418: || Chapter 407 || Lost In Madness

|| Chapter 407 || Lost In Madness

Drip!

Drip!

Large drops of water fell from the houses' overhangs as the rain finally ceased. The sky was growing brighter and the silence became heavier. This deserted part of the town seemed drearier than before the rain had stopped. 

The damp air thickened while Snow tried to catch a scent. Silver eyes narrowed as the youth walked, waiting...

Splash!

It was a soft sound but it couldn't' escape Moulin's attention. In the next second, he left his position, swiftly materializing an ice blade in his hand. 

Whoosh!

"Ah..."

The sharp point of the blade pressed against a man's heaving chest. The ice shimmered dangerously. Had it stopped a second late, it would have mercilessly pierced through his heart. 

The tall muscular man raised his hands in surrender. His brown eyes are soft, ridden with a bit of guilt, behind the eyeholes of his mask. 

Moulin's eyes widened, "Erik?..."

"Hello, young master..." The man greeted in a gentle tone. His eyes darted between the glistening weapon above his chest and the surprised look on the beautiful man's face. 

"Ao!"

Erik smiles slightly, noticing the furball in the youth's arm. "Hello, Snow..."

"Why are you following me?" Moulin frowned. 

'He's quite cautious' Erik hopelessly thought. It didn't come to him that he would be discovered so early. Ah, he should've brought a more advanced stealth artifact. He gazed into the youth's sharp eyes, vigilant and intimidating. Although the young master was smaller and the difference between their physique was far greater, Erik couldn't carelessly act against him. He'd heard about the young master's exceptional talents and his mysterious past. And his soul, so pure and compelling. 

"I was given orders to follow you." Erik truthfully spoke. 

Moulin raised an eyebrow, "Your master is wary of me?"

A chuckle escaped Erik's mouth. 

"Ah, he's rather curious about you. His interest has no limits."

Moulin stared deeply at him, not removing his weapon even an inch away from where it touched Erik. The latter could not help but hold his breath as he felt the pointed tip of the blade digs slightly into the fabric of his clothes.

Finally, Moulin relents from the numerous thoughts in his mind and slowly pulls away. The blade in his hand dissipated into fine particles of snow, melting in the humid air. 

Erik breathes out in relief. Awed, he watches the snowflakes disappear in the air. "You have a charming gift, young master."

'Albeit deadly, it is elegant to look at,' Erik secretly thought.

"I've spared you now, but don't think I'd spare you again," Moulin warned before taking a few steps away from the big man. "I think I'd talk with your master. Can't see why I couldn't when he had his men keep an eye on me like anyone would with a suspect. I've heard he spent his time nowadays relaxing in a beauty's arms. I don't think I've done anything to him to deserve his attention, don't you think?"

Erik's smile was strained. He helplessly sighed, "Yes. He is very strange indeed. Ahem."

Expressionlessly, Moulin turned to walk away. "Don't hide from me. Follow me all you want but I find it uncomfortable when someone's watching me in the dark."

The grekellian blinked, "Understood..."

...

A few hours later, Moulin entered the interrogation room along with a few sentinels. The dark dungeons were illuminated with bright torches and the unpleasant smell filled their nostrils. Moulin frowned. Fortunately, he left Snow in Pola's care. Otherwise, he'd have to deal with the little fox's whining. Surprisingly, he found a familiar person blindly walking towards him, too distracted with the object in his hands to recognize the person ahead of him.

"Jagra..." Moulin called, as he signaled the others to go ahead of him.

The man jumped at the sound of his friend's voice. "Moulin!"

"What are you doing here?" The youth asked as he approached. With a closer look, he realized that the object in his hands was the dagger they obtained from the home of Erthyl's abductor. It remained encased in ice and could only thaw when the caster wills it. 

"Ah, I was about to look for you." Jagra noticed Moulin's gaze. "It is difficult to release the dagger without your mana. I needed your help. Can I meet you back in my office?"

Moulin's brow rose in realization, "Of course. I'll meet you there."

Jagra nodded with a smile and lowered his gaze to the sealed dagger. "You did good sealing this dagger. The energy within it felt off even within its case..."

Moulin sealed it when he felt a foreboding energy seep away from the blade. It wasn't a good sign. It seems some of the evidence was sent to Jagra's division to be analyzed. Moulin wondered what results his friend would uncover. He'd find out later.

