothing for you to worry about."
The girl blinked rapidly, confusion and fear warring in her eyes.
Then the hooded man shifted his gaze to the father, lips curling wider as he bared his teeth.
"Am I right?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous edge.
The father coughed.
His eyes flicked to his daughters, then back to the grinning man above them.
The hooded figure crouched down again, undoing the ropes around the little girl’s wrists.
The fibers fell away, leaving faint red marks on her skin. He gently took her tiny hand in his own, his grip deceptively soft.
"See?" he said in a voice laced with false warmth. "No more ropes. Doesn’t that feel better?"
The girl’s lips quivered, but no sound escaped.
He gave a slow tug, coaxing her to stand.
"Come now. Don’t be afraid. They’re all just playing." He swept a glance at the bound family and chuckled low.
"They look very serious, don’t they? But it’s all a game."
Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked on her father.
The man was trembling, straining against the ropes that bit into his wrists, his mouth gagged so tightly that his muffled cries were barely audible.
The hooded figure leaned closer to the girl’s ear, his grin hidden by the shadow of his cowl.
"Shh. Don’t listen to that. He’s pretending."
Then he tugged her hand once more, slowly guiding her away from the others.
"You and I," he said softly, almost like a lullaby, "we should play together too."
Just as he stepped toward the doorway, the little girl’s small hand trembling in his grip, he paused.
His gaze flicked back to the scene inside—the man sprawled across the floor, the woman and the older girl huddled in the corner, their eyes wide, silently pleading.
The hooded figure tilted his head, as though considering. Then his eyes settled on the broken father once more.
"If you don’t speak within ten minutes..." His lips pulled back into a slow grin, sharp and cruel. "...then I’ll decide what happens next."
He let the words hang in the air like a death sentence, savoring the silence that followed, the choked sobs, the muffled protests.
With that, he gave the little girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze, as though he’d just promised her candy, and stepped out.
The heavy door creaked shut.