421: || Chapter 410 || Another One

|| Chapter 410 || Another One

The cozy sitting room could not conceal the tension surrounding the two maeruthans facing each other with serious expressions. Moulin lowered his gaze to his hands while he was stuck deep within his thoughts, trying to process Ghana's words. 

"You said the little girl, Nara, heard this?"The silver-eyed maeruthan raised his eyes. 

Ghana nodded, "He's a witness. He might be able to help us. The cultists took him days before they took the children you and Sarion rescued."

"But Erthyl can't..." Moulin paused briefly and furrowed his brows. "He can't speak."

Ghana leaned forward from her seat, tilting her head to meet Moulin's worried gaze. "We can request for a seer or... you could do it."

When Moulin drew his eyebrows together, Ghana continued, "Listen. If you don't want to do it then it's alright, we can have someone else do it. But that child only responds to you most frequently. Even Jagra and the nurse couldn't make him react so much during a conversation. He feels safer with you. If he's with you, he's less guarded. There would be less resistance... unlike if strangers were to enter his mind. They could hurt him..."

Moulin frowned. What Ghana said was true. However, Moulin felt as though he would be betraying Erthyl's trust if he would do this. 

"You've done nothing wrong to him, "Ghana said as though she heard Moulin's thoughts. 

"We need him, Moulin. There are more lives to be rescued. This child... He should have witnessed something."

...

Moulin stared at Ghana for a minute. Then he sighed. Yes, perhaps, he could try... Again. He'll make sure nothing could go wrong and hurt the boy. He didn't want to trigger anything to let Erthyl relive his dark memories again. 

"Alright..."

Relief flashed in Ghana's eyes. She slowly leaned back with a soft smile. 

"Don't worry. It will be fine..."

Knock!

Knock!

A sentinel excused himself as he entered the room. Swiftly, he crossed the threshold as though something was chasing him. The man's grave expression made Moulin concerned and a bitter feeling started pouring into his gut. 

The man straightened his back before them, "The Lilith Orphanage has been raided by cultists."

"What?!" Moulin and Ghana instantly rose from their seat. 

The man hurriedly continued. "However, the attackers were apprehended. There were no casualties but the property has been thoroughly ravaged."

The two relaxed for a bit. Fortunately, the children weren't hurt and they've captured more of those damn cultists.

"They're after the children," Moulin spoke.

Ghana's expression darkened. "They must be relocated at once."

Ghana hurriedly left the room, startling Jagra, and Pola who were waiting by the door. Ghana threw Pola a soft smile before she left with the sentinels. In less than a minute, they've vacated the house.

Furrowing his brows, Jagra slipped into the room. His footsteps paused before Moulin who sat on the chair reaching his slender hands towards the little snow-white fox pawing on his ankles. 

"You're not going with her?" 

Moulin glanced at Jagra and sighed, "I have something important to do."

"Oh, I heard." Jagra raised his brows slightly and he shrugged. "So get on with it. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I agree with Ghana's words."

"..." Moulin stared at Jagra. Does he even know what they were talking about? 

The latter didn't back down and returned a prominent stare. 

Silence engulfed the room. It looked as though the two were trying to challenge each other.

Pola, who stood by the door, frowned. 'Ah, why are they having a staring contest?'

In the end, Moulin was the first to look away. Why? Of course, he didn't want to repeat the conversation about Erthyl. Moulin ignores the situation? He couldn't and he didn't plan to.

Moulin sighed and stood up. 

.....

Bursting through the huge double doors, a tall old man lowered his leg and released a long breath. His golden eyes are paler than that of his stubborn grandson. Behind him, a man and a woman caught up with him, worrying all over him while he was seething in anger. Although he looked noble and healthy despite his age, he was energetic enough to kick the door open when he was refused entry into the room. 

"Grandfather..." Lord Hadrian raised his gaze. As usual, his expression lacked emotions even as he faced his relative. He raised his hand to send away the people within the room. 

"Bah! Get off me! I can walk on my own." Lord Hendrick grabbed his cane from the male nurse and walked across the room. Like Hadrian, he chased away the nurses in the room.

The people who were about I leave bowed to him but he ignored it. Lord Hendrick's eyes strained only on the High Lord at his desk. 

"A little bird told me something absurd." Lord Hendrick's eyes narrowed as he seated himself on the couch not far from the desk.

"..." Hadrian only lowered his gaze.

"You are sick." The old man's eyes squinted as he examined his grandson. "Is it true? Don't lie to me, boy."

In a blink of an eye, a dreadful energy sealed the room. Hadrian did not speak but his silence only proved his grandfather's assumptions. The old man paled. 

"Does Moulin know this?"

"Yes."

Lord Hendrick held the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe the rumors were indeed true. After a deep breath, he continued. "So... you are indeed..."

"Speak to no one of this." Hadrian's cold voice reached his ears. 

"..." 

This boy... Although, unwell. He still has the energy to threaten an old man. 

"You don't have to remind me. I know what would happen. However, as far as I know, rumors have been circulating about your sickness. And I do not just mean your health but your temper. Your actions to Lord Fermaigne were too much. He is impulsive and arrogant, I agree, but he has room to learn."

"Mn..." Hadrian did not lift his gaze. 

Lord Hendrick was about to scold him when the next words spoken reached his ears.

"It was my wrong," Hadrian admitted. Although his expression remained cold.

"Y-You..." Grandfather Hendrick's eyes widened. 

This man... It's been many years since he heard Hadrian admit something he had done wrong. Usually, he'd stay silent causing Hendrick a splitting headache. 

Has... Has love changed this man?

"But..." Hadrian began. Deep intimidating eyes rose to meet Lord Hadrian's surprised gaze. The words that flowed out of his mouth were cold and heartless. 

"He provoked me first. He does not know his place. Mercy was already granted when I had left him alive. Yes, I'm sure many have deemed him a great man. But no matter how much they try to raise him on a pedestal, he will have no place at my table unless he's learned his worth."

Golden eyes shifted their color, dyed as black as the night.

Lord Hendrick froze when he witnessed his grandson's change.

"You really are unwell..." Lord Hendrick muttered. Concern filled his face.2

  Hadrian paused. He tries to calm himself before standing up. His tall figure unhurriedly left his place. "Grandfather, I am fine. If there is nothing else, then I apologize, I must leave."

"Wait." The old man slightly turned his head. "You are aware that the siege you've planned for years will commence soon."

Golden eyes narrowed greatly. "I am aware."

"Then must you lead it when-"

"I shall lead it." Hadrian declared. Tone, grave, and deep. He turned to his grandfather with profound eyes. The High Lord's oppressive frame seemed to swallow the old man's figure whole. 

Lord Hendrick froze briefly from the severity of his grandson's aura. "Whatever is your will..."

Hadrian stared at him before he turned and approach the door. Before he left, Lord Hendrick added.

"Ralor has sent their response. They are arriving with the others sooner than I thought. A few of the other bases, however, could not make it." 

"I see..." Hadrian narrowed his eyes. 

"Do you know the risks of this battle?"

The High Lord lifted his gaze, indisputable determination brimmed within them. "I do."

The doors shut closed, leaving the old man to sigh in resignation.

.....

The door to Erthyl's room opened and Jagra and Pola turned their heads towards the person emerging from the room. 

'That was quick' Jagra thought suspiciously.

At the sound of Moulin's footsteps, a little white furball yipped as he jumped down Pola's arms. Slender arms welcomed the enthusiastic fox before the two people's eyes. Moulin straightened his back and faced the two. 

"How did it go?" Jagra asked. 

A crease appeared on Moulin's forehead. Clearly, things did not go as well as he'd thought. The silver-eyed youth sighed in response. 

Moulin did not think Erthyl would immediately wrap himself under the blanket, refusing to cooperate. Moulin only stared at the big bulge under the blankets. He knew the boy would react this way.

Jagra placed a hand on Moulin's shoulder. His eyes are filled with reassurance. The guilt bubbled up, seeming to clog Moulin's throat. He felt he'd betrayed the boy's trust. It wasn't Moulin's intention truly. With a downcasted gazed, Moulin resigned. 

"Might have to try again when he's asleep," Jagra suggested. "The boy's too worked up to cooperate. The experience has left a deep unforgettable mark on him. It would be impossible to try to placate him at this time. Perhaps, that's for the best."

Moulin nodded. The information they would obtain from the boy would tremendously aid them with the mission. Then, hesitation flitted within his chest. Another problem arose. His distrust of his ability to enter a person's mind remained to trouble him. The case with the mute prisoner was out of his control. Although, he had tried. He didn't want to test it again with Erthyl. What if something wrong would occur?