When Jagra left, Moulin continued into the dungeons. The steel doors opened with a deafening creak, piercing into his ears. His frown deepened when shouts resounded within the area. 

"What did you find?..." Moulin reached Ghana who sat on an old table with a bored expression. It seemed like she was exhausted by the endless noise within the interrogation room and came out for a breather. She had long taken off her cloak, leaving her combat uniform on. It was still damp but she didn't look bothered by it.

"He's just a slaver... Not that it means we'd let him off, of course. He sold orphan children to unknown clients. Specifically, to those crazy cultists. Other than that, he's absolutely clueless. He didn't know why they needed the children. The seers came and confirmed it. He's telling the truth." Ghana yawned, flicking her long platinum hair off her shoulders. 

Moulin glanced at the room where the slaver's voice kept echoing. "And the other one?"

"Ugh..." Ghana held the bridge of her nose. "He's difficult. Turns out he's mute." 

Before Moulin could question further, she opened her mouth and gestured to her tongue. "Tongue, cut out. And something was wrong with his vocal cords. Seemed to be an old injury."

"The seers didn't find anything?" 

"They can read minds but how could they know what is true and not when that bastard could fabricate his thoughts so easily?" Ghana frowned.  "Unlike him, the slaver was easy to control."

"Is there no other way?"

Ghana shrugged. "If it were eight years before, we'd possessed a few of those complex artifacts that could lend us a hand. The prosperous Aurona had so much to give but crumbled so  quickly just when Kron began to plague the lands."

Suddenly, the doors opened, and three men left the room that the slaver had occupied. The sentinels were expressionless but it could not mask their exhaustion. However, it seemed as though they'd worn out their prisoner's persistence as well. The silence was satisfying. 

Ghana rose and listened to the results of the interrogations. Moulin quietly listened as his gaze drifted to the other silent room where the mute captive was held. The longer he stared, the more suspicious he felt. 

'It's too silent...' He thought approaching the room with unhurried steps. The sound of his footsteps caught the attention of the rest of the people within the area. 

"Moulin?" Ghana called. What is he doing?

Without hesitating, Moulin yanked the door open. A disgusting smell immediately spread out from the room alerting the sentinels. 

"!!!"

Writhing on the floor, were two sentinels, clawing at their throat as their mouths frothed white foam, trickling down their jaws. Their eyes rolled back into their skull as they convulsed from the pain. The perpetrator, tied to his chair, only watched with a horrifyingly calm gaze as a dark murderous aura surrounds his entire frame. 

Moulin's eyes flashed. In a split second, he slammed the man's head on the table! A gruesome loud crack entered his ears but he wasn't finished. The man groaned in pain, briefly confused. The next thing he knew, his mouth released an agonized scream echoing throughout the dungeons. 

The slaver in the other room jumped in fright at the noise.

Drops of dark blood dripped down the pointed icicles under the table surface, creating a small puddle on the stone floor.

Moulin's eyes narrowed as he left the man pinned on the table, groaning in pain. He turned his gaze to the two sentinels, lying on the floor unconscious. 

Ghana stood with the other sentinels in a shocked state. 

She gnashed her teeth, "Why didn't we sense something was wrong?"

"This bastard has no internal core," Moulin spoke.0

"Then why was he able to do all this?" Ghana gestured the three sentinels behind her to check their unconscious subordinates. 

It was the same thing about the crazy woman who tried to create a summoning circle in her hideout. Moulin gazed suspiciously at the bald man half-lying on the table surface of the interrogation room. 

As the sentinels dragged out their unconscious subordinates, Moulin and Ghana were left alone in the room with the prisoner. The atmosphere was tense, they could feel the unease blanketing their skin. 

How was he able to do this? Was it a curse placed upon him? Questions endlessly filled their minds. 

Right now, they couldn't leave the man alone without obtaining information. 

...

Suddenly,  an idea slipped into Moulin's mind. It wasn't actually risky but he hadn't had full control of it yet. "..."

"Moulin, let's go find someone to crank open his mind. Perhaps, one of the veresyahs has someone capable." Ghana suggested. 

After a moment of deep thinking, Moulin conceded to his thoughts and stepped beside the tied-up man. It was better to try it out first. 

"Let me try something..." Moulin spoke while gripping the man's nape. 

"What are you trying to do?" Ghana stepped forward in confusion.

"..." Moulin furrowed his brows and concentrated. 

