424: || Chapter 413 || Did You Miss Me?

|| Chapter 413 || Did You Miss Me?

Steam rose from the fragrant liquid filling half the teacup. Lord Hyantor's thick brows drew together as the tea reflected his grimace. He never liked tea. Never grew up drinking such a tasteless expensive thing. He'd rather down a barrel of rum than be forced to drink this bland thing. However, there were times when he couldn't refuse when offered. Most especially when Erik persistently forces him to drink his specialized tea that could ease Hyantor's joints. It was far more bitter than his whole life's experiences.

Groaning, the burly lord glanced at the powerful man sitting expressionlessly at his desk. Hyantor leaned back on the couch, ignoring the teacup on the table. Instead, his eyes fell on the familiar jewelry, fiddled within the High Lord's hand. The golden-eyed man looked so serious as he manipulated the mana within the bracelet. 

Hyantor squint's his eyes. A smirk formed on his face. "That bracelet. Wasn't it given to you by His Highness when Ralor last visited Helios? Weren't there two of those? I thought you wouldn't use it. Who did you use it for, Esteemed High Lord of Helios?"

Lord Hercullio's eyes lifted to the lazy merchant lord lounging on the couch. His hand holding the bracelet paused. 

Indeed, the bracelet was one of two identical pairs. The blue gem glistened, embedded in its simple design. 

He turned his head and stood from his seat to face the floor-to-ceiling window. His profound eyes fell unto the edge of the Three Tower's surrounding river. 

As though, he had heard Hadrian's thoughts. Hyantor's grin grew wider. "Ah, so it's for the young master."

The more he spoke, the more amused he was. "I have to say, you dearest has quite a temper. He nearly killed my lovely Erik. Fortunately, he spared him. Do you know how difficult it is to find someone trustworthy?"

"You had him followed." A cold voice interrupted.

Hyantor flinched. He blinked and cleared his throat. "Um, I was merely curious."

"Hm..."

"..." Hyantor frowned. "Clearly, you ought to control yourself more. Between the two of us, I believe you are the suspicious one here, no? To place a tracking artifact on your precious one. Do you not trust him that much?"

Hadrian narrowed his eyes. 'It is myself that I don't trust.'

Hyantor waited for an answer but unfortunately, Hadrian didn't seem to want to continue entertaining him any longer. However, he refused to allow the silence to grow. He'd finally had the High Lord talking, what kind of man was he to give up just like that?

"The young master has been busy investigating those heretics. Do you not miss his company? Coddling him till the world ends for he cheated death for you? How bout' ending his problems and saving him the difficulty? I'm certain both of you will be pleased."

An amused smile graced the High Lord's lips. Erik, who look forward to his reaction, was taken aback by his expression. Those golden eyes deepened greatly as he spoke, "I believe in his strength. He prefers to deal with his curiosities himself. Something you couldn't understand, Frigal."

Hyantor frowned. His eyes narrowed, evidently unamused. He huffed in annoyance. 

Hadrian smirked and placed a hand on the map spread out on his desk. The symbols and land continuously morphed, changing at every minute until it finally stopped when the High Lord's fingers touched the surface. 

Hyantor's eyes scrutinized his every move. With a sigh, he spoke. "Well, just as he will be finished with his mission, you will have finished the preparations. All we have to do now is wait..."

"Hmm..." Hadrian lifted his gaze, tapping his index finger on the little dot on the map, surrounded by miles and miles of hot desert. It won't be long. Years of suffering and sacrifice will not be for naught. 

The darkness shall be purged. 

"Hyantor..." Hadrian abruptly spoke, startling the Lord lying on the couch. 

"Yes?"

"You tea has gone cold."

Hyantor narrowed his eyes and glared at the teacup on the table like it was his lifelong enemy. Ah! I refuse to be forced to drink!

.....

Within the slaughter room, a sentinel's figure trembled frightfully as shock filled his face. His fists clenched on the bloodied ground. For a moment, he had forgotten the smell. The noise he had caused would most likely attract all of the heretics nearby. Their cover would be blown. He had caused his team's demise. He panicked, shuddering in dread.

The sentinels stayed silent, awaiting Moulin's orders. Surprisingly, the youth was calmer than the rest of them. His silver eyes are determined and downcast. His expression was terribly serious. 

The sound of footsteps because faster as each second passed. 

Finally, Moulin raised his gaze and turned to the soldiers. He had an idea. If it worked, then the plan would be even more advantageous.

Moulin took a breath and calmly explained.

Under the flickering light of the wall's torches, the saber's two-edge blade gleamed dangerously. Its tip drew too close to the wall. When it collided, sparks flew. The man who possessed it raggedly breathe as he thickened his wobbly steps toward the slaughter room. 

That sound? Too loud. Too strange. Suspicious. 

An intruder... 

The man bared his teeth, heaving erratically. Now he was running with crazed eyes. The hand that held the saber tightly whitened, it craved blood. 

He arrived before the doorway, huffing, itching for murder. 

Whoosh!

One moment he was standing, the next moment darkness pulled him into the room. Silently, the earth sealed the entryway, merging with the wall. It was as though the room was never there in the first place.

...

Not a moment later, two people emerged from the wall. The rocks that briefly parted closed up. One kneeled on the ground, tied up in a torn robe. and the other wore ragged clothes, filthy and blood-stained. In his hand was the heretic's saber, freshly stained with blood. 

Several hurried footsteps slowed to where the two were located. The cultist's eyes strained on the two suspicious figures. 

"Reveal yourselves..." One of the heretics demanded. 

"Brother, I have captured a worthy specimen. " The sentinel grabbed his prisoner's neck forcing him to look up. "Our master will be pleased!"

Confused, the heretic eyed the 'prisoner'. He approached the man by himself, using the pointed tip of his blade to rip off the hood that concealed the captive's face. 

Soft snow-white hair flowed down the young man's shoulders. Long waves of silvery curls looked frightfully ethereal and pure. When the young man lifted his 'pitiful' gaze, the crowd looked obsessively at those pure silver eyes. Bright as the moon herself. On his rosy cheek, a drop of blood dripped from the long wound. The sight made them mad with obsession. The scent of pure untainted blood was ripe. 

Their eyes widened in fascination. Yes, he will look lovelier sprawled on the stone altar, nails piercing his bones, skin maimed, and his blood drained to paint the ceremonial circle. 

The sentinel disguised as Moulin's captor briefly glanced at the silver-eyed youth. 

"Come! Come! Bring him in!" The heretic urged. He dragged Moulin away himself, grabbing the rope tied around his chest to force him to walk. 

There were nine cultists surroundings Moulin and the sentinel. Moulin's brows furrowed, struggling to maintain a 'vulnerable' look while he memorized the paths. 

With Moulin acting as a prisoner, he and the sentinel will be taken to the leader. He was smaller and his looks were eye-catching. He was the perfect victim. Who knows what they would do? However, what mattered most is the location of the leader. If they find him, they will be one step closer to completing the mission and subduing the heretics once and for all. 

"This better work, Moulin," Ghana spoke through the hidden earpiece. On the other side, concern brimmed within her pupils.

She had already found the location where the children were kept. However, they were a step too late, The children had been taken to away from their cell and were heading towards the altar room. Currently, they gave chase. 

Moulin didn't respond. However, Ghana understood. It was time to prepare for the assault, the rest of the sentinels of Moulin's team waited for the target's location. The clumsy earth wielder was tasked to dig tunnels leading to the location. For now, all they need to do was wait. 

Moulin groaned when he was dragged into a room. They hit his knees, forbidding him from standing. His knees hit the earth and he lurched forward, struggling to balance himself. Moulin clenched his jaw. The fury underneath his skin boiled. However, he continued his act. It wasn't the time. 

When they were taken away from the slaughter room, the strong offensive smell faded the further they walked. Right now, Moulin smelled something else. A sort of fragrance. Liquor and flowers? Moulin couldn't quite determine. 

A filthy hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back to reveal his face. The youth winced as he adjusted his eyes. 

He was in the center of the room. The sentinel he was with had vacated the room with the other heretics.

Before him, a small rickety table was situated against the hall. A tiny icon... And a man.

This scene looked so similar to what he saw in Erthyl's memories. 

"Leader, we've caught something. A little butterfly trapped itself on the spider's web. Look! Look at him! How pitiful he looks!" The cultists who held his hair spoke, spit spraying from his mouth. He kept Moulin Moulin's head as though he was nothing but a toy. 

Leader?0

The man strode towards them. He raised a heavy hand and slapped the heretic who held the youth. The blow was so strong that the force slammed him to the ground. 

In an instant, a wave of malevolent energy wafted toward Moulin. Alarmed, the youth's silver eyes widened. Mana!

The man then tore his gaze away from the whimpering follower shivering on the ground and settled his strange eyes on Moulin. The latter flinched. The heretic on the ground crawled out of the area, fleeing.

The skinny man with a body full of scars, dressed in rags. The bones on his body looked frighteningly prominent. One step after the other, he approached Moulin. The way he tilted his head as he assessed the person kneeling before him was ghastly. This person was the same one Moulin saw through the mute prisoner's memories. 

Moulin's guards are raised. He struggled to perfect his fragile countenance as the man gradually neared him. 

"Poor child..." 

The man's voice was a mixture of other different voices. It curdled and clawed its way out of the mortal's throat like worms quivering out of a rotten apple. It echoes endlessly, like a song to lure souls. 

Moulin was frozen still. Someone else was speaking... Something sinister. 

The man reached out his bony fingers. His nails elongated and darkened, gently caressing the youth's soft cheek. 

"How pretty you are..." A dark chuckle wormed its way out of the man's throat. 

Silver eyes twitched. 

He found the leader. The sentinel he was with, what was he doing? It was time. 

Then those scrutinizing eyes curved in amusement. Those blood-red eyes glowed and the scent within the room smelled more fragrant than before. It was overwhelming, slowly peeling off Moulin's wariness piece by piece. 

'The incense...' Moulin narrowed his eyes. He felt his limbs sag. His energy was gradually sucked away. 

Why... Why can't he move?

"Do you think you can stop us, little vessel?" 

...

Vessel? 

These words...

As though lightning struck Moulin's core, the youth froze. His breathing paused. He hasn't heard this frightful name since the battle in Artheia. A demonic voice rang in his head as exhaustion seeped into his flesh.

He recalled the visions. The three-eyed demon, welcoming him with a sinister smile. A mouth big enough to swallow him whole. 

It couldn't be...

Behind those glowing blood-red eyes, a grotesque grin stretched wider. 

"Did you miss me?..."

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