While these thoughts plagued his mind, Moulin silently agreed to Jagra's suggestion. He was worried but perhaps... he should try. 

That night Jagra welcomed Moulin to stay in his humble abode. The three had a harmonious and simple dinner together. Pola was secretly thrilled about having to stay with Moulin again. It reminded her of the time back in the Fraunces Estate when she'd be anywhere near the youth, especially at night. Although they were in separate rooms, Pola would be there when she was needed. 

Moulin sat in the same drawing room while humming a soft tune. His hands gently caressed the resting little fox, snoring away, on his lap. Pola offered him a hot drink while he waited. Jagra was already nodding drowsily in his seat. The hand, he rested his chin on, frequently lost its strength, and almost made him fall off. The dark cozy night didn't help to keep him awake no matter how much he tried. 

"It's late..." Moulin spoke, startling Jagra awake. With an amused smile, he suggested. "Why don't you go on ahead? You too, Pola. Take a rest. I'll be fine."

Jagra furrowed his brows as he rubbed his eyelids, "I can't leave you alone. That would be improper-"

"I-I can accompany you, young master. I'm not tired at all." Pola quipped with bright energetic eyes. 

Moulin chuckled, "If you don't mind then."

"..." Jagra squinted his eyes for a long time at the two people within the room. 

Finally, he conceded to his body's needs and wobbly stood up from the chair. He yawned. "Alright. Then I'll do as you say."

Moulin and Pola could hear the floorboards creak as Jagra groggily climbed up the stairs. Silence stretched for a few minutes afterwards. Moulin finally, stood up and placed Snow carefully on the couch, careful of not to wake him up. 

"It's time." He said. "Please, watch over Snow, Pola."

"Yes, young master." Pola nodded. 

The lamps brightly illuminated the hallway as Moulin softly approached Erthyl's room and the boy was too deep into sleep to notice the creaking of the opening door to Moulin's luck. 

Erthyl serenely slept while he wrapped his arms tight on the pillow at his side, squishing his left cheek. He looked peaceful and funny. Moulin smiled softly while he gently moved a few curls away from the boy's forehead. Currently, Erthyl was calm and tranquil unlike his distressing episode the last time Moulin came into his room. 

Moulin frowned. He didn't want to repeat the situation. He only needed to be careful not to trigger anything to make Erthyl suffer. 

'We only need even a small glimpse of what he'd experienced or seen during his abduction.'

Moulin prepares himself as he placed a hand on the little boy's forehead. Sensing his touch, the boy leaned closer, immediately melting Moulin's heart. 

Then his mana convulses at his will. 

Moulin inhales sharply. He's drawn into a white vortex. Endless flashes of light blinded his vision. Too much. Too many memories. Too fast to identify. Incoherentt voices are shouting around him aiming to make him deaf. This time, he felt pressure surrounding his head as he dug for a clearer picture. 

Something heavy and invisible crushes his chest as he reached for the little memory that was within his reach. 

He's plunged into the scene, unable to adapt quickly. 

He's cold, shivering, as pain scorched him everywhere. He's severely wounded huddled in a corner as fear gripped his heart like a vice. The floor is tough, scratching at his legs as he trembles. Moulin's mind cleared at the vivid sensations of his surroundings. 

Where is he? Somewhere pitch-black, dry, and hot. The smell of earth was so familiar to Moulin. Underground.

The door slammed open and in came two men. One dragged him out by the hair and Moulin's mouth lets out a cry as his eyes adjusted to the light. They took him out, and a series of torches, dripping with oil filled the little tunnel. The men who dragged him smelt like fish and the distinct acridity that came only from a wet market. 

"Little boy... She'll love you..." The man who limped behind Moulin and his captor spoke. "Something pretty and pure... How lovely will you look, gutted open on her altar."

Her?

"She'll be delighted. Our lady will be proud." The man chuckled, imagining the scene in his mind. "It won't be long now... Yes... When our worlds collide, your sacrifice will not be in vain. The Immortal One will come and set our souls free from this illusion and torment. Be grateful for this is how your worth is destined to be spent."

Moulin whimpers in fear and confusion. He's brought into the room. A room, he recognized. The alter room. 

And someone awaits their arrival. A man...

Moulin recognizes him. The leader and... another figure sat at the corner of the room. A slender stature.

However, before he could take a clear look, he was beaten unconscious. A sharp pain in his neck. 

Pain bursts throughout his body and a giggle echoes in his mind. 

A woman?

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