Chapitre 90: Someone paid me to do it
The cold night air brushed against my skin, but it wasn't enough to quell the warmth still lingering from earlier.
My arms still felt the faint impression of her, Xyra. Holding her had been unexpected, and yet it had sent a jolt through me, one that I couldn't quite shake off.
I hadn't held her out of sentimentality, of course. It was pure instinct, a reflex born from years of combat and training. At least, that's what I told myself.
Still, I couldn't deny it had stirred something a memory, a longing, or maybe just the bitter satisfaction of seeing her up close again after all these years.
She had not changed, but grown sharper in every way: her features, her demeanor, her damn icy attitude. And yet, as cold and detached as she'd been, I'd felt the faintest tremor in her when she'd looked at me. Maybe she still remembered who I was. Maybe not.
I clenched my fists, my sharp nails digging into my palms as I stood outside the castle. It didn't matter.
None of it mattered, not when there was still work to do. The magic I'd felt earlier was too precise, too malicious to have come from ordinary attackers.
Someone had been pulling the strings, manipulating those men, controlling their movements like puppets on a cursed stage.
The air around me tingled with faint traces of magic, and I closed my eyes, focusing on the lingering energy.
Manipulative magic always left a distinct residue, like the oily sheen on water. It was faint, but I could feel it, thrumming faintly in the distance. Whoever had orchestrated the attack hadn't gone far.
"Amateurs," I muttered under my breath, stepping into the shadows of the castle grounds.
The trail of magic led me beyond the castle gates and into the forest that bordered the estate.
The trees stood tall and silent, their branches clawing at the night sky. The further I went, the stronger the magic became, coiling around me like an invisible serpent.
It was dark magic, the kind that seeped into a person's soul and corrupted everything it touched.
A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I stopped, my senses on high alert. A figure stepped out from the shadows, his face twisted with malice.
He wasn't alone. Behind him, a handful of men emerged, their eyes glazed over and their movements unnaturally stiff. Puppets.
"So, you're the one pulling the strings," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.
The man chuckled, his grin widening as he stepped closer. He was wiry, his features sharp and feral, and the magic emanating from him was suffocating.
"Captain Ren Khasar," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You're as quick as they say. But do you think you can stop me?"
"I don't think," I replied, my tone cold and biting. "I know."
He sneered, snapping his fingers. The men behind him moved as one, their weapons glinting in the moonlight. They charged toward me, their faces expressionless, their bodies moving with unnatural precision.
I didn't hesitate. Fire erupted from my palms, crackling with a brilliant red hue. The air around me heated instantly, the flames dancing along my fingertips as I prepared to strike.
The first puppet lunged at me, his blade aimed for my throat. I ducked, twisting my body and slamming my elbow into his ribs. The impact sent him sprawling, but another took his place, swinging a club toward my head.
I raised my hand, releasing a torrent of fire that engulfed the weapon, reducing it to ash in seconds. The man didn't scream or flinch; he simply kept coming, his movements jerky and relentless.
"They don't feel pain," the puppet master said, his grin widening as he watched me fight. "You can't win against them."
I ignored him, my focus sharp as I dodged another attack. The ground beneath my feet scorched as my fire magic swirled around me, creating a barrier that kept the attackers at bay. But there were too many of them, and they kept coming, their movements unending and unnerving.
"Enough of this," I growled, slamming my fist into the ground.
A wave of red fire erupted from the point of impact, spreading outward in a violent arc. The flames licked at the puppets, their bodies crumpling to the ground as the magic controlling them burned away.
The puppet master's grin faltered, and I seized the moment. I lunged toward him, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. He raised his hands, summoning a barrier of dark energy, but it wasn't fast enough.
My fist connected with his chest, and he staggered back, coughing violently. "You think you can control people like that and walk away?" I hissed, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him against a tree.
His eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. "Please," he gasped, his voice trembling. "Please don't kill me."
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't," I snarled, tightening my grip.
He raised his hands in surrender, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts. "It wasn't my idea!" he blurted out. "Someone... someone paid me to do it."
I narrowed my eyes, my flames crackling dangerously close to his face. "Who?"
"I don't know," he stammered, his voice breaking. "They wore a mask, a silver one. They didn't give a name, just gold. So much gold..."
I studied him, my grip unrelenting as my mind raced. A silver mask? That wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. Whoever they were, they'd gone to great lengths to remain anonymous.
"Please," the man begged again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I swear, I don't know anything else."
For a moment, I considered ending it right there, letting the fire consume him and wiping away any trace of his existence. It would have been easy, so easy. But something in his trembling form, his genuine terror, stayed my hand. Well he could be of use later.
I released him, shoving him to the ground with enough force to send him sprawling. "Run," I said, my voice cold and unforgiving. "And if I ever see you again, you won't get a second chance."
He scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he fled into the darkness.
I stood there for a moment, my flames dying down as I stared after him. The forest was quiet again, but the tension in the air remained.
Whoever was behind this wasn't done. Not by a long shot. And if they thought they could manipulate me, they were sorely mistaken.
With a final glance at the direction the man had fled, I turned and began the walk back toward the castle.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone