In the heart of the Simharian Kingdom, hidden beneath a decrepit wine cellar forgotten by time, five men sat hunched together around a broken wooden table.

The single crystal orb hanging above them flickered weakly, casting shifting shadows across the scarred walls and worn floors. The smell of damp stone and fear clung to the air.

None of them spoke for a long while.

It was Baron Selvor who finally broke the heavy silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I had a dream again last night…” he said, his hands trembling slightly. “A dream where I thought about punching that bastard Alex. Thought about it. And then…then…”

His hands clutched his head as his face twisted in remembered agony. “My skull felt like it was getting crushed between two mountains!”

Viscount Velberg, who was still wrapped in multiple layers of silk robes despite the cellar’s heat, nodded furiously.

“Me too! I tried to think about escaping!” He squealed, wiping sweat from his brow. “And the pain…oh gods, the pain! Like someone shoved a thousand spears through my brain at once!”

Across from them, Duke Harmon gave a humorless chuckle.

“You think that’s bad? I accidentally called him a ‘blue-eyed demon’ in my head while taking a bath. Nearly drowned from the headache before I could even rinse the soap out of my eyes.”

The other two nobles, Margrave Odren and Count Yernis, merely shuddered.

None of them needed to explain it any further.

The bindings Alex placed on them weren’t just physical or political—they were in their souls.

Any thought of betrayal was met with mind-breaking agony. They were slaves, bound tighter than chains could ever manage, and they all knew it.

A heavy silence settled again until Yernis, fidgeting with the hem of his coat, mumbled nervously, “Have…have any of you thought about him lately?”

The table stilled.

Eyes darted nervously.

No one dared say the name—they couldn’t. It was safer that way.

“That…other one,” Selvor muttered, voice trembling. “The one who made us kneel before we even met Alex.”

“They’re similar, aren’t they?” Velberg said, tugging at his damp collar. “Both came to us…both beat the life out of us…both forced us to submit…”

He swallowed thickly. “Except Alex…Alex made sure there was no chance of escape. No hope.”

“A complete prison,” Harmon agreed grimly. “One we can’t even think about breaking without paying for it in blood and tears.”

“And if…” Odren leaned closer, lowering his voice until barely audible, “…if he comes again? What do we do?”

The table’s planks creaked under the weight of their collective dread.

“Should we tell Alex about him?” Yernis asked, wringing his hands.

For a long moment, no one answered.

Finally, Harmon spoke, his voice hollow.

“Are you insane? He could kill us before we could even blink. Even Alex…he might not be able to save us in time if it comes to that.”

The dread in his voice was clear, unlike Simharians, who are supposed to be fearless and prideful.

“But Alex—” Velberg started, only to be cut off.

“No.” Harmon shook his head sharply. “We can’t lie to him, but we don’t have to tell him something he didn’t even ask for. Until we are asked…we pray ‘he’ doesn’t come. We stay quiet. We stay alive.”

Silence returned.

The five men sat there, heads bowed like prisoners awaiting execution, wishing they could shrink into the cracks of the stone floor.

And then—

A new voice echoed in the room.

“So that’s it, huh?”

They all nodded instinctively, their heads bobbing like broken marionettes—only to freeze in horror a second later as the wrongness of that voice hit them.

That was not one of theirs.

Slowly, slowly, they turned toward the entrance.

There, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folded, wearing a smile that didn’t reach his sharp, icy blue eyes—

—was Alex.

He had been here from the start.

He knew these guys were hiding something, but not having any clue about what to ask, he decided to listen to their conversation.

It turned out to be a good decision.

The lantern flickered again, casting deep shadows over his form, making him look even more like some avenging spirit of doom.

Nobody breathed.

Velberg made a small, squeaky sound like a dying rat.

Alex tilted his head slightly, his smile widening.

“You were talking about me behind my back? How sweet.”

Selvor immediately toppled backward out of his chair, thudding against the ground with a strangled yelp.

Odren tried to rise—only to trip over his own foot and fall face-first onto the table.

Yernis seemed to be having a full-body seizure, twitching and vibrating like a terrified rabbit.

Velberg just started mumbling prayers to every god he could think of.

Only Harmon, resigning to his fate, bowed his head in defeat. “It was nice knowing you all.”

Alex walked forward slowly, each step tapping against the floor like a countdown.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

When he reached the table, he squatted down at eye level with the shivering nobles.

“So,” he said conversationally, “someone strong enough to scare you little critters is running around, huh?”

They nodded furiously.

“And you thought it was a good idea…to hide it from me?”

Velberg burst into tears.

“N-No, sir! It was fear! Pure survival instinct! We would never, ever, ever betray you! We love you! I would happily die for you! I would even wash your socks—”

Alex raised a brow.

“Socks?” He repeated.

Velberg froze, realizing what he had just said.

Harmon coughed into his hand to hide a snort.

Alex stood up with a stretch, sighing dramatically.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he said, turning toward the door. “You five are going to tell me everything you know about him. Every whisper, every rumor, every ugly little thought.”

He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes glinting like blades in the low light.