The man underneath his palm flinched at the young maeruthan's touch. A foreboding feeling sank into his gut.

"..."

The activation took a whole minute before he was plunged into a vision. Moulin hadn't truly perfected this ability, it took a while for him to grasp the basics by himself since he was keeping this skill a secret from anyone. His mind ached and his closed eyes felt sore.

His body felt like water as pictures flashed in his mind. He gnashed his teeth, struggling to slow down the search. 

Then he saw red, scrawled all around him. Multiple people gathered within a tiny room. A shabby altar with an unrecognizable wooden icon, offered with a bowl of blood and flesh.  Cries and laughter mingled incoherently in his ears. Moulin felt drowsy as though a sleep spell was cast upon him. What is this?

One person rose from the crowd and faced the people. He is dressed in rags. Face and body, stained with mud. He is extremely thin like a person who has eaten in days. The man's voice was shrill and hoarse like he'd been screaming for hours. 

"Brother! Sisters! Tomorrow night, we feast on the glory of our master! We open a bridge to receive his blessings!" He raised his arms in the air as his bloodshot, eyes widened in obsession. 

The crowd laughed and cheered in happiness, Oblivious to the red haze entering them through their orifices. They are like mindless dolls, lost in worship. The sight was ominous.

The man continued, dancing clumsily before the altar.  "Ten pure little lives for the sake of redemption. Cut open their little bellies and wash ourselves with their holy blood."

He raised his hands with a terrible grin, "All hail our lord, Vigal."

"All hail!"

"Save us! Save us!"

"Bless us, master!"

The voices fused themselves in an endless confusing chant, echoing in Moulin's mind. He felt almost compelled by their devotion but forcibly pulled away from their slurred prayers.  Accidentally, he ended the connection and stumbled back from the table with a terrible headache. 

"Aghh..." Moulin held his head in pain. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to slow down his breathing. The voices echoed endlessly as they gradually faded from his mind. 

Ghana was quick to support his weary figure, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine..." Moulin responds with a creased forehead. He ignored his aching head and met Ghana's worried gaze. His silver eyes glowed with determined strength startling the friend at his side.

"I think I know what they're after..."

.....

The soothing morning breeze slipped through the balcony's open doors. Soft gauze-like curtains fluttered, teasing the glass panes. What lacked was the bountiful sunshine that illuminated Cohan's mornings, bringing light to the land and life to every living thing who treads upon it.

Sitting on the chair near an open window, where the marvelous view of Helios was exposed, a tall man silently sat. His golden hair seemed to gleam without light, like the longing sun itself. His strong perfect features are reflected within the crystal window panes. And his eyes, bright liquid gold, startling every soul it gazes upon. He wore loose clothing revealing his form and muscled perfection, of his body. 

The man looked relaxed, unbothered by the blinding pressure of his position and the heavy burden of responsibility that settled on his shoulders. However, his expressionless calm masked the writhing dark secrets that threatened to take over his mind. 

Lord Hadrian Hercullio narrowed his eyes on the city he helped build from the ground up. 

The man at his side, silently glanced at his expression, afraid of disturbing him and suffering his ire. However, he was a seer, a healer, and a mage. Colahn would be stupid to distract himself while working because of his fear.

He felt honored to be chosen by the High Lord himself for an examination. However, he felt as though the request was off. There were perhaps, many seers more experienced than him in all of the Three Towers. Something felt off...

Colahn placed his fingers on the underside of the lord's wrist. A faint light glowed underneath his touch, activating his examination. With a breath, he closed his eyes and focused.

Lord Hadrian looked unfazed as he lowered his defenses and exposed his soul to the seer beside him. His heart strongly objects to having his vulnerabilities exposed. However, he lowered his gaze, decidedly shifting his thoughts to distract himself. 

A fresh distinct memory rose in his mind. Golden eyes closed, relishing as he recollects soft gasps and smooth skin. A beautiful sight. Messy silver hair, parted swollen lips, nails digging into his back. Hadrian remembered the sting and those heavenly sounds.

...

Where is he?...

The High Lord opened his eyes. A covetous light flashes within his gaze. His hand slipped and pulled open the door where the monsters reside. He gave them a path to slither and a branch to climb. 

Reflected upon the crystal glass window, one could witness those beautiful golden irises, pricked, tarnished, and obscured with darkness. 

Colahn's brows twisted. His eyes slowly opened.

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