“And if you leave anything out…well, let’s just say, you’ll wish the headaches were the worst thing I could do.”

He grinned.

Velberg promptly fainted, slumping to the ground like a sack of flour.

The others stiffened, already scrambling to collect their thoughts, desperate to avoid whatever fresh horror Alex might unleash otherwise.

As Alex stepped out into the night air, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Looks like things are finally getting interesting,” he muttered to himself.

……………………….

The next day.

The five nobles knelt on the cold stone floor like battered dogs, heads bowed so low their noses practically touched the ground.

Alex sat lazily in an ornate chair someone had dragged down from upstairs, one leg slung over the armrest, elbow propped on the other.

Beside him, Zahara perched gracefully on her own seat, a faint, amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She wore a dazzling crimson dress today, delicate patterns of gold embroidery glittering under the cellar’s flickering light.

It was, after all, her coronation day.

And Alex had really hoped for a less annoying morning.

Instead…he had this.

Alex stared at the groveling mess in front of him with a look of utter disbelief, rubbing his forehead like he was trying to massage intelligence into the room.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “You don’t know his name—other than one name that is probably fake.”

Five frantic nods.

“You don’t know what he looks like—except he wears a black mask.”

More nods, even faster this time, like a field of terrified bobbleheads.

“No idea what he wants, where he came from, who he works with, or even what he had for breakfast?”

Odren opened his mouth as if to say something, then wisely shut it when Alex’s glare sharpened.

Alex leaned back in his chair with a long, slow exhale.

“Incredible,” he muttered. “I’m dealing with a conspiracy, and the only witnesses are five sacks of potatoes.”

Behind him, Zahara covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Alex shot her a sideways look. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” she admitted, her eyes twinkling.

Meanwhile, Velberg—still pale as a ghost and sporting a damp forehead—blurted, “W-We tried, my lord! We truly tried! But every time we tried to investigate, we were…discouraged.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow. “Discouraged?”

Selvor whimpered. “He broke Viscount Maylin’s legs just for thinking about sending spies!”

“Poor Maylin still twitches whenever he sees someone wearing black,” Yernis added, shuddering.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache blooming.

“You’re telling me you got manhandled so badly by some masked weirdo that you gave up without learning anything useful?”

“We value our lives, my lord!” Velberg sobbed.

“Clearly not your dignity,” Alex muttered under his breath.

The five nobles remained trembling on the floor, their fear forming puddles around them.

Alex leaned forward suddenly, making all five flinch.

“Tell me again,” he said, voice low, “what exactly you know about him.”

They exchanged panicked glances.

Harmon cleared his throat, speaking with the somber tone of someone reciting a death sentence.

“All we know…is that he calls himself ‘Veyrannis.'”

Alex stilled.

Zahara’s smile slipped slightly, her brows furrowing in thought.

“And that’s it?” Alex asked.

A chorus of desperate nods.

He stared at them for a long, painful moment.

Then he flopped backward into his chair with a groan.

“Useless. Absolutely, spectacularly useless.”

Zahara tilted her head toward him. “We could execute them,” she offered lightly.

All five nobles immediately flattened themselves to the floor even harder, one of them letting out a tiny, high-pitched whine.

Alex considered it seriously for a good few seconds, just to watch them squirm, before sighing and waving a hand dismissively.

“No. That would involve paperwork,” he said. “And today’s supposed to be a good day.”

He turned toward Zahara with a small, genuine smile that softened his usually sharp features.

“After all, someone’s getting a fancy hat today.”

Zahara chuckled, her earlier tension vanishing. “It’s a crown, Alex.”

“Fancy hat, crown, same thing,” Alex said with a shrug. “Point is, you’re gonna be queen by tonight. And I’d rather not start your reign with a mass execution of five idiots.”

“Much appreciated,” she teased.

He rose from his seat, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket.

“As for you five,” he said, his voice suddenly cold enough to freeze fire, “this little meeting never happened. You will speak of nothing unless I ask you directly. You will forget you ever said a word about ‘Veyrannis.’ And if you even dream about doing something stupid again…”

He let the threat hang in the air like a guillotine.

The nobles practically melted into the floor with frantic bows and gasped affirmations.

“Good boys,” Alex said dryly, ruffling Velberg’s hair in mock affection as he passed. The man whimpered.

Zahara rose gracefully beside him, offering him her hand.

Alex took it, tucking it under his arm as he led her up the steps and out into the fresh, sunlit courtyard above.

Behind them, the five nobles remained where they were, unmoving, too scared to even breathe too loudly.

As the cellar door shut with a heavy thud, Alex stretched lazily, glancing at Zahara.

“Well,” he said with a grin, “ready to go get your fancy hat?”

Zahara smiled warmly at him, the sunlight catching in her crimson hair, making her look every bit the queen she was about to become.

“Only if you’re standing beside me,” she said softly.

Alex chuckled, tugging her closer.

“Where else would I be?”

Together, they walked toward the palace, leaving behind fear, secrets, and a mystery that would have to wait for another day.